Leather Dave and the Poor Little Rich Boy

It was a warm and humid night, and something about the heat and stickiness was irritating Dave’s temper. It wasn’t that he was dressed too warmly—he was wearing a pair of old jeans, worn thin by use, tucked into a pair of Xelement Tribal Skull bike boots; the tight jeans held his long thick cock snugly against the throbbing body of his Harley Fat Boy. Above, a tight leather vest left his thickly muscled arms and furry chest, already slick with sweat, open to the air as he cruised down the darkened highway.

But he was still irritated and edgy.  He knew what the problem was—he needed meat, and he needed it bad.  He hadn’t snuffed a bitch since the Bike Fest, and he was long overdue.  Tonight was gonna be some lucky fagmeat’s last night on Earth.

His handsome face curled into a frightening sneer at the thought.

He pulled into the bar’s parking lot.  He hadn’t hunted here in a while; the place was a murky dive, but every now and then a hot boywhore who didn’t know the score would show up.  It was worth a try, at any rate, and there were other places he could check out later if he didn’t land any prey here.

Luck was with him tonight, though.  Once inside, it took a few minutes for his eyes to adjust to the smoky gloom; the air pulsated with the cacophonous roar of ill-played music from a band in the corner, blaring distortedly out of cheap speakers.  Once he got his bearings, though, his dark, flashing eyes were able to pierce the darkness.  He’d just gotten a beer when he spotted the cunt and knew immediately that tonight was gonna end with the faggot dying on his dick.

The little homo didn’t blend in well.  It was way too young to be in the bar—not that anyone was bothering to check.  More than that, its fashionably slashed $200 Diesel jeans and immaculately white t-shirt, both skin-tight, bespoke its upper-middle-class background.  A trucker’s cap, as dazzlingly clean and white as its shirt, was drawn down over its eyes, as if for protection from the rough trade surrounding it.

The punk was slumming, peeking furtively out from under its cap.  Suddenly, its eyes lit on the leather-clad stud and gleamed with an intense lust.  Dave smirked. Whatever it had been looking for, it had found it in him.

At least, by the time he was done with it, it wasn’t gonna be looking for anything anymore.

The boy sidled up to Dave.  “You, uh, you wanna buy me a drink?” it asked—hesitatingly but not shyly. 

“Fuck no,” Dave sneered, “I wanna jam my thick shaft up yer fuckhole, cunt.”

The boywhore reacted like an ecstatic puppy; if it had had a tail, it would’ve wagged it.  “Yeah!” it enthused, “Fuck yeah!  C’mon, dude, let’s get outta here and you can seed me as hard as ya want!”

“Go wait for me in the parking lot, bitch,” Dave said, “I’m gonna finished my beer.”

The cold contempt in his voice only excited the kid more.  He opened his mouth to object but thought better of it after catching a glimpse of Dave’s glare.  Meekly obeying the alpha’s command, he headed for the door.  Dave finished his drink, secure in the knowledge that no one would be able to say that the boy had left the bar with anyone.

 Once finished, he strode straight out of the bar.  Sure enough, the little cunt was waiting for him, sitting on a low parapet that adjoined the building, kicking the heels of its Air Jordan 1 Cool Grays against the wall.  Even from a distance, Dave could hear the faint thudding of the slut’s hightops against the brick over the sound of his own heavy boots striking the pavement.  For some reason, the sound irritated him.

“Over here, boy,” he barked, wheeling about and heading for his bike.  Behind him, the sound stopped and was replaced with soft footfalls as the kid hurried behind him like a dog anxious to obey its master. 

“Get on behind me, cunt,” Dave said, straddling the Harley.

“Donnie,” the kid said suddenly, with a slight touch of defiance in his voice, “My name is Donnie.”

“Like I give a fuck,” Dave growled.  “You ain’t nothing but a fucktoy.  Now get the fuck on.”

Donnie’s face flushed red, but the bulge in his tight jeans throbbed visibly at the alpha’s gruff commands.  He still hesitated a moment, though.

“Where we goin’?” he asked but spoke again before Dave could open his mouth.  “I gotta place.  Garage apartment at my folk’s house.  Just a single room, but I got it all fitted out.  Get fucked there all the time—my parents never bother me there.  And they’ll be in bed anyway.”

It was lucky that Dave’s face was in shadow; the shark-like grin that curled his lips into an ugly sneer might have been a red flag for the boy.  But the adolescent whore was so hormone-ridden it probably wouldn’t have mattered anyway.  Donnie hopped on the bike and wrapped his arms around Dave’s muscled torso, burying his face in the stud’s leather vest

“It’s north of Main.  421 Royal Oak—the old historic district, y’know?  House was built in 1912,” he chirped, so intoxicated by the musky scent of the leather that he was unaware that he was starting to babble.  Dave fired up the Harley, the loud roar of its engine silencing the kid’s blathering; in seconds, they were speeding off into the darkness.

 It didn’t take Dave long to find the place.  It was a huge and incredibly ugly pseudo-Elizabethan pile, complete with false half-timbering and a back garden filled with crazy paving.  Next to the garden was a three-car garage with an exterior staircase leading to a dormered second floor.

He also noticed lights on in the back of the main house as he shut off the Harley.  “I thought you said they’d be asleep,” he said menacingly.

“They usually are,” was Donnie’s sheepish reply.  “C’mon, let’s get upstairs before they come out.  They had to’ve heard the bike.”

It was a close thing.  Donnie had just managed to unlock the door at the top of the stairs and let Dave in when a shrill, nagging voice arose from the garden.

“Donald, is that you?” it demanded querulously, “Why aren’t you in bed?  We have church in the morning—you know we’re going to the early service!”

“Aw, I’ll be in soon, Ma,” Donnie called back, “I just wanna, um, finish up something real quick.”

“Well, I’m warning you—if you’re not up and dressed by eight, I’ll be sending your father for you.”

“Sure thing, Ma—I’ll be there.”

Dave smirked.  If there was one thing he could guarantee, it was that Donnie wouldn’t be present for the early service at church.

The boy brushed past him and flipped the light switch.  By the dim light of a small bedside lamp, Dave could make out a single room with sloping walls and a peaked ceiling.  In the space cut by the dormer was a king-sized bed with rumpled, cum-stained sheets; the coverlet was in a wad on the floor.  Next to the bed was the table with the lamp; it also held a dildo and a bottle of poppers.

On the far wall beyond the bed were two doors, both ajar.  One led to a half-bath, the other to an apparently empty closet.  The room was devoid of anything else except a rank smell of stale weed smoke and mansex.

“Hang on,” Donnie said suddenly as Dan entered the room.  Stepping past him, the teen slut locked the deadbolt, a complicated maneuver that involved engaging a small lever under the knob. 

“Just in case,” he said.  “They’ve never come up here, but Dad was made a deacon this week and is being officially presented in church tomorrow—I think they’re kinda antsy about it.”

Dave just grunted and slipped off his leather vest, revealing his massive pecs and jutting nipples in all their glory.  Donnie had opened his mouth to say something else, but the sight of the hardbodied alpha’s muscled, furry chest stopped him cold.  His jaw hung open for a moment, then snapped shut as he swallowed with a loud gulp.

“What’re you waiting for, faggot?” Dave barked.  “Get your clothes off and get on that fuckin’ bed.  I gotta load to drain and my balls are already boilin’ over.”

Again, Donnie flushed red.  No one had ever verbally abused him like this, and he was offended—but he could also feel the way it made his boycock pulsate.  With an eager grin, he took off his cap and tossed it in the corner, revealing a shock of unruly black hair.  He stripped off his t-shirt, his lithe teen body already slick with sweat—it was a warm night, and the room wasn’t air-conditioned.

After kicking off his Nikes, he quickly peeled down his expensive jeans, his long boycock leaping out and swaying in the air as soon as it was freed from its denim confines.  He was left standing in front of Dave wearing nothing but ankle socks and a leer.

Dave, in turn, had unzipped his fly and hauled out his enormous shaft, vein-wreathed and visibly throbbing.  As Donnie gaped at the huge tool, uncertain that his ass could handle such a gigantic member, the alpha calmly looked the boy over.

“Yeah, you’ll do,” he said calmly and punched the teen in the face.

Donnie cried out and reeled back, stumbling and falling against the bed.  Clutching his cheek where a deep bruise was already starting to spread, he stared up at Dave.  “What the fuck, dude?!?” he asked, his face clouded by disbelief and a touch of anger, but not fear.

Not yet.

“I was dead serious about needing to release my load,” Dave replied in an almost conversational tone, “And the only way you’re gonna milk my cum is to die on my dick. But first, you gotta suffer. You get it, cunt? The more pain you’re in, the more intense my orgasm. Buckle up, bitch, I’m gonna hurt you so fuckin’ bad you’re gonna blow a wad in sheer agony.”

Now the fear showed on Donnie’s face, crowding out the anger, but not the disbelief.  The adolescent slut simply couldn’t believe his ears.  Dave expected that.  Teenaged fuckmeat wasn’t able to conceive its own demise; that was why he preyed on it.  It kept fighting and struggling, working his shaft, right up to the moment it died.

“No, man—you-you’re joking,” the boy stuttered, “But this ain’t funny, dude.  Stop it.”

Dave kicked him, hard, the steel toe of his harness boot sinking deep into the punk’s flat belly.  Donnie exhaled violently with a loud “OOF!” and curled into a fetal position, clutching his stomach, and desperately gasping for air.

“Ya feelin’ me yet, asswipe?” Dave jeered, “No?  How about now?”

This time, the expertly-aimed kick struck Donnie’s back, right on the kidney.  It was enough to make the lithe teen straighten out.  Groaning in agony, he rolled face-up; in that position, he had an excellent view of the tread of Dan’s boot as the sadistic alpha raised his foot and stomped the kid’s chest.

The wet cracking sound as one of Donnie’s rib’s snapped was loud enough to be heard over every other noise in the room.  If the punk hadn’t already had so much on his mind, he might have noticed the sensation of Dave’s precum dripping onto his smooth skin like hot melted wax.

Even if he didn’t believe he was going to die tonight, Donnie was convinced by now that the stud he’d brought home—and with whom he’d locked himself in—was going to try to kill him and was definitely going to hurt him badly.  He needed to get out; he needed to get help.  His parents were just yards away.  There’d be consequences for revealing his sexual escapades, but he’d deal with that later if he could only reach them now.

For Dave, the faggot’s thoughts were as obvious as if he’d spoken them aloud.  The meat was gonna make a run for it; the meat always made a run for it. 

Fuckmeat was stupid; that was why it was so easy to hunt it down and slaughter it.

Dave decided to play with his fucktoy for a little.  He walked to the closet and peered in, giving the meat a chance to get up and bolt for the door.  It thought it was being quiet when it did so, but the jagged edges of the broken rib were lacerating internal tissue; its grunts and groans of pain made it easy to track its exact location without having to look directly at it. 

Dave only turned back when the faint thudding of its socked feet on the floor told him it was heading for the door.  Even then, he was in no rush.

Donnie reached the door in a state of intense fear.  He knew that if he couldn’t get out now, he probably wouldn’t be leaving the room under his own power later, whatever happened.  Tears ran down his cheeks as he twisted and yanked the doorknob, but the door refused to open.  Then, behind him, he heard the slow, steady tread of Dave’s boots as the sadist approached him.

On the verge of blind panic, the teen suddenly remembered the lock and fumbled with the catch.  The muscled psycho was coming closer and closer; he had to get it open—he had to, oh Christ oh holy fuck why wasn’t it opening—the lever!  Yes!

Just as Donnie disengaged the deadbolt, Dave’s hand clamped on his shoulder and spun him around, his heavy fist pistoning into the punk’s face with enough power to drive the teen into the wall next to the door.  Donnie’s head snapped back with enough force to leave a large dent where it caved in the sheetrock.  Stunned, the adolescent slipped to the floor, drooling out blood and one of his canine teeth.

“Ok, cunt, that’s enough foreplay,” Dave commented casually, “I’m ready to stick it up your ass now.”

Donnie was only vaguely aware that he was being dragged across the room. It was only when Dave clutched his throat and dead-lifted him into the air with one arm, cutting off his breath, that the slut came back to full consciousness. He’d never been choked before and it was absolutely terrifying.

But it only lasted a moment.  The muscle-bound stud tossed the boy onto the bed on his back like a rag doll, then climbed on himself, placing his hands on the teen’s firm, smooth thighs and roughly parting them.

“You’re gonna die soon,” Dave jeered, sneering down into the boy’s swollen face, “But first I’m gonna ream your fuckhole.  It’s time for you to learn that the only reason you exist is to be my cumdump.”

And with that, he remorselessly plowed his enormous pulsing shaft into the slutboy’s asshole, shoving it all the way home in a single ruthless balls-deep thrust.

Donnie’s sphincter was torn apart like a rubber band stretched beyond its limit.  There was no lube beyond Dave’s precum and his own blood; the billiard-ball-sized head of the alpha’s cock shredded his rectal lining and ground horrifically over his prostate.  Out of everything he’d endured so far, this was the worst; it was the most excruciating thing he’d ever experienced.

And somehow, it made his own dick swell and throb so intensely it ached.

Dave noticed it and grunted contemptuously.  “Fuckin’ faggots—y’all always piss and moan about gettin’ slapped around, but you little whores just fuckin’ love it rough, dontcha?”

Donnie didn’t love it; in fact, he was already so traumatized by the brutality that he was unable to speak.  Nothing in his useless upper-middle-class existence had prepared him for what he was enduring.  His only experience with violence had been in movies and video games—he associated it more with entertainment than actual physical pain.

The teen punk might have been too overwhelmed to verbally object, but his body had its own way to object, even if involuntarily.  With frantic, mindless energy, he began to claw at the hardbodied alpha.

Dave had wasted enough cunts to know the signs of meat about to lose its shit;he’d been leaning over the homo, so close the teen asswipe could smell the heady mix of sweat and abundant testosterone the powerful sadist gave off. Now he pulled back—not much, but enough to keep his face out of the teen’s frenetic reach.

His face, but not his body.  Within seconds, Donnie’s hands were grasping at Dave’s rock-hard pecs and dark body fur.  Digging into his chest, the little asswipe actually managed to draw the alpha’s blood.  Not a lot, but it didn’t take much to trigger the violent killer’s rage.

It happened in a flash.  With a vicious snarl, Dave drew back his fist.  Donnie’s eyes widened in sudden terror, but he had no time to do more than register the image of Dave’s bicep, bulging with power like a coiled spring, before the killer’s fist slammed into his face with the force of a speeding locomotive.

Pain tore through the unlucky whoreboy’s head, but even worse followed immediately.  In the next moment, Dave had grabbed Donnie’s right arm.  “You stupid fuckin’ piece of shit,” he growled, the bloodlust glittering in his eyes, “You ain’t ever gonna that again.  Yer gonna take my dick like a good piece of fuckmeat, then yer gonna die so your convulsions can milk my shaft.  You get that?  No, ya dumbass cunt?  Here, maybe this’ll teach ya!”

His handsome face contorted in a bestial mask as he wrapped his own powerful arm around the slut’s thinner one.  He gave a quick, vicious jerk and Donnie’s arm was suddenly bent ninety degrees in the wrong direction at the elbow.

The adolescent’s shriek was loud, echoing off the bare walls of the small room, but it wasn’t loud enough to completely cover the gristly cracking sound of a major bone shattering, so similar to that of the breaking of a live tree limb.  Donnie’s face had gone a pale gray except for the large dark rings that physical trauma had painted around his eyes.  His lithe body stiffened, going rigid with agony.

Dave loved it; the cunt’s sphincter might have been mangled but it was still intact enough to clench with pain, tightening around the base of Dave’s thick, massive shaft.  The violent sadist had managed to inflict the suffering on the fuckmeat without breaking his relentless ass-pounding tempo; the slut’s reaction to its salutary lesson only increased the alpha’s pleasure.

But Dave wasn’t done yet.  Like a jackhammer, his huge, heavy fist pounded the meat’s chest in the same spot that his boot had inflicted damage earlier.  The whoreboy’s broken ribs were driven deeper into his torso, the jagged ends shearing into his left lung and tearing it open.

Instantly Donnie’s screams became muffled, almost inaudible as his lung deflated.  His face developed a bluish tinge and he began to gasp like a dying fish.  His expression was one of sheer terror.

Dave grinned malevolently.  The meat was scared of being short of breath?  Worthless asswipe was gonna be in stark panic in a few seconds.

And that was gonna be hot.  The more it thrashed, the more it worked his cock like good fucktoy.

Despite his impaired respiration, Donnie soon found his voice again—what little was left of it.  All he could do was emit a keening noise, something like a high-pitched bleating that became louder and higher the more roughly Dave pounded his ass.  It was pissing the alpha off—he could already feel his massive ballsack starting to pucker as his potent semen began to seethe with eager heat.  He didn’t want to hear the meat whimpering and mewling as he got close to unloading.

“Aw, shut the fuck up!” he yelled in rage, slamming his fist repeatedly into the teen’s face.  The punk was really squirming about now, trying to get away from the hail of blows that the muscled sadist was raining mercilessly upon him, to no avail.  He was pinned to the bed by the killer’s hard body, impaled by his gigantic horsecock—

—on the same bed that he’d gotten fucked on the night before. The memory was made dim and fleeting by the maelstrom of suffering being inflicted on him; he could just recall that the boy was cute but wasn’t fucking him as roughly as he wanted…

…then Dave dragged him back to the present by breaking his nose.  But even through the pain and fear, Donnie was still aware of Dave’s raw sexual attraction and while the violent rape and assault weren’t conducive to eroticism—at least, from the whoreboy’s point of view—his dick responded instinctively. 

As the teenager’s pulsing member slid against Dave’s hard, flat belly, the wiry body fur abraded it like steel wool, increasing the boy’s pain—but his rod still left a clear trail of precum that matted his rapist’s hair.

Dave could feel it too.  With a loud grunt, he stopped beating Donnie, leaned forward and stared the directly into the homo’s swollen, terrified eyes.  “Ya ready for it, cunt?” he growled, “Ya ready to die?  It’s time to get it on, motherfucker!”

Then his hands clenched around the kid’s throat, strong as iron bands, and he began to squeeze. At the same time, he shifted slightly, digging the toes of his bike boots into the bed. He started to pump the teen’s fuckhole furiously, his powerful, rock-hard glutes flexing visibly inside his jeans.

Donnie’s immediate, involuntary reaction was blind panic.  He ceased to be a human being—he’d hardly been that to begin with, the useless piece of fuckmeat—and became an animal, scrambling frantically and vainly for escape from death.  He kicked and flailed frenziedly, his lithe, smooth legs wrapping around Dave’s waist with his feet in the air, toes curling in desperation.

The stupid punk was only adding to his own pain.  While his left hand clawed at his neck, futilely trying to pry away the alpha’s steely grip, his right arm jerked and flopped uselessly, each movement grinding the shattered ends of the bones against each other.  The boy was awash in a nightmarish sea of blood-red agony.

But within seconds, the nature of that agony began to change. It wasn’t that he could no longer feel the broken bones, or his bashed-in face; they just seemed to recede into the background as new, even more excruciating sensations came to the fore. Even the misery of having his windpipe slowly crushed took a back seat to the echoing, sledgehammer-like pounding in his skull and the burning, fiery pain in his already-damaged lungs; both were accompanied by an unbearable feeling of pressure.

This pressure was so intense it seemed to be forcing his eyes right out of its head.  The blackened lids had been swollen shut; now the bulging orbs popped them open.  And as red blooms of hemorrhages began to burst in the whites of the adolescent’s eyes, his tongue, already dark with congested blood, shoved its way past his split lips, lubed by a thick, steady stream of foamy drool that ran down his cheeks and chin.  

But the worst were the dicks—his and the alpha’s.  As his brain began to die, his nerve endings cruelly began to grow more sensitive.  His ravaged fuckhole felt like it was being reamed by a cactus the size of a baseball bat.  Yet somehow the pain in his own tool was even worse.  It throbbed with the same out-of-control tempo that his head and chest did, but it seemed to be even more intense and agonizing—a glassy, pulsating pain that clutched his balls like a bear trap and spread outward over his heaving, sweat-slick belly.

“Fuck yeah, get it,” Dave said, thickly and gutturally.  “Get my wad, you worthless piece a’ fuckin’ faggot shit.  Die on my shaft, you goddam cocksucker!”

For a moment, the pain in the meat’s throat became noticeable again.  The fucktoy’s brain was shutting down at a cascading rate, but there was still enough of it left to both feel and hear its esophagus collapse under the serial killer’s hands.  The loudest noise in the room was that of a huge styrofoam cup being crushed; the crackling sound was exactly what Dave had been waiting for—it was the end of the fuckmeat.

Or at least, close enough for the end for it fulfill its only real purpose on the planet and become the cumdump for a real male.  But even though Donnie, as Donnie, was brain-dead, the shuddering, convulsing meat still retained the ability to physically sense things.

The sheer hell of it was, the brain was so damaged it could only interpret its sensations as pain.

The eardrums could still pick up Dave’s cursing and jeers, but those vibrations went to a part of the fag’s brain that no longer functioned. It could feel Dave’s fist pounding on it, slamming into its chest, its jaw, its mouth. And it could definitely feel the continuous stream of potent virile manseed that spewed into its fuckhole—an excruciatingly searing pain as if its guts were being hosed by hot lava.

And then came the worst agony of all.  It could feel the entirety of its young, wasted life being ripped from its abused body, spurting out through its cock.  If it had been capable of thought, it would have been astonished at how badly an orgasm could hurt—but this was its mortal load, its deathwad. The last essence of its useless life actually was spewing out its cock.

There’d been a lot of life in the faggot for it to spew, too.  It shot a solid stream of spunk for nearly a full sixty seconds.  If it had survived, its balls would have been irreparably damaged.

Dave’s load lasted nearly as long, but he was stronger and more experienced.  Even so, he collapsed onto the shuddering corpse, spent, and lay there a few minutes as his rod continued to ooze and leak into the dead kid’s guts.  Finally catching his breath, he slowly extracted his still-erect shaft from the teen’s ass like a boring machine being pulled from a well and rose to his feet.

He was covered with sweat and needed to towel off, but first he wanted to remove the sticky boycum that was matting his chest hair.  He glanced around and instantly noticed that one of the meat’s socks had come off; the corpse’s toes were still curling slightly as its trashed nervous system continued to fire randomly.

It was barely big enough to satisfy his need; when he was done, it was thick and heavy with teen spunk.  Looking down at the meat’s congested face, Dave grinned and forced the cumrag sock into the kid’s mouth, shoving it past the blackened, protruding tongue.

He stepped into the bathroom and found some hand towels—there were no bath towels since it was only a half-bath.  It took three of them to wipe his own cum and sweat from his muscled body; when he was done, he jammed them into the toilet and flushed it, letting the water back up and overflow as a final “fuck you” to the privileged cocksucker and its family.  He tucked his dick back inside his jeans, retrieved his leather vest, and headed for the door.

His boots pounded heavily on the outside stairs as he headed down.  Even now, his massive rod was firm and pulsing.  Worthless faggot hadn’t been enough to satisfy him.  Fucking cunt.  He knew he’d need to find more meat soon.

Lights came on instantly in the house when the Harley roared to life.  Stupid homo was wrong about his parents getting to bed.  Even over the noise of the motorcycle, Dave could hear the mother’s hectoring voice issuing from the back yard.

“Donald, what on earth is going on?  That’s it; your father’s coming out there.  Henry!  Henry!  You need to go see what Donald is doing!”

Dave had no desire to spoil their surprise.  With a faint smirk that radiated pure evil, he flipped up the kickstand and pulled out of the driveway.

He was at the end of the block by the time slippered feet padded angrily up the stairs to the garage apartment and he’d made it to the main road by the time the screaming started.

He was on the highway, heading west and halfway home by the time sirens started heading towards the small room where the teenager’s badly beaten corpse lay, still quivering and oozing cum from its torn asshole.

The Great Coon Hunt, part 2

The heavy thud of Dan’s boots echoed in the empty spaces of the Poorhouse.  He was striding across the central hall, glancing around at the holding cells.  The interior was dilapidated, but the old overflow jail was still patently secure.  It was dark inside, with few apertures to let in the quickly waning daylight, but the cop’s heavy metal flashlight was more than adequate for his recon walk.

Behind him was the entrance—back down a hall flanked by a guardroom on one side and a solid cinderblock wall on the other, behind which were empty rooms used for storage.  Between the two was a hallway that led to the two-story central hall, with a sliding iron door that let it be sealed off.  The center of the hall had two tables in it—actually, single-piece table/bench combos bolted to the floor.  Beyond them were three cells, each about sixty-four square feet and fronted with iron bars.  Directly above, another three identical cells opened onto a metal catwalk; it was accessed by a spiral staircase in the northeast corner.  The wall opposite the cells had three evenly spaced (and heavily barred) windows directly across from the upper cells.

Another sliding door at the far end of the hall led to the kitchen and maintenance rooms.  The sections at the front and rear were also connected by an enclosed passage that ran outside the south wall; this where the generator was located, and Dan fired it up.   After the lights flickered on throughout the building, he made sure it was fully fueled, with a backup supply.  After all, this could last for hours…   

Fuck yeah, the buff cop thought, grinning as he felt his thick cock stiffen in his jumpsuit.  If they did it right, it could last for fuckin’ hours

Entering back into the guardroom, Dan threw a set of switches embedded in the wall.  Glancing out through the thick bulletproof window that overlooked the common area, he was able to confirm that the cell doors were operating exactly as desired.

His grin became more malicious.  The rest of the boys were waiting in the parking lot with the vans in fully-erect eagerness—he needed to let them know it was time to start some ape herding.


Jack kicked impatiently, his tall green Doc Martens scuffing at the crumbling asphalt.  A few minutes ago, the exterior floodlights had snapped on.  That meant it was almost time to start the fun and the racist killer was restless to begin the slaughter.  And the niggers were starting to get antsy, too—it wouldn’t be nearly as entertaining if they all had to be gunned down to avoid an uprising.  Then the door banged open and Dan came striding out.  Inadvertently, the Aryan thug mirrored the Sheriff’s shark-like grin. 

 “Go ahead and unload ‘em,” Dan called out.  “It’s ready.”

Immediately, showing their superior discipline, Jack’s crew climbed out of the vans, along with Lieutenant Pete.  Pete and Mike each faced a van, listening to Dan while they kept their weapons trained on the captive horde. 

“Awright, this is how it’s gonna go down,” the muscular cop said authoritatively, handing out shotguns to those who didn’t have a rifle, “We’re gonna be taking the fuckers in, one man to three monkeys.  Ed, Hank, and Mike, y’all take the three upstairs cells—Jack, you and Pete and Frankie take the downstairs three.” 

He paused and smirked.  “My three ain’t goin’ into cells.  Let’s just call them the pre-game show.” 

The boys chuckled malignly as they marched the coons towards the massive steel entrance door.  Just as he was about to enter, Jack paused.  “Hey, sheriff,” he called out, “I gotta question—do apes wear clothes?”

Dan’s grin curled into a sneer.  “No, they don’t,” he said, “Strip ‘em before you put lock ‘em up.”

The niggers were staring at each other, their eyes wide with fear.  They weren’t hood rats, after all; they were fraternity members at a college.  Each one had had a relatively comfortable middle-class upbringing.  This mix of extreme racial hatred, erotic brutality, and toxic masculinity was so far beyond anything they’d experienced that it induced a kind of vapor lock in their minds. 

Dan and Pete were more used to corralling things—men and beasts—so it was clear to them that the prisoners were on the verge of panic; they needed to be locked into the cells before that happened, or it’d be a bitch to control them.  Even Jack’s crew, without having had crowd-control training, could sense the unrest bubbling just under the surface.

For all of them, it translated into a sense of excitement.  Jack’s eager shaft was already swelling into a thick and very obvious ridge running down his thigh.  Everyone, to a man, was visibly erect at the thought of the upcoming violence.  Even Dan’s black jumpsuit was tented at the groin as he anticipated guiding Pete and maybe some of the others through some hardcore maiming and kill moves.

After all, what better to practice on than a herd of destructive howler monkeys? Hell, he was doing the community a favor, getting rid of the trash that was trying to invade the county like a plague of locusts.

He was just exterminating some pests.

The coons started murmuring among themselves as the got inside.  “Shaddap!” Mike barked at one in his custody, smacking it in the head with the butt of his rifle.  That sufficed to quell the muttering, but they all knew it wouldn’t last long. 

“Get ‘em to their cells,” Dan said evenly.  “Cuff two to the bars or the handrail; keep the other covered while it strips.”  He paused, his shark-like grin returning.  “And remember, they’re probably too stupid to recognize your natural authority as a white man.  If one resists, bash it in the head and cut the clothes off.”  He said it loud enough for all the niggers to hear.

As Mike led his captives up the spiral staircase, his black engineer boots thudded heavily on the metal steps; the sound was soon multiplied by the Doc Martens sported by Hank and Ed.  Dan’s voice came rising above the noise, “Meet me back here when you’re done; we need to do a little inventory.”

After that, the abandoned jail echoed with barked commands that would have sounded familiar to any plantation owner used to keeping an iron control over his slaves; even the grunting of the coons as they unwillingly removed their clothing would have had the accustomed ring of niggers toiling at their labor.  It took more than twenty minutes for the boys to rendezvous back in the central hall.

“Let’s go see what we’ve got in the shop,” Dan said.  “I walked through it, but I didn’t make time to take stock.  I have no doubt you boys can improvise; let’s see you get…creative.

The shop provided several things of interest.  Pete located several rolls of barbed wire, used to maintain the perimeter fence; Ed and Frankie pounced on these while Hank located some four-foot two-by-fours and a toolbox.  The dragged these out into the central hall and set up a miniature assembly line on one of the tables.  Using work gloves and wire clippers from the toolbox, Frankie spooled out three-foot lengths of the wire and cut them off, handing them to Ed and Hank.  The latter two, with gloves and items from the toolbox, would hammer a nail into the wood, wrap the wire around it as an anchor, then wind the wire around the two-by-four before driving in another nail to anchor the other end of the wire.

They worked almost as well as a baseball bat would’ve.

Mike and dug around among the chemicals, locating an industrial drain cleaner with an acidic base; he took that out as well, along with some zip-ties.  But it was Dan who hauled out the item that was to start the festivities. The boys had just completed production of what they were calling Koon Klubs; everyone looked up at what Dan was wheeling into the room.

It was a professional plumber’s snake, run by a fourteen-horsepower electric motor.  Inmates flush all kinda shit down prison toilets; it had been purchased for its ability to chew right through the most stubborn blockages.

“Niiice,” Ed commented as Hank whistled, impressed.  “What’s that for?” Jack asked, his throbbing groin hinting that he had his own suggestions.

“You’ll see,” the Sheriff chuckled, and tossed Pete his keys.  He nodded at the niggers cuffed to the staircase.  “The one to the left,” he said to his lieutenant.  Unhesitatingly, the young cop retrieved the captive, the crotch of his tight jeans straining painfully under pressure from his excited erection.

“See, boys,” Dan announced in an echoing voice, “We’re gonna start with this one.”  He was speaking as much to the prisoners as to their guards.  “Why this one?  It looks like any other worthless criminal ape, right?  But if you look closer, you can see it isn’t just another uppity jigaboo that needs to learn its place the hard way—it’s a faggot, too.”

Here the look on his face became one of sadistic glee.  “I don’t tolerate jungle bunnies in my county, and I don’t tolerate homos.  Only thing worse than either is something that’s both, and that’s what we’ve got here.” 

Jack’s crew exchanged smirks while Pete almost writhed in anticipation.  The nigger gibbered in terror, too scared to deny the accusation.  It wouldn’t have mattered anyway…

“We need to make an example of it.  If we don’t stomp out this fucking nigger infestation here and now, we’ll be dealing it for years, so we need to do something that even the dumbest coon can understand.  C’mon, Pete, give me a hand.  You boys get it face down on the table.”

The latter was easier said than done.  The nigger was a young, wiry buck.  It was on the college basketball team—it had tried for football but wasn’t quite built enough—and while it didn’t have the talent for stardom, it was stronger than it looked.

Especially when it panicked, which it did immediately.  Eventually, it took all of Jack’s crew to hold it down.  Mike and Ed each had an ankle, Frankie and Hank a wrist, and Jack had his arm clamped around its nappy head, as much to keep it quiet as to pin it down.  After all, it was screams of agony he wanted to hear, not the bleating of frightened pigs.

Pete plugged the snake in and fired it up.  “You yard apes watching?” Dan called out over the sputtering motor, “This is some real Rigler County hospitality, right here.  We’re really rollin’ out the Welcome Wagon for you spades!”

Then he grabbed the handle on the snake and advanced, holding the sharp whirling prongs out in front of him.  “Mike, Ed, pull the legs apart more.  Faggots always spread their legs so they can get something long and hard shoved up their asses, right?  Hell, yeah!  Awright, you fuckin’ nigger pervert, here’s the best assfuck you’re even gonna get!”

With a twisted sneer of hate and pleasure, the cop rammed the plumber’s snake into the coon’s ass.  As the metal claws tore their way through its sphincter, it managed to tear its head free of Jack’s grasp.  Instantly, its shrill, inhuman shrieks were reverberating from every corner if the large room.

The sound pounded its way into the other nigger cunts; it was like someone had lit a fuse.  Blind panic spread like wildfire, but as loud as the monkeys howled out their terror, they couldn’t down out the screaming of the ape that was having its guts chewed up from the inside.

Pete helped Dan control the line, keeping is steady as blood gushed from the nigger’s gutted asshole.   At some point, as the head of snake ground its prostate into dog food, it shot an involuntary wad onto the table, but no one noticed, not even itself.  It did notice Jack’s cock, though; since he was the only one with his hands free, he’d hauled out his massive shaft and was slapping the nigger in the face with it.

“Fuck yeah!” he crowed, “That’s some real white power, ya fuckin’ monkey!  Ya feelin’ it now, boy, yeah?”

Dan shoved, his thick biceps swelling the sleeves of his jumpsuit as they bulged.  He’d churned his way up through the coon’s intestine and was getting into the visceral organs, making paste out of the ape’s liver.  It shuddered violently, still screaming but slowly becoming quieter as blood loss and shock from major organ trauma began to take effect.

Even the other jigaboos were becoming quieter.  They weren’t calmer, but their screaming was subsiding into an inarticulate sobbing.  The bleating of the dying buck was still the loudest thing in the room, until Jack’s taunts took over.

“Yeah, ya worthless spade, feel the burn!  Real white fuckin’ power burning inside ya—don’t it feel great?”  He bent down and grabbed a handful of its greasy, curly hair, jerking its head up so he could look into its big black eyes, mute and bewildered as a spaniel’s.

“Look at me as you die,” the buff Aryan youth hissed, his hatred and bloodlust radiating from his eyes.  Just at that moment, Dan gave a final, mighty shove to the snake and it tore its way up into the nigger’s lungs.  It stared deeply and frantically into Jack’s eyes, gurgled, and blood burst from its mouth, flowing over its thick lips in a steady stream.  Its eyes rolled back into its head.  Jack let it go and its head fell limply to the table while its body thrashed.

Pete switched the motor on the snake off while the other boys let go of the body.  Still in its death throes, it slithered off the table, its dark skin slick with a cold sweat forced out of it by mortal agony.  On the floor, it flopped like an asphyxiating fish, with the snake still embedded deep in the corpse.

“We need a cleaning detail,” Dan said.  Pete, intelligent and obedient, was immediately on his way to collect the remaining two niggers cuffed to the staircase.  Herding them back, he had them pick up the dead one, one on each arm, and pull it while he and Dan grabbed the plumber’s snake.  The white men didn’t have problems touching the tool, but they had no intentions of fouling their hands with dead monkeys.

The snake came out of the dead jigaboo with a disgusting slurping sound, accompanied by a brief flow of blood and some unidentifiable organ tissue.  Then under the supervision of Pete and his shotgun, the two live coons dragged their companion out and loaded what was left of it into the back of one of the vans.

When they got back, it was clear that one of them had reached a breaking point.  A big, muscular buck, it had been gibbering and muttering to itself the entire time while the one chained to it had made a few feeble attempts to calm it.  Pete locked the other one up first; just as he turned to it, it snapped and went into hysterics.

It screamed and hollered, shouting imprecations, and began to back away.  Pete swung at it with the butt of his shotgun, but the impact made little impression on the nigger’s thick hide. 

“Goddam it,” Dan growled, “Show that one what happens to niggers that resist arrest.”

Pete complied eagerly, planting the sole of his laced TideWe hunting boot so deeply into the yard ape’s gut the ebon skin broke out in an even darker bruise that matched Pete’s tread perfectly.  Wheezing, the jungle bunny doubled over and collapsed, clutching its belly.

Pete had been conditioned well; Dan’s pride in him was justified.  Standing over the hacking, helpless spade, the young cop didn’t feel the slightest shred of mercy; what he felt was a combination of disgust at the subhuman pestilence writhing in front of him like an insect, and the righteousness, the almost orgasmic joy, not just of terminating it, but of forcing it to understand why it had to be terminated.

But it took a lot of violence and suffering to make the stupid monkey understand why it needed to die.  As the coon shuddered on the concreted floor, Pete lifted his lace-up hunting boot and stomped it in the chest.  And then again, this time rewarded with an erotic cracking sound and an agonized bleat as one of the nigger’s ribs was broken.  And that was all it took.

In a flash, a pair of black combat boots had joined in as Frankie decided he needed to be part of the fun.  Then Jack’s green Doc Martens, followed by Hank and Ed’s oxbloods and Mike’s engineer boots.

Mike concentrated on the nigger’s hands, the heels of his black leather boots remorselessly grinding the spade’s metacarpals and phalanges into powder, while Jack’s DMs pounded its scrotum, mangling the thick nigger cock and crushing its balls with a squelching noise like overripe grapes.  Ed, Hank and Frankie continued working on its torso, breaking its ribs and rupturing its internal organs; Frankie got a particular thrill as he felt the jigaboo’s sternum crack under his combat boot.  Pete, in the meantime, had transferred his attentions to its face; he was busy flattening its nose and knocking the teeth down its throat.

Watching the coon die under their relentlessly pounding boots caused a unanimous sense of power to be passed among the young men; even Dan, who was watching the orgy of bloodlust with approval, could feel it.  Instantly, Jack’s hard dick was joined in the open air by others.  As the nigger shuddered and gagged on its own blood, it could somehow still feel the searing drops of white boy precum on its black skin.

Then the boys got synchronized.  It wasn’t immediate, but within five seconds, they’d all picked up on the rhythm, helped by the chant started by the Aryans.  Simultaneously, their boots rose and fell on the unlucky spade, with devastating effect.

“WHITE!” [CRUNCH]

“POWER!” [CRUNCH]

“WHITE!” [CRUNCH]

“POWER!” [CRUNCH]

At the end of two minutes, the nigger was not just dead but damn near flattened, a bloody mass of mangled flesh and shattered bones.  As the boys backed away, grinning, Dan approached.  The monkey meat made one last, reflexive movement, a kind of shuddering gasp, and Dan’s thick-soled utility boot came down on its skull, cracking it like an eggshell.

Then he turned to the boys, eyeing the jutting, erect evidence of their righteous bloodlust with a grin.  “Pete, get that last one there to clean this mess up.  Then bring it back here.  It looks thirsty—I bet it’d like a little drink.”

Chuckling maliciously, he stepped to the side to allow his lieutenant to unlock the remaining nigger and intimidate it into scraping up the remains of its companion and take them out to the van.  When it returned, he grabbed it by its curly black hair and dragged it to a support post directly opposite the cells, making sure that the other coons could see it clearly, even those on the upper tier.

“Well, boys,” he said sneeringly, his masculine bass voice echoing in the large concrete chamber, “I think this one here’s been workin’ like a slave, yeah?  And every good slave needs a little TLC so it can keep pickin’ cotton and boilin’ sugar.  Food and water, yeah, and even some medicine.  Now, before this one gets its water, I think it needs some medicine.  Looks a little sickly to me—what do y’all think?”

The room was instantly full of exuberant jeers and catcalls.  “Think the ape needs a good cleanin’ out like the first one got!” came from the crowd of sexually excited young men—it might have been Jack.  “Yeah!” yelled Mike, “Fucker needs a good high-power enema!”  The hardbodied killers laughed raucously.

“Nah, Dan replied, “That one bent one of the blades.  Must’ve hit a bone on the inside, and I’m not going to ruin state equipment on a worthless jigaboo.  Pete, here, those cuffs are too loose on it—replace ‘em with one of those zip-ties.  Hank, bring over that bottle from the table.  Ed, you’re closest to the shop.  I saw a funnel sitting on one of the shelves on the left.  We’re going to need it.”

By this time, Pete had clipped the cuffs to his utility after replacing them with a zip-tie cinched so tightly that the nigger’s hands were already turning white from blood loss.  Hand handed the gallon jug of drain cleaner just as Ed returned with an eager grin, a hard cock, and a large funnel of green plastic in his hands.

“I’m going to need someone to hold its head,” Dan said.  Pete had stepped away, so Ed was there first, his wifebeater plastered to his hard, firm torso with sweat, displaying his muscular body as a literal personification of the white power to which he was so devoted.

“Listen up, you delinquent porch monkeys!” Dan barked to the captives, “You fuckin’ niggers have no respect for authority.  When a white man tells you jump, you goddam well better say, ‘Yes, massa, how high, sir?’  And when a white man tells you have to take your medicine, you drink it down without any lip, you got me?”

Not waiting for a reply he knew would never come anyway, he turned back with a snort of disgust.  Facing the bound buck, he said, “Lookin’ a bit constipated there, boy.”  He hefted the bottle of drain cleaner with a wide, evil grin.  “I think you need something to clean the shit out of your nigger ass.  Open wide, cunt, your master has something to fix you up good.”

The coon began screaming in fear, its eyes wide and huge, the size of dinner plates.  They rolled comically as Dan approached.  Suddenly there was an acrid stench as the nignog pissed itself.

“Filthy motherfucker,” Pete snarled at it from the side, “Even a fuckin’ animal doesn’t piss in its den.”

“Told you it wouldn’t take its medicine,” Dan muttered contemptuously.  “Get its mouth open, Ed.  Hurt it if you have to.”

Ed had to, of course.  He had to.  His wifebeater revealed the glory of the powerful delt, pec, and bicep muscles of his right arm as he swung it again and again, each blow connecting to the nigger’s face with a thick, meaty impact.  Five powerful blows left it with lips even thicker than usual and most of its front teeth scattered like mints across the floor.

“Fuck yeah,” Dan grunted, stepping in front of his captive.  He stared the coon straight in the eyes; it was clearly reluctant to meet his gaze but was just as clearly unable to resist the white man’s steely glare.

“You know you deserve this,” the sheriff commented evenly.  “Niggers breed filth and crime.  You and all your littermates here are a stain that I intend to eradicate from my county.”  He held up the funnel and bottle of drain cleaner.  “Of course, it’d be faster and more efficient to just line all of you up against the wall and blow your monkey brains out—but where would the fun in that be?  Catch hold of its head, Ed; it’s gonna fight.”

Standing behind it, the buff Aryan wrapped one hand around the jigaboo’s forehead, pulling it back as he placed the other under its jaw, clutching the joint of the mandible with such brutal force that the screaming coon’s mouth was forced open despite its best effort to keep it closed.

“Listen to it sing!” Jack called out gleefully as the nigger continued to wail.  “Fuck yeah, man,” Mike chuckled, that’s the best noise a nigger can make!”

Dan’s grin became icy.  “You haven’t heard anything yet, my brother,” he smirked, “Listen to this shit.”

Jamming the funnel down the squealing ape’s throat, he poured a hefty amount of the drain cleaner into it.  Instantly, the cunt began to kick and thrash—a bad move on its part, since it partially opened its airway at the same time.  As a result, it aspirated as large of an amount of the caustic solution as it swallowed.

Dan and Ed both jumped back as it began to spew foam like a fire extinguisher.  Well, not entirely like a fire extinguisher.  Fire extinguisher foam tended not to be pink and flecked with sloughed-off lung tissue and esophageal lining.  The spade thrashed, its bare feet skidding on the concrete floor and its biceps swelling as it strained futilely against the zip ties that kept its hands bound behind it.

The other niggers had gone silent; the grotesque gurgling could easily be heard, despite not being as loud as the screaming.  The dying coon couldn’t scream anymore; its vocal cords had already been eaten away.  Even its tongue was being stripped, layer of tissue by layer.  It fell to its knees and turned its dark, misery-filled eyes up to its tormentors.  Dan stepped forward and sneered down at it.

“I know it hurts, you yard ape.  White power is all about putting niggers in pain.  Die, you worthless sack of shit.”

The last thing the coon saw was the tread of Dan’s tactical boot as the white stud raised his foot and stomped the kneeling jigaboo in the face.  It wouldn’t have been a fatal blow by itself, but the ape had suffered too much internal damage.  It retched up another pint of bloody foam and sank, gagging and shuddering to the floor—a dead pile of monkey meat.

By now the boys were so hard they were aching.  It was clear they wanted to have some hand-on fun themselves, and Dan knew the benefits of keeping up troop morale. 

“C’mon over here, men.  You all want to have some fun, right?  This will take a little coordination, but I have an idea to give each one of you your own personal nigger piñata.”

He got their attention with that.  Soon they were back at their assembly line, with Frankie, Hank, and Mike using gloves and wire clippers to cut differing lengths of barbed wire—and fashion nooses out of them.  As they finished, Jack and Pete took them up the stairs and fastened them securely to the strong upper railing of the walkway.  Within minutes, four nooses dangled to the lower floor, and Jack and Pete each held another in their hands, not needing to drop them.  And as soon as Hank joined them upstairs, he hauled the fourth one up.

Dan had gathered the Koon Klubs and handed them out, three to the downstairs group of Frankie, Mike, and Ed.  As he distributed the remaining three upstairs, he reminded them “One from each cell.  You men got the right nooses?”  They checked their lengths and confirmed, and the net elimination round began.

The brothers downstairs each entered their respective cells and dragged out the biggest, most muscular buck in it.  The men upstairs waited until the coons were dragged up the staircase, gibbering in terror like animals, then began to help.

Dan hadn’t just planned the proceedings, he’d damn near choregraphed them.  That included selecting the strongest niggers out of each cell—as he explained it, not only would they dangle a nice long time before finally dying, but it was good to cull the herd of those animals most likely to cause a problem.

The reason for the differing lengths of wire was clear, too—the spades on the longer ones would be kicking and dangling in full view of the lower cells, while the shorter one only had a two-foot drop so that the jigs in the upper cells could still see their heads and most of their torsos as they died.

And in no case was the drop long enough to snap an ape’s neck.  Having one of the cunts die that quickly would have been no fun at all.  They could have mutilated the corpse in front of the other ones, of course—but inflicting pain was the whole point.  Putting niggers in agony was what got the brothers off.

The brothers placed the nooses over the niggers’ heads, then made them climb the rail.  If the coons knew what was going to happen, the made no sign of it.  They had literally been scared into submission as the mental trauma their middle-class psyches had endured practically shattered under the shock.

The bothers pushed and instantly three coons were dancing in the air, their fingers frantically tearing at the barbed wire sunk deep into the tender flesh of their throats.  In less than twenty seconds, they were joined by their buddies from the upper cells.  Snatching up their Koon Klubs, Frankie, Mike, and Ed flew down the steps.

Dan stood to the side, fondling his massive jutting cock as the games began.

“Hey, Frankie, betcha can’t his that one’s scrote!” Mike challenged, pointing at the leftmost coon. 

“C’mon,” Frankie replied, “First one to tear its balls off gets a case of beer from the loser!”  With that, they both stepped in, swinging their barbed-wire-wrapped Klubs.  It wasn’t an easy target; the choking porch monkey was kicking frenetically.  Mike and Frankie each managed to land a dozen blows, tearing open its thighs and belly, without hitting its dangling sack.  It rotated as it hung, so they even tried getting to it from behind, scoring the nigger’s smooth firm ass like a plowed field.  Suffering was written all over its pitch-black, swollen face, but it wasn’t just from Frankie and Mike’s target practice.

Ed, it turned out, was having better luck at his target practice on the next nigger over.  “Dude, y’all gotta aim somewhere else first!” he called out to the other two, grinning.  “Let the fuckin’ coon know the yer the boss!”  And with a mighty swing, he slammed his Klub into the monkey’s knee, shattering it and ripping the skin so badly that fragments of the kneecap came out.  The yard ape jerked and bucked in mid-air, its arms clawing viciously at anything within reach.

The first thing within reach, it turned out, was the spade Frankie and Mike were working on.  Soon, both coons were digging at each other with a mindless ferocity born of pain and terror.  As they fought, all three brothers turned their attention to the third one, who so far was merely enduring the relatively mild torture of being hung to death with barbed wire.

Upstairs, Jack had taken an early lead.  “Watch this shit, dudes,” he grinned and swung his Klub down over the railing.  He immediately hit a nigger in the face.  “Landed me a big one!” he joked, jerking the Klub up like a fishing rod, and with much the same effect.  The barbed wire had caught in the coon’s face; Jack’s jerk ripped its left cheek open and reduced the left eye to a bleeding socket of goo. 

“See, that’s how ya do it,” the Aryan smirked ghoulishly as he showed them that the nigger’s eyelid had been torn off and was still stuck to a projection of the wire.

Pete wasn’t slow to follow his example.  Lunging over the railing, the hardbodied young lieutenant landed his Klub in a coon’s throat, just above the spot where the wire noose was digging into its neck.  In blind panic and agony, the jigaboo clutched frantically at the weapon. 

It would have taken a skilled observer to determine whether Pete’s ferocious grin was bigger than his oozing cock when the young cop yanked the Klub back up, shedding the spade’s hands like a food processor.  The dying yard ape was unable to scream, but the way it wheezed and thrashed in midair elicited cruel laughter from its tormentors.

“Does it hurt, ya dumbass nigger?” Hank yelled down at it, his face and his pulsating dick both red with raging bloodlust.   “Only way to make the stupid monkeys learn!” Mike called up from below as he landed his Klub in its smooth flat belly.  The black-clad Aryan stud threw his weight onto it, dragging it downward with such brutal force that the barbs buried in the coon’s stomach tore its skin in long lines, damn near disemboweling it.  The nignog’s air dance became momentarily livelier as it suffered pain beyond its admittedly dim imagination; thirty seconds later, it convulsed energetically, then a gush of monkey cum erupted from its dangling dick.  Shortly thereafter its movements slowed and all that was left was a twitching pile of apemeat.

It died without ever seeing the fury of hate and lust its orgasm had triggered.

It was as if a switch had been tripped.  There air was already full of a toxic—and intoxicating—mix of testosterone, racial hatred, and mansweat, but the sight of semen—even if it was just nigger seed—hit the boys with the same effect as a bucket of chum on a school of sharks. 

Despite being the best-trained and most disciplined one of the six, it hit Pete first.  “Die, you motherfucking nigger scum!” he screamed, swing his club downwards and caving in a coon’s face.  As he and the others ran down the stairs to get better angles for beating, Frankie took up the war cry.

“White power!  White power!  White fuckin’ power, bitches!” he screamed, swinging his Klub frenziedly without aim.  Interestingly, he was more accurate that he’d been before; his first blow caught the ballsack of the first darky he’d been practicing with.  With a single jerk, the muscled young skinhead tore the nigger’s scrotum open.  Unlike its now-dead littermate hanging next to it, it couldn’t cum.  But Frankie could, and did—explosively, his hot wad splashing across the boots of those standing near him.

In the melee that followed, even Sheriff Dan joined in, picking up a Klub and beating at the dying niggers like piñatas.  His own cock, long, thick, and wreathed in pulsing veins, was on the verge of exploding when Jack began chanting.  It was the same as when they’d stomped the coon earlier; the sheer force of their mantra, repeated rhythmically, giving a timing and ferocity to their swinging Klubs.

“WHITE!” [WHAM]

“POWER! [WHAM]

“WHITE!” [WHAM]

“POWER!” [WHAM]

With each impact, nigger flesh was torn and shredded and thrashing nigger bodies kicked and flailed in mortal agony.  Suddenly, one of the coons on the upper tier began to shoot its deathload.  None of the boys commented or even seemed to notice it, but now they began to unload as well, their rage and hormones going into overdrive.

“WHITE!” [WHAM] (spurt)

“POWER!” [WHAM] (spurt)

“WHITE!” [WHAM] (spurt)

“POWER!” [WHAM] (spurt)

The last thing the dying coons heard was the jeering chant of their killers; the last thing the felt, aside from the horrific agony of the tortures inflicted on them, was the searing splashes of white power made truly manifest—the hot potent manseed of the powerful Caucasian males, aroused beyond control at the dominance they were asserting over their inferiors.

It went on for a while.  The remaining monkeys still locked in their cells were screaming in mindless terror, especially those on the lower level, who had the best view of what was happening.  After about a half hour or so, though, things began to calm down.  The boys had stopped swinging and spewing, the shrieking of the caged apes had subsided to abject sobbing, and the ones hanging from the railing had been reduced to dangling pieces of quivering shredded meat whose resemblance to any human species was questionable.  Pools of blood and semen had spread across the floor.

Heaving and sweating, Dan paused to catch his breath.  Glancing around, he noticed that the others were as winded as he was.  “I think we could use a break,” he announced.  “After all, we aren’t even halfway through with the extermination.  Pete, you still got those coolers in your van?”

“Sure do,” the buff lieutenant replied.

“Go ahead and bring ‘em in.  Get someone to help.”

Pete corralled Mike and Frankie; within three minutes, they had returned, each carrying a pair of coolers.  Once they’d been set on one of the tables, Dan opened the closest and started pulling cans of beer out of the ice.

“Figured we might need this,” he grinned as he began to distribute them.  “This’ll get your blood—and your peckers—back up.  Drink up, boys, we’ve got work to do—and I’ve got an idea on how to do it.”

Guffawing with malignant glee, the muscular young coonkillers began to down their beers.  They were almost more excited to hear Dan’s plan than to get back to the slaughter itself.  After all, as even Jack had to admit, the dude had ideas.

Jake Makes His Mark

Jake turned the ignition and felt the heavy rumble of the Ford F350’s powerful engine.  He liked the sensation; after a long day’s work on the counties’ power lines, it almost felt like a full body massage.  Even now, as he was leaving the bar, he lay back for a moment in his tight jeans, sweat-streaked t-shirt and knee-high lineman’s boots to enjoy the vibration.

Whether or not the fag whore sitting next to him felt the same way didn’t really matter.  It had approached him in the bar, clearly angling for a drink and some dick.  Jake was willing to give it the former but didn’t see any need to spend money on it, so he told it he’d give it a drink when they got back to his place.

It was wearing a replica Rush concert t-shirt under a light leather aviator’s jacket.  Its skin-tight jeans concealed its long boycock as badly as Jake’s did his own massive hog; beneath was a pair of Adidas Stan Smith kicks in white leather.  The whore was eager for cock—if it’d had a tail, it’d have been wagging it.

When they got into the truck, it told Jake its name—Billy, Bobby, something like that.  Jake didn’t listen; he didn’t care.

After all, meat didn’t need a name to die.

Jake liked wasting fagboys.  Useless scum taking up valuable space, they were only good for milking his enormous rod as they died in nightmarish convulsions.  And no one ever missed them.  Every Friday night for years now, the hardbodied stud had stopped off at some bar or another somewhere in the county; there was always a homo hanging around, hoping to catch some straight dude drunk and horny enough not to care about what was sucking his dick.

The ones that left with Jake were never seen again—or at least, not until they’d become unrecognizable.  Every now and then, one would be ID’d by DNA or dental records and there’d be a brief blurb on the local news, but no questions were ever asked—because no one cared. 

Jake grinned as he put the truck into gear.  Fuck, he was doin’ the county a favor, ridding it of these worthless cocksuckers.  And tonight, he’d take out another one.  His dick was already oozing at the thought.

His apartment was a short-term rental; a late-winter storm had done a lot of damage to the lines in this part of the state and there was still a lot of repair work to do.  The complex was small and half-empty most of the time.  Jake had only been there himself for two months and at that, his was the third-longest tenancy in the place—there were a couple of ancient crones up near the front who eked out their welfare pittance by staying inside all day with the TV cranked up. 

A narrow drive ran from the street to the rear parking lot.  The muscled killer had to drive right past one of the old bats’ bedroom windows on the way, but the curtains were closed and the lights out, as always.  The meat was still yammering away in the passenger seat as Jake parked the truck, but it had the sense to shut its trap once it got out.  The soft footfall of its Adidas sneakers as it followed Jake into the complex was drowned out by the crunching of buff stud’s boots on the gravel surface.

Jake’s unit was on the bottom left in the back.  It had come furnished, full of mismatched garage-sale rejects.  The hardbodied lineman didn’t spend much time cleaning it; it was a dump, and he didn’t spend much time in it in any case.  Billy/Bobby stared at the sprung sofa with a large stain on one of its cushions and the armchair in cracked faux leather in distaste.   

Jake sneered.  Fucker didn’t think it was a decent enough place to get banged in?  It’s gonna fuckin’ love gettin’ snuffed in here, worthless cunt.

Heading for the kitchen, the twisted muscleman grabbed a bottle of Hennessey and a single glass—no sense wastin’ good booze on meat.  He threw himself on the sofa and raised a leg into the air.

“Get over here, bitch,” he snarled.  “Take my boot off.  Now, ya fuckin’ faggot—move it!”

Bobby/Billy instantly dropped to its knees with the instinct of a cocksucker, despite the look of shock on its face that showed how unused it was to being treated the way it deserved.  It ran its hands over the black leather of Jake’s boots, its fingers caressing the tight laces as its large dark eyes focused with lustful eagerness on the killer’s face.

Jake had trimmed his red-gold hair in an extreme buzz cut but let a short beard of the same shade grow; combined with his glittering emerald eyes, it gave him a masculine appeal that homos found irresistible.  With his large dark eyes locked on Jake’s, it was clear Bobby/Billy was under the influence of that appeal now.  It brushed a bang of lank black hair out of its eyes and untied the knot on the left boot.  With a frantic lunge, Billy/Bobby manage to pry the boot free, his own cock visibly throbbing in his jeans, then turned his pig attention to the other one.

The meat didn’t immediately untie the right boot; first, it applied its tongue to the long length of glossy black leather running up the stud’s muscled calf.  “Work it, cunt,” Jake, “Lick it like it’s my fuckin’ dick.”  Billy/Bobby responded in true faggot spirit, mounting Jake’s boot, its swollen package sliding along the top of the alpha’s foot while it played at the knot of the bootlace with the tip of its tongue.

Finally lifting its head, it reached up and untied the boot.  Placing its Adidas kicks flat on the floor, it grasped the boot by tip and heel and began to pull.  “That’s right,” the hardbodied lineman grunted as the cuntboy strained at the knee-high boot, “Faster you get ‘em off, faster you get my cock inside ya.” 

The boot came off suddenly, sending Billy/Bobby backwards onto its ass with a grunt.  Jake smirked and stood up abruptly, peeling his t-shirt off in a single continuous movement that revealed his furry, chiseled torso in all its masculine glory.  Tossing it aside casually, he unbuttoned the waistband of his jeans and slowly slid the zipper down, grinning contemptuously at the eager, hunger look on the faggot’s face.

“Been waitin’ for this, cocksucker, aintcha?” he sneered, then chuckled aloud as his massive shaft of pulsing, vein-wreathed manmeat sprung out, its spongy, billiard-ball-sized head bobbing in the air.  As the hardbodied stud let the jeans slid to the floor, he noted a look of trepidation on the homo’s face.  “Whassa matter, pansy, my rod too big for ya?” he jeered as he stepped out of the pile of wadded denim, “I’m getting’ another slug of booze; that’ll give ya time to get in the mood to get yer ass wrecked.  Strip, cunt, I wanna see what I’m gonna be stick my dick into when I get back.”

Nude except for his calf-high tube socks, Jake plodded into the kitchen and poured himself another glass of Hennessey.  It took only a few seconds at most, so when he returned, he was surprised to see that the meat had not only pulled off its clothes but had had the audacity to pull his wallet out of his crumpled jeans and rifle through it.  There was a fair amount of cash in it—Jake had gotten paid two days ago, plenty of overtime—and the worthless cumdump was so absorbed in counting the bills that it didn’t hear Jake’s approach.

“You worthless motherfucker.”  It was said calmly and coldly, but there was something in the words that made Billy/Bobby’s blood run cold and the rest of its lean adolescent body freeze in fear.  “Y’know, I was gonna off yer faggot ass tonight anyway,” Jake continued, almost casually, “But now I’m gonna make it fuckin’ hurt.”

The meat slowly rose to its feet, its dark eyes huge with fear.  “Wha—no, I just…I mean, I didn’t—” it whimpered, its boyish face ashen.

Jake took another step forward, his gigantic shaft jutting out in front of him.  “You didn’t?  Yeah, ya fuckin did.  Aw man, fuckwad,” he grinned, “I’m gonna enjoy hurtin’ you so fuckin’ much.  I’m gonna kill you while ya ride my cock.  Yer gonna spend yer last few moment on earth kickin’ yer worthless life out on my dick.”

The faggot had its back against the wall by now.  It bleated inarticulately as fat tears ran down its cheeks, but its long teen rod was still erect despite its increasing terror.  Its eyes darted wildly but finally came to rest on Jake’s balled-up fist, big as the head of a mallet, that the muscled alpha was starting to draw back.

The thick, ropy muscles on the sadist’s arm were coiled like a spring; the raw power was obvious.  It would be a devastating blow.  Just as the fist shot towards it, the fuckmeat jerked to one side with the instinct of a lower life form evading a predator.  Jake’s hand plowed into the thin wall, puncturing it like wet paper.

With a roar of thwarted rage, the vicious alpha yanked his arm back, his hand covered with white dust, the remains of pulverized sheetrock.  One glance at his face was enough to make Billy/Bobby that it had only made things worse for itself.  It wouldn’t have the chance to repeat the mistake, though—by the time the thought had flashed through its slow, dim mind, Jake had already reset his power blow.

This time, it was aimed directly at the teen meat’s smooth, flat belly—and it didn’t miss.

“HOOG!!” the cunt squawked as the air was forcibly expelled from its lungs.  It bent over, clutching its abdomen, and collapsed as its legs folded under it.  Jake stood over the gagging lump of teen sneering at its pathetic attempts to draw breath.

“Kinda a shame ya took my boots off, bitch; I’da loved ta stomp yer teeth down yer faggot throat.  Looks like I’mma have to do it with my fist.”

He knelt beside it and grabbed a handful of hair.  Jerking its head back, he spat in its agonized face, then stood up, pulling the adolescent slut up to its knees.  Jake held it upright by its hair; Billy/Bobby hadn’t regained enough air to be able to support itself.  As a result, it could only dangle helplessly as the powerful killer aimed his fist directly at its face.

In a way, the effects of this impact were more merciful than those of the first.  Its head snapped back so hard and fast that it tore free of Jake’s hand, leaving him with a fistful of dark lank hair.  The back of the cunt’s head made another hole in the wall, the force knocking it out.  It didn’t immediately feel the pain of having its nose crushed into a useless wad of cartilage; it was spared the sensation of drooling an incisor and cuspid out its mouth in a trickle of blood.

When it slowly began to climb its way into consciousness out of a sea of red pain, it became aware that it was face-down on something—the sofa.  Its face was throbbing and its mouth seemed swollen; the memory of the beating it had endured was slow and gradual in its return.  But it did return, accompanied by the sensation of something poking and prodding at its soft, tender fuckhole—something that seemed to be about the size of a baseball bat.

The adolescent slut suddenly came to completely, with a realization that it was feeling the brutal alpha’s dick as it prepared to ream the meat’s ass like a jackhammer.  As horny as the little cunt was, it knew there was no way it could take that massive tube of manflesh up its rectum without sustaining terrible internal damage.

It needed to get out.  Now.

Jake had expected a show of resistance from the meat at some point; the cunts always put up a fight, even though they always enjoyed it in the end.  At any rate, they always shot huge deathwads as they died.  And if they didn’t like it—who cared?

It was just fuckmeat, after all.

The fag whirled around, throwing itself off the couch and landing on the thin, cheap carpeting.  It could feel the synthetic weave scratching its back as is stared up at Jake towering over it, and it realized it hadn’t improved its position at all.  The muscle-bound sadist loomed menacingly, his enormous shaft oozing transparent beads of precum that spattered onto the punk’s smooth, flat belly, seeming to burn the flesh as they hit.

The despair Bobby/Billy felt was obvious in its face as it gazed up at the hardbodied stud; those powerful muscles that had to attracted its homo lust were now revealed as the means to cause the boyslut further pain.  Even when Jake turned and bent to retrieve something on the floor, the visible strength revealed by the rock-hard globes of his ass muscles simply drove home the point—by showing how much power was available to thrust that huge horsedick up into the teen’s guts.

Jesus Christ, this guy could fuck him to death.  Literally, to death. 

But even as a cold chill ran through the boywhore’s lithe body, its dick remained pulsatingly erect.  Jake noticed.

“You want this, ya fuckin’ faggot bitch,” he snarled in a low tone that was somehow erotic.  “You know you want to die impaled on my cock.  Don’t worry, you piece of cocksucking shit, it’s gonna happen—but not yet.”

His grin broadened, becoming so malevolent that Billy/Bobby moaned in terror.

“But I ain’t done hurtin’ ya.  Street whores like you are tough, gamy meat.  Yer gonna need a lot more tenderizin’ before I’m ready to grant you the mercy of death.  And believe me, motherfucker, by then death will be a mercy.”

He held up his hand and the cunt could see what he’d pick up.  It was a socket wrench.  A metal socket wrench, very large, very heavy.

“Ready, motherfucker?  Time for you to learn to appreciate death.  Goddam, I’m gonna get off on hurtin’ you so fuckin’ much!”

Ginning excitedly, Jake waded in, his furry chest glistening in the dim light as it flexed with each swing of the wrench.  The teenaged faggot moaned in terror as the hulking alpha stooped over him; it knew it was about to suffer unimaginable pain.  It didn’t understand why, though, and bewilderment filled its face as it held its hands up in a desperate plea for mercy.

Then the blows came thick and fast, falling like steel rain onto the tender adolescent flesh.

Jake managed to avoid the cunt’s flailing hands and landed the first blow on its chest, striking the swelling mound of the pectoral just to the right of the sternum. Almost simultaneously with the meaty thud of metal-on-skin contact was a sharp crack as a rib fractured explosively, scattering razor-sharp bone shards through the whore’s body like shrapnel.  “GUK!” the kid cried out inarticulately as its right lung was punctured in three places.  As it slowly collapsed over the next five minutes, the cocksucker found it increasingly difficult to breathe.

By that time, though, it had a lot of other things to worry about.  Like its left hand.  Jake’s first blow may have avoided the fucker’s scrambling fingers, but the second plowed into them with all the brute force the hardbodied killer could muster; in the blink of an eye, Billy/Bobby’s left hand was crushed into a useless wad of bone chunks and torn muscle. 

The boy paused for a moment, staring wide-eyed at the mangled lump of twitching flesh at the end of its wrist.  It was breathing heavily, each inhale deeper and longer than the last one.  Jake had beaten enough fags to recognize an impending scream.  He nipped it in the bud by leaning down and almost casually popping the little motherfucker in the face with the wrench, breaking its jaw in three pieces.

The sound the meat made was inhuman—at least, it couldn’t be recognized of the scream of a human.  Jake tossed the wrench aside and squatted down next to the writhing, blubbering homo.  He could see that the kid’s cock was still hard, even if the pansy didn’t realize it itself.  “Ya like that, huh, motherfucker?  Ya like it when a real man shows a worthless fag like you what it really deserves?  Here, dude, getta load of this.”

He curled his arm in front of the boy’s face, the massive bicep swelling with the alpha’s innate strength.  “Fuck yeah,” the sadistic killer crowed, “That’s some real fuckin’ power, yeah?  Well guess what, asswipe, it’s yer lucky fuckin’ day, cause I’m gonna use it all on your sorry ass.  No holds barred, no punches pulled—I’m gonna beat ya to death.  I’m gonna cave yer fag face in while my cock is buried in yer guts.”

Jake stood back up, his furry glistening body backlit by the lamp on the table.  “You want it,” he murmured in a low, almost seductive voice.  “You know you do, bitch.  You want the D and you wanna die to earn my load.  You ain’t good for nothin’ else and you know it deep down in the core of yer rotten faggot soul.  Yer almost ready for it.  Almost.  There’s still an edge on ya, fuckmeat, I can see it in yer eyes.  It’s the look of a beaten dog ready to lick its master’s hand again.  You know what you deserve—but you don’t know it, ya feel me?  No?  Here’ maybe this’ll learn ya.”

And with no other warning Jake dropped, slamming his rock-hard fist down like a pile driver deep into the teen’s taut smooth belly.

The fag seemed to wrap around Jake’s hand, nearly engulfing it.  At the same time, the boywhore let out a high, girlish squeal—as the air was forcibly expelled from its lungs, it came out with the sound of steam escaping a ruptured pipe.  This was the point at which the shredded right lung collapsed, leaving the miserable youth retching and gagging in near-asphyxia.

“Now yer ready, motherfucker,” Jake sneered, dragging the thrashing homo to a clear space near the center of the room.  “And so am I.  Good workout with a punching bag always gets me horny.  Guess it’s a good thing I found a cumdump to unload into, yeah?  Har!”  He brandished his monstrous tool with vicious pleasure in the full knowledge that the mere penetration would cause the teenager serious internal damage.

Kicking Billy/Bobby’s legs apart, Jake kneeled between them and spat on his cock.  He placed the enormous purple head against the punk’s way-too-small fuckhole.  “I ain’t just gonna fuck ya, faggot,” he chortled, “I’m gonna fuck ya up.”

Then he jammed himself in balls-deep.  He had to put his huge muscles to work.  Everything from his hard rounded glutes to his thick knotty biceps worked in tandem and instantly, tearing open the meat’s sphincter and rampaging through its rectum like a plumber’s snake.  Before the slut could let out a screech from its misshapen mouth, Jake had already torn its rectal lining off like old wallpaper and brutally crushed its prostate, leaving the cunt’s cock helplessly and agonizingly erect. 

But Billy/Bobby never got the chance to cry out.  Almost immediately, Jake had begun beating it again.  True to his word, he whaled its face as he mercilessly raped it.  “Take it, motherfucker,” he snarled, totally immersed in the hatefuck, “Take my dick.  This how faggots die, you piece a’ shit—beaten to death on the floor with a cock up their asses.  You deserve this and you fuckin’ know it.”

The fuckmeat gagged on its own blood as its smooth teen body shuddered in agony and terror.  It still didn’t understand what was happening to it; it had thought it’d lucked out and found a seriously hot stud to pound its ass all night.  Well, the seriously hot stud was pounding its ass—and its face.

It had heard Jake’s taunts and abuse, but it couldn’t believe that its short, pathetic life was almost over.  But some small part of its worthless cockpig soul acknowledged the truth of the alpha’s venomous insults—and responded by an achingly raging erection that even the horrific trauma of being beaten to death couldn’t mask from the dying faggot.

Jake didn’t confine his murderous intentions to the cunt’s face; he made damn sure to land a few sledgehammer blows on its firm chest and soft belly as well.  “Aw, fuck yeah!” the sadistic killer grunted when the fagboy reacted strongly to a particularly vicious blow, “Ya fuckin’ love this shit, dontcha?  Goddam fuckhole grabs my shaft and milks it good every time I give ya a little love tap!”

The hard-bodied alpha flexed his tight ass as he reamed the punk out, his powerful glutes going concave with each brutal, merciless thrust, powering Jake’s enormous, vein-wrapped tool on its rapid path of destruction through the adolescent whore’s colon.  Sweat trickled down the stud’s back and into the crack of his ass as his cock and his fist plunged again and again into the teenager’s body, using the lithe, agonized form as a receptacle for his rage and his lust.

It was meat to be used, and he was gonna use the fuck outta it, goddam it.

Billy/Bobby was starting to slip into a coma; the cranial damage was becoming overwhelming and its brain was starting to bleed.  As pressure started to build inside the meat’s skull, its world started shrinking.  Its senses were starting to dull.  Its vision was long gone anyway; Jake had landed several punches directly onto its eye sockets.  Even if it had been able to open its swollen lids, the eyes themselves were no longer functional.  The blows had been hard enough to detach the slut’s retinas and break the orbits of the eyes.  Billy/Bobby was blind.

And its hearing was going—things were faint and tinny.  But by a cruel trick—of fate, of genetics, whatever—the fag whore could still feel every tactile sensation; in fact, the nerves seemed to have become hyperactive.  It could feel the jagged ends of broken bones grinding into each other and slicing him up internally in his jaw, his hand, his chest.  And in the chest, his lung had finally collapsed completely.  In a matter of seconds, the bitch would be devoting all its attention to the struggle for breath.

But before that happened, it had time to savor the most agonizing source of pain—its cock and its ass.  The former felt like it was swelling to the point of bursting, so sensitive to the touch that the wiry fur on Jake’s heaving abs felt like steel wool every time they pressed together during the violent rape.  And while it was too brain-damaged to think in such terms any longer, it could still physically feel that that the trauma to its rectum was so severe that it’d need massive surgery if it survived.

Jake, of course, had no intention of letting it live that long.  Once he was done, it was done.  And he was getting close.

“Ya want this load?” the heaving, thrusting alpha grunted, then chuckled and answered his own question.  “Course ya do; yer a cum-guzzlin’ faggot.  Time to die, ya useless pansy; time to thrash in death agony and milk out my hot thick wad of manseed.  Yeah?  Want it?  Here ya go—fuck you, faggot!”

With a vicious snarl of rage, he slammed his fist into Billy/Bobby’s throat with the force of a runaway train car.  The cunt’s trachea instantly collapsed with a loud, gristly cracking sound.  The fuckmeat made a thick wet noise, somewhere between a grunt and a gag, as the crushing of its esophagus forced its tongue out past its swollen, split lips.

The last spark of consciousness left inside the teen meat was aware that death was immediate and irrevocable.   It didn’t try to claw at its throat—instead, for some unknown, instinctive reason, it reached out and lightly caressed Jake’s furry, sweat-matted chest.  And then, between asphyxia and severe cranial hemorrhaging, the brain damage reached a tipping point.  Billy/Bobby was gone; all that was left was convulsing fuckmeat. 

Unluckily for it, the meat was still sensitive to pain.  The boywhore’s slide into hell was inaugurated with a blast of nightmarish agony.

As its rectum clenched around Jake’s cock with a force it couldn’t have generated during conscious sex, the older man’s rock-hard ass tensed, huge dimples forming in the cheeks as he drove his shaft deep into the dying adolescent.  “Yeah, bitch!” he yelled in an erotic frenzy, “Get it!  Get my load, you fag!”  And he drove one final blow into the hamburger that had been the teenager’s face.

That, evidently, was what the queerboy whore had been waiting for, one final excruciating impact to put it into sensory overload and trigger a massive deathload.  As Billy/Bobby thrashed about, the drool and blood from its blackened, unrecognizable face spattering the carpet, its long boycock spasmed and erupted into a stream of semen that continued uninterrupted for a good forty-five seconds straight.

The human body was not designed for that kind of performance.  The pain was horrific, and it was the last thing that the punk felt.  It slid into death with the sensation the its dick had been torn off and its life was spurting out through the hole.

The next two minutes were unclear for Jake.  Afterwards, he had vague flashes of cursing and heaving and pumping, of feeling his balls tighten up until the pain was released by a violent, brutal jet of cum that was repeated, over and over, as he spewed searing manseed deep into jerking corpse.  He might have beat the fuckmeat some more; that was a little fuzzy.

And that was the problem.  His orgasms were so intense that they kinda erased the memory of themselves.  To get it back, he had to kill again.  And again. 

And again.

Luckily, there’s always fuckmeat to be had.

Gasping and panting, the sweat-slick serial killer extracted his massive rod from the adolescent’s corpse and shakily rose to his feet.  Looking up, his eyes caught the full-length mirror he’d hung on the closet door.

He couldn’t resist posing.  He planted his left foot on the cunt’s chest—his white tube sock wasn’t so thick that he couldn’t feel the dead boy, still warm and quivering, beneath him.  Stretching his arms out from his shoulders, he curled them, making his huge biceps bulge even more, and admired himself in the mirror.

It was an image of true male power, virile and rampant.  Glaring back at him in masculine triumph was a beautifully-built hardman with a perfectly-chiseled chest and ripped abs covered with thick, wiry fur, his stallion-sized tackle jutting proudly out in front.  As he flexed his arms, admiring the way his sweat made the light glisten on his skin with every movement of his powerful muscles, thick pearly drops of cum continued to ooze from his angry purple shaft, splattering on the dead fuckmeat, continuing to mark it as his prey.

And now that Jake had made it his, he didn’t need it any more.  Time to dump it like a used cumrag.

He considered taking a shower first, but it was a warm, humid evening, and he’d be sweating again after taking out the garbage.  Better wait till he was completely done.  He slipped back into his jeans, tucking his cum-dripping cock back down inside them, before getting into his t-shirt.

The only thing different he wore was the boots; he didn’t want to take the time to lace the lineman boots back up.  He slid his feet into a battered pair of Ariat Groundbreaker work boots.  After poking his head out of the door to ensure that be wouldn’t be seen, Jake picked up the dead bitch in a fireman’s lift, carried it out to the truck and threw it into the bed, where it bounced limply, landing with a meaty thump.

The drive wasn’t exactly long, but it was rather tortuous.  He’d used this place to dump meat before, though, and he knew it was safe.

It was located at a paper plant.  There were five dumpsters near the loading dock at the rear of the plant; at this time of night, only a skeleton crew was at work and it was unlikely he’d be seen.  But come the morning shift change, all the waste from the night shift would be emptied into the dumpsters—then every weekday, they were hauled away to the city landfill.

Pulling into the lot, Jake looked around carefully, making sure no one was out, taking a smoke break or something.  Last time he’d been here that had happened after he’d gotten rid of his fucktoy; he’d had to sit in the lot with his lights and engine off for fifteen minutes until the dude stubbed out his butt and went back inside.

But the coast was clear.  He headed around to the back of the building and pulled up at the dumpster that was farthest from the building.  Dragging the corpse out of his truck by the arms like a recalcitrant child, he hoisted it over the edge and let it drop.

Another meaty thud, but the dumpster was empty, so it reverberated.  After quick glance around assured Jake no one had heard anything, he jumped back into the driver’s seat and headed home.

As he drove, Jake speculated on the number of times he’d used that body drop; it was one of his go-to dumps.  No one had ever found anything.  It was true that one of his used cumdumps had been found a couple of years ago in the landfill, but it had been there so long there was no way to tell where it had come from.  Hell, it’d been in such bad shape by the time it was discovered that it had to be identified by DNA.  Turned out to have been a runaway teen from out of state, but the investigation stalled immediately and was eventually moved into the cold case files.

Still, it wasn’t good to use the paper plant too often.  He needed to search for another place to dispose of his used fuckmeat.  He didn’t want to go back there with the next one.

And there would be a next one.  With an evil grin, Jake took one hand off the steering wheel and adjusted the swelling bulge in his crotch.  Fuck yeah, there’d be a next one.  Someone was gonna die on his dick this weekend.

Jake just needed to select the lucky faggot.

Trucker 20–Trucker vs Teen Whore

The truck stop sold hot food from a warming counter next to the register.  From its polished metal facing, the Trucker could see a reflection of the boy.

He was no older than his early twenties—probably younger.  He was spinning a rack of packaged snacks, but the hunger in his eyes wasn’t for sunflower seeds or chili-seasoned peanuts.  An emerald-green t-shirt the same shade as his long-lashed eyes encased his lean, taut torso and low-rise jeans just as tight distinctly showed the outline of his thick boycock running down his right thigh.  On his feet, he sported red-and-white retro Air Jordans.

Completing his purchase—a fifth of Fireball and two packs of Marlboros–a sinister smirk crossed the Trucker’s face.  Here he’d expected a boring evening, and suddenly fresh meat had appeared.  And the Trucker needed meat badly.

It’d been too long; he’d been too busy to hunt.  His rage and his sperm were boiling within him.  It needed to be let out.  The urge was sudden and overwhelming; he’d been able to control it when there was no prey available, but now that there was hot boymeat only feet away, the Trucker knew he had to have it, to own it, to utterly destroy it.

He could tell from the kid’s eyes that the cunt was just as interested in him.  His own white t-shirt and worn jeans were just as tight as the kid’s, and displayed his powerful, muscular body perfectly.  The jeans were tucked into a big black pair of steel-toed harness boots; the buff killer noticed with contempt how the punk’s eyes lingered on them as the kid reached down and massaged his dick.

The Trucker paid the cashier and turned to the door.  As he pivoted, he caught the kid’s eyes—no more than a flash, but enough for the boy to see the older man jerk his head.  The kid nodded his agreement.

He left, heading towards his rig.  He was no more than six feet from the truck stop entrance, his heavy boots thudding on the paved parking lot, when he heard the door open behind him.  He didn’t bother to look around; he knew the little boywhore was following him, lured like a moth to a flame.

The punk caught up to him before he reached his truck.  They walked along silently for a moment, but then the meat started talking.  The Trucker expected it; the sluts loved the sounds of their own voices.  Given enough time, they’d start to spill the entire stories of their useless lives, as if anyone cared.

He was Jordan.  He was nineteen, he worked as an order assembler at a local warehouse, and he was desperate to get his hole plowed.  Then he mentioned his apartment and the Trucker’s ears perked up.  The latter hadn’t gotten a motel room; he’d intended to sleep in his rig that night.  And while he certainly wasn’t adverse to wasting a bitch in his sleeper cab—he’d done it before, after all—it didn’t allow him the freedom of movement to truly deal with faggots the way they deserved.

But this one had an apartment.  He grinned and, pulling the bottle of whiskey out, crumpled its bag and tossed it aside; he’d already tucked the smokes in his pocket.  “C’mon, dude,” he said cheerfully, “Let’s go get fucked up.”

Jordan agreed and, wheeling about, led the way to his place.  The teen gabbled away happily with absolutely no clue as to how fucked up he’d be getting that night.  His place was over a mile away, which gave the kid plenty of time to babble—and the Trucker time to decide on the best way to inflict horrific suffering on the stupid little cunt.

The apartment complex to which Jordan had led them was a two-story building built around a narrow courtyard.  Sixty years earlier, it had been the height in comfort and modernity; now, it was a run-down dump, catering to welfare recipients and minimum-wage laborers, only half-occupied at best.

The slut’s unit was at one end, on the second floor.  The unglazed windows of the apartment underneath gaped dark and forlorn, indicating a state of disrepair severe enough to make the unit uninhabitable.  Jordan caught how the Trucker noticed the decrepit space and promptly misinterpreted it.

“Yeah, this place sucks, but I can’t afford anything else—yet.”  He didn’t indicate how he might be able to afford anything better in the future, though, and the Trucker smiled grimly at the thought that he’d be showing the little faggot some mercy by ending its miserable life.  The heavy, repeated beats of his harness boots made the rickety metal staircase shudder as he followed the youth up to the apartment.

It was a two-room flat, with a tiny kitchen at one end of the front room and an equally miniscule bathroom at the end of the rear one.  As the Trucker set the bottle of whiskey on the two-foot length of counter, Jordan grabbed a couple of plastic cups and cracked an ice cube tray, placing them next to the bottle.  Suddenly, he seemed to grow bashful.

“I’ll, uh, I-I’ll be right back,” he said with a shy smile, brushing his long dark bangs out of his eyes.  He headed for the bedroom but paused and turned back.  “Uh, go ahead and…” he nodded towards the cups but left the sentence unfinished.

Smiling contemptuously, the Trucker poured himself some booze while the punk was gone and opened a pack of smokes, discarding the wadded-up wrapping onto the floor.  He was just taking another swig of the sweetish whiskey when the kid re-entered the room, nude except for his sneakers and ankle socks—he’d evidently put them back on after slipping out of his jeans.

Jordan was smooth and lithe, but not scrawny.  The Trucker’s eyes traced a path down from the low rise of his pecs to the flat belly, beneath which a faint down, almost a peach fuzz, appeared.  Faintly brownish in color, it both darkened and became more pronounced as it merged into the thick, curly mass of his pubes.  Between his smooth, taut legs dangled a seven-inch dick, already visibly swelling and rising.

“Here,” the Trucker said, handing the slut a cup full of whiskey, “Drink up.”  Jordan complied, not noticing the malignity in the older man’s grin.  As the boy gulped the alcohol—he seemed to want to empty the cup all in one go—the Trucker deftly peeled off his t-shirt.  The boy nearly choked as the alpha stud’s hairy, heavily-muscled torso was revealed, a pair of dogtags gleaming in the dark forest between his pecs.  The Trucker chuckled as he took another drag from his smoke.

“Finish that drink, cunt, and start working these nipples.  If ya do a good job on ‘em, I’ll let ya suck my cock,” he drawled arrogantly.

Jordan chugged the booze so fast he nearly got sick.  He leapt across and began gnawing on the powerful killer’s jutting nipples like a beaver felling a tree.  The Trucker grunted, grabbed a handful of his hair, and jerked his head backwards.

“Easy, faggot!” he barked, expelling a cloud of smoke into the punk’s face, making Jordan cough.  “I just want ‘em worked on, not pierced, motherfucker!”

Abashed, the eager little cocksucker reapplied his mouth, more gently this time.  As he lapped at the hard nubs of flesh with his tongue he was aware of the Trucker’s movements and heard the sound of his zipper.  He knew what was coming—he wanted that cock so bad; he could feel it slapping against his thigh. Fuck, it reached down to just above his knee—it must be huge…

It was.  When the Trucker finally pried the boy off his nipples and forced him to his knee, Jordan found himself confronted with the biggest shaft of manmeat he’d ever seen.  “Open up, cocksucker,” the alpha growled, “Start swallowing it.”

It was while the Trucker began forcing his enormous tool into Jordan’s mouth that the latter began to see the flaw in his plans for an evening of rampant sex.  The dude’s cock was simply too big.  His jaws were stained to limit to fit it into his mouth—there was no way it’d fit in his ass.  He was gonna hafta break this off.  It completely went against everything in his little faggot whore soul, but he was gonna need to tell the guy no.

And then suddenly the Trucker grabbed the back of his head and thrust his pelvis forward brutally and Jordan not only couldn’t say anything, he couldn’t even breathe.  That massive tackle had been rammed so far down his throat that it plugged his windpipe as efficiently as a cork in a wine bottle. In desperation, the kid clutched at the powerful sadist’s ass, his fingers digging ineffectually at the older man’s rock-hard glutes.

“That’s it, you faggot cunt,” the Trucker grunted in sadistic pleasure, “Choke on it, you whore!”

Jordan couldn’t even gag.  His hands beat on the Trucker’s muscled, denim-covered thighs as uselessly as if he was beating on a tree trunk, his face began to blacken and his eyes and nose streamed.  He reached around the powerful top again, his hands feeling the pure strength in the Trucker’s taut ass as it clenched and thrust.  For a brief moment, the teen whore wasn’t capable of rational thought—he was too busy choking on cock to think. 

Then, with a malignant chuckle, the buff alpha let him go.  Jordan threw himself backwards, feeling the dude’s enormous member sliding up out his throat like a sword being unsheathed.  On his knees, the teen coughed until his face was purple, gagging and wiping the drool from his chin with the back of his hand.  With his massive cock still hanging out and dripping, the Trucker took another drag from his cigarette and smirked at the gasping punk.

“I—I c-can’t…” Jordan wheezed, his voice cracking as he tried to suppress the coughing, “No-no w-way, du-dude…y-yer too b-b-big…”

The Trucker only smiled gently.  “Yer backin’ out?” he drawled, his voice slightly incredulous, “A faggot turnin’ down dick?  You must sick, boy.  Don’t worry; I’ll fix ya up with a huge beef injection, har!”  With another drag from his smoke, he grabbed his swollen tool, wielding it like a weapon over the kneeling, shuddering youth.

The kid looked up at him, his eyes streaming and imploring.  “P-please, no,” he moaned, “Just—just go and leave me alone…”

The Trucker’s smile froze and his upper lip curled into an arrogant sneer.  “Go?  Go??” he snorted, “It don’t work like that, cocksucker.  My shaft wants servicing and I ain’t goin’ till it gets what it wants!”  Jordan stared at him, gaping, but the Trucker’s eyes were fixed on the table behind him—specifically, the lamp on the table.

The lamp was metal, a single steel post, about an inch in diameter on a flat, circular base of wood.  A groove around the top of the base showed where the lamp had held a decorative element—perhaps ceramic or glass had been broken away some time in the past.  Shrouding the single bulb was a too-small shade of folded paper.

The Trucker had just concluded it’d come in handy when the meat made the usual escape attempt, Jordan throwing himself forward, bolting for the door.

It took the muscular stud but a moment to snatch up the lamp and wheel about after the boy.  His swift motion had enough power to both yank the plug from the socket, damaging the tines and to rip the cord from the base of the lamp.  The upper end with the bulb socket and shade instantly fell off.  With a snarl, he tore after Jordan.

Jordan heard and gave an involuntary sob of terror as he approached the door.  He stretched out his right hand, reaching for the door.  It wasn’t the door he got, though—it was impact of the lamp across the back of his hand.

The first blow—there were many to follow—hit hard enough to tear off the wooden base and shatter the metacarpals.  The unfortunate youth leaped back with an agonized yelp, cradling his mangled hand.  He gulped and looked up to the Trucker, his face ashen and his eyes huge.

“That was stupid,” the alpha growled viciously, “But you little fags are all stupid motherfuckers, aintcha?  You’re gonna learn yer place, asswipe, even if I gotta beat it into ya…” 

He strode forward, swinging the steel bar.   “…and yer place, fuckmeat, is dyin’ on my dick.”     

The rancid apartment soon reverberated with the sounds of bleating fuckmeat and the smack of metal on flesh, accompanied by the faint jingling of the Truckers dogtags as his arm rose and fell.  His bicep flexed relentlessly as he beat the punk, but he was holding back his full rage and only bruising the cocksucker.  After all, he didn’t want to damage the meat so badly it couldn’t work his cock.

After a minute, he stopped and tossed the bar over his shoulder.  He’d never dropped his smoke; he knocked the substantial ash onto the boy huddled on the floor between his boots.  Jordan was curled into a fetal position, his sweat-soaked, welt-covered body heaving in pain.  The Trucker smirked and spat on him.

“Get up, meat,” he smirked.  “You ain’t hurt that bad, asswipe; you can move.”  He stubbed his cigarette out on the wall, smirked, and flipped the butt into the boy’s face.  “C’mon, fuckwad, let’s go to bed.  That’s what you wanted, right?  And my dick still needs servicing.”

Dazed and aching, Jordan managed to drag himself up from his knees.  His mind numb from shock, he staggered to the bedroom to the sound of the Trucker’s raucous laughter.  “Whassa matter, cunt?” he jeered, “Yer about to get all the dick your little fag fuckhole can take, homo—you should be hard an’ drippin’, haw!”

“Strip it,” the alpha barked as Jordan approached the bed, “Then get on.  On your back.  Do it!”  The sunned youth jumped as if he’d been slapped.  With a barely perceptible moan, he tore the worn, grayish sheets from the bed and threw them to the floor.  Then he paused, looking down at the bare, stained mattress.

“I don’t want this…” he said, barely above a whisper.

Behind him, the Trucker closed the bedroom door.  The click as he turned the lock was very audible and very obvious.  “You ain’t leavin’ this room, faggot,” he said bluntly and plainly—a statement with no intonation.  He eyed the meat carefully, knowing it was time for a reaction to set in.  Dumbass fagmeat was always so fuckin’ predictable…

The one lamp in the room was behind Jordan, silhouetting his lithe twink body as the boy began to tremble.  A whimper escaped his full, parted lips—and he turned and bolted for the door.

He didn’t make it.

The Trucker’s heavy fist pistoned forward, driven with all the power his thick muscles could provide.  The adolescent ran full-tilt into the sledgehammer punch, the blow knocking his head back so hard his feet went flying out from under him.  The kid flipped up into the air and dropped four feet straight down onto his back.

The Trucker laughed malignantly as Jordan hit the floor hard enough to drive all the air from his lungs, dislodging the three teeth that had been knocked down this throat and were choking him.  His full lips were even larger now, bloody and swollen.  Suddenly, there was a jingling above the fucker’s head, a glittering that his tear-blurred eyes slowly resolved into the Trucker’s dogtags—the sadistic stud was bending over him, the older man’s face radiant with homicidal glee.

“Fuckin’ hell, homo, whyn’cha say ya wanted it rough?  If you liked that, bitch, I’m gonna hurt you so bad yer gonna cum like a fuckin’ geyser before I waste yer useless faggot ass.  Now get on the bed, motherfucker,” he commanded, brandishing his engorged, oozing tackle, “I’m gonna stick this in yer ass.”

The next thing to fill Jordan’s field of view was the tread of the Trucker’s engineer boot.  Like a beached fish, the boy’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly; his smooth, flat belly heaved with the vain attempt to breathe—it was clear he wasn’t able to process what was happening to him.  He stared dully at the boot hanging over him with no clue he was about to get stomped.

“Jesus, you really are a stupid cunt,” the hardbodied killer muttered.  “You so fuckin’ deserve this, ya worthless sack a’ shit!”  He slammed his foot down, grinding his bootheel into the homo’s face.

Jordan’s face, already damaged under the brutal impact of the Trucker’s fist, was pulped, his nose flattening with a wet squelch.    The boy cried out inarticulately, his huge eyes, already becoming ringed with bruises, looked up at his tormentor with desperation.  The look of pathetic helplessness only spurred the Trucker’s rage and contempt.

“I—I…” the slut burbled through shattered teeth, bloody drool leaking down his chin.

“You what?” the Trucker snarled.  “Ya didn’t think this kinda thing could happen to you?  Fuckin’ moron, this is what happens to all you cocksuckin’ little homos—sooner or later a real man comes along and puts you outta yer faggot misery!  You knew it was gonna happen, asswipe; it always happens to your kind.  No more waitin’, motherfucker, yer lucky fuckin’ day is finally here.  Now get up on that goddam bed, cunt.  It’s time to die.”

As the meat wheezed and gurgled in agony, the Trucker bent down, clamped his hand around its throat and jerked it upright.  He glared into its face, his eyes blazing with a terrifyingly homicidal lust.  “It’s gonna hurt when you die.  I promise you that, motherfucker.  The more pain yer in, the more ya kick.  The more ya kick, the better you work my cock.  It’s that fuckin’ simple, fagmeat.”

He tossed the writhing teen onto the bed with no more effort than throwing a sock puppet around.  The punk bleated in pain as he bounced on the mattress, his smooth body lying sprawled diagonally across the bad as the Trucker approached, grinning.

“Ya ready?” he hissed, his massive, club-like cock already oozing precum.  A couple of drops splattered onto Jordan’s flat, heaving belly; they seemed to burn the boy’s skin like acid.  Despite his intense actual suffering, those two drops seemed to hurt him even worse.  Then again, he now knew what the Trucker’s sexual interest meant.

But just in case he didn’t, the sadistic alpha made sure to remind him.

“Time to rock ‘n roll, motherfucker.  Spread those legs, bitch, Imma ‘bout to run my tackle up inside you like the fuckin’ meat puppet you are.  Yer gonna die ridin’ my rod.”  The older man had climbed onto he bed as he spoke, his cold eyes locked onto the teen’s with the hypnotic power of a snake luring a bird.  Jordan’s will was sapped; he could only lie inert, his adolescent body throbbing in pain, and gaze with a sort of helpless frozen terror as the muscled killer crept closer.

It was Death personified as a buff, furry stud.  Jordan began whimpering again as the Trucker grabbed his thighs and roughly parted the teen’s legs; the movement made the alpha’s dogtags jangle and the sound seemed to snap the kid out of his daze.  He tried to speak but his coherency was impaired by his ruined teeth.

“Shaddup,” the Trucker barked, leaning over the cunt until his tags were touching its chest, his harsh voice cutting off the punk’s mushmouthed babbling.  “You keep yer faggot trap shut when I plow yer fuckhole, you hear?  We don’t need to let the neighbor in on the fun, yeah?  Stay quiet or I’ll hafta keep ya quiet myself.”  The shark-like grin returned.  “You won’t like that.”

In the end, Jordan didn’t have any voluntary control in the matter once the Trucker’s monstrous rod tore open his teen sphincter and buried itself balls-deep in the kid’s guts, having viciously ripped its way through his rectum. 

There was a brief moment of ice-cold glassy shock.  The boy had reflexively inhaled as his asshole was shredded, the deep sucking-in of air that automatically precedes a scream of agony.  In the brief moment that his lungs were full of the heady mix of testosterone, cigarette smoke, and mansweat, the despairing teenaged homo knew he couldn’t keep quiet, knew he was about to experience even more pain—and there wasn’t a goddam thing he could do about it.

The Trucker knew it too; meat always lost it at this point.  Before Jordan’s scream could break past his lips, the serial killer’s fist had slammed into his jaw hard enough to fracture it.  Drawing back his arm, he paused.

“Do it, cunt.  Scream.  Scream, fuckwad; I wanna hit you again so goddam bad,” he snarled.

Jordan gasped, trying his best, his bleary eyes focused on the sadist’s gleaming, sweat-speckled bicep, so full of eager power—then the furry muscular globes of his ass, full of that same power, flexed quickly, driving his tool back in.

Again, the scream was automatic.  Again, a blow landed with brutal impact on the kid’s face—this one snapped the cheekbone just under the left eye.

“Ya get it yet?” he jeered triumphantly, “Ya feelin’ me?  You’re gonna die tonight.  You ain’t nothin’ but a cumrag, fit to take my seed and get thrown out like garbage.  Just so you know, faggot—it’s finally your turn.  Happened to some of yer friends, yeah?  It’s your turn.”

Digging the soles of his boots into the mattress, the buff alpha thrust his cock deeply into the homo’s guts, leaning forward at the same time.  Just as Jordan gasped—another involuntary inhale prior to crying out—the Trucker wrapped his left hand around his throat.  The older man’s huge paw easily fit around most of the kid’s neck—it didn’t take too much effort to clamp the windpipe shut.  Deep in the teen’s asshole, the sadist’s cock throbbed with pleasure as he felt the boy’s trachea start to collapse in his hand.

The Trucker had put the meat’s ankles on his shoulders and wrapped his arms around its legs, locking it into prime fucking position.  When he lunged forward, laying his muscled weight across the faggot, its legs had bent back to its belly, its knees now on the alpha’s shoulders and its red-and-black air Jordans kicking frenetically in the air.

Jordan’s eyes bulged in a look of horror; his face, already swollen and bruised, began to turn purple quickly.    His shattered right hand flopped uselessly against the mattress but with his left he clawed at his assailant, his fingers curling like talon in the Trucker’s chest fur.  The killer’s tags jumped and danced across the adolescent’s chest as the meat struggled.

The vicious sadist gave a loud grunt of annoyance at the teen’s instinctive and futile attempts at self-defense.  He drew back his fist—once again, Jordan had a brief, despairing view of a powerful bicep, knotty with tensed muscle—and then popped the bitch in the face with a swift, jackrabbit blow.

The meat’s head snapped back and its legs jerked reflexively.  One of the punk’s kicks came off, tumbling down the Trucker’s sweaty back until it reached his marble-like ass, still vigorously pumping his shaft into the meat.  The return thrust of his pelvis was strong enough to send the sneaker flying across the room.

The suffering chunk of boyflesh that had been Jordan was no longer capable of lucid thought.  It seemed to know things by instinct, the way it knew that more pain had been inflicted on it because it wouldn’t lie still and accept what was happening to it—the same way it knew it couldn’t stop struggling.  It was meat fighting for survival; logic didn’t come into it.

The pain would have wiped out logic in any case.  The adolescent homo had been beaten so badly that it had kinda cancelled out; compared to everything else, the bruises and broken bones had faded into the dull screaming of nerves in the background.  His throat, though, and his chest, and his head…

…and his cock.  Holy fuck, his cock.  Asphyxia had triggered a kind of hypersensitivity in his groin. His erect shaft was pinned between his belly and the Trucker’s ripped, hairy abs; every single strand of the older man’s wiry body fur felt like a strand of steel wool as it scraped agonizingly over his engorged member.  But despite the excruciating pain in his dick, it continued achingly to throb and stiffen.

“Yeah, faggot, yer dyin’” the Trucker whispered with sadistic lust, “I can see it in yer eyes.  Just another piece a’ fagmeat, getting’ what it deserves.  Almost over, motherfucker, almost over.”

Jordan heard the words, and some part of him was alive enough to understand them.  With what was left of his vital force, he made one last massive effort to breathe.  The sole result was a thick, wet grunt that forced its way past his black and swollen tongue, accompanied by a spray of bloody spittle.  Then the fireworks began, great black explosions that started blotting out his field of vision.      

With that, Jordan’s efforts at self-defense melted away.  His hand was no longer clawing at his killer; instead, he was stroking the Trucker’s cheek.  It had the softness of a lover’s caress, but there was no intent behind the meat’s movements—it was even too brain-dead to feel the older man’s dense stubble scratching the palm of its hand.

The Trucker was getting close.  His balls burned and ached with the need for release.  The homo was near death; it was time to push it over the edge. 

Fuck yeah, this was it.  He could feel a tingling in the base of the thick oozing shaft as his hands tightened their vise-like grip around the teenager’s throat. 

“Bye-bye, asshole,” he whispered, despite knowing that the cunt was long past comprehension of spoken words.  But as he squeezed, he could feel it starting to writhe and twist under him—the mindless, rhythmic movements of progressive, irreversible brain damage that milked his rod so perfectly.

He could feel himself unload; a brief moment of clarity as his sperm gushed into the boy’s guts. Then the orgasm hit like tidal wave.

  “FUCK!” he screamed, “DIE, YA FUCKIN’ FAGGOT!!”  His powerful body hunched over as it spewed semen uncontrollably, his powerful glutes flexing as his ass pumped in violent thrusts.  His hands clenched, the reflexive movement rewarded with the loud crackling, crunching sound of Jordan’s windpipe collapsing into an impenetrable wad of mangled cartilage.

Already bulging, the teen’s eyes protruded even further as the gristly squelching noise signaled the definitive end of his life.  His lithe, smooth body went rigid, his torn sphincter locking down on the Trucker’s dick like a strong cockring.  At the same time, the buff killer felt spasming start in the kid’s shaft, sandwiched between their sweat-slick bodies.  In a fraction of a second, the fuckmeat’s entire body gave a powerful jerk and began pumping out its boyspunk as if it knew this was its last chance to preserve its genetic material.

Jordan, though, felt nothing more than one last blast of nightmarish agony before his short, wasted life was torn away and cast into the howling vortex of terror that was death.  The Trucker held the shuddering corpse tightly; he wasn’t done cumming in it yet.

Behind his back, the meat’s toes twitched and curled; the ped sock made it obvious.  The other foot just kicked randomly in its sneaker as the older man continued to fuck the dead teen, pounding his seed home.

After a while, the killer’s thrust slowed and came to a stop.  Letting out a great sigh, the Trucker shook his powerful body and extracted his still-dripping tackle from the dead boy’s asshole.  The meat was still quivering, although the livid blackness was already starting to drain from its swollen and congested face.

The Trucker glanced around the room for something with which to wipe off his dick, settling on one of the punk’s balled-up t-shirts on the floor near him.  After wiping the spooge off his member, he tossed the shirt over his shoulder, re-holstered his enormous manmeat back inside his jeans, and fired up a smoke.

He and the meat had wrestled in the living room, but the bedroom was so dilapidated that it almost seemed like the fight had extended to it.  Clothes were scattered everywhere.  The neatness with which a pair of skate sneakers had been placed against the wall was belied by the single combat boot on its side next to them.  The dresser and nightstand were covered with clothes, cups, and half-empty beer and soda cans.  Pride of place went to the twitching corpse on the stripped bed, though.

As the Trucker dragged deeply and tapped his ash out onto the carpet, he couldn’t help but admire his handiwork.  Even from the other side of the room, the cunt’s crushed neck was visible.  The bruised body, the way its spread legs emphasized its torn and leaking asshole, the large pool of its own semen congealing on its smooth chest—everything made it obvious that it had endured a brutal sex crime in its final moments on earth.  The expression on its puffy battered face showed clearly how horrible its suffering had been as it died.

Fuck, it was making the Trucker hard again.  He could feel his shaft pulse in his groin.  Goddamit, he wished the meat had said something about its schedule—he’d be tempted to have another go at it.  But discretion being the better part of valor, he decided he’d better get going.  Slipping on his own t-shirt, he exited the meat’s apartment but left the door slightly ajar. On his way out, he snatched up the whiskey bottle and ticked it into his hip pocket.

He’d been planning on sleeping in his cab at the truck stop, but after a quick shower and a bite to eat, he was back on the road.  Fifty miles north he knew there was a rest area where he could pull over and get some sleep.  He sighed as he pulled onto the highway.

Yeah, he coulda gone back and fucked the dead faggot—but there was always fresh meat the needed to be snuffed.

It was a neighbor who found Jordan the next morning.  An elderly black lady in the next building; she let her Yorkie out every morning to crap and piss in the courtyard.  Despite appearing as old and decrepit as its owner, it was still faster and spryer.  Having smelled something interesting, the dog had headed up the stairs and headed through the partially-opened door before its owner could catch up to it.

Half an hour later, Jordan was in the position of having a dream come true posthumously.  There were three men in his room, while he lay naked on the bed.  Of course, his dream didn’t involve them being a patrol cop, a detective, and the medical examiner.  Or that the latter would be examining his violated corpse.

“No doubt about it,” the M.E. said.  “Raped and strangled.  Looks like the beating happened first.  Didja see his hand?  Didn’t stand a chance of defending himself after that happened.  Of course, I can’t tell if he was a virgin before all this—there’s way too much damage down there—but I’d guess,” —and here he gave a surreptitious glance at an enormous dildo on the nightstand— “that this wasn’t his first time at this rodeo.”

“Aw, fuck no,” the detective growled, “This fag whore’s been banged more than a screen door in a tornado.  It was overdue for somethin’ like this. Hey, Bob!” he called.  The patrol cop approached.  “How many times you pick that fag up for soliciting?”

Scratching his head, Bob looked down at Jordan’s blue, bloated face.  “At least half a dozen times.  This one hung out at the truck stop and that strip of motels along the highway.  That was Dave’s beat; you should talk to him.  He musta hauled him in dozens of times. Surprised he ain’t turned up like this sooner.”

“Yeah ok,” the detective replied before turning back to the M.E.  “Ok, you can drag ‘im outta here.”

“Fine.  I’ll get you the report as soon as I can.”

“Don’t knock yourself out, doc; no one give a shit what happens to fag whores.  Concentrate on finishing up the Dickinson case; that one involved actual human beings, yeah?”

“Yeah, no problem.  I’ll fill out the form for unclaimed corpses and move on.”

“Good man.  Oh, and tell your wife that Edna still wants that spoonbread recipe…”

The Alpha Prerogative by Gay Slavemeat gsmeat2@gmail.com


A reader who goes by ”faggot slave” requested a story about being snuffed that is written in the second person – the Alpha talking to the snuff victim and others, describing what the Alpha is doing as he tortures and kills it.  That’s a bit of a challenge to write, it turns out,  and I leave it to readers to decide if my effort turned out OK. But there is no doubt every masochist faggot like faggotslave (or me) warrants a prolonged and extremely painful death at the hands of a sadistic Alpha Male, so, as to writing a second person story about that, why not?  An Alpha would likely enjoy adding to our terror by enslaving us as we’re prepared to be snuffed and then describing how we are being killed and some of what is coming next (perhaps holding back a few fun surprises).  He could show us the instruments of torture he’s going to use on us up close before he plunges them into our flesh.  His derisive laughter would add to our humiliation, helping us realize how pathetic we truly are.  He could point out our physical flaws to his buddies as they all watch and laugh, adding to their justified sense of superiority.   The more I thought about it the more right it seemed for faggotslave not to have a speaking role.  The Alpha killer is the hero of the story, and us fags should be grateful for the chance to provide him pleasure as our worthless body is brutally ripped apart.  Other than begging for that to happen, and expressing gratitude when it does, who the fuck gives a shit what the faggot meat has to say? 

I used the Art of Male Snuff setting I’ve used in a few other stories posted here.  But unlike “Career Choice” recently posted here, which reflected the complex desires of another snuff-seeking faggot reader, faggotslave is just live meat anxious to be tortured and killed. So I let myself be inspired by the great stories M3Mayhem has written on how that should happen.  As always, feedback is welcome, good or bad.

1

Into the Alpha Lair

Chief (entering the Alpha Male Society bar and greeting Bill, the bartender and owner): “Hi Bill.  It looks like you’ve got a good crowd tonight.  I see lots of our fellow AMS members.   Better yet, a bunch of them brought slaves, so maybe we’ll get some proper action tonight.  We haven’t had a snuff scene all week.  I’m horny as hell and my bloodlust requires a satisfying kill.

“But it sounds like we’re set even if none of these snuffslaves get off’d.  I got a text from Dave, who is also horny and frustrated.  He headed into town form my farm to get some action.  He does such a great job running that, but it isn’t practical to kill too many of the farm slaves.  And they’re just farm animals, not great sex objects.  Besides, there’s a lot of work for them to do, especially now that the spring weather has arrived.  So, to be sure we get some action tonight he snatched a cute young punk off the street.  I saw Dave’s truck in the alley, so I assume he’s here already, and the punk is now tied up in the back playroom naked and ready to get snuffed.  His text also said the punk’s straight, so I’m sure Dave and a lot of the guys have been enjoying fucking and torturing him.  Did I get that right?”

Bill nods as he hands a drink to the Chief.  The Chief thanks him and continues. “It’s always fun when the twink knows it’s going to die and gets all worked up trying to dodge its fate.  I look forward to enjoying the terror in his eyes as he realizes there’s no such option and starts to comprehend how long and horrible the kill is going to be for him.  After everyone takes turns fucking and beating him, I think Dave plans to slowly butcher him alive.  He’ll take some of the meat back to the farm for us to enjoy, but he’ll

 leave most of it with you to use as fresh slave meat to grill.  As you know, Dave’s a gifted butcher and can keep the meat alive for hours as he cuts it up.  He’s got a ton of experience from managing my farm.  The farm slaves do provide pretty much all our meat needs.

“One part of the punk’s capture was pretty funny.  He screamed at Dave that the police would rescue him and then arrest and punish him.  When Dave told him the chief of police would be here later to help with the kill  I guess the twink totally freaked out.  That’s why I showed up still  in uniform.  I can scare the shit out of him and send him into total despair.  I love fucking the psyche of our snuff slaves as well as their butts. 

“But first I need to interrogate the faggot at the end of the bar.  You can charge my drink to him.  In fact, have him pay for everyone’s drinks tonight.  He’s a volunteer candidate Doc Johnson sent my way for me to snuff.  He sent a video of him ejaculating as another guy was fucking him and Doc Johnson was whipping him.  The faggot seemed to be really into it, which is promising.  He’s clearly a masochist fag and in the video he’s begging them to slit his throat and finish him off.  But I’m not sure he deserves my attention.  From the Doc’s report it seems he may have attitude issues.  He apparently has the absurd concept that the snuff is to fulfill his sexual needs, as if those mattered.  And he thinks he gets a say in how it’s done.  Worse yet, as you can see he had the audacity to show up wearing clothes despite Doc Johnson’s instructions.  As you know, since this is your bar and your rule, clothing is not tolerated here for slaves or snuffslave candidates.  But at least the fucker actually showed up.   That’s a start.“

Chief (sitting down next to a slightly built but fit 30-something who is nervously looking at the large screen TV above the bar): “So, faggotslave, I’ll make this simple.  You showed up on time but did not present yourself as instructed.  You were supposed to strip totally naked once you arrived at the bar, and give your possessions to Bill – clothes, wallet, phone, keys, everything you had with you.  You already turned over all the rest of your property to Doc Johnson as a donation to the Alpha Male Society. You agreed to become one of our snuffslaves, a voluntary one.  But you obviously have some residual reluctance that will need to be beaten out of you.  Only then do you get to be snuffed as you desire and deserve.  You need to learn that the snuff is for the sadistic pleasure of an Alpha Male and has nothing to do with your irrelevant desires.  Doc Johnson warned me you probably weren’t properly aligned or fully committed, but he says you’re a natural and severe fag masochist that could be properly conditioned for my pleasure.  It’s way too late to change your mind about that.  He also reported you have a high pain tolerance so the snuff could be lots of fun for the Alpha Male once you become a properly oriented volunteer.  You also have a strong cardio system so you could last a long time before your actual death.

“I’m not going to spend much time explaining what happens to you now, since your arrogance at wearing clothing disgusts me and it’s really none of your business.  You showed up here and therefore you are now a slave.  My slave, for me to do with as I wish.  Besides, even if I did interact with scum like you there’s no point making idle bar talk with you, like about the game you’re staring at on the TV.  You’re not watching it – you’re checking out Bill, the bartender.  And you’re also looking in the mirror to admire the other awesome Alpha Males in the room, probably jealous of the naked snuffslaves serving them.    But you’re still too ashamed to admit you’re nothing more than a snuffslave yourself.  You don’t understand that there is no way to overcome that shame and your only option is to admit it and donate your worthless body to the service of an Alpha Male for destruction and disposal.

“By the way, I wouldn’t recommend pissing off Bill if I were you.  I know he’s an incredibly impressive Alpha Male, almost as dominant and powerful looking as I am, and I know your aim is to get yourself snuffed.  But if you piss him off he’ll take you out back and just  beat you to death.  A wimpy faggot like you wouldn’t have a chance even if you did resist.  But you wouldn’t.  You’d like it and that would ruin Bill’s fun.  He likes faggots who resist, even fight back.  Not only that, but he’s not highly creative.  Your snuff would be far too quick and boring.  Faggots like you provide greater value when you suffer prolonged and extremely painful deaths, and you secretly want that.  Worse still for you, Bill likes to emasculate slaves early in the process of breaking your bones and beating you to death.  He’d slowly cut off your dick and then your balls.  You’d probably like watching him enjoy eating your balls, and you might even like eating your own cock, which he’ll force you to do.  But  then you wouldn’t be able to shoot a final load of cum as you die.  He doesn’t think fags ever deserve to cum, let alone a death orgasm, and he obviously has a point.  You don’t.  When we cause you to have a final orgasm as you die it is for the pleasure of the Alpha Male, just like the rest of the snuff.  Bijl would deny you that last thrill during your death throes as you feel his giant, hard cock up your ass, ripping you open and filling your hole with his cum while your death spasms make it tighter and more pleasurable for him.  Bill only keeps his snuff fags alive long enough for him to reach orgasm, so the whole thing is usually only about 10-15 minutes – even including the part where you lose your status as a male.  When the snuffslave is voluntary Bill loses interest and just does his civic duty by eliminating another pathetic fag.  What turns you on, to the point you want to be snuffed, is a huge Alpha cock up your ass, fucking and ripping your insides for a long time, as you are slowly tortured until you shoot a final death-load,.  Your aim is to feel his load explode inside you as your own load erupts and your meaningless life ends.  It’s what you want.  Right, faggotslave?

Chief (continuing after a shocked faggotslave meekly acknowledges the Chief’s comments):  “There’s a reason you go by faggotslave when you’re after sex, and you showed up here tonight in hopes I’d snuff you to fulfill your masochistic desires..  But you fucked up like you fags always do. 

“It’s not that you won’t wind up being tortured and killed.  That’s reality for any faggot who enters Bill’s bar.  And you can’t hide your status as a fag even if you are having second thoughts.  Fuck, even if I didn’t know all about you, as you now realize I do, your scrawny body and whole demeanor scream out “faggot!.”  You can’t keep your eyes off the Alpha Males who frequent this bar.  Even your drink betrays you.  A rum and Coke is a pussy drink.  You probably also drink white wine.  Alpha Males drink beer and whiskey.  So we know you are a faggot and therefore one of us will kill you when we feel like doing so.  But you don’t get to be snuffed tonight the way you want to be.  The first reason is because you were disrespectful and did not present yourself as the snuffslave you are.  The slaves we tolerate in Bill’s bar are required to strip naked and stay that way so we can use them sexually before we torture and kill them.  We often allow them to wear a dog collar to further remind them of their status and a cock ring to keep themselves hard for our enjoyment, but nothing else.  They are snuff slaves, serving us in whatever way we want and then dying horrible deaths that satisfy our sadistic bloodlust.  They know that’s all they are good for, and they are grateful to us for allowing them to provide some minimal value as we  kill them.  They know our pleasure is all that matters.  Their desires are irrelevant. 

“You showed up trying to conceal the fact you’re one of them.  I suppose the button-down shirt is meant to make you look like just another nerd instead of a flaming fag, but most nerds are fags at heart and deserve the same fate.  Your stupid little beard confirms your sexual insecurity, and the designer jeans are way too tight for a straight guy.  It looks like you’re trying to advertise that you’re getting an erection as all of us Alpha Males turn you on, although it’s not much of one if that’s what’s happening.  From the video clips Doc Johnson sent me I can see you’re one of those fags who doesn’t have much of a cock.  I also know it functions best when you’re being tortured and humiliated, although for my purposes that is actually useful.  Your one hope comes from the fact I greatly enjoy watching a snuffslave’s cock explode when I reach my own orgasm as the slave dies.”

Chief (turning toward Bill as faggotslave, as its new reality starts to sink in, continues to listen): “I’ll take another drink when I’m done dealing with this piece of shit fag.  I  want to join in the fun with the twink in the back, so you can bring it there.  As for faggotslave, it accepted its status and fate by entering your bar, but for tonight just beating him up should be enough.  He showed up as instructed seeking a snuff scene, which is a start, and Doc Johnson says he can become an acceptable volunteer.  It needs an attitude adjustment before it meets my standards. I suggest you punish it accordingly as you throw it out.  I know you’ll enjoy that.  Then you can leave it in the back of Dave’s truck so Dave can take it to my farm for further conditioning.”

Chief (turning back to faggotslave): “Like I said, I’ll make this quick.  It’s pretty straightforward.  Even faggots like you can understand if I talk slow and keep it simple.  You’re already trembling in fear, which you should be.  If you are having second thoughts about volunteering to get snuffed, it’s too late.  In due course you’ll be tortured to death and disposed of like a used cum rag.    Or maybe it’s sexual excitement that has you shaking so much.  Maybe you’re getting turned on because You know that’s what you want.  And you know it’s all you’re good for.

“Your shrink, Dr. Johnson, had you surrender all your possessions and then sent you to New York so you could finally accept what needs to happen to your pathetic life.  It needs to end.  He’s tired of you being too stupid to get the point and too cowardly to get on with it.  Asshole faggots disgust him, as you do all Alpha Males.  I know from his report that you’re ready to get snuffed and ready to welcome it.  I might be willing to consider you for one of my scenes if you show the right level of appreciation and enthusiasm  for the event, realizing it’s not about your needs but about my sadistic pleasure.  It’s my prerogative to torture and kill you whenever and however I decide to do it.  The fact you haven’t accepted that yet is the other reason you don’t get off’d tonight.  You are a worthless piece-of-shit homo whose only real use is to die at the hands of an Alpha Male for his pleasure, especially the pleasure of fucking you as you’re brutally tortured to death.  You’re not much physically but you might provide me a little fun for a few hours, including a satisfying fuck.  Fags your size tend to have tight little bubble butt assholes that my giant cock can rip open. I enjoy that.  And you want that.  And, of course, New York is a great city to disappear in.  No one will notice, not that they would anyway  As Chief of Police I have the power to assure that.

“And let me be clear.  There’s no negotiation, no conditions.  When an Alpha Male decides to kill you, you have no say about how he does it.  You die how he wants you to die, entirely for his enjoyment.  It’s none of your business.  You’re just there to receive unbelievable levels of pain and, if you’re lucky, to have a final orgasm as you die that the Alpha can enjoy feeling your body produce as it also tightens around his pulsating cock.  It’s for his sexual fulfillment, not yours, watching and laughing, ideally as he has his own orgasm inside your near-dead ass.  Oh, and you’ll be in such pain and so close to death you probably won’t get any actual pleasure.  Dead faggots don’t report how it felt, after all.

“The only issue since you walked into this bar has been if you add a little extra value during the snuff for an Alpha Male like me who enjoys killing willing faggots, or if you don’t volunteer and get killed by an Alpha Male like Bill who likes fags that resist.  Some of us get more pleasure when the meat is willing.  Other Alpha Males like it better when the meat is not willing, and even tries to fight back.  It’s a matter of taste but the constant factor is the kill.  I like fags who volunteer and who worship me as I deserve.  They should express their gratitude for the honor of pleasing me by cooperating as I torture and kill them.  You have that potential and that’s why Dr. Johnson sent you to me.  But you need further conditioning.”

“Now get the fuck out of our bar, faggotslave.  Strip naked and leave your clothes and all your other possessions with Bill, like you should have done when you entered.  You are a snuffslave and will present yourself as such.  You  no longer have possessions.  You do not own property.  You ARE property.  My property.  Crawl out of the bar on your hands and knees, then kneel in the alley outside next to Dave’s truck and wait for Bill to arrive and administer your initial punishment for your arrogance.  You will be punished often, with or without a reason, because we Alpha Males enjoy inflicting pain on our slaves.”

Chief  (to Bill as faggotslave quickly does as instructed, exposing his small but rock-hard cock in the process): “Have fun.  But don’t kill him or break anything yet.  You can dump him in the back of Dave’s truck when you’re done with him.  I assume he’ll be unconscious for quite a while and he can spend the night there.

“He’s both terrified and massively turned on by our little chat, as you and everyone else can see.  Now that he’s naked I can confirm I like his body type and the appearance of his meat.  He’s not very big but he’s pretty fit.  Time as a slave at the farm will make him even more fit.  The cock is unimpressive, but he’s got a decent set of balls and I’m guessing the tiny cock is matched by a super-tight hole for me to destroy.  He’s not all that bad looking and as you know I enjoy sniffing guys with his sort of build.  They’re fun to break apart.  I think he’ll be a fun kill for me, volunteering entirely for the purpose of satisfying my sadistic bloodlust once he’s properly oriented.  That’s why Doc Johnson sent him my way.   Tonight I don’t get to snuff a volunteer, but we can all enjoy the twink you have in the back, killing it while it protests and resists.  That’s still lots of fun and appeals to our sadistic natures.  But for me  there aren’t near enough of these snuffslaves who admit what they are and deserve.  Like the ones in the bar now, they make great slaves for a while.  So faggotslave will become a farm slave until it is ready to be harvested as an enthusiastic snuffslave.”

2

Conditioning

(in the alley)

Bill:  “Well, faggotslave, you didn’t run away.  That’s a start, although tracking you down and punishing you for that would have been more fun.  I’m sure the Chief would have let us kill  you instead of just beating you unconscious.  But we’ll still have lots of fun doing that as punishment for your arrogance in the bar, as the Chief encouraged us to do.

“To start, my buddies and I are going to piss down your throat, then you are to use your tongue to get our cocks hard.  Dave and Sam are going to fuck you first, then we’re going to torture you while I fuck your ass.  They’ll fuck you at the same time, with both their cocks up your puny ass.  That’s more fun for them and a lot more painful for you.  Puny guys like you tend to have tight assholes.”

Bill (after his buddies finish double-dicking faggotslave, who obviously enjoyed the pain and eagerly sucked Bill’s dick as they did so):  “Wow.  is that all there is to your cock?  You truly are the nerdy masochist faggot Doc Johnson described.  But I thought he was exaggerating when he said you didn’t have much of a dick.  I bet it’s not more than 4 inches.  If you had the balls to fuck another guy in the ass I doubt he’d even notice.  But I’m guessing you haven’t done that.  You’re the kind of faggot who just sucks cock and gets fucked.  And judging by what a good job you did drinking our piss I figure you’re an experienced urinal too.  So you are good at sucking cock and drinking piss, two skills that are useful, plus a nice tight ass to plug.  We’ll take advantage of that.  But next we need to tie you up so I can take my turn fucking your ass and we can all have fun hurting you.  This electrical pole should do nicely.  We’ll tie your wrists above your head so I can fuck your ass while Dave and Sam torture the rest of you.  There are so many fun places to administer pain!

Bill (ramming his huge cock up faggotslave’s ass after faggotslave is secured to a crossbeam extending form the electrical pole):  “Well, you do have a nice tight ass like everyone reports  The Chief will enjoy ripping it open when the time comes.  His cock is a lot bigger than mine, as he’s fond of pointing out.  But mine’s big enough to get your attention.  It’s nicely lubricated too, so I think Dave and Sam did a decent job filling it with cum.  It’s obvious you enjoy being fucked, but we’ll add a lot more pain so you don’t enjoy it too much.  Of course, we also realize you enjoy the pain.  We’ll see how much you enjoy it when It’s at the levels we’re going to inflict.

“Feel very free to scream, by the way.  We enjoy listening to that, and it’s late enough that there is no one nearby to hear you.  Even if there were, remember that the cops work for the Chief. He owns you now and he’s the one who asked us to beat you.  This will be way more than you’re used to, but comparatively tame compared to what he’ll do, so you can start imagining the kinds of things that are going to be done to you before you get to die.  You’ll be begging for that.  But for now I’m going to fuck your ass while Dave and Sam enjoy themselves administering pain to your body.  As I cum they’ll finish beating you unconscious.  You are going to be bruised and in pain for days, but we  won’t kill you.  Fuck, if you’re lucky you might even have an orgasm as you pass out.  Your erection is throbbing already and there’s a little pre-cum dripping from it..  That’s always highly amusing to see.  The best part is having your body tighten around my cock while you pass out and shoot your load.  That feels great.”

Bill (as faggotslave screams loudly):  “Yeah, I bet that hurt.  Dave has a strong arm, and he was holding brass knuckles when he wailed on your balls.  You’re lucky he moved away before you threw up, or you would have really mad him mad.  If some of it got on him he might have lost his temper.  Your balls are going to be swollen for a long time, especially since he’s not done hitting them.  You’re probably all out of puke so he can move in close. 

“Now for some more fun, while I continue to enjoy drilling your ass.  I like it when you twitch and turn in pain, since it adds to the pressure on my cock and that feels great, so let’s see how you react to a cattle prod.  Zap!  Wasn’t that fun?  I can tell you felt it on your right nipple, and I enjoyed your scream.  Now for the left one.  Zap!  Excellent.  Now the balls.  There’s no limit to the amount of pain we enjoy inflicting there.  Zap!  Zap!  Oh, even better.  Obviously, the cock is next, and we’re going to hold the prod there for a while so the muscle gets a full dose of electricity   It’ll wilt for a bit after that but I’m willing to bet it will get hard again (such as it is) fairly soon.  This is the kind of pain you crave.  Zappppp!  Zappppp!  Wow.  That was fantastic!  Sam is really talented.  It might take a little longer for you to recover from all this so the Chief can use you, but I’m sure you’d agree it’s worth it.  It is for us and that’s all that matters.

“Time for a few punches.  Sam’s also really good at attacking a slave’s midsection, so let’s see how you enjoy that.  Oh good, you twisted nicely and put more pressure on my cock.  Want Dave to hit your balls again now?  Of course you do.  The great part of this is none of it will damage your long-term ability to provide even more pleasure after you wake up.  Dave and his team can still play with you at the farm, and they will also be careful sp the Chief will have a nice fresh slab of temporarily alive meat to use for his own fun.  It won’t matter how much your flesh is damaged and your bones are broken when that happens, since he won’t leave you alive like we’re going to do.

“I’m getting close to my own orgasm, and I see your cock is hard again.  I think you might even have one of your own, although it won’t amount to much.  Dave and Sam are going to team up beating you on the chest and belly, but they’ll leave your cock and balls alone just in case you manage to shoot before you pass out.  If your body performs as it should – and fag bodies always do – then you’ll shoot your load as you lose consciousness, and as I shoot mine up your ass.  I’ll enjoy the show and your contortions will put wonderful added pressure on my cock as I shoot, but you’ll be in so much pain you won’t get to enjoy yours.  It’s a perfect happy ending for the evening,  isn’t it?  

“We’ll leave you tied up and piss all over you before we dump you in the back of Dave’s truck.  You might be interested to know we’re  making a video of your punishment that we will show at the bar, so others can enjoy it.  We’ve also identified some people who knew you before you admitted to being a snuffslave, and we’ll be sure they see it too so they can realize what a worthless faggot you were.  We know a lot of them enjoyed abusing and fucking you so I’m sure they’ll enjoy watching it.  We are entitling it “faggotslave Conditioning” in your honor, so they remember your role before becoming an official slave.  We might even show a few of them the video of your eventual snuff scene, and a few of them are members of the Alpha Male Society so they might show up to watch in person.  It will be a very festive reunion, I’m sure.  We make use of faggots as best we can, given your limited utility.  This is the one sort of thing you’re actually good for.”

Bill (to Dave and Sam as they laugh at faggotslave’s unconscious body):  That was a ton of fun and a great fuck.  Let’s dowse him with piss before we toss him into the back of Dave’s truck.  He can clean it up when he wakes up.  Time to go inside for the REAL fun.”

3

Conditioning

(at the farm)

Crack!

Dave:  “Wake up faggotslave,  it’s time to start your existence as an acknowledged and willing  snuffslave and prepare you to be tortured and killed.  You’ve been unconscious for two days after Bill, Sam, and I beat the shit out of you and fucked your ass in the ally by Bill’s bar.  The Chief said not to break anything or do permanent damage, but he didn’t put limits on how much pain we could inflict.  Quite the opposite.  We all wanted to find out what your pain tolerance is, which is always a fun process and important in designing a kill to make sure the slave suffers as much and as long as possible.  We pushed well past it and you eventually passed out from the tortures and the beating.  You’re going to hurt pretty much everywhere for quite a while longer.  Get used to it.  Now get on your knees and suck my cock while I explain the rules here on the Chief’s farm.

“The rules are obvious, and the main rule is that you do exactly what you are told to do, no matter what that is.  You tried to negotiate with the Chief on what would happen to you when you were at the bar, and that is one of the reasons you were punished.  You have no say about anything, and no one gives a fuck what you want or even think.  So you are to shut the fuck up and do as you are told.  Period.  The major part of your training is getting you to realize not only the reality that you are a slave, but also that deep down you are desperate to be a slave and serve an Alpha Male master.  Your purpose and fulfillment is satisfying his every whim and losing your life in the process.  You have accepted the fact you’re a masochist faggot, and that you get sexual pleasure form being degraded and abused.  That’s useful, as it makes your body react nicely when we torture you.  You got massively turned on during your beating, and your body performed wonderfully as you reached orgasm.  As you convulsed your ass tightened hugely around Bill’s cock and he had a fantastic orgasm as he shot his load into you.  Your entire body tensed up as your own cock spewed a giant load of cum all over the place.  And that happened as you lost consciousness.  The more we beat you the more you got turned on, just like a masochist slave should do.  I’m guessing it was the most intense orgasm you ever had, and you are desperate for another one like it.  The Chief was pleased when he saw the video and knows he’ll greatly enjoy snuffing you.  That will happen when we get you into a little better shape and you realize that, as a slave, you will welcome being snuffed not for the pain that will turn you on sexually but from the fact it will please your master.  It’s really quite simple.

“You may only speak when given permission to do so, and if that happens you are to address all Alpha Males, including me, as “sir.”  The Chief is “master.”  And that’s it for rules.  See?  I told you it was simple.  I bet even scum like you can figure it out.

“Now, as for your tasks.  I run the farm for the Chief, and it’s a massive operation with all kinds of crops and both human and non-human farm animals. The human ones plant and tend the crops, and both types provide fresh meat when we are done with them.  We prefer the slave meat, especially when we eat it live. 

“We’re in the main barn at the moment, and that’s where you’ll be stored as you recover and  are conditioned for the Chief’s use and disposal.  To help you understand your status I’ve decided to have you tend to the pigs.  You’ll serve them their slop to eat and keep their pen clean.  That means you’ll be up to your naked ass in pig shit most of the time.  The pigs matter more than you do and are better cared for, so that will be good for your attitude.  Also, your food will consist of any slop that is left over after they eat, although you are not to consume more than one dog dish full of it.  You are to stay lean and hungry.  You may drink from their water trough, which my men and I also use as a urinal.  You are to drink a lot as staying hydrated is important, and because it is disgusting and degrading.  The Chief wants you to get into top physical shape.  So another task is bailing hay for the horses.  That is remarkably good exercise and will tone your muscles considerably as it enhances your cardio and pulmonary endurance.  Those are important to be sure you do not die too early during the snuff.  These chores will occupy your mornings.  It’s the start of the planting season so you’ll join other slaves in the fields after your second and final daily dish of pig slop.  Spending the afternoons naked in the hot sun will further develop your muscles and generate a complete tan, which the Chief prefers for his snuff targets.  You’ll notice your beard, torso, arms, legs, and crotch have been shaved, and your skin was treated with chemicals that will prevent any hair from growing back.  At this point your skin is nice and smooth but utterly devoid of any color or tone.  You will be made much more sexually appealing in a month or two.  I think the Chief is planning to off you during the summer solstice celebration in June, and by then you’re going to be a perfect physical specimen meeting the Chief’s high standards for live faggot meat. 

“It’s a pity you won’t live long enough to be part of the fall harvest.  That’s my favorite time of year.  After the slaves harvest the crops, we harvest the slaves.  It’s a week of snuff orgies with several hundred slaves, some barbecued alive, most tortured and fucked to death by members of the Alpha Male Society.  And about 50 are crucified, their agonizing naked bodies providing a great ambience for the event.  We pick those in advance and condition them so they have maximum arm strength as well as durable pulmonary and cardio systems, so they typically last for days.  I think you’d provide an especially long show given your light build and strong heart and lungs, but you’ll be dead long before that.  Pity. It’s a great show and their agony is astonishing and great fun to watch.  They pretty much always have giant orgasms as they die, and we have fun betting when that will happen.  When it’s over all the farm slaves are butchered and sold for meat.  We get a few new ones to handle the winter chores, and a big shipment in spring for planting and such.  Those just arrived and I will be spending my time indoctrinating them, so you will not get much attention.  You have your instructions, and you are to obey them.

There is, however, one other aspect of your training, which will take place in the evenings.  You will be tortured to increase your pain tolerance.  It’s already good but it could be better, and the Chief does not want you to go into system shock as he gets serious about torturing you.  You won’t get fucked very often, as the Chief wants your ass to remain extremely tight, one of your better features.  His cock will take care of loosening that when the time comes, which will of course be a source of considerable pain in itself since he’ll essentially rip it open.  His cock is amazingly giant, as you will learn. 

“And you will remain horny, especially given your strong masochistic nature, but without any release.  The Vet inserted a computer chip where your brain stem connects to your spine that manages the sexual signals between your brain and your body.  It massively increases your sex drive – in your case your desire for pain – but prevents you from having an orgasm. 

Remember, the reason you are being kept alive isn’t as part of my slave crew to work the farm. We have lots of slaves for that, and they’re a lot bigger and stronger than you are. Providing better quality of meat to sell.  The reason  is to orient you away from considering your own pleasure as a masochist, so you focus solely on the pleasure of the Chief, the Alpha Male sadist who owns you.  You will come to understand how worthless and irrelevant you are, and how important and deserving the Chief is.  You will learn to worship him as he deserves.  To that end it is important that you are subjected to massive pain and humiliation. You do not deserve to achieve sexual release.  That erection you have now will be constant, courtesy of the computer chip and your own natural masochism.  Yet you won’t be able to do anything about it.  The Chief is a creative sadist.  We don’t give a fuck about your pleasure, just about making your life more degrading and awful.  We enjoy depriving you of pleasure while we cause you to seek it even more.  We’re sadists, after all, and that’s reason enough.  What better suffering is there for a masochist faggot than being tortured but not being allowed to get any sexual satisfaction or release?  I’m sure you can see the humor in that.    What better psychological torture can there be than a sadist depriving a masochist of sexual release as part of its suffering?  Now bend over the pig trough over there so I can fuck your ass.  Then you are to clean the pen.”

4

Party Prep

Crack!

Dave (holding the bullwhip he’d used to wake faggotslave before dawn):  Wake up faggotslave.  On your knees and drink my morning piss.  They you can suck my cock while I give you your instructions for today.  You have extra duties after you feed the pigs, clean their trough, and bale the hay for the horses.  Those include showing snuffslave #223 what your morning chores are.  It will take over for you tomorrow since you’ll be dead.  It’s not scheduled to die until after fall harvest and needs to be made useful in the meantime.   As for you, today the Chief is hosting a large group of our Alpha Male Society fellow members to celebrate summer solstice.  You will be part of the entertainment at the start of the cocktail party, which will occur on the South Lawn next the main estate house.  There will be lots of slaves serving the members in every way – as waiters, as sex objects to be tortured and snuffed, as live meat entrées for the barbecues.  You are going to be used as a minor part of the entertainment the Chief is going to provide as the party starts.  He likes to start things off with an especially brutal snuff to show off his body and his skills and to get everyone in the mood for the fun that will follow.  Once he’s done with you, and the guests have had the chance to fuck your dead ass, your body is of almost no further use.  You have been conditioned to endure extreme pain and respond sexually to torture, but that means your meat is too lean to be acceptable for the barbecue.  The snuffslaves used for that have a higher bodyfat ratio that makes their meat flavorful.  Kobe-style slave mat is extremely popular with our Society and the Chief only serves the best. Yours is bland and boring, like every other aspect of your worthless existence.  But even after you’re killed your body will provide a little added fun later in the evening as it gets dark.  What’s left after the Chief kills you will be ripped apart even more, and the meat eaten, by the cayotes who live in the forest next to the farm.  They’re not picky about the quality of meat they get.  Then tomorrow what’s left will become fertilizer. I’ve decided you will be composted to nourish a stretch of grass on the lawn that is not growing well enough.

“Therefore, just as the party starts you will peel back the grass and sod and then dig a trench where one of the other slaves can dump your carcass and then replace the sod and grass.  Our guests enjoy watching fit naked slaves preparing the spot where their dead bodies will be disposed of, and I have done a great job improving your physical strength and appearance.  As you are likely aware, I fertilize the lawn with the bodies of snuffed faggots.  Fags like you make great fertilizer and there are several hundred I’ve used for that over the years.  Sometimes I grind the faggot up into mulch and spread it like manure, and sometimes I bury it freshly killed in spots that aren’t growing as well as I want, adding chemicals that accelerate the composting and make sure nothing is left of the carcass.  And sometimes, just for fun, I bury the fag alive.  While our guests enjoy their cocktails and conversation, they can watch as you dig a suitable hole to dump your left-over body parts in.  It doesn’t have to be all that deep since I want the rotting flesh to work its magic on the soil and feed the earthworms that will make  the soil more porous from their movements. 

“That trench is where the follow-up fun will happen after dinner when we’re all assembled inside in the main dining room.  The cayotes always show up at dusk to check out the area after a big party, and I want the trench shallow enough so the cayotes can enjoy tearing apart and eating freshly killed faggot tonight.  I want them to be able to get to the body easily for their feast.  We all enjoy listening to them yipping loudly as it gets darker to alert their pack that there’s fresh meat to be had.  There’s a night-vision camera and microphone that will be set up for everyone to watch safely as the animals fight over who gets to eat which parts of the carcass.  Pity is, they especially enjoy faggot genitals, and as I look at your puny cock I realize they won’t find much to consume.  But your balls seem about average and they’ll enjoy biting those off.  The real pity, of course, is that you’ll already be dead, so they don’t get as much fun as they’d like by doing the kill themselves.  They’re remarkably vicious when they do and that’s far more fun to watch.  The Chief wants his guests to be able to enjoy seeing their bloodthirsty energy, which we think is inspirational.  So I’m going to also have a live naked faggot tied up for them to enjoy, cutting it so the smell of its fresh blood attracts them. The noise as they kill and eat it is a fabulous mix of the furiously yipping animals celebrating and the terrified faggot screaming in pain.  I’m also doing that because the patch of lawn that needs fertilizing is fairly large.  Your grave-trench needs to be large enough for both bodies.  The other fag will help you dig so our guests can enjoy watching each of you, then it will be tied to a fuck bench to be used sexually   When you are finished digging you are to crawl to the main reception area and kneel before the Chief, who will amuse his guests by torturing and killing you.”

5

Foreplay

Chief (standing naked except for his steel-toed boots, using them to kick faggotslave in the balls as it kneels in front of him, sending it sprawling as the guests watch and laugh):  “Dave has done well, and you appear to be in much better physical shape.  I also understand you are now aware that your sole purpose is to worship my Alpha body and cooperate in providing me sexual pleasure as I torture you and end your worthless life .  As you can see, I am at least a foot taller than you are and massively more muscular.  Your skin is devoid of body hair, and your beard has been shaved off, as befits a pathetic twink fag ready for harvest.  In contrast, my beard  has the dark, thick hair of a true Alpha, as does my chest. Your body is smooth, with limited muscle definition even though you have been conditioned and your muscles are well developed for a twink of your size and build. That’s so you can last longer as I destroy your flesh.  My frame is massive and all muscle, complete with washboard abs.  You are not remotely worthy to offer your pathetic body and useless life for my pleasure.  So you will need to suffer added pain and humiliation to make up for that.  I will enjoy your agony as I inflict it and thereby gain more of the pleasure I deserve.

 “Now kneel down in front of me again.  You are to worship and service my amazing cock.  Its 12 inches of thick muscle will soon tear open your puny ass.  But first you are to use your mouth and tongue to service it, getting it rock hard and ready for its use as a weapon for your pain and a source of my pleasure.  I want to feel it deep in your throat before it goes up your ass.  I will hold your head to make sure you welcome my cock all the way in, even though it is going to cause you to choke, and you’ll be unable to breathe.  Your tongue is to caress it all the way down the shaft to its base.  I am told you have become adept at servicing Dave’s 10-inch cock, but you will be surprised how much harder it is to service one that is 12 inches.  I  don’t care and don’t tolerate gagging.  You will learn that there is no release from your suffering when I decide to use you.  When I am satisfied with thrusting my cock down your throat I will send a torrent of piss down it.  You are to drink all of it.  Then I will remove my cock and you will lick my balls.  You will also lick my ass.  You are to stay focused on serving my body as I torture you.”

Chief (adding to faggotslave’s fear as it eagerly services his cock but also arousing its masochistic desires):  “I plan to cut you open and I like  the feel of hot blood leaking onto my powerful skin.  You will be grateful to see your body’s fluids providing me that satisfaction.  The pain from the cuts will be astonishing and a part of you will want to die, hoping blood loss will cause that to happen.  But you will not be permitted to bleed out  The Vet will monitor and control that. And you know you deeply desire the pain and the destruction of your flesh.  You have the privilege of admiring my dominant, massive, perfect Alpha Male body, and of worshiping it as I take your life and get pleasure from doing so.    I require worship from those I kill, as I deserve, and your own massive sexual arousal will be part of that worship.”

Chief (now fully erect, his massive cock and balls nicely massaged, and his ass licked clean by the adoring faggotslave, who also eagerly drank  the giant load of piss): “Stand up and face me.  As you know, the computer chip implanted in your neck prevents you from having an orgasm, and you have not gotten sexual relief since you arrived at the farm despite the constant use as a sox toy and cum bucket that turns you on.  Do you now wish me to remove it so you can do so?  You have permission to speak.”

Faggotslave (with total sincerity that reflects its successful conditioning):  “I hope you will do whatever gives you the most pleasure, Master.  That is all that matters.  I am grateful that you are using me for your enjoyment.”

Chief:  “Dave has indeed trained you well.  Your act of abject submission is the only acceptable response.  I will do what pleases me the most and don’t, and never did, care what you desire.  I just wanted to confirm your training.

“ At this point I do not plan to fuck your face again.  I’ll use your ass for that.  Sp I see no further use for your tongue to massage my cock and certainly no reason for you to speak.  No one wants to hear from you.  Ever.  Open your mouth so I can use this knife to cut out your useless tongue.  It will be a fitting start to vivisecting you.  You won’t be able to talk but you’ll be able to squeal like a pig. That’s all I want to hear from you.  I enjoy it when fags try to scream after their tongues are cut out.   It’s a high-pitched animal sound that befits your status as meat being butchered.”

Chief (tossing the bleeding tongue to his pet, Felix, who quickly chomps it down as faggotslave watches, in pain but grateful for being better able to provide the Chief with pleasure):  “Time to step up the pain, which starts with some great entertainment.  Stand in front of that wall, facing me, with your arms spread wide, fists open, palms out.  Dave will make sure you’re properly positioned.”

Chief (getting the attention of the guests once Dave has positioned faggotslave):  Welcome AMS members.  It is great to see everyone, and I know we’re all looking forward to a wonderful evening of comradery as we practice the Art of Male Snuff.  To start the fun, I think you’ll enjoy watching me snuff this pathetic twink, which is as eager to die as I am to kill it.  As you all know, I find that particularly satisfying and utterly appropriate. 

“To make it more of a show for all of your, I got some new toys that Dave and I have been practicing with and enjoying a lot.  Frankly, we want to show off a little, as you’d expect from Alpha Males like us – and each of you.  These are top-of-the-line Smith and Wesson throwing knives.  They are of varying length, including two large throwing axes.  Their balance is perfect, and they build momentum as they spin and fly toward the target. It’s amazing how sharp they are and how easily they dig into flesh.   In fact, it’s important to be careful how hard you throw them and where you aim.  When I first got them I tested them on a farm slave and targeted the faggot’s heart.  I thought that would be a good way to start the blood flowing, which is so much fun to watch as the fag becomes completely terrified by the agony and the final realization of its fate.  But the knife went in so fast and deep it exploded the beating muscle and the fucker died right away. 

“I was pretty pissed and called the sales rep to complain that they didn’t have a warning about that with the instructions.  We do a LOT of business with them at the department, so I always get his attention.  He promised he’d make it good.

“The next day he showed up with a sales trainee, a young twink apparently right out of college  He brought me a whole new set and gave Dave and me some especially useful pointers on how to select the right length and calibrate the velocity of the knife, so it only goes in as far as I want it too.  That has proved to be quite useful as you’ll see shortly.  But I told him I already had a dozen knives from the first set I bought and having more knives and some instruction didn’t solve the problem of having a faggot die before I was ready to administer the kill.  The lead salesman had already thought that through, but he turned to the trainee and asked how he would propose to solve the problem.  The trainee understood that customer satisfaction was the top priority, especially a customer as important as I am.  And he had committed himself to the company as they require.  He wasn’t too happy about the obvious solution, but he quickly stripped naked and stood in front of the throwing wall where today’s fag is now positioned.  He eventually turned out to be a good sport about his fate after I explained some of the alternative things I might do to him, and he stood still in front of my throwing wall while I tested the suggestions.  I was able to get all 24 knives into him and no individual throw was fatal. But I was still a little too eager and he died from the cumulative effect before I could stick my big cock into him and get a good fuck while he was still convulsing from all the pain.  I   had to settle for fucking his dead ass.  But that was satisfying, and I placed a big order from the department with the sales rep.   That way everyone was happy, except maybe the sales trainee.  Dave and I have been practicing with more farm slaves and we’ve gotten particularly good at getting lots of knives into the flesh without having the faggot die prematurely.  And we’ve especially gotten good at making sure they stay standing while we have our fun.  Watch.

“See?  Dave and I simultaneously nailed the fag right in the palms of its hands.  These were longer knives that went in all the way to the hilt and judging by the faggot’s scream it hurt a lot.  Now faggotslave’s got both hands thoroughly pinned to the wall and is unable to move. Clever, huh?  Notice how the knives cut through the flesh and cartilage so easily and are well embedded in the wall.  That’s because we put a lot of force into the throws.  These two knives will hold it up as we proceed, which would otherwise be a problem. 

Chief (now addressing faggotslave):  it’s time to turn you into a bleeding pin cushion.  I’m going to start with your chest, aiming for the right nipple.  I’ll ease off a bit on the velocity and force, using a shorter knife that will cause less bleeding and won’t go all the way through you and pin you to the wall.  We’ll need to move you to that nearby sling when we’re done throwing knives,  so I can fuck your ass and play with the knives that will be inserted into you.  We want this next set of knives to cut into your innards, but not go all the way through.   We also don’t want you to die from internal bleeding.  That’s not dramatic enough.  Balancing all these factors is  a lot of what we learned from practicing on the sales trainee and a few more farm slaves.  And we have to be careful not to have a knife go into your heart.  So we won’t aim for the right nipple.  I’ve learned that lesson!  You don’t need both lungs, so Dave is going to throw the next knife near where mine hit, to be sure the right lung collapses.  It’s fun to watch fags struggle to breathe once that happens. 

“Great throw Dave!  The fag squealed nice and loud and it’s obvious having trouble breathing. 

Chief (laughing form the joy of the kill, to faggotslave, whose agony is intense but whose arousal is evidenced by a solid erection):  Hey fag, how about if I aim for your liver, then Dave and I can each take out a kidney?  Does that sound like a good sequence, or would you rather have a knife thrust into you somewhere else first?  This is a lot of fun and I’m willing to be accommodating.  My main goal is to get at least one in the liver and each kidney, and several in the guts and stomach.  But we’ll take our time. Your look of terror is amusing, and you actually don’t yet know how increasingly painful this is going to be.” 

Chief (to the Vet):  “Keep an eye out in case you need to slow down the bleeding.  We don’t want it to bleed out.”

Chief (to faggotslave):  Having fun?  I’m enjoying the shrill noises you’re making as the knives cut into you.  You really do sound like a stuck pig.  Dave and I are going to do a lightning round next.  We’ve each selected five knives that are shorter, so they can land anywhere without doing anything fatal.  We’re going to aim for your arms, legs, and belly.  Let us know when you’d like us to start.

“Oh, I forgot.  You don’t talk anymore.   So we’ll just start on the count of three.  One, two, three!

“That was awesome.  I think Dave and I have become supremely talented at our new sport.  Don’t you agree?

“But this was just the foreplay.  Now it’s time for me to make the tortures up close and personal.  That way you can fully appreciate just how phenomenal my body is.  You will also appreciate how my 12-inch cock can rip apart a faggot’s asshole.  I’ve used the knife throwing to get myself aroused as only true Alpha Males can do.  My bloodlust is surging, and you are its target.

“I’m going to have you moved to the sling and then my giant cock goes into your doomed ass.  I’m going to make that fuck and your final destruction last as long as possible.  But all the damage to your innards from the knives makes your death inevitable.  If we did nothing further you’d die from internal bleeding fairly soon.  But we’re going to do a LOT more.”

6

Climax

Chief (while faggotslave is still pinned to the wall): “Time to release our fag target, Dave.  Do you want to take the left side or the right side?  Your choice.”

“I’ll take the left side.  Shall we throw on the count of three again?”

“Sure.  I’ll count slow so it can try to figure out what’s about to happen.  One,…two,…three!”

Chief (ecstatic) :  Those were perfect!  The axes severed each shoulder simultaneously, and the body promptly fell face first onto the cement.  I’m fairly sure it broke its nose since it didn’t have any arms to stop the fall.”

Dave (laughing, and equally pleased):  It sure was.  And the dismembered arms are still pinned to the wall by the knives we used at the start.  The fag is still breathing but seems to have passed out.  That’s OK.  I’m sure the Vet can wake it up once we move it to the sling for the finale’.  This is turning out to be our best effort yet.

Vet:  “Yeah, that was pretty impressive.  And no worries, I’ll slow down the bleeding and bring it back to consciousness.  Might as well do that while it’s on the cement, so it can feel the pain as it’s moved to the sling.”

Chief (having thrust his throbbing, erect cock into faggotslave’s hole as soon as the fag was in the sling and fully accessible,, causing more inhuman sounds from the faggot): “Feel that, faggot?  Your ass is nicely lubricated from all your internal bleeding, and it is going to tighten even more onto my cock as I continue to torture you.  That’s going to drive me wild with sadistic passion as you receive more and more and more pain.  You’ll think it can’t get worse, but it will. 

“And look.  Your puny little cock is rock hard.  I might enjoy watching it shoot a last load as you die, but I haven’t decided about that yet.  I wonder if there would be much cum.  After all, you’ve been storing it inside you for months now.  II bet your balls did a good job filing up with whatever was inside you.  This could be an added aspect of the entertainment.

“But here’s the great part.  It was obvious from your gyrations and sequels that those knives hurt a lot when they went into you.  And they’re  still there and still causing pain – except for the ones you left behind when you lost your arms.  Pity about that.  But the REAL pain is when the knives are twisted.  For example, let’s start with this one that’s probably stuck in your liver.  See, I’m turning it now and you’re almost passing out again from the increased agony.  But don’t worry.  The Vet will bring you back around if you do, so you won’t miss anything.  Oh, and I’ve observed that kidneys can transmit astonishing levels of pain.  That’s why kidney stones are so awful.  Here, let me demonstrate.  I’ll twist both knives at the same time.

“Wow.  That was quite a jerk of your body.  Did it hurt?  Oh, I keep forgetting.  My cat’s got your tongue.

Dave (laughing):  Cute.  Felix looked up when you said that.  Maybe he thinks he’ll get another faggot snack.”

“Chief (now overwhelmed with lust and passion, his cock throbbing as it thrusts in and out  while the faggot’s body twists and tuns, providing intense pressure and pleasure):  He will, but not until it’s dead.  I think that’s going to be fairly soon. 

Chief (sensing that faggotslave is starting to fade more rapidly):  “Hey faggot, are you close to death?  I’ve been playing with the knives stuck in you for nearly an hour.  I’ve wanted to be sure you get all the pain you deserve by twisting and removing the rest of these knives, then inserting them all over again.  I’m doing it slowly so you can experience the full impact of the torture.  When you get really close to death I have a special treat for you, so hang in there!”

“Yeah, I think it’s time.  OK, Dave, hand me that really long knife.”

Dave (massaging his own erect cock):  “Yup, I think it’s time.”

Chief (expertly slicing into faggotslave’s throat): “Die faggot.  My knife is extremely sharp and  is easily cutting your throat . But I’m going to go as slow as possible.  You can feel my cock erupting inside you as I cut.  And my knife has dislodged the computer chip, so Your own cock is also exploding with cum – lots and lots of cum – going everywhere.  It’s a great show.  You finally got something right.  I can’t believe how much pleasure I feel as I fill you with my man-juice.  I can’t believe how satisfying it is to feel your death throes pressure my cock.  You are finally the bleeding, pain-filled piece of cut-up meat you deserved to be.  My knife is now most of the way through your neck and your head will be totally cut off any second now.  You only have a few seconds to live, with all that pain mixed with a massive orgasm.  I took your life and it meant nothing because you meant nothing.  It just provided me with pleasure, but my pleasure was intense.”

Chief (removing his spent cock form the dead body, holding the head in his hands after he had completely severed it with the electric knife): “The body’s still warm, Dave.”

Dave (inserting his erect cock into faggotslave’s cum-and-blood-filled ass as the body still gyrates): “This feels great.  The ass is overly lubricated but still wonderfully tight.  And it’s so satisfying to fuck a faggot as it’s just finished dying, still convulsing a bit as the muscles give out but not so much that there’s not wonderful pressure on my cock.  This is what faggots are good for.  And the celebration is just beginning!”

The Alpha Prerogative By Gay Slavemeat Gsmeat2@gmail.com

A reader who goes by ”faggot slave” requested a story about being snuffed that is written in the second person – the Alpha talking to the snuff victim and others, describing what the Alpha is doing as he tortures and kills it.  That’s a bit of a challenge to write, it turns out,  and I leave it to readers to decide if my effort turned out OK. But there is no doubt every masochist faggot like faggotslave (or me) warrants a prolonged and extremely painful death at the hands of a sadistic Alpha Male, so, as to writing a second person story about that, why not?  An Alpha would likely enjoy adding to our terror by enslaving us as we’re prepared to be snuffed and then describing how we are being killed and some of what is coming next (perhaps holding back a few fun surprises).  He could show us the instruments of torture he’s going to use on us up close before he plunges them into our flesh.  His derisive laughter would add to our humiliation, helping us realize how pathetic we truly are.  He could point out our physical flaws to his buddies as they all watch and laugh, adding to their justified sense of superiority.   The more I thought about it the more right it seemed for faggotslave not to have a speaking role.  The Alpha killer is the hero of the story, and us fags should be grateful for the chance to provide him pleasure as our worthless body is brutally ripped apart.  Other than begging for that to happen, and expressing gratitude when it does, who the fuck gives a shit what the faggot meat has to say? 

I used the Art of Male Snuff setting I’ve used in a few other stories posted here.  But unlike “Career Choice” recently posted here, which reflected the complex desires of another snuff-seeking faggot reader, faggotslave is just live meat anxious to be tortured and killed. So I let myself be inspired by the great stories M3Mayhem has written on how that should happen.  As always, feedback is welcome, good or bad.

1

Into the Alpha Lair

Chief (entering the Alpha Male Society bar and greeting Bill, the bartender and owner): “Hi Bill.  It looks like you’ve got a good crowd tonight.  I see lots of our fellow AMS members.   Better yet, a bunch of them brought slaves, so maybe we’ll get some proper action tonight.  We haven’t had a snuff scene all week.  I’m horny as hell and my bloodlust requires a satisfying kill.

“But it sounds like we’re set even if none of these snuffslaves get off’d.  I got a text from Dave, who is also horny and frustrated.  He headed into town form my farm to get some action.  He does such a great job running that, but it isn’t practical to kill too many of the farm slaves.  And they’re just farm animals, not great sex objects.  Besides, there’s a lot of work for them to do, especially now that the spring weather has arrived.  So, to be sure we get some action tonight he snatched a cute young punk off the street.  I saw Dave’s truck in the alley, so I assume he’s here already, and the punk is now tied up in the back playroom naked and ready to get snuffed.  His text also said the punk’s straight, so I’m sure Dave and a lot of the guys have been enjoying fucking and torturing him.  Did I get that right?”

Bill nods as he hands a drink to the Chief.  The Chief thanks him and continues. “It’s always fun when the twink knows it’s going to die and gets all worked up trying to dodge its fate.  I look forward to enjoying the terror in his eyes as he realizes there’s no such option and starts to comprehend how long and horrible the kill is going to be for him.  After everyone takes turns fucking and beating him, I think Dave plans to slowly butcher him alive.  He’ll take some of the meat back to the farm for us to enjoy, but he’ll

 leave most of it with you to use as fresh slave meat to grill.  As you know, Dave’s a gifted butcher and can keep the meat alive for hours as he cuts it up.  He’s got a ton of experience from managing my farm.  The farm slaves do provide pretty much all our meat needs.

“One part of the punk’s capture was pretty funny.  He screamed at Dave that the police would rescue him and then arrest and punish him.  When Dave told him the chief of police would be here later to help with the kill  I guess the twink totally freaked out.  That’s why I showed up still  in uniform.  I can scare the shit out of him and send him into total despair.  I love fucking the psyche of our snuff slaves as well as their butts. 

“But first I need to interrogate the faggot at the end of the bar.  You can charge my drink to him.  In fact, have him pay for everyone’s drinks tonight.  He’s a volunteer candidate Doc Johnson sent my way for me to snuff.  He sent a video of him ejaculating as another guy was fucking him and Doc Johnson was whipping him.  The faggot seemed to be really into it, which is promising.  He’s clearly a masochist fag and in the video he’s begging them to slit his throat and finish him off.  But I’m not sure he deserves my attention.  From the Doc’s report it seems he may have attitude issues.  He apparently has the absurd concept that the snuff is to fulfill his sexual needs, as if those mattered.  And he thinks he gets a say in how it’s done.  Worse yet, as you can see he had the audacity to show up wearing clothes despite Doc Johnson’s instructions.  As you know, since this is your bar and your rule, clothing is not tolerated here for slaves or snuffslave candidates.  But at least the fucker actually showed up.   That’s a start.“

Chief (sitting down next to a slightly built but fit 30-something who is nervously looking at the large screen TV above the bar): “So, faggotslave, I’ll make this simple.  You showed up on time but did not present yourself as instructed.  You were supposed to strip totally naked once you arrived at the bar, and give your possessions to Bill – clothes, wallet, phone, keys, everything you had with you.  You already turned over all the rest of your property to Doc Johnson as a donation to the Alpha Male Society. You agreed to become one of our snuffslaves, a voluntary one.  But you obviously have some residual reluctance that will need to be beaten out of you.  Only then do you get to be snuffed as you desire and deserve.  You need to learn that the snuff is for the sadistic pleasure of an Alpha Male and has nothing to do with your irrelevant desires.  Doc Johnson warned me you probably weren’t properly aligned or fully committed, but he says you’re a natural and severe fag masochist that could be properly conditioned for my pleasure.  It’s way too late to change your mind about that.  He also reported you have a high pain tolerance so the snuff could be lots of fun for the Alpha Male once you become a properly oriented volunteer.  You also have a strong cardio system so you could last a long time before your actual death.

“I’m not going to spend much time explaining what happens to you now, since your arrogance at wearing clothing disgusts me and it’s really none of your business.  You showed up here and therefore you are now a slave.  My slave, for me to do with as I wish.  Besides, even if I did interact with scum like you there’s no point making idle bar talk with you, like about the game you’re staring at on the TV.  You’re not watching it – you’re checking out Bill, the bartender.  And you’re also looking in the mirror to admire the other awesome Alpha Males in the room, probably jealous of the naked snuffslaves serving them.    But you’re still too ashamed to admit you’re nothing more than a snuffslave yourself.  You don’t understand that there is no way to overcome that shame and your only option is to admit it and donate your worthless body to the service of an Alpha Male for destruction and disposal.

“By the way, I wouldn’t recommend pissing off Bill if I were you.  I know he’s an incredibly impressive Alpha Male, almost as dominant and powerful looking as I am, and I know your aim is to get yourself snuffed.  But if you piss him off he’ll take you out back and just  beat you to death.  A wimpy faggot like you wouldn’t have a chance even if you did resist.  But you wouldn’t.  You’d like it and that would ruin Bill’s fun.  He likes faggots who resist, even fight back.  Not only that, but he’s not highly creative.  Your snuff would be far too quick and boring.  Faggots like you provide greater value when you suffer prolonged and extremely painful deaths, and you secretly want that.  Worse still for you, Bill likes to emasculate slaves early in the process of breaking your bones and beating you to death.  He’d slowly cut off your dick and then your balls.  You’d probably like watching him enjoy eating your balls, and you might even like eating your own cock, which he’ll force you to do.  But  then you wouldn’t be able to shoot a final load of cum as you die.  He doesn’t think fags ever deserve to cum, let alone a death orgasm, and he obviously has a point.  You don’t.  When we cause you to have a final orgasm as you die it is for the pleasure of the Alpha Male, just like the rest of the snuff.  Bijl would deny you that last thrill during your death throes as you feel his giant, hard cock up your ass, ripping you open and filling your hole with his cum while your death spasms make it tighter and more pleasurable for him.  Bill only keeps his snuff fags alive long enough for him to reach orgasm, so the whole thing is usually only about 10-15 minutes – even including the part where you lose your status as a male.  When the snuffslave is voluntary Bill loses interest and just does his civic duty by eliminating another pathetic fag.  What turns you on, to the point you want to be snuffed, is a huge Alpha cock up your ass, fucking and ripping your insides for a long time, as you are slowly tortured until you shoot a final death-load,.  Your aim is to feel his load explode inside you as your own load erupts and your meaningless life ends.  It’s what you want.  Right, faggotslave?

Chief (continuing after a shocked faggotslave meekly acknowledges the Chief’s comments):  “There’s a reason you go by faggotslave when you’re after sex, and you showed up here tonight in hopes I’d snuff you to fulfill your masochistic desires..  But you fucked up like you fags always do. 

“It’s not that you won’t wind up being tortured and killed.  That’s reality for any faggot who enters Bill’s bar.  And you can’t hide your status as a fag even if you are having second thoughts.  Fuck, even if I didn’t know all about you, as you now realize I do, your scrawny body and whole demeanor scream out “faggot!.”  You can’t keep your eyes off the Alpha Males who frequent this bar.  Even your drink betrays you.  A rum and Coke is a pussy drink.  You probably also drink white wine.  Alpha Males drink beer and whiskey.  So we know you are a faggot and therefore one of us will kill you when we feel like doing so.  But you don’t get to be snuffed tonight the way you want to be.  The first reason is because you were disrespectful and did not present yourself as the snuffslave you are.  The slaves we tolerate in Bill’s bar are required to strip naked and stay that way so we can use them sexually before we torture and kill them.  We often allow them to wear a dog collar to further remind them of their status and a cock ring to keep themselves hard for our enjoyment, but nothing else.  They are snuff slaves, serving us in whatever way we want and then dying horrible deaths that satisfy our sadistic bloodlust.  They know that’s all they are good for, and they are grateful to us for allowing them to provide some minimal value as we  kill them.  They know our pleasure is all that matters.  Their desires are irrelevant. 

“You showed up trying to conceal the fact you’re one of them.  I suppose the button-down shirt is meant to make you look like just another nerd instead of a flaming fag, but most nerds are fags at heart and deserve the same fate.  Your stupid little beard confirms your sexual insecurity, and the designer jeans are way too tight for a straight guy.  It looks like you’re trying to advertise that you’re getting an erection as all of us Alpha Males turn you on, although it’s not much of one if that’s what’s happening.  From the video clips Doc Johnson sent me I can see you’re one of those fags who doesn’t have much of a cock.  I also know it functions best when you’re being tortured and humiliated, although for my purposes that is actually useful.  Your one hope comes from the fact I greatly enjoy watching a snuffslave’s cock explode when I reach my own orgasm as the slave dies.”

Chief (turning toward Bill as faggotslave, as its new reality starts to sink in, continues to listen): “I’ll take another drink when I’m done dealing with this piece of shit fag.  I  want to join in the fun with the twink in the back, so you can bring it there.  As for faggotslave, it accepted its status and fate by entering your bar, but for tonight just beating him up should be enough.  He showed up as instructed seeking a snuff scene, which is a start, and Doc Johnson says he can become an acceptable volunteer.  It needs an attitude adjustment before it meets my standards. I suggest you punish it accordingly as you throw it out.  I know you’ll enjoy that.  Then you can leave it in the back of Dave’s truck so Dave can take it to my farm for further conditioning.”

Chief (turning back to faggotslave): “Like I said, I’ll make this quick.  It’s pretty straightforward.  Even faggots like you can understand if I talk slow and keep it simple.  You’re already trembling in fear, which you should be.  If you are having second thoughts about volunteering to get snuffed, it’s too late.  In due course you’ll be tortured to death and disposed of like a used cum rag.    Or maybe it’s sexual excitement that has you shaking so much.  Maybe you’re getting turned on because You know that’s what you want.  And you know it’s all you’re good for.

“Your shrink, Dr. Johnson, had you surrender all your possessions and then sent you to New York so you could finally accept what needs to happen to your pathetic life.  It needs to end.  He’s tired of you being too stupid to get the point and too cowardly to get on with it.  Asshole faggots disgust him, as you do all Alpha Males.  I know from his report that you’re ready to get snuffed and ready to welcome it.  I might be willing to consider you for one of my scenes if you show the right level of appreciation and enthusiasm  for the event, realizing it’s not about your needs but about my sadistic pleasure.  It’s my prerogative to torture and kill you whenever and however I decide to do it.  The fact you haven’t accepted that yet is the other reason you don’t get off’d tonight.  You are a worthless piece-of-shit homo whose only real use is to die at the hands of an Alpha Male for his pleasure, especially the pleasure of fucking you as you’re brutally tortured to death.  You’re not much physically but you might provide me a little fun for a few hours, including a satisfying fuck.  Fags your size tend to have tight little bubble butt assholes that my giant cock can rip open. I enjoy that.  And you want that.  And, of course, New York is a great city to disappear in.  No one will notice, not that they would anyway  As Chief of Police I have the power to assure that.

“And let me be clear.  There’s no negotiation, no conditions.  When an Alpha Male decides to kill you, you have no say about how he does it.  You die how he wants you to die, entirely for his enjoyment.  It’s none of your business.  You’re just there to receive unbelievable levels of pain and, if you’re lucky, to have a final orgasm as you die that the Alpha can enjoy feeling your body produce as it also tightens around his pulsating cock.  It’s for his sexual fulfillment, not yours, watching and laughing, ideally as he has his own orgasm inside your near-dead ass.  Oh, and you’ll be in such pain and so close to death you probably won’t get any actual pleasure.  Dead faggots don’t report how it felt, after all.

“The only issue since you walked into this bar has been if you add a little extra value during the snuff for an Alpha Male like me who enjoys killing willing faggots, or if you don’t volunteer and get killed by an Alpha Male like Bill who likes fags that resist.  Some of us get more pleasure when the meat is willing.  Other Alpha Males like it better when the meat is not willing, and even tries to fight back.  It’s a matter of taste but the constant factor is the kill.  I like fags who volunteer and who worship me as I deserve.  They should express their gratitude for the honor of pleasing me by cooperating as I torture and kill them.  You have that potential and that’s why Dr. Johnson sent you to me.  But you need further conditioning.”

“Now get the fuck out of our bar, faggotslave.  Strip naked and leave your clothes and all your other possessions with Bill, like you should have done when you entered.  You are a snuffslave and will present yourself as such.  You  no longer have possessions.  You do not own property.  You ARE property.  My property.  Crawl out of the bar on your hands and knees, then kneel in the alley outside next to Dave’s truck and wait for Bill to arrive and administer your initial punishment for your arrogance.  You will be punished often, with or without a reason, because we Alpha Males enjoy inflicting pain on our slaves.”

Chief  (to Bill as faggotslave quickly does as instructed, exposing his small but rock-hard cock in the process): “Have fun.  But don’t kill him or break anything yet.  You can dump him in the back of Dave’s truck when you’re done with him.  I assume he’ll be unconscious for quite a while and he can spend the night there.

“He’s both terrified and massively turned on by our little chat, as you and everyone else can see.  Now that he’s naked I can confirm I like his body type and the appearance of his meat.  He’s not very big but he’s pretty fit.  Time as a slave at the farm will make him even more fit.  The cock is unimpressive, but he’s got a decent set of balls and I’m guessing the tiny cock is matched by a super-tight hole for me to destroy.  He’s not all that bad looking and as you know I enjoy sniffing guys with his sort of build.  They’re fun to break apart.  I think he’ll be a fun kill for me, volunteering entirely for the purpose of satisfying my sadistic bloodlust once he’s properly oriented.  That’s why Doc Johnson sent him my way.   Tonight I don’t get to snuff a volunteer, but we can all enjoy the twink you have in the back, killing it while it protests and resists.  That’s still lots of fun and appeals to our sadistic natures.  But for me  there aren’t near enough of these snuffslaves who admit what they are and deserve.  Like the ones in the bar now, they make great slaves for a while.  So faggotslave will become a farm slave until it is ready to be harvested as an enthusiastic snuffslave.”

2

Conditioning

(in the alley)

Bill:  “Well, faggotslave, you didn’t run away.  That’s a start, although tracking you down and punishing you for that would have been more fun.  I’m sure the Chief would have let us kill  you instead of just beating you unconscious.  But we’ll still have lots of fun doing that as punishment for your arrogance in the bar, as the Chief encouraged us to do.

“To start, my buddies and I are going to piss down your throat, then you are to use your tongue to get our cocks hard.  Dave and Sam are going to fuck you first, then we’re going to torture you while I fuck your ass.  They’ll fuck you at the same time, with both their cocks up your puny ass.  That’s more fun for them and a lot more painful for you.  Puny guys like you tend to have tight assholes.”

Bill (after his buddies finish double-dicking faggotslave, who obviously enjoyed the pain and eagerly sucked Bill’s dick as they did so):  “Wow.  is that all there is to your cock?  You truly are the nerdy masochist faggot Doc Johnson described.  But I thought he was exaggerating when he said you didn’t have much of a dick.  I bet it’s not more than 4 inches.  If you had the balls to fuck another guy in the ass I doubt he’d even notice.  But I’m guessing you haven’t done that.  You’re the kind of faggot who just sucks cock and gets fucked.  And judging by what a good job you did drinking our piss I figure you’re an experienced urinal too.  So you are good at sucking cock and drinking piss, two skills that are useful, plus a nice tight ass to plug.  We’ll take advantage of that.  But next we need to tie you up so I can take my turn fucking your ass and we can all have fun hurting you.  This electrical pole should do nicely.  We’ll tie your wrists above your head so I can fuck your ass while Dave and Sam torture the rest of you.  There are so many fun places to administer pain!

Bill (ramming his huge cock up faggotslave’s ass after faggotslave is secured to a crossbeam extending form the electrical pole):  “Well, you do have a nice tight ass like everyone reports  The Chief will enjoy ripping it open when the time comes.  His cock is a lot bigger than mine, as he’s fond of pointing out.  But mine’s big enough to get your attention.  It’s nicely lubricated too, so I think Dave and Sam did a decent job filling it with cum.  It’s obvious you enjoy being fucked, but we’ll add a lot more pain so you don’t enjoy it too much.  Of course, we also realize you enjoy the pain.  We’ll see how much you enjoy it when It’s at the levels we’re going to inflict.

“Feel very free to scream, by the way.  We enjoy listening to that, and it’s late enough that there is no one nearby to hear you.  Even if there were, remember that the cops work for the Chief. He owns you now and he’s the one who asked us to beat you.  This will be way more than you’re used to, but comparatively tame compared to what he’ll do, so you can start imagining the kinds of things that are going to be done to you before you get to die.  You’ll be begging for that.  But for now I’m going to fuck your ass while Dave and Sam enjoy themselves administering pain to your body.  As I cum they’ll finish beating you unconscious.  You are going to be bruised and in pain for days, but we  won’t kill you.  Fuck, if you’re lucky you might even have an orgasm as you pass out.  Your erection is throbbing already and there’s a little pre-cum dripping from it..  That’s always highly amusing to see.  The best part is having your body tighten around my cock while you pass out and shoot your load.  That feels great.”

Bill (as faggotslave screams loudly):  “Yeah, I bet that hurt.  Dave has a strong arm, and he was holding brass knuckles when he wailed on your balls.  You’re lucky he moved away before you threw up, or you would have really mad him mad.  If some of it got on him he might have lost his temper.  Your balls are going to be swollen for a long time, especially since he’s not done hitting them.  You’re probably all out of puke so he can move in close. 

“Now for some more fun, while I continue to enjoy drilling your ass.  I like it when you twitch and turn in pain, since it adds to the pressure on my cock and that feels great, so let’s see how you react to a cattle prod.  Zap!  Wasn’t that fun?  I can tell you felt it on your right nipple, and I enjoyed your scream.  Now for the left one.  Zap!  Excellent.  Now the balls.  There’s no limit to the amount of pain we enjoy inflicting there.  Zap!  Zap!  Oh, even better.  Obviously, the cock is next, and we’re going to hold the prod there for a while so the muscle gets a full dose of electricity   It’ll wilt for a bit after that but I’m willing to bet it will get hard again (such as it is) fairly soon.  This is the kind of pain you crave.  Zappppp!  Zappppp!  Wow.  That was fantastic!  Sam is really talented.  It might take a little longer for you to recover from all this so the Chief can use you, but I’m sure you’d agree it’s worth it.  It is for us and that’s all that matters.

“Time for a few punches.  Sam’s also really good at attacking a slave’s midsection, so let’s see how you enjoy that.  Oh good, you twisted nicely and put more pressure on my cock.  Want Dave to hit your balls again now?  Of course you do.  The great part of this is none of it will damage your long-term ability to provide even more pleasure after you wake up.  Dave and his team can still play with you at the farm, and they will also be careful sp the Chief will have a nice fresh slab of temporarily alive meat to use for his own fun.  It won’t matter how much your flesh is damaged and your bones are broken when that happens, since he won’t leave you alive like we’re going to do.

“I’m getting close to my own orgasm, and I see your cock is hard again.  I think you might even have one of your own, although it won’t amount to much.  Dave and Sam are going to team up beating you on the chest and belly, but they’ll leave your cock and balls alone just in case you manage to shoot before you pass out.  If your body performs as it should – and fag bodies always do – then you’ll shoot your load as you lose consciousness, and as I shoot mine up your ass.  I’ll enjoy the show and your contortions will put wonderful added pressure on my cock as I shoot, but you’ll be in so much pain you won’t get to enjoy yours.  It’s a perfect happy ending for the evening,  isn’t it?  

“We’ll leave you tied up and piss all over you before we dump you in the back of Dave’s truck.  You might be interested to know we’re  making a video of your punishment that we will show at the bar, so others can enjoy it.  We’ve also identified some people who knew you before you admitted to being a snuffslave, and we’ll be sure they see it too so they can realize what a worthless faggot you were.  We know a lot of them enjoyed abusing and fucking you so I’m sure they’ll enjoy watching it.  We are entitling it “faggotslave Conditioning” in your honor, so they remember your role before becoming an official slave.  We might even show a few of them the video of your eventual snuff scene, and a few of them are members of the Alpha Male Society so they might show up to watch in person.  It will be a very festive reunion, I’m sure.  We make use of faggots as best we can, given your limited utility.  This is the one sort of thing you’re actually good for.”

Bill (to Dave and Sam as they laugh at faggotslave’s unconscious body):  That was a ton of fun and a great fuck.  Let’s dowse him with piss before we toss him into the back of Dave’s truck.  He can clean it up when he wakes up.  Time to go inside for the REAL fun.”

3

Conditioning

(at the farm)

Crack!

Dave:  “Wake up faggotslave,  it’s time to start your existence as an acknowledged and willing  snuffslave and prepare you to be tortured and killed.  You’ve been unconscious for two days after Bill, Sam, and I beat the shit out of you and fucked your ass in the ally by Bill’s bar.  The Chief said not to break anything or do permanent damage, but he didn’t put limits on how much pain we could inflict.  Quite the opposite.  We all wanted to find out what your pain tolerance is, which is always a fun process and important in designing a kill to make sure the slave suffers as much and as long as possible.  We pushed well past it and you eventually passed out from the tortures and the beating.  You’re going to hurt pretty much everywhere for quite a while longer.  Get used to it.  Now get on your knees and suck my cock while I explain the rules here on the Chief’s farm.

“The rules are obvious, and the main rule is that you do exactly what you are told to do, no matter what that is.  You tried to negotiate with the Chief on what would happen to you when you were at the bar, and that is one of the reasons you were punished.  You have no say about anything, and no one gives a fuck what you want or even think.  So you are to shut the fuck up and do as you are told.  Period.  The major part of your training is getting you to realize not only the reality that you are a slave, but also that deep down you are desperate to be a slave and serve an Alpha Male master.  Your purpose and fulfillment is satisfying his every whim and losing your life in the process.  You have accepted the fact you’re a masochist faggot, and that you get sexual pleasure form being degraded and abused.  That’s useful, as it makes your body react nicely when we torture you.  You got massively turned on during your beating, and your body performed wonderfully as you reached orgasm.  As you convulsed your ass tightened hugely around Bill’s cock and he had a fantastic orgasm as he shot his load into you.  Your entire body tensed up as your own cock spewed a giant load of cum all over the place.  And that happened as you lost consciousness.  The more we beat you the more you got turned on, just like a masochist slave should do.  I’m guessing it was the most intense orgasm you ever had, and you are desperate for another one like it.  The Chief was pleased when he saw the video and knows he’ll greatly enjoy snuffing you.  That will happen when we get you into a little better shape and you realize that, as a slave, you will welcome being snuffed not for the pain that will turn you on sexually but from the fact it will please your master.  It’s really quite simple.

“You may only speak when given permission to do so, and if that happens you are to address all Alpha Males, including me, as “sir.”  The Chief is “master.”  And that’s it for rules.  See?  I told you it was simple.  I bet even scum like you can figure it out.

“Now, as for your tasks.  I run the farm for the Chief, and it’s a massive operation with all kinds of crops and both human and non-human farm animals. The human ones plant and tend the crops, and both types provide fresh meat when we are done with them.  We prefer the slave meat, especially when we eat it live. 

“We’re in the main barn at the moment, and that’s where you’ll be stored as you recover and  are conditioned for the Chief’s use and disposal.  To help you understand your status I’ve decided to have you tend to the pigs.  You’ll serve them their slop to eat and keep their pen clean.  That means you’ll be up to your naked ass in pig shit most of the time.  The pigs matter more than you do and are better cared for, so that will be good for your attitude.  Also, your food will consist of any slop that is left over after they eat, although you are not to consume more than one dog dish full of it.  You are to stay lean and hungry.  You may drink from their water trough, which my men and I also use as a urinal.  You are to drink a lot as staying hydrated is important, and because it is disgusting and degrading.  The Chief wants you to get into top physical shape.  So another task is bailing hay for the horses.  That is remarkably good exercise and will tone your muscles considerably as it enhances your cardio and pulmonary endurance.  Those are important to be sure you do not die too early during the snuff.  These chores will occupy your mornings.  It’s the start of the planting season so you’ll join other slaves in the fields after your second and final daily dish of pig slop.  Spending the afternoons naked in the hot sun will further develop your muscles and generate a complete tan, which the Chief prefers for his snuff targets.  You’ll notice your beard, torso, arms, legs, and crotch have been shaved, and your skin was treated with chemicals that will prevent any hair from growing back.  At this point your skin is nice and smooth but utterly devoid of any color or tone.  You will be made much more sexually appealing in a month or two.  I think the Chief is planning to off you during the summer solstice celebration in June, and by then you’re going to be a perfect physical specimen meeting the Chief’s high standards for live faggot meat. 

“It’s a pity you won’t live long enough to be part of the fall harvest.  That’s my favorite time of year.  After the slaves harvest the crops, we harvest the slaves.  It’s a week of snuff orgies with several hundred slaves, some barbecued alive, most tortured and fucked to death by members of the Alpha Male Society.  And about 50 are crucified, their agonizing naked bodies providing a great ambience for the event.  We pick those in advance and condition them so they have maximum arm strength as well as durable pulmonary and cardio systems, so they typically last for days.  I think you’d provide an especially long show given your light build and strong heart and lungs, but you’ll be dead long before that.  Pity. It’s a great show and their agony is astonishing and great fun to watch.  They pretty much always have giant orgasms as they die, and we have fun betting when that will happen.  When it’s over all the farm slaves are butchered and sold for meat.  We get a few new ones to handle the winter chores, and a big shipment in spring for planting and such.  Those just arrived and I will be spending my time indoctrinating them, so you will not get much attention.  You have your instructions, and you are to obey them.

There is, however, one other aspect of your training, which will take place in the evenings.  You will be tortured to increase your pain tolerance.  It’s already good but it could be better, and the Chief does not want you to go into system shock as he gets serious about torturing you.  You won’t get fucked very often, as the Chief wants your ass to remain extremely tight, one of your better features.  His cock will take care of loosening that when the time comes, which will of course be a source of considerable pain in itself since he’ll essentially rip it open.  His cock is amazingly giant, as you will learn. 

“And you will remain horny, especially given your strong masochistic nature, but without any release.  The Vet inserted a computer chip where your brain stem connects to your spine that manages the sexual signals between your brain and your body.  It massively increases your sex drive – in your case your desire for pain – but prevents you from having an orgasm. 

Remember, the reason you are being kept alive isn’t as part of my slave crew to work the farm. We have lots of slaves for that, and they’re a lot bigger and stronger than you are. Providing better quality of meat to sell.  The reason  is to orient you away from considering your own pleasure as a masochist, so you focus solely on the pleasure of the Chief, the Alpha Male sadist who owns you.  You will come to understand how worthless and irrelevant you are, and how important and deserving the Chief is.  You will learn to worship him as he deserves.  To that end it is important that you are subjected to massive pain and humiliation. You do not deserve to achieve sexual release.  That erection you have now will be constant, courtesy of the computer chip and your own natural masochism.  Yet you won’t be able to do anything about it.  The Chief is a creative sadist.  We don’t give a fuck about your pleasure, just about making your life more degrading and awful.  We enjoy depriving you of pleasure while we cause you to seek it even more.  We’re sadists, after all, and that’s reason enough.  What better suffering is there for a masochist faggot than being tortured but not being allowed to get any sexual satisfaction or release?  I’m sure you can see the humor in that.    What better psychological torture can there be than a sadist depriving a masochist of sexual release as part of its suffering?  Now bend over the pig trough over there so I can fuck your ass.  Then you are to clean the pen.”

4

Party Prep

Crack!

Dave (holding the bullwhip he’d used to wake faggotslave before dawn):  Wake up faggotslave.  On your knees and drink my morning piss.  They you can suck my cock while I give you your instructions for today.  You have extra duties after you feed the pigs, clean their trough, and bale the hay for the horses.  Those include showing snuffslave #223 what your morning chores are.  It will take over for you tomorrow since you’ll be dead.  It’s not scheduled to die until after fall harvest and needs to be made useful in the meantime.   As for you, today the Chief is hosting a large group of our Alpha Male Society fellow members to celebrate summer solstice.  You will be part of the entertainment at the start of the cocktail party, which will occur on the South Lawn next the main estate house.  There will be lots of slaves serving the members in every way – as waiters, as sex objects to be tortured and snuffed, as live meat entrées for the barbecues.  You are going to be used as a minor part of the entertainment the Chief is going to provide as the party starts.  He likes to start things off with an especially brutal snuff to show off his body and his skills and to get everyone in the mood for the fun that will follow.  Once he’s done with you, and the guests have had the chance to fuck your dead ass, your body is of almost no further use.  You have been conditioned to endure extreme pain and respond sexually to torture, but that means your meat is too lean to be acceptable for the barbecue.  The snuffslaves used for that have a higher bodyfat ratio that makes their meat flavorful.  Kobe-style slave mat is extremely popular with our Society and the Chief only serves the best. Yours is bland and boring, like every other aspect of your worthless existence.  But even after you’re killed your body will provide a little added fun later in the evening as it gets dark.  What’s left after the Chief kills you will be ripped apart even more, and the meat eaten, by the cayotes who live in the forest next to the farm.  They’re not picky about the quality of meat they get.  Then tomorrow what’s left will become fertilizer. I’ve decided you will be composted to nourish a stretch of grass on the lawn that is not growing well enough.

“Therefore, just as the party starts you will peel back the grass and sod and then dig a trench where one of the other slaves can dump your carcass and then replace the sod and grass.  Our guests enjoy watching fit naked slaves preparing the spot where their dead bodies will be disposed of, and I have done a great job improving your physical strength and appearance.  As you are likely aware, I fertilize the lawn with the bodies of snuffed faggots.  Fags like you make great fertilizer and there are several hundred I’ve used for that over the years.  Sometimes I grind the faggot up into mulch and spread it like manure, and sometimes I bury it freshly killed in spots that aren’t growing as well as I want, adding chemicals that accelerate the composting and make sure nothing is left of the carcass.  And sometimes, just for fun, I bury the fag alive.  While our guests enjoy their cocktails and conversation, they can watch as you dig a suitable hole to dump your left-over body parts in.  It doesn’t have to be all that deep since I want the rotting flesh to work its magic on the soil and feed the earthworms that will make  the soil more porous from their movements. 

“That trench is where the follow-up fun will happen after dinner when we’re all assembled inside in the main dining room.  The cayotes always show up at dusk to check out the area after a big party, and I want the trench shallow enough so the cayotes can enjoy tearing apart and eating freshly killed faggot tonight.  I want them to be able to get to the body easily for their feast.  We all enjoy listening to them yipping loudly as it gets darker to alert their pack that there’s fresh meat to be had.  There’s a night-vision camera and microphone that will be set up for everyone to watch safely as the animals fight over who gets to eat which parts of the carcass.  Pity is, they especially enjoy faggot genitals, and as I look at your puny cock I realize they won’t find much to consume.  But your balls seem about average and they’ll enjoy biting those off.  The real pity, of course, is that you’ll already be dead, so they don’t get as much fun as they’d like by doing the kill themselves.  They’re remarkably vicious when they do and that’s far more fun to watch.  The Chief wants his guests to be able to enjoy seeing their bloodthirsty energy, which we think is inspirational.  So I’m going to also have a live naked faggot tied up for them to enjoy, cutting it so the smell of its fresh blood attracts them. The noise as they kill and eat it is a fabulous mix of the furiously yipping animals celebrating and the terrified faggot screaming in pain.  I’m also doing that because the patch of lawn that needs fertilizing is fairly large.  Your grave-trench needs to be large enough for both bodies.  The other fag will help you dig so our guests can enjoy watching each of you, then it will be tied to a fuck bench to be used sexually   When you are finished digging you are to crawl to the main reception area and kneel before the Chief, who will amuse his guests by torturing and killing you.”

5

Foreplay

Chief (standing naked except for his steel-toed boots, using them to kick faggotslave in the balls as it kneels in front of him, sending it sprawling as the guests watch and laugh):  “Dave has done well, and you appear to be in much better physical shape.  I also understand you are now aware that your sole purpose is to worship my Alpha body and cooperate in providing me sexual pleasure as I torture you and end your worthless life .  As you can see, I am at least a foot taller than you are and massively more muscular.  Your skin is devoid of body hair, and your beard has been shaved off, as befits a pathetic twink fag ready for harvest.  In contrast, my beard  has the dark, thick hair of a true Alpha, as does my chest. Your body is smooth, with limited muscle definition even though you have been conditioned and your muscles are well developed for a twink of your size and build. That’s so you can last longer as I destroy your flesh.  My frame is massive and all muscle, complete with washboard abs.  You are not remotely worthy to offer your pathetic body and useless life for my pleasure.  So you will need to suffer added pain and humiliation to make up for that.  I will enjoy your agony as I inflict it and thereby gain more of the pleasure I deserve.

 “Now kneel down in front of me again.  You are to worship and service my amazing cock.  Its 12 inches of thick muscle will soon tear open your puny ass.  But first you are to use your mouth and tongue to service it, getting it rock hard and ready for its use as a weapon for your pain and a source of my pleasure.  I want to feel it deep in your throat before it goes up your ass.  I will hold your head to make sure you welcome my cock all the way in, even though it is going to cause you to choke, and you’ll be unable to breathe.  Your tongue is to caress it all the way down the shaft to its base.  I am told you have become adept at servicing Dave’s 10-inch cock, but you will be surprised how much harder it is to service one that is 12 inches.  I  don’t care and don’t tolerate gagging.  You will learn that there is no release from your suffering when I decide to use you.  When I am satisfied with thrusting my cock down your throat I will send a torrent of piss down it.  You are to drink all of it.  Then I will remove my cock and you will lick my balls.  You will also lick my ass.  You are to stay focused on serving my body as I torture you.”

Chief (adding to faggotslave’s fear as it eagerly services his cock but also arousing its masochistic desires):  “I plan to cut you open and I like  the feel of hot blood leaking onto my powerful skin.  You will be grateful to see your body’s fluids providing me that satisfaction.  The pain from the cuts will be astonishing and a part of you will want to die, hoping blood loss will cause that to happen.  But you will not be permitted to bleed out  The Vet will monitor and control that. And you know you deeply desire the pain and the destruction of your flesh.  You have the privilege of admiring my dominant, massive, perfect Alpha Male body, and of worshiping it as I take your life and get pleasure from doing so.    I require worship from those I kill, as I deserve, and your own massive sexual arousal will be part of that worship.”

Chief (now fully erect, his massive cock and balls nicely massaged, and his ass licked clean by the adoring faggotslave, who also eagerly drank  the giant load of piss): “Stand up and face me.  As you know, the computer chip implanted in your neck prevents you from having an orgasm, and you have not gotten sexual relief since you arrived at the farm despite the constant use as a sox toy and cum bucket that turns you on.  Do you now wish me to remove it so you can do so?  You have permission to speak.”

Faggotslave (with total sincerity that reflects its successful conditioning):  “I hope you will do whatever gives you the most pleasure, Master.  That is all that matters.  I am grateful that you are using me for your enjoyment.”

Chief:  “Dave has indeed trained you well.  Your act of abject submission is the only acceptable response.  I will do what pleases me the most and don’t, and never did, care what you desire.  I just wanted to confirm your training.

“ At this point I do not plan to fuck your face again.  I’ll use your ass for that.  Sp I see no further use for your tongue to massage my cock and certainly no reason for you to speak.  No one wants to hear from you.  Ever.  Open your mouth so I can use this knife to cut out your useless tongue.  It will be a fitting start to vivisecting you.  You won’t be able to talk but you’ll be able to squeal like a pig. That’s all I want to hear from you.  I enjoy it when fags try to scream after their tongues are cut out.   It’s a high-pitched animal sound that befits your status as meat being butchered.”

Chief (tossing the bleeding tongue to his pet, Felix, who quickly chomps it down as faggotslave watches, in pain but grateful for being better able to provide the Chief with pleasure):  “Time to step up the pain, which starts with some great entertainment.  Stand in front of that wall, facing me, with your arms spread wide, fists open, palms out.  Dave will make sure you’re properly positioned.”

Chief (getting the attention of the guests once Dave has positioned faggotslave):  Welcome AMS members.  It is great to see everyone, and I know we’re all looking forward to a wonderful evening of comradery as we practice the Art of Male Snuff.  To start the fun, I think you’ll enjoy watching me snuff this pathetic twink, which is as eager to die as I am to kill it.  As you all know, I find that particularly satisfying and utterly appropriate. 

“To make it more of a show for all of your, I got some new toys that Dave and I have been practicing with and enjoying a lot.  Frankly, we want to show off a little, as you’d expect from Alpha Males like us – and each of you.  These are top-of-the-line Smith and Wesson throwing knives.  They are of varying length, including two large throwing axes.  Their balance is perfect, and they build momentum as they spin and fly toward the target. It’s amazing how sharp they are and how easily they dig into flesh.   In fact, it’s important to be careful how hard you throw them and where you aim.  When I first got them I tested them on a farm slave and targeted the faggot’s heart.  I thought that would be a good way to start the blood flowing, which is so much fun to watch as the fag becomes completely terrified by the agony and the final realization of its fate.  But the knife went in so fast and deep it exploded the beating muscle and the fucker died right away. 

“I was pretty pissed and called the sales rep to complain that they didn’t have a warning about that with the instructions.  We do a LOT of business with them at the department, so I always get his attention.  He promised he’d make it good.

“The next day he showed up with a sales trainee, a young twink apparently right out of college  He brought me a whole new set and gave Dave and me some especially useful pointers on how to select the right length and calibrate the velocity of the knife, so it only goes in as far as I want it too.  That has proved to be quite useful as you’ll see shortly.  But I told him I already had a dozen knives from the first set I bought and having more knives and some instruction didn’t solve the problem of having a faggot die before I was ready to administer the kill.  The lead salesman had already thought that through, but he turned to the trainee and asked how he would propose to solve the problem.  The trainee understood that customer satisfaction was the top priority, especially a customer as important as I am.  And he had committed himself to the company as they require.  He wasn’t too happy about the obvious solution, but he quickly stripped naked and stood in front of the throwing wall where today’s fag is now positioned.  He eventually turned out to be a good sport about his fate after I explained some of the alternative things I might do to him, and he stood still in front of my throwing wall while I tested the suggestions.  I was able to get all 24 knives into him and no individual throw was fatal. But I was still a little too eager and he died from the cumulative effect before I could stick my big cock into him and get a good fuck while he was still convulsing from all the pain.  I   had to settle for fucking his dead ass.  But that was satisfying, and I placed a big order from the department with the sales rep.   That way everyone was happy, except maybe the sales trainee.  Dave and I have been practicing with more farm slaves and we’ve gotten particularly good at getting lots of knives into the flesh without having the faggot die prematurely.  And we’ve especially gotten good at making sure they stay standing while we have our fun.  Watch.

“See?  Dave and I simultaneously nailed the fag right in the palms of its hands.  These were longer knives that went in all the way to the hilt and judging by the faggot’s scream it hurt a lot.  Now faggotslave’s got both hands thoroughly pinned to the wall and is unable to move. Clever, huh?  Notice how the knives cut through the flesh and cartilage so easily and are well embedded in the wall.  That’s because we put a lot of force into the throws.  These two knives will hold it up as we proceed, which would otherwise be a problem. 

Chief (now addressing faggotslave):  it’s time to turn you into a bleeding pin cushion.  I’m going to start with your chest, aiming for the right nipple.  I’ll ease off a bit on the velocity and force, using a shorter knife that will cause less bleeding and won’t go all the way through you and pin you to the wall.  We’ll need to move you to that nearby sling when we’re done throwing knives,  so I can fuck your ass and play with the knives that will be inserted into you.  We want this next set of knives to cut into your innards, but not go all the way through.   We also don’t want you to die from internal bleeding.  That’s not dramatic enough.  Balancing all these factors is  a lot of what we learned from practicing on the sales trainee and a few more farm slaves.  And we have to be careful not to have a knife go into your heart.  So we won’t aim for the right nipple.  I’ve learned that lesson!  You don’t need both lungs, so Dave is going to throw the next knife near where mine hit, to be sure the right lung collapses.  It’s fun to watch fags struggle to breathe once that happens. 

“Great throw Dave!  The fag squealed nice and loud and it’s obvious having trouble breathing. 

Chief (laughing form the joy of the kill, to faggotslave, whose agony is intense but whose arousal is evidenced by a solid erection):  Hey fag, how about if I aim for your liver, then Dave and I can each take out a kidney?  Does that sound like a good sequence, or would you rather have a knife thrust into you somewhere else first?  This is a lot of fun and I’m willing to be accommodating.  My main goal is to get at least one in the liver and each kidney, and several in the guts and stomach.  But we’ll take our time. Your look of terror is amusing, and you actually don’t yet know how increasingly painful this is going to be.” 

Chief (to the Vet):  “Keep an eye out in case you need to slow down the bleeding.  We don’t want it to bleed out.”

Chief (to faggotslave):  Having fun?  I’m enjoying the shrill noises you’re making as the knives cut into you.  You really do sound like a stuck pig.  Dave and I are going to do a lightning round next.  We’ve each selected five knives that are shorter, so they can land anywhere without doing anything fatal.  We’re going to aim for your arms, legs, and belly.  Let us know when you’d like us to start.

“Oh, I forgot.  You don’t talk anymore.   So we’ll just start on the count of three.  One, two, three!

“That was awesome.  I think Dave and I have become supremely talented at our new sport.  Don’t you agree?

“But this was just the foreplay.  Now it’s time for me to make the tortures up close and personal.  That way you can fully appreciate just how phenomenal my body is.  You will also appreciate how my 12-inch cock can rip apart a faggot’s asshole.  I’ve used the knife throwing to get myself aroused as only true Alpha Males can do.  My bloodlust is surging, and you are its target.

“I’m going to have you moved to the sling and then my giant cock goes into your doomed ass.  I’m going to make that fuck and your final destruction last as long as possible.  But all the damage to your innards from the knives makes your death inevitable.  If we did nothing further you’d die from internal bleeding fairly soon.  But we’re going to do a LOT more.”

6

Climax

Chief (while faggotslave is still pinned to the wall): “Time to release our fag target, Dave.  Do you want to take the left side or the right side?  Your choice.”

“I’ll take the left side.  Shall we throw on the count of three again?”

“Sure.  I’ll count slow so it can try to figure out what’s about to happen.  One,…two,…three!”

Chief (ecstatic) :  Those were perfect!  The axes severed each shoulder simultaneously, and the body promptly fell face first onto the cement.  I’m fairly sure it broke its nose since it didn’t have any arms to stop the fall.”

Dave (laughing, and equally pleased):  It sure was.  And the dismembered arms are still pinned to the wall by the knives we used at the start.  The fag is still breathing but seems to have passed out.  That’s OK.  I’m sure the Vet can wake it up once we move it to the sling for the finale’.  This is turning out to be our best effort yet.

Vet:  “Yeah, that was pretty impressive.  And no worries, I’ll slow down the bleeding and bring it back to consciousness.  Might as well do that while it’s on the cement, so it can feel the pain as it’s moved to the sling.”

Chief (having thrust his throbbing, erect cock into faggotslave’s hole as soon as the fag was in the sling and fully accessible,, causing more inhuman sounds from the faggot): “Feel that, faggot?  Your ass is nicely lubricated from all your internal bleeding, and it is going to tighten even more onto my cock as I continue to torture you.  That’s going to drive me wild with sadistic passion as you receive more and more and more pain.  You’ll think it can’t get worse, but it will. 

“And look.  Your puny little cock is rock hard.  I might enjoy watching it shoot a last load as you die, but I haven’t decided about that yet.  I wonder if there would be much cum.  After all, you’ve been storing it inside you for months now.  II bet your balls did a good job filing up with whatever was inside you.  This could be an added aspect of the entertainment.

“But here’s the great part.  It was obvious from your gyrations and sequels that those knives hurt a lot when they went into you.  And they’re  still there and still causing pain – except for the ones you left behind when you lost your arms.  Pity about that.  But the REAL pain is when the knives are twisted.  For example, let’s start with this one that’s probably stuck in your liver.  See, I’m turning it now and you’re almost passing out again from the increased agony.  But don’t worry.  The Vet will bring you back around if you do, so you won’t miss anything.  Oh, and I’ve observed that kidneys can transmit astonishing levels of pain.  That’s why kidney stones are so awful.  Here, let me demonstrate.  I’ll twist both knives at the same time.

“Wow.  That was quite a jerk of your body.  Did it hurt?  Oh, I keep forgetting.  My cat’s got your tongue.

Dave (laughing):  Cute.  Felix looked up when you said that.  Maybe he thinks he’ll get another faggot snack.”

“Chief (now overwhelmed with lust and passion, his cock throbbing as it thrusts in and out  while the faggot’s body twists and tuns, providing intense pressure and pleasure):  He will, but not until it’s dead.  I think that’s going to be fairly soon. 

Chief (sensing that faggotslave is starting to fade more rapidly):  “Hey faggot, are you close to death?  I’ve been playing with the knives stuck in you for nearly an hour.  I’ve wanted to be sure you get all the pain you deserve by twisting and removing the rest of these knives, then inserting them all over again.  I’m doing it slowly so you can experience the full impact of the torture.  When you get really close to death I have a special treat for you, so hang in there!”

“Yeah, I think it’s time.  OK, Dave, hand me that really long knife.”

Dave (massaging his own erect cock):  “Yup, I think it’s time.”

Chief (expertly slicing into faggotslave’s throat): “Die faggot.  My knife is extremely sharp and  is easily cutting your throat . But I’m going to go as slow as possible.  You can feel my cock erupting inside you as I cut.  And my knife has dislodged the computer chip, so Your own cock is also exploding with cum – lots and lots of cum – going everywhere.  It’s a great show.  You finally got something right.  I can’t believe how much pleasure I feel as I fill you with my man-juice.  I can’t believe how satisfying it is to feel your death throes pressure my cock.  You are finally the bleeding, pain-filled piece of cut-up meat you deserved to be.  My knife is now most of the way through your neck and your head will be totally cut off any second now.  You only have a few seconds to live, with all that pain mixed with a massive orgasm.  I took your life and it meant nothing because you meant nothing.  It just provided me with pleasure, but my pleasure was intense.”

Chief (removing his spent cock form the dead body, holding the head in his hands after he had completely severed it with the electric knife): “The body’s still warm, Dave.”

Dave (inserting his erect cock into faggotslave’s cum-and-blood-filled ass as the body still gyrates): “This feels great.  The ass is overly lubricated but still wonderfully tight.  And it’s so satisfying to fuck a faggot as it’s just finished dying, still convulsing a bit as the muscles give out but not so much that there’s not wonderful pressure on my cock.  This is what faggots are good for.  And the celebration is just beginning!”

Office Bubba: White Power Meets Black Muscles

It was the end of a long day and Officer Bubba was tired.  A cold front had blown through earlier in the day, wet and windy, with violent squalls.  There had been three fender-benders in town and a really nasty wreck out on the highway—they’d had to call the county meat wagon in on that one.  But the storm had passed, leaving only puddles, and Bubba was not only off duty, he was off for the next three days.

He had the privilege of taking the cruiser home; someone else on the force would come by and pick it up tomorrow.  He’d just swung off Main Street when a black Dodge Charger with expensive rims peeled out and cut him off, roaring up the street.  Bubba recognized it at once; there was only one car in town like that.  It belonged to Willie Dawson, the mayor’s kid.

Dawson himself wasn’t in town; wealthy enough to hire a private jet to fly to DC to help overthrow what his deranged mind saw as a rigged election, he was too canny to have actually been caught inside the Capitol and was now spending his time and money trying to help his fellow insurrectionists out of their legal issues.  And since he was the only one capable of controlling his worthless, spoiled son, it made sense that Willie was running amok.

Bubba grinned and switched on his siren.  As he chased after the speeding car, he could feel his weariness draining away and a sense of something else coming over him—excitement, anticipation, he couldn’t quite name it.  But the thought that it was time Willie learned the meaning of respect made his massive black cock achingly hard.

The officer was momentarily taken by surprise when the car swung to the left onto the county road—the Dawson property was to the right, and Bubba had heard of Willie’s boast that no cop would dare come after him at his father’s house.  Bubba would have been more than happy to prove him wrong.  Now, it looked like he wouldn’t get that chance.

A mile further on, Willie nearly lost it on a right-angle turn to the right; Bubba was close enough to see that there was someone in the passenger seat.  Even though the face was illuminated in his headlights for no more than a fraction of a second, Bubba recognized Dylan Channing.

He should have expected it, Bubba realized.  Dylan lived nearby in Willie’s upscale neighborhood and came from a family nearly as wealthy.  The two had been repeatedly nabbed in minor peccadillos—vandalism, petty shoplifting, minors in possession.  All had been dismissed due to the wealth of both families and the political clout of Willie’s father.

Bubba’s disgust had peaked when they had been pulled over, drunk out of their minds, and run in.  Bubba had been the receiving officer at the jail that night.  Their sneers and racial abuse had been bad enough—it had been much worse the next morning, when it was repeated after they were dismissed, the arraigning magistrate not even bothering to charge them, since they would never be indicted in any case.  From that point on, the two worthless punks went out of their way to show their utter lack of respect for authority—and the police in particular.

All the other cops bent over backwards to coddle the boys, encouraging the attitude.  Bubba had no intention of doing so and was almost overjoyed at the chance to put the little shits in their place.  The only problem was that he doubted he’d have the opportunity to truly teach them the lesson they needed to learn.  After all, they couldn’t go missing the way Bennie had; there’d be too many questions.

Little did he know that the bridge over Big Bear Creek, half a mile up the road, was about to present him with that very opportunity for which he’d been longing.  It was placed just after another hairpin turn, and combined with the still-slick roads and Willie’s aggressive driving, it proved too much for the adrenaline-fueled punk.

Bubba was too far back to see the actual wreck, but he saw the taillights of the Dodge as they left the road and then upended.  The car had rolled; the possibility of it being a severe wreck flashed across the cop’s mind.  He hoped not—dying in a car crash would be letting the little shits off too easily.

But he didn’t radio the accident in.  Not yet.  He wanted to make sure.  After all, if they were still alive…

And again he felt a strain and ache in his groin, and grinned maliciously, his white teeth flashing in his hard ebon face.

Bubba slowed his car to a stop in the middle of the road, just short of the bridge.  Shifting into park, he got out, his big black tactical boots thudding on the cracked asphalt as he approached the wreck.  The Charger was on its roof, obviously totaled, and hanging at a precarious angle over the raging, rain-swollen creek.  From inside, barely audible over the roaring of the rushing water, came the groans of the stunned youths.

So they weren’t dead—yet.  Bubba chuckled and approached the car.  Willie was already crawling out of the driver’s side window.  The eighteen-year-old punk was disheveled, his brown hair mussed, a trickle of blood seeping down his cheek from a small cut on his temple.  His black t-shirt with a Korn logo was torn across the front, showing his smooth chest, and there were a few drops of blood on the right thigh of his tight jeans.  He climbed shakily to his feet, shuffling his black and white Puma Fast Cat sneakers in the grass, but Bubba was busy extracting Dylan from the wreck.

A year younger than his buddy, the kid seemed to be utterly unharmed but bordering on shock.  He was mumbling and almost in tears.  Still upside-down and held in his seat by the seatbelt, his yellow t-shirt had fallen around his armpits, revealing his flat, heaving belly, covered with a fine peach fuzz.  Bubba pulled a tool from his utility belt and cut through the seatbelt with no effort at all.  Grabbing the blond youth under the arms, he dragged him from the vehicle.  The boy’s legs, in their tight, worn jeans, dragged on the ground, the heels of his bright red Adidas Originals kicks creating furrows in the dirt.

Bubba got the stunned youth to his cruiser and manhandled him into the back seat; Dylan put up no resistance.  He returned to the inverted Dodge to find that Willie had recovered himself somewhat.  The punk had worked his way around the vehicle and was leaning on the rear bumper, his hand on his head.  He raised his eyes and glared at Bubba.

“Fuckin’ figures,” he muttered in a surly tone.  “Fuckin’ nigger cop, yeah, right.  C’mon and bust me, coon.  Ain’t no way any charges are gonna be pressed, anyway.”

Bubba sighed.  The little shit was right.  “Get in the car, boy,” he snapped, wishing there was some way for the fucker to just disappear—and that’s when Willie materially aided him, unintentionally.

The boy leaned his full weight against the rear of car.  Its precarious angle on the rain-weakened bank of the creek did the rest; there was a deep metallic groaning and suddenly the entire car shifted and slithered toward the raging, swollen waterway.  Willie fell to the ground with a surprised cry as the Dodge tipped up and vanished from sight into the floodwaters.

The creek was wide and deep enough to completely cover the car at once, and was flowing with enough force to instantly sweep it away to God-knows-where.  And that, Bubba realized, was all he needed.  The boys were his.  The Dodge would be halfway across the state before it was found, so anyone looking for them would presume they’d been washed away in the flooding.

The anticipatory ache in the black cop’s groin became almost unbearable.  “Get in the car, motherfucker,” he snarled.  From the ground, Willie peered up at him with a look of pure hatred, but slowly climbed to his feet.

“You ain’t gonna hold me long, jigaboo,” the racist punk sneered, with unconscious prescience.  Bubba only smirked. Nettled, Willie continued to try to get a rise out of the black cop.  “Whatsa matter, coon, didn’t they teach ya English when they let a token nigger into the Academy?  Or did they just all go ‘ooga-booga’, huh?”

Bubba’s smile hardened, but he didn’t react.  “Get in the car,” he said again, more calmly, but with an icy edge that hadn’t been present before.  Sullenly, the teen complied—he would never, even (or especially) in his own mind, use the word ‘obeyed’ in reference to the ordered of a black man.  But the cop had a gun.

That was the only reason he got in the car, Willie told himself.  The only reason.  If he could catch the fucking jungle bunny without his gat once, just once…

The big car shifted appreciably when Bubba dropped his heavily-muscled bulk into the driver’s seat.  In a matter of moments, it was gliding down the waterlogged road, and Willie was trying to calm Dylan, who by now was more upset about the ‘arrest’ than the wreck.

“Don’t worry, man,” the older teen muttered, “Second we’re back in town, I’ll call my dad’s partner.  He’ll come get us.”

“Whyncha call him now?” Dylan sniveled.

“Left my phone in the car, Wille grunted in annoyance.  “Just like you did.  Not that it’d matter; you know there ain’t no signal out here.  Hey, where are we, anyway?”                                

He craned his head at the car windows, trying to orient himself.  They weren’t heading back into town…

“Whatsamatter, ya dumb-ass nigger, ya get lost?” he screamed through the grille that separated the front and back seats of the cruiser, “You ain’t got no right to hold us, anyway!  We ain’t under arrest!  You didn’t charge me with nothin’!  I didn’t get my rights read!  Dylan, this coon read ya yer rights?”

The younger boy shook his head, the distress on his face swiftly replaced with a mean and crafty look,  “Naw, man—hey, that’s right!  Asshole cop’s gotta let us go, right?  Illegal as fuck to haul someone in without readin’ them their rights, ain’t it?”

“Hell yeah,” Willie grinned, “But that’s Plan B.  Now shaddup and lean closer.”

The stupid little shits thought they were being quietly subtle but by the time Bubba turned off the country road onto the nearly-invisible dirt track, he’d heard every detail of Willie’s plan to try to take his gun.  Well, so they thought they could take him if he wasn’t armed?  Maybe he’d give them the chance to try it.  Of course, he’d have to make a minor adjustment first…

The road was pitted and almost unnavigable due to the storm; the boys’ consternation grew as they realized that they weren’t headed to town—or anywhere else they recognized.  Their taunts grew shriller as an edge of fear crept into their voices.

“Fuckin’ yard ape thinks he’s drivin’ us back to his home in the jungle!  Ya gonna invite us up to yer treetop for bananas, nigger?” Dylan called out, his young face twisted with an impotent rage.

“My dad’s gonna have yer badge for this!” Willie yelled,  “Badge, hell; he’s gonna see you do time in the pen with the rest of yer monkey cousins!”

Gritting his teeth, Bubba slammed on the brakes so abruptly the boys were thrown forward into the grille.  He’d had enough of this shit—and anyway, they were close enough to the cabin.  The white cuntboys could walk from here.

He exited the car and opened the rear door, covering the punks with his service pistol.  “Awright, out,” he barked.

“Where the fuck are we?” Willie demanded, gazing around as he climbed out of the rear seat, followed—slowly and reluctantly—by Dylan.

“You’re at my own personal juvenile detention center,” Bubba jeered, his white teeth almost glowing in his dark face as he grinned malevolently.

“Yer gonna pay for this, coon,” Willie hissed, his voice seething with hatred.  Dylan was uneasy—the dark woods were still dripping with rain; a thousand vague menacing sounds issuing from the underbrush—but took comfort in his buddy’s bravado.  “Yeah, asshole, what’s the big idea?” he piped up.

“Don’t worry, white boy; you’ll see soon enough,” Bubba drawled, “Start moving. That way.”  He waved his gun in the direction of the cabin, just barely visible in the dank, murky clearing.  Grumbling, the teens headed towards it, full of anger and trepidation—but with no clue as to what nightmares were in store for them.

They entered the dilapidated structure ahead of the cop who had his gun in one hand and a flashlight in the other.  “There,” he said, indicating the oblong rectangle of darkness of a doorway on the right, “In there.”

It was a bedroom.  Once inside, Bubba pulled out the handle of his flashlight, converting it to a lantern, and set it on a splintered dresser, above which hung the gaping frame of a mirror with some shards of glass remaining at the edges, adding a dim luster to wreck of a room.  Most of the small space was taken up by the rusted metal frame of a double bed with a worn, stained mattress still in place on the sagging springs.  The only other item of furniture in the room was a straight-backed wooden chair, dusty but sturdy, lying on its side.

Bubba turned to face the boys.  “So,” he jeered, “You little punks think you can take me, huh?  You wanna try it?”

Dylan bolted towards him but was restrained by Wille.  “Yeah, and give ya cause to pop a cap in our asses?  We ain’t that stupid, nigger.”

Bubba’s grin widened.  He withdrew his pistol from the holster and ostentatiously placed it on the dresser.  Then he unbuttoned his uniform shirt and shrugged it off, revealing his huge, muscled torso, his broad, hubcap pecs gleaming darkly in the dim light.


“Tell ya what, little boy.  If y’all can take me, you’re both free to go.  No guns involved.  Think you can do it?  C’mon, cracker.  Come at me, boy.”

This time there was no hesitation.  The young thugs launched themselves simultaneously at the black cop, determined to beat him into submission.  The fact that he was larger, stronger, and weighed more than both of them combined never crossed their puny minds; they knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that their racial superiority would be what mattered.

Their first hint that just being white wouldn’t be enough was when Willie’s fist made contact with Bubba’s hard, ripped abs.  The kid had thrown as hard a punch as he was able, but the only effect it had was on him—his hand ached as if he’d punched a brick wall.  Bubba merely smiled.

“My turn,” the huge black bull said, and drew back his arm.  Willie couldn’t believe the size of the deltoid and the bicep as they swelled; he was too amazed to even duck—which was unlucky for him.  Bubba’s blow hit him in the gut like a runaway train, sinking deeply into his smooth belly.  “OOG!!” he cried as all the air was driven from his lungs at once.

As Willie sank gasping to his knees, his arms tightly wrapped around his abdomen, Dylan waded in, fists swinging.  Bubba didn’t even bother to defend himself; he merely stood at ease, chuckling, as the room echoed with the meaty smacks of the boy’s useless futile blows.  “Lemme know when you’re ready to take me on, boy.  Gettin’ mighty tired of these gnat bites, haw!”

“His gun,” Willie managed to gurgle, “Get his gun!”

Dylan whirled and dove for the dresser, snatching the pistol and pointing it at the cop.  “You back off, ya fuckin’ coon!” he screamed, his face red and fear echoing in his voice.

“Kill ‘im!” Willie cried, “Waste his ape ass!”

Dylan pointed the gun point-blank at Bubba’s head and pulled the trigger repeatedly.

The gun clicked repeatedly.

Bubba broke out in a loud guffaw.  “You stupid sacks a’ shit really thought I’d leave a loaded weapon where one of you dipshits could get to it?”

Dylan dropped the gun, looking up in abject terror at the hugely-muscled black man who’d turned and was now looming over him.  Bubba approached, still laughing, until he was directly in front of the punk, about twenty inches away.  He held up his balled fist—in silhouette, it looked like nothing so much as the head of a sledgehammer—and kissed it, the smiled sweetly at the kid.

A dark spot spread in Dylan’s groin.  “P-please, o-of-officer,” he blurted in a high, girlish voice, “Do-don’t—”

“Know what they do to little boys like you in jail?  No?”  Bubba’s grin assumed shark-like proportions,  “Think it’s ‘bout time you found out, yeah?”

Again, as if in slow-motion, his arm drew back like a compressed spring full of potential energy.  “No…” Dylan had time to whisper before the blow slammed into him like a cannonball in his belly.

This punch wasn’t as hard as the one Willie had received, but it was sufficient to cause Dylan to sag to his knees.  He never made it to them, though—on the way down, his chin met Bubba’s knee, coming up.  The impact snapped the limp youth back upright just in time to get the cop’s fist again, this time in the face.

Dylan didn’t reel back; he literally flew through the air with a loud squeal, striking the real wall so hard the clapboard rattled.  The punk slumped to the floor, unconscious.  For a moment, his face darkened, then, involuntarily, he coughed up the two teeth he’d been choking on.

Willie, in the meantime, had just managed to regain his feet.  He looked up at Bubba; the bull cop could that see the fear in the boy’s was mitigated with a loathing that seethed visibly in his glare.  That made him dangerous, but Bubba could use the fucker’s rage against him.   All he needed to do was goad the white cunt into attacking—by choosing his own time, Bubba would be ready.

Well, goading him shouldn’t be too hard—although it was getting harder by the minute, he realized with a smirk.  As he faced the kid, he reached down, unzipped his fly, and extracted his enormous cock.

Bubba’s tool was nearly eleven inches long and more than three in diameter; it looked more like a special effect than a real dick—but it was very real and visibly stiffening.

Staring straight into Willie’s eyes, the black cop asked him, “Ever ridden a bolt of black lightin’, motherfucker?”

With an inarticulate cry of rage, Willie launched himself at Bubba.  He swung wildly, not with any plan of attack but in a desperate attempt to connect.  The cop jerked his head up to avoid the boy’s windmilling fists—not that the few blows the asshole managed to land did the slightest damage.

“Damn, boy, you sure got excited at the thought of this big black meat up your fuckhole!” Bubba chuckled.  “Don’t worry, fucker—I’mma give you your chance to be my little white bitch in a bit here.”  His arm shot out like a piston, his vice-like hand closing powerfully around the kid’s throat.  As Willie instinctively clutched the cop’s wrist, he suddenly found his Puma kicks dangling four inches off the floor and his ability to breathe completely shut off.  Bubba was dead-arming him, keeping him hanging as he reached back and retrieved his handcuffs from his utility belt. 

“First, though, you’re gonna watch,” Bubba said, expertly swinging the cuffs around and getting one around Willie’s right wrist.  Carrying his helpless prey across the room, the cop lifted a boot and deftly knocked the chair upright.  He plopped the struggling youth down into it, hard, and while Willie was momentarily stunned by the impact, he got the kid’s arms cuffed behind the back of the chair, effectively pinning him to it.

“Now, you pay attention, boy,” he told the groaning punk, unable to keep the malicious glee form his voice,  “I’m gonna do some…things…to your pretty little boyfriend over there and you’re gonna watch and learn how to work my shaft.  See, that way, you’ll know what to do when it’s your turn, yeah?  Hey, white boy, how many times you fuck him?  Is his white pussy already reamed out—or was he the one fucking you?  Haw!”

Willie had regained his breath, but not his voice.  His eyes and mouth all were perfect O’s as he gaped at Bubba, his expression one of utter bewilderment.  Emotions flickered across his face but none of them lasted long enough to take hold. 

Then Bubba drove the point home by dickslapping the white cunt.

The bull cop’s massive member smacked across Willie’s face like a baseball bat, driving his head sideways.  Thick, hot precum smeared over the boy’s smooth cheeks and lips, the salty taste making the racist fuck gag and retch.

It was a that at point that Willie realized none of this was happening.

He’d snapped.  Something—maybe a bad acid trip—had made him lose it.  He was crazy, this was a hallucination, not one bit of it was real.  Shit like this just didn’t happen.  It just didn’t.

Then Bubba’s monster hog stuck him again, rattling his skull and recalling him to reality.

“I said pay attention, motherfucker,” the hulking officer barked, then turned to Dylan, still lying prone on the floor, unconscious.  He bent down and with a swift but casual gesture, yanked the youth’s t-shirt off, tossing the shredded yellow fabric aside like the useless trash it now was.  Then he bent down and hoisted the limp form into the air by the waistband of its jeans.  His arm swelling with brute power, Bubba lifted the boy up until only his hands and feet touched the floor, his blond hair sweeping the dust as the cop turned and moved.

Bubba carried Dylan over to the bed and dumped him on it like a sack of potatoes.  He pulled the folding knife form his utility belt and used it to slit the punk’s jeans down the seat, then down the back of both legs, then jerked the sliced denim away, leaving the kid nude but for his Pumas and ankle socks.

The cop, standing at the foot of the bed, turned to Willie with a triumphant sneer.  “Boy ain’t got no drawers on, son.  Looks like he’s been expecting to take it up the ass, yeah?  You too, son?  You been hopin’ I’d catch up to you and ream your faggot white fuckhole?  Then it’s your lucky night.  Watch me plow your little fag boyfriend here and try not to blow your load, har!”

Then the huge black bull turned away and, unclasping his belt, let his tight chino pants drop to the tops of his boots.  His thickly-muscled torso was shaped live a V that pointed to the gleaming taut boulder-like globes of his ass, sitting atop legs as strong as tree trunks.  Then it was all in motion as he climbed up on the bed.

Willie, in a state of fascinated despair, watched the action on the bed with a near catatonic stare; he had a cinematically perfect view.  Still unaware, Dylan was on his back.  The cop had spread the boy’s legs and bent them back, up to his chest and was on top of him.

Confused images flashed through Willie’s fear-inflamed brain.  Bubba’s enormous tackle dangling above Dylan’s pink bud-like boycunt looked like a drill bit suspended from a derrick—no, that wasn’t right, the proportions weren’t right…

Then the huge shaft plunged like an express elevator.  Even from where Willie was sitting, he could see, aghast, the way Dylan’s virgin asshole was instantly stretched beyond its natural capacity.  The tender flesh split like it had been sliced with a knife and Wille watched in horror as blood trickled down his pal’s taint.

The injury was too traumatic for Dylan not to respond.  His long-lashed green eyes flew open—and so did his mouth.  His scream spiraled up an octave, then his voice cracked.  His lithe teen body went rigid with agony, clutching the bulked-out black man in an involuntary grip that sexual ecstasy couldn’t have made tighter.

“Fuck yeah, cunt!” Bubba roared, “Now you’re feeling real Black Power, bitch!  Fuckin’ love it, dontcha, white boy?”

Dylan’s frenetic whimpering, forced out of his young body in the same tempo as Bubba’s deep, powerful thrusts, certainly made it sound as if the punk was enjoying himself.  It was the agonized tautness of his face that showed how much pain and fear he was enduring—and his expression only spurred the cop on to fuck him harder.

The vicious, glassy pain in his asshole helped Dylan find his voice again—quickly and very loudly.  “THTOP!” he screeched, his missing front teeth making him lisp, “FUCK!  FUCK THTOP IT!!”

“Yeah, asshole!” the muscle-bound cop cheered, “Fuckin’ love bangin’ a screamer!  Hey, man,” Bubba said conversationally over his shoulder to Willie, “You ever make this cunt scream this loud when you fucked it?  Haw!”

But the black bull’s built-up rage wasn’t satisfied.  He’d ripped this one too far open; its sphincter was too torn to grasp his shaft.  His massive rod was plunging deep into the white boy’s innards, grinding ruthlessly over Dylan’s prostate—the cop could tell that from the little faggot’s erection despite the pain it was in—but Bubba’s cock wasn’t being pleasured.

And the racist fuck wasn’t suffering enough.  Luckily, though, Dylan made a fatal mistake—he tried to fight back.

His hands came up scrabbling at the cop’s face, clawing at him like an attacking bird.  Bubba expected it—he’d been trained to read the signals a struggling perp gives off—and jerked his head back in time to avoid any injury.  But it was exactly the trigger he needed to flip his brutality into overdrive. 

“Ok, motherfucker, you asked for it,” he snarled into the teen’s panic-stricken face, “Gonna give you a free sample of old-school Police Brutality, har!”

Pinning the youth’s lithe, lean torso to the bed by planting his left hand in the middle of Dylan’s chest, fingers splayed,  Bubba leaned forward and drew up his fist.  He smiled gently and said, “Time to get it on, bitch,” then dropped his arm with the power of a piledriver into the cunt’s face.

“GURK!” Dylan blurted, almost drowning out the loud squelching sound of his nose being crushed into wad of useless cartilage and two more teeth being pounded out.  Totally unheard was the faint cracking of his right orbit, but the hemorrhage in that eye was immediate.  The fight went out of the boy immediately—but that didn’t stop the beating.

From behind, Willie was unable to turn away.  He didn’t want to watch, but the way the muscles rippled on the powerful black man’s back was somehow hypnotic.  The ebbing and flowing visible under the skin, the large dimples that formed in the ebony globes of the cop’s rock-hard ass with each deep, searching thrust of his tackle, it was sick, perverted, horrifying—but his eyes were irresistibly glued to the spectacle.

The air of the room, already heavy with the overpowering scent of mold, cut with a sharp tang of rough mansex–sweat, testosterone, and adrenaline—was now heavy with the meaty thumps of Bubba’s fist repeatedly pounding Dylan’s face and torso.  Each excruciatingly violent impact elicited a moan out of the boy until even that hurt so much, the kid could only grunt.

Even better, the little punk went rigid, his smooth lean body going taut with every blow.  The reflexive action even worked his mangled asshole.  Bubba was able to use the kid’s rectum to jack off by beating him to hamburger.  “Fuck yeah!” he grunted as he plowed the punk’s ass, “Take it, bitch!  Your little homo cock is poking my belly—you’re fuckin’ loving this, aintcha?  Betcha your buddy back there didn’t fuck ya this good, haw!”

But Dylan barely heard the words.  The brutal beating and vicious rape were too much for his sheltered teen psyche.  He was letting go, losing the will to live.  His reactions became slower and weaker, the thick grunts forced from him began to become faint.

“Goddam it!” Bubba snarled, “Fuckin’ white boys can’t take a good long piece of black meat.  Worthless reamed-out bitch—here, let’s see if this motivates your faggot ass!”

And with that he drove his fist into Dylan’s throat.  The punk’s esophagus collapsed immediately, with loud crunching sound, his trachea and larynx instantly collapsing into a bloody mass that completely sealed his airway shut.

The racist youth came back to life—now that he only had about three minutes left to live.  The sudden cessation of air triggered a massive panic response, making him thrash and flail like a landed fish.  Bubba just held him down and rode his bucking body, enjoying the feel of the frenetic convulsions in the little fucker’s asshole.

“Yeah, boy, get it,” muscled black bull grunted, his powerful body hunched over, sweat trickling down his back between his firm asscheeks, “get my load, motherfucker!”

But Dylan wasn’t getting anything.  His face, already bashed to hamburger, was black and swelling, with foamy spittle drooling down his bruised cheeks.  His eyes, already blackened and puffy, had rolled back into his head.  He was past hearing Bubba’s voice, past caring—but not quite past feeling.

The next thing he felt—the last thing he felt—was the most intense, excruciating experience of his short, wasted life.

His lithe body arced back violently, his smooth belly pressed firmly against the cop’s ripped abs.  Massive convulsions rolled along the youth’s frame, then it suddenly went rigid and Bubba felt a hot spurt up along his chest.  It wasn’t a single shot; Dylan’s death wad was drawn-out and strenuous. 

The corpse was still ejaculating when Bubba pulled out with an oath climbing to his feet.  “Useless fuckin’ faggot!” he roared, “Couldn’t even make me cum!”

Willie had a perfect view of Dylan’s dead body, jerking and spewing, as Bubba turned to him with a maniacal grin.  “How about you, white boy?” he demanded, turning to the cowering punk as his monstrous ebony shaft jutted nearly a foot on front of him, “My balls are full and achin’—you ready to ride my pole down into your grave?”

Willie’s face went pale as the cop bent down and pulled his pants back up, fastening them at the waist for easier movement.  “C’mon, boy, time to stretch your homo fuckhole, har!”

The teenaged racist bleated inarticulately and pissed himself as the black bull towered over him.  The cop’s broad chest, glazed with the dead boy’s seed, filled Willie’s field of vision, the dark, jutting nipples at eye level as Bubba squatted, grinning, in front of him.

“Time to die, you piece of shit,” he hissed.  “This is gonna hurt, white boy.”

The cop drew back his arm, his bicep swelling with potential force.  Willie saw the impact coming but, bound to the chair as he was, had no way of avoiding the blow.  He turned his head away, but could do nothing to prevent Bubba’s fist plowing into his sternum with enough force to slam him, chair and all, into the wall.

Willie lay stunned on the floor in the wreckage of the chair; the collision with the wall had been intense enough to break it to splinters.  Chuckling, Bubba stood over him and raised his leg; the dazed youth found himself looking up at the sole of the cop’s black tactical boot.  He couldn’t help but notice inconsequentially that there was piece of gravel embedded in the deep tread…

Then the boot dropped like a guillotine, stomping Willie’s stomach.  “HOOG!” the boy yelled involuntarily as the air was forced from his lungs.  As he writhed, gasping, on the floor, the cop bent down and tore his t-shirt off.  A deep, boot-shaped bruise was already forming on the punk’s smooth, flat belly.

Through eyes filled with tears of pain, the boy looked up at the massive, muscled figure looming over him.  As he watched, the huge bull cop slowly withdrew the belt from around his waist.  Bubba dangles the inch-and-a half thick leather strap over the prone youth, an anticipatory smirk on his broad face.

“C’mon, boy, get up,” he chortled, “It’s time to get this party started.”

“I-I can’t,” Willie stuttered, “My hands…”

“I ain’t undoing the cuffs, white boy—think I’m stupid?  Roll over and get on your knees like a good little faggot.  That’s how you get up.”

Slowly and painfully, the teen punk did what he was told, rolling over, tucking his knees up underneath himself and unsteadily managed to first one foot, then the other, flat on the floor.  He rose shakily.

Even though his hands were still bound behind his back, the mere fact of being on his feet again seemed to inspire the racist fuck with a misplaced bravado.  “You better let me go, if you know what’s good for ya, nigger.  Once my daddy finds out about this—”

“I’m gonna leave your rotting body in the woods, and your daddy ain’t ever gonna find it,” the cop drawled.  “Now get over on that bed, motherfucker, and take what’s comin’ to ya.”

“FUCK YOU!!” Willie scream, terror etched in his taut, pale face.  Bubba’s arm jerked and the belt slashed across the boy’s face, fast as lightning.  As an angry red welt rose on his face, the kid cried out and staggered forward.  The huge black man thrust out a boot, tripping the boy, who fell face down on the bed, directly on top of his friend’s still-quivering corpse.

Willie’s scream of abject terror echoed through the derelict cabin.  His lean, smooth body bucked and jerked until he rolled off of Dylan, lying face up next to the dead boy.  His shrieking abraded Bubba’s nerves.

“Shut up, you stupid sack a’ shit, or I’ll shut you the fuck up!” the cop snarled angrily, but the close proximity of Dylan’s brutalized corpse meant that Willie ignored the words.  The screaming was involuntary, uncontrollable…

Then Bubba waded in, swinging the belt, lashing the teen cunt like a recalcitrant slave.  At first, the vicious slapping sounds of leather on smooth boyflesh equaled the intensity of Willie’s screams, but Bubba wasn’t holding the belt by the buckle end—the square chunk of metal tore into the kid’s flesh with every blow. 

Willie’s shrieking grew so loud the impact of the belt could no longer be heard, and Bubba only got more pissed.

“SHUT [WHAP] THE [WHAP] FUCK [WHAP] UP [WHAP, CRUNCH]!!”

The final blow struck Willie across the mouth shattering three teeth and fracturing his jaw.  The boy stopped screaming; he could only drool blood and gape in agony at his attacker, a faint keening sound emerging from his destroyed mouth. 

Bubba’s arm dropped to his side.  Tossing the belt onto the bed, he grinned down at the whimpering punk, opened his fly, and let his chinos fall to his ankles again.

“Time to ride this big ol’ black dick, asshole.  Your little friend there couldn’t handle it—useless little faggot couldn’t even work my load out.  Lessee if you can last longer, fuckhead; lessee if you can get my sperm while you’re still alive…”

Brandishing his huge horsecock like a billyclub, the musclebound cop climbed onto the bed, swatting the teen’s smooth, firm legs aside.

“…cause you damn sure ain’t gonna be alive by the time I’m done with you.  Ya hear me, cocksucker?  You ain’t gonna survive this.  Understand that, boy, and this’ll be easier for you.”

Willie’s eyes were wide with disbelief.  He tried to voice his denial but his broken jaw made the attempt agonizing.  “No…no…” he whispered, tears oozing from his large dark eyes.  Looming over him, Bubba smiled gently and held up the belt.

“I’m gonna wrap this around your throat, white boy, and pull it tight.  It’s gonna be slow, fuckwad; it’s gonna hurt—but not as much as this, har!”

And before Willie had the chance to react, Bubba had plunged his long, thick tackle balls-deep into the adolescent punk’s asshole.

The ache of the beating, the sharp pain of his fractured jaw, were nothing compared to this.  It was like having a baseball bat rammed up his ass.  As bad as his mouth was, nothing could hold back the shrill girlish scream that erupted from him as his colon was shredded.  Images flashed through his mind, trying to equate the pain—a cheese grater, a plumber’s snake—but nothing came close.  He was being torn apart from the inside out.

“FUCKIN’ GODDAM NIGGER!!” he screeched in mind-searing agony.  Bubba smiled sweetly and punched him in the face, neatly snapping a cheekbone.  “URK!” the kid choked out.

“Yeah, boy,” the bull cop grinned, “Get it.  Get this hot black sperm.  You know you want it.  All you little racists fags ever really want is a thick nigger shaft plowing your assholes, haw!”

Willie would have beat at Bubba if he could.  He wouldn’t have been able to make any noticeable impact, but he was denied even the mental outlet of self-defense.  His hands were still cuffed behind his back, excruciatingly pressed into the thin, worn mattress by both his and the cop’s weight.  His arms struggled involuntarily against the metal restraints but in his pain and fear, he was unaware of how they tore at the flesh of his wrists.

His senses weren’t dulled, though.  It wasn’t just the agony of the massive black rod embedded in his guts; he could hear the cop’s grunts of physical pleasure and the smacking sound of flesh on flesh.  He could smell Bubba’s sweat and testosterone, a thick, acrid scent that made him gag.  It was literal hell; Willie couldn’t imagine anything more nightmarish, more revolting to his soul, than being raped by a bull nigger.

And there wasn’t a goddam thing he could do about it.  He could only lie there and be used like a fuck toy by the huge black man.  But he was wrong about there being nothing worse, and he was about to learn it.  

The buff, musclebound cop thrust and pumped his enormous rod into the teen’s colon without speaking for a few minutes, his grunting the only sound escaping form his powerful form.  But the grunting faded soon, and a terrifying expression of anger crossed Bubba’s face.

“Goddam white boys,” he snarled, his voice cold with contempt, “Ain’t none of ya can take real black dick. Your worthless faggot fuckhole’s already reamed out.”

He picked up the belt and held it in front of Willie’s face, his already malignant smile assuming a shark-like aspect.  “Looks like I’m gonna have to tighten your little boypussy so it’s worth fuckin’, huh?  And I know a great way to tighten it—by tightening this.”

And with that, he gabbed Willie’s hair yanked his head up off the bed, and looped the belt around the kid’s throat, slipping the end back through the buckle to make a simple but effective noose. 

Willie felt the leather strap against his skin and tried to beg but all that came from his bleeding mouth was an incoherent babble.  Bubba looked down into the boy’s wide, terrified eyes, his smile now almost gentle.  “This is gonna hurt, motherfucker,” he chuckled, “It’s gonna hurt so fuckin’ bad.”

He lowered his shaved head until his cheek brushed Willie’s.  “And it’s gonna be slow…” he hissed into the punk’s ear.

Willie tried to scream but Bubba cinched his airway off with a loud guffaw, drawing the belt so tight it sank into the kid’s skin.  The teenaged racist made a thick gagging sound as his face filled with horror.  He’d never had his air cut off so completely, so brutally and remorselessly before—and with his hands cuffed behind him, he was utterly helpless.

He was gonna choke to death with this coon’s massive tool buried in his ass and he had no way to protest it, much less defend himself.  The bucking and kicking of his lithe, sweat-slick teen body was completely useless; Willie could only suffer and die.

And suffer he did.  He wrapped his firm, smooth legs around the bull cop’s thick, thrusting waist, the heels of his Pumas drumming relentlessly on the powerful stud’s ass.  They did no damage to those flexing, granite-like globes of muscle—Bubba wasn’t even aware of the way they kicked futilely against him.

“That’s it, cunt,” the cop jeered, “Now you’re working my meat like a good faggot.  Keep it up, motherfucker; you might even get my wad before ya die—har!  Yeah, you’d love that shit, wouldn’t ya, you fuckin’ homo?  Nice thick creamy nigger load planted deep in your guts—fuck yeah!”

Ad he struggled and his face darkened and swelled, Willie could hear the cop’s words.  Terror and nightmarish pain had turned his stupid punk mind into a screaming vortex but the humiliating jabs of Bubba’s words still managed to pierce the fog of fear.

It was too much.  It wasn’t happening; it couldn’t be.  This was all a nightmare, a bad acid trip—something, anything but reality.  Dylan’s cooling corpse next to him—that was the proof.  That hadn’t happened; it couldn’t have, so this wasn’t happening either.

So why was he suffering so fucking bad?  Why were his chest and his head full of pounding pressurized flame?

And why, for fuck’s sake, why was his cock so hard it burned with a blazing agony?

Even Bubba noticed it.  “Ha!  Knew you were a little cocksucking fag!  Your little white boy dick is hard as fuck—all you scumbag white power fuckers really want black cock jammed up your asses; you all just jealous you can’t have it.  Now that you got some nigger meat, your pathetic little dipstick is about to spew, ain’t it?  It’s your luck day, you disgusting fairy; you gonna get to die happy!”

Willie could only kick harder; it was his only form of protest.  His young boyfeet pounded so hard against Bubba’s powerful ass that one sneaker came off, the black-and-white Puma flying end over end to land on top of the battered, scarred dresser.  Bubba didn’t notice—he just pulled the belt even tighter around the punk’s neck.

Willie’s smooth teen flesh was slick with the cold sweat forced from him be extreme bodily trauma.  He didn’t know he was dying; if he had, he would have agreed with Bubba—it hurt.  He couldn’t feel the foamy drool trickling past his protruding tongue, but he could feel how the swollen chunk of muscle overfilled his mouth and forced his jaws apart.  He couldn’t feel the hemorrhages that spattered the whites of his eyes, but he was vaguely aware of the dark areas blossoming in his field of vision.

The darkness was growing, faster and faster.  A tiny corner of the racist asshole’s mind that had somehow remained lucid was aware that the darkness was taking him, a darkness blacker than the skin of the nigger who was reaming his ass—and he wasn’t coming back.

“Fuck yeah, faggot,” Bubba grunted, “Get it, boy.  Get this load.  C’mon, motherfucker, get my nut and I’ll put you outta your misery.  Put you down like the fuckin’ dog you are, cocksucker.  Yeah, boy, yeah!”

There was virtually nothing left of the arrogant little shit now.  All that remained was thrashing boymeat, toes curling in agony as the huge black cock probed the depths of its rectum and tore ruthlessly into its guts.  The belt had sunk well below the skin on its neck, compressing its airway past the point of recovery.  Its own pulsating shaft was oozing precum involuntarily, smearing it over Bubba’s rock-hard abs with every thrust of the cop’s tool.

Bubba was overwhelmed with the sense of his own power, the sheer brutal eroticism of murdering the teenaged racist purely for his own sexual pleasure.  As he looked down at the cunt’s black, choking face, he could feel his enormous balls draw up, ready to spew his hot potent nigger seed into the dying bitch.  He was almost there.  It only needed one thing more…

Rising up on his knees, he jerked Willie up by the belt, the boy’s head drooling and lolling limply.  “You want it?” he whispered, knowing the fucker was long past the point of answering, “You want this hot black nut?  Here ya go, motherfucker.”

The tiny spark that was left of Willie couldn’t focus, but it was able to see Bubba’s arm draw back, the profound power implicit in the bulging bicep—but that was all it saw.  The cop’s arm shot forward so viciously, so fast, that it was all over in a flash.  Willie’s head snapped back as Bubba jerked the belt around his neck forward.

The opposing forces amplified the effect; Willie’s neck shattered with a sound like popcorn.  The impact was so severe, it nearly ripped the teen’s spinal cord out of the base of his skull.  The last thing the punk experienced was an electrical shock more intense than a blast of lightning, and it triggered an orgasm so explosive that Willie would have screamed had he still been alive.

As it was, he was just meat, hot thrashing teen meat that was getting its guts hosed with quarts of creamy nigger cum.  Bubba unloaded so much seed into the dead boy it started leaking back out his ass while the cop was still spunking.

After a while, the bull cop shuddered; his balls were finally empty.  He extracted his massive tackle out of the dead kid’s fuckhole and stood over the quivering corpse.  Next to Willie, Dylan lay cold and still, a milky film already starting to form over dull glazed eyes.

Once again, a sense of power surge through the muscular cop’s body. He sneered at the teenaged white supremacist punks.  They thought they were the master race?  Fuck them, the little faggots!  For a moment he flexed his thick, powerful muscles over the dead bodies, his huge biceps and lats rippling under his smooth black skin, his strong ass bunching with every movement.  In a way, it was a shame they were dead—they no longer had the chance to be mesmerized by his sheer physical power…

But after a while, the cum had stopped dripping from his still-erect cock, and he knew he had a little cleaning to do.  Not much; it had been a long day, and he was tired.  And this kinda trash didn’t need to be worried about too much.  He grabbed the boys, a hank of hair in each hand, and pulled them off the bed.  They hit the floor with a thud and he dragged them out of the cabin like sacks of garbage.

There was still a rough patch of dirt in the clearing behind the cabin where Bennie was rotting in peace, but these fuckers didn’t deserve a burial.  Two hundred yards further into the wood was an overgrown ditch.  Bubba rolled the bodies into it, letting them tumble gracelessly to the bottom, where they were practically invisible.

Returning to the bedroom in the cabin, the cop collected the rest of his uniform and donned it.  He took one last glance around the room on his way out—and Willie’s sneaker caught his eye, lying on the dresser.

With a grin, he picked it up and pocketed it,  He didn’t know why; he couldn’t think of any possible use for it—but he liked knowing he had it.

As he carefully maneuvered his cruiser back out onto the county road, he could feel the sneaker in his pocket pressing against his thigh, and his dick got hard again…    

Victim POV 7–Taking a Stab at It

It’s clear that he knows I’m on the make, but I don’t know how he knows it.

I mean, I am on the make.  I need dick and I’m dressed to get it.  The neon-red laces in my bright blue Puma kicks are the same shade as the t-shirt that covers my smooth, firm torso like a second skin.  The crotch of my tight, slutty low-rise jeans is partly unzipped; a sharp eye could easily detect that I’m free-balling underneath.

But this guy is on the other side of the street.  He’s standing under a streetlight, and I’m in the dark, so I don’t think he can see me well.  Still, he’s gripping the pronounced bulge in his groin and grinning at me in a way that make my dick pulse.

For some reason, it also makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up, but who cares?  He’s hot as fuck.

He looks like he’s a little older than me—late twenties, I’d say—and he’s got a rough, blue-collar look that really trips my trigger.  His fleece hoodie is thrown casually over a stained white t-shirt and torn jeans tucked into a pair of brown leather workboots, none of it concealing his heavily-muscled physique.  He looks like he could fuck me right into the ground, and that’s exactly what my aching fuckhole needs tonight.

He grins again and jerks his head to the right.  I look in that direction and see a battered pickup, at least fifteen years old, with a toolbox mounted across the bed.  He heads toward it and I cross the street, aiming for the truck as well.  I’m beginning to suspect the stud doesn’t have much money, but that’s ok.  This one can fuck me for free. 

By the time I reach the passenger door, he’s already inside, with the motor running.  The interior is littered with fast-food bags and soda bottles—and a few beer cans.  There’s a yeasty whiff on his breath but it’s barely noticeable over the aroma of mansweat and testosterone the dude gives off.  Fuck, I’ve got myself a real man.  I can’t wait to have his hog jammed up in me.

I tell him my name as he pulls out and heads for the highway.  He tells me to call him Ryan; we both know we’re lying, but who cares?  We’re both just looking for a quick, anonymous fuck.  I have no doubt his friends and co-workers don’t know he slips dudes the dick on the DL.

He proves me right when he exits the highway.  After a few twists and turns that get me lost, he pulls into the parking lot of a rundown hot-sheet motel that I’ve never heard of—and I thought I’d been banged in every hook-up joint in this entire town.

“Here,” he says, handing me a twenty, “Go get us a room.”  I get out and head for the office, leaving him in the truck.

The old broad in the office has hair dyed the shade of a new penny and a Marlboro dangling from her lower lip.  She glares sourly at me and raised an eyebrow but slides the key to room 18 across the counter without comment.  Holding it in my hand—my jeans are way too tight slip the huge fob into my pocket—I return to my straight-boy hookup.

With another of those erotic, evil grins, he snatches the key from my hand—fuck, I love a forceful man—and leads the way to the room.  He ushers me into the dark room, and as I head towards the bedside lamp, dimly seen in the ambient light reflected from the parking lot,  I hear metallic sounds behind me,  Turing on the light, I wheel around to see the stud sliding the chain lock on the door—he’s clearly already turned the deadbolt.

He responds to my questions glance with a smirk.  “Just making sure we aren’t disturbed.”

“Good idea,” I reply—and it is.  I step to the side and draw the dingy curtains over the dirty windows.  While I do so, my new fuckbuddy shrugs his hoodie off and tosses it onto the dresser, then peels the t-shirt up over his head, revealing a muscular, furry chest with jutting nipples and hairy, ripped abs that make me drool.  Before he can say a word, I kick off my sneakers, wriggle out of my jeans and shuck my shirt, leaving my sm

ooth young body nude before him.

He unzips his fly and slowly extracts what has to be the biggest cock I’ve ever seen.  I swear to God, it’s gotta be more than nine inches long and two thick, wrapped in huge, pulsating veins.

And for the first time in my life, I’m afraid of getting fucked.  That thing looks like it can seriously damage me.

“Hey, man,” I start, but something in his face stops me.

 His smile has always had an edge to it, but the one he gives me now has a malevolent glee that causes me fear.  And then he speaks…

“Hey, faggot,” he says, the ice in his voice freezing me to the core, “Are you ready?  Ready to get what a fucking homo like you deserves?”

This makes no sense.  I mean, I love it when a fucker talks to me like a real man, but there’s a ring of contempt, of downright hatred in his voice, that makes me quail.  Surely he can’t—

But he can.  He draws his arm back; it all seems to happen in slow motion.  I feel frozen, watching, but unable to move.  The bunching of his powerful bicep is mesmerizing; the inherent power must be phenomenal…

The blow comes before I even have time to flinch.  It connects with my flat, smooth belly, driving the air from my lungs and dropping me to my knees.

The pain is incredible.  Why?  Why is he doing this?  Does he think I won’t let him fuck me?  Is he afraid that I can somehow let someone know he likes dudes?  I don’t even know him; I can’t harm him—why?

I stare beseechingly up at him from my knees, trying to speak but barely even able to breathe, and I meet his eyes—oh, God, his eyes…

There’s a glint them that strikes terror in my heart.  I’ve never seen anything like it; it’s a combination of lust and psychosis that tells me that reason will be useless.  And that evil grin—

Oh my God, am I gonna get out of this alive?

He bends down and grabs a handful of my hair, jerking my upwards.  Fuck, I have to stand.  I can barely breathe, but I have to rise or he’ll rip my fucking scalp off.  He drags me back upright; what’s he doing?

Oh shit his fist—[WHAM]

fuck what happened why am I on the floor

He hit me again.  Christ, I didn’t know he could hit that hard—I bounced off the fucking wall.  My eye—my left eye aches; I can barely see outta it—but I can see well enough to watch him approach, leering, towering over me…

…oh fuck, his massive cock is oozing.  This is what he wants—this is what gets hm off.  Hurting me gets him off.  I gotta get the fuck outta here, now—

Shit, his boot, he’s swinging his foot—

OH FUCK THE PAIN I HEARD THE SNAP HE FUCKING BROKE MY RIBS

Steel toes fucking workboots must have steel toes the pain the stabbing pain in my side it hurts to breathe deep

What did he do?  What did this fucker do me?

He’s lifting his foot, holding it over my face—I can see gravel stuck in the worn tread; what’s he doing now—

AAGH FUCK MOTHERFUCKER STOMPED MY FUCKING FACE JESUS MY NOSE HE BROKE MY GODDAM NOSE

He’s laughing.  I’m in horrible pain, and he’s laughing at it—it’s a cold, cruel sound.  I gotta get outta here, this psychopath is gonna fucking kill me.

I roll over and start scrambling for the door.  Above and behind me, I hear a loud guffaw, almost a bark—

HOLY FUCK HE STOMPED MY BACK MY LUNGS I CAN’T FUCKING BREATHE

It hurts to breathe so bad; he must’ve driven a rib into my lung—the door.  I gotta make it to the door…

He’s still laughing as I reach the door.  Fuck, I can’t believe how scared I am—this was just supposed to be a quick, fun fuck, what the hell happened?  My fingers scramble at the lock, my fear and pain making me clumsy.

Jesus, he’s right behind me—

OH MY GOD THE PAIN THE COLD PAIN DEEP IN ME OH FUCK WHAT DID HE DO TO ME

A chuckle, and he speaks.  “Where ya tryin’ to go, asshole?  Ya wanted something shoved in ya, didntja, homo?  Now you got my blade in yer kidney.  Don’t worry, bitch, this one ain’t gonna kill ya—but we’re just gettin’ started.  Trust me, yer gonna be fuckin’ beggin’ for death before ya earn my hot load.”

He pulls me from the door—I have to move; he’s using the blade embedding in my back to steer me and move me.  He’s enjoying it, too.  I can feel his hard, dripping dick pressed against my back as his hot breath whispers in my ear.

“Just a fuckin’ meat puppet, aintcha, faggot?  Get on that bed before yer just meat.  Yer gonna take my cock, motherfucker, and anything else I wanna stick in ya.  Only reason yer alive is so I can have fun with ya—and my fun is making you suffer, cunt!”

Oh God no how did this happen, how did I end up here?  I just wanted some dick, please God, just some dick, don’t let me die here…I just wanted to get bred…

He stops me at the foot of the bed.  Fuck, he’s literally made me a puppet; I can feel the blade inside me…but it doesn’t seem to hurt as much…

OH JESUS CHRIST WHAT THE FUCK DID HE DO

Its out he jerked it out it hurt worse than going in oh God get me outta this please

He laughs and pushes me onto the bed.  I don’t want to move.  I don’t want to add to the damage this fucker has done…

He flips me on my back and climbs on top; my broken ribs are moving—I have a mental image of the jagged broken ends of the bones poking at my tender innards—but then he holds the knife in front of my face.

Oh my God, it’s huge.  It’s as long as his fucking cock and the cuttting edge is serrated wickedly.. It’s covered in blood.  Fuck—that’s my blood.

He’s whispering.  Christ, that light, that crazed light in his eyes…

“You know you want it, cunt,” he hisses, his glittering, pale-blue glare paralyzing me like a snake’s,  “Fuckin’ faggot like you’s just droolin’ to get somethin’ long and hard shoved deep in his homo guts, yeah?  Fuck yeah, man!”

He raises the blade—what’s he doing?  Oh fuck what is he—

OH GOD MY GUTS MY BELLY HE STUCK IT RIGHT IN MY BELLY OH JESUS NO THE PAIN THE FUCKING PAIN GET IT OUT GET IT OUT GET IT OUT

Grab it, Jesus, grab it and pull it out he’s fighting me [WHAM]

Oh God my face he hit me get it out keep fighting my arm he’s got my arm

FUCK MY ARM HE BROKE MY GODDAM ARM FUCK NO

My legs he’s pulling them apart no no FUCK NO THAT HORSE COCK SPLITTING ME OPEN AHH AAGH YOU’RE FUCKING TEARING ME APART

he’s in me his dick and his knife are both buried deep in my guts he’s mounting me like a bitch\

God that hard hairy chest those eyes all I want is to please you man—why?  Why?

I didn’t know I’d spoken, but he replied, “Because this is what you deserve, you cocksuckin’ whore—all you goddam fags need to die with a real man’s cock up yer ass.  You need to suffer, asshole, and I’m just the fucker to make you, ya fell me?  No?  Then try this! [WHAM WHAM WHAM]

my head motherfucker punches like a goddam steam piston—fuck, how many teeth did I lose?

This isn’t real.  The cheap polyester comforter scratching my back isn’t real, the heavy musk of his mansweat overlaid with the metallic scent of blood isn’t real.  None of this is happening…

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST HE’S PLOWING MY ASS EVERY THRUST MAKES THE KINFE IN MY BELLY JERK AND SLICE INTO MY GUTS STOP STOP ST—[WHAM, WHAM, WHAM]

ok I won’t scream just please don’t hit me no more please please my lips you split my lips I can’t see out my left eye

“Yer ass is loose, ya fuckin’ whore,” he sneers as he reams my hole mercilessly, “Guess you ain’t in enough pain yet to work my shaft like a good little pansy should, huh?  Don’t worry, asswipe, I can fix that!”

Huh?  Fuck no, not more, no please, oh shit—

HE’S TWISITING IT HE’S TWISTING THE BLADE I CAN FEEL IT IT’S SLICING MY INTESTINES OH GOD NO

It’s out his pulled it out—what’s he doing?  Where’s it going?

MY SIDE MY SIDE OH FUCK OH SHIT ITS IN ME HIS KNIFE HIS COCK THEY’RE IN ME TEARING ME OPEN

I wanted this I wanted him in me but not like this dear God not like this such a stud but not like this

Gotta get him off—he’s gonna kill me—gotta get him off—NOW!  Hit him!  Punch him!

Goddam, it’s like hitting marble—I knew those massive furry pecs were strong but my only working arm isn’t having any impact…

…oh shit, yes I am—he’s angry.  Oh my God the look on his face—what’s he gonna do now?

He bends close, the dark stubble on his cheek brushing mine.  The beer is still on his breath as he whispers in my ear, quietly, almost sensually,  “You really do like getting’ hurt, dontcha, faggot?  Yer just askin’ for it, aintcha?  Ok, you cocksuckin’ piece a’ shit, ya feel my blade in yer side?  I only stuck it in three inches…”

He pulls back and gently, lovingly kisses the tip of my nose.

Dude, I coulda been yours…I coulda made you so happy…

“I’m gonna fuckin’ impale yer liver, cunt, and it’s gonna hurt so—fuckin’—bad.  Try not to cum, ya fuckin’ pervert, har!”

OH FUCK OH FUCK OH FUCK NOTHING HAS HURT THIS BAD I’M DYING THIS HAS GOTTA BE KILLING ME I CAN’T LIVE THROUGH THIS THE ICY PAIN SO DEEP INSIDE ME

“Aw, fuck yeah!” he crows triumphantly as he drills my fuckhole harder and faster, “That’s whatcha needed, huh, bitch?  Now yer working my cock like a good little homo!  Here, let’s keep it goin’—gonna carve yer liver like deli meat, motherfucker.  An’ don’t worry, I’ll waste yer useless ass long before ya bleed out from this little love bite.”

NO KILL ME NOW NO MORE PAIN PLEASE KILL ME NOW I CAN’T TAKE THIS END IT PLEASE FUCK PLEASE

I can’t speak but he can see the look in my face.  His lust and glee are unbearable…

I’m cold.  There’s a cold sweat oozing from my pores; my skin slides smoothly against his as he continues to brutally rape my torn, bleeding asshole.  But he’s still so hot, such a true alpha…no, don’t let it end, I don’t want to be in pain but I need him to breed me…

“You want it, dontcha, faggot?  You need the sperm of a real man shot up inside ya to make ya real, yeah?  You ain’t real, fucker.  Yer ass ain’t ever gonna be anything more than a cumrag for me to unload into and then dump like the piece of used-up trash it is.”

OH FUCK IT HURTS FUCK NO

Why does it hurt worse when he yanks the knife out of my tender flesh than when he sticks it in…

He holds it up and I can see pink strands caught in the serrations…oh Jesus, my guts, I’m looking at pieces of my guts…

“I’m gonna blow, cunt.  Gonna shoot up yer worthless fuckhole  Wanna know whatcha gotta do to get it?  You gotta die, motherfucker.  Only thing that’ll trip my trigger is the satisfaction of seein’ the light of life fade from the eyes of a dyin’ faggot.  Get ready, ya cumscukin’ pervert, cause this is gonna hurt like all fuck!”

What?!?  NO!  he’s holding the blade up, the powerful muscles in his arm tensing for the blow—“NO!  OH OGD, DON’T DO THIS PLEASE—AGGPHPTH!!!”

My throat my voicebox he jammed it into my voicebox I can taste my own blood I can’t scream I’m gurgling what is it what my own fucking blood I’m gargling my own blood no not happening not real

His shoulders I grab I clutch hold him don’t let him go don’t end like this

What is this pain in my crotch it hurts it hurts OH MY FUCKING GOD IT HURTS SO FUCKING BAD I’M CUMMING NO NO NO CAN’T BE NO I CAN’T NO NOT HAPPENING ITS SPEWING OVER HIS CHEST MATTING HIS FUR NO NO

dying i’m dying copper in my mouth my life draining from my cock JESUS THE KNIFE HE PULLED IT BACK OUT WHAT

MY CHEST MY HEART THE AGONY THE AGONY HE’S STABBED HIS BLADE INTO MY HEART

cold so cold

the rage and triumph in his eyes

the cold

no there’s warmth

deep inside there’s warmth

his seed he’s spilling his manseed inside me

hold it the cold is taking me hold onto the warmth

black and icy all is black and icy

Career Choice By Gay Slavemeat

Gsmeat2@gmail.com

1

Intervention

When Norman sat down at the counter of the bar he was greeted by Bill, the owner and bartender, who brought him his usual draught beer.  Norman was shivering from the cold outside, but the bar was warm, and he knew he’d be comfortable soon.  It was winter in New York City and that meant cold.  At least it wasn’t raining or snowing, he thought., but it looked like it might start soon. 

Norman had jogged from his apartment, which was nearby in the Hell’s Kitchen section of New York City, an area popular with gay men.  He liked to show off his body so, as always, he ran shiftless, wearing only tight shorts, running shoes, and a small backpack.  It didn’t matter how cold it was.  He was an exhibitionist who enjoyed being stared at and enjoyed it even more when people made rude comments.  Then he could flip them off.

There was no sign outside the bar, only a discrete door that led to a large basement area under a tall condo complex that catered to wealthy residents.  Norman was always a little surprised at its upscale mid-town location, since the bar itself catered to gays into serious S&M.  Moreover, to encourage their patronage Bill permitted patrons to wear whatever they wanted or nothing at all.  Norman wasn’t sure that was strictly legal for establishments with a liquor license.  Being a lawyer he’d checked, verifying that nudity in a bar violated city ordinances.  But that didn’t seem to be a problem for Bill.  There was never a hassle from police or anyone else. 

Norman was glad he’d learned about the place.  He was a gay guy quite interested in S&M action.  Most guys were shirtless or naked, with the alpha males usually dressed in leather with fetish gear that showed off their masculinity, and submissives totally naked, waring at most a slave collar or a colored scarf that advertised their particular fetish.  Norman was submissive, but cautious and reluctant to expose himself totally despite his exhibitionist nature.  Being shirtless got him in the mood for his submissive role, and he had slipped on a slave collar he kept in the backpack to advertise his orientation.  The tight shorts outlined his hard cock but left him a little dignity to start the evening. 

The bar was large and designed to enhance the S&M motif Norman liked to be part of.  There were the usual furnishings of a bar, including a long counter, wooden tables and chairs, booths, two pool tables, darts, and large-screen TVs.  The TVs near the counter played ESPN or other sports, but the TVs in the rear played S&M porn that was intense.  Those TVs were in an area with vastly different furnishings.  Guys engaged in S&M sex had access to slings, fuck benches, a rack, several St. Andrews X crosses, and shackles hanging from the ceiling to which submissives could be attached for whipping and other S&M action.  Those were especially popular since ta winch enabled he victim to be raised slightly off the floor and lashed on his back and chest as his body rotated freely from the blows.  Alternatively, shackles on the floor could be used to keep him solidly in place.  Either way he could be used by several alphas at once.  Norman was particularly turned on by that and lately he spent time strung up after a few bears gave him the courage to strip totally naked and make himself available. 

Norman was in his late twenties and while no movie star he was good looking.  He was just under 6’ tall with short-cropped dark hair.  He kept his body otherwise hairless, including his crotch, at Bill’s suggestion.  Bill felt submissives should have short haircuts but otherwise be free of body hair, so they appeared more vulnerable.  Alphas could use their fetish gear to highlight their dominant features like thick chest hair to tattoos, but in Bill’s expert view that was not appropriate for submissives.  Initially Norman had just trusted Bill’s judgment, but over time he saw the wisdom of it.  That was usually true about Bill’s advice.  Bill advised Norman a lot, which Norman appreciated greatly.

Norman had a nice firm butt that was nice and tight and was a reliable 8’’ when erect, his cock smooth and slightly curved.  His sex drive was massive, and he never had trouble getting and keeping an erection, so long as he was playing his submissive role.  He had a lot of trouble doing so otherwise and had sought out a sex therapy shrink to help him.  His build was a balance between muscular and twink, leaning a bit toward the muscular side.  He was focused on fitness at the suggestion of the shrink and had shed about 10 pounds to achieve his ideal weight.  He was young and fit enough to attract the attention and use of the alphas in the bar.  That was an important goal.

The S&M area also had treadmills, exercise machines, and free-weights so guys could also use it as a gym, which they did throughout the day.  Most did so naked, even the alphas, which earned them a free drink at the bar.  Bill knew nudity was good for business and strongly encouraged it.  Naked guys who were sexually turned on and a little drunk spent freely, and the bar was highly profitable.  Besides, guys like showing off their bodies and checking out other guys.  Most of the patrons were worth checking out, whether alpha or submissive, including Norman.

The bar was where Norman worked out and hung out.  He’d typically Uber there during his lunch hour, then strip and go through his exercise routines.  He was one of a group of regulars, and since pretty much everyone was naked, he overcame his inhibitions, although it had taken some coaching from Bill.  For some regulars, the status of alphas and submissives applied to the workouts during the day as well as the sex that dominated the evening action.  Norman especially envied a long-term slave who worked out with his master., The master got a cardio session by whipping his slave as he was suspended by the shackles. The slave did pull-ups between lashes, getting a hard on as other guys watched.  But while Norman was open about being gay, he was reluctant to reveal his S&M desires given that many of the workout regulars during the noon hour     were just there for the chance to join other gay guys in a nude workout.  His caution meant he didn’t join in S&M activities during his workouts even though they turned him on a lot. However, after workouts, the group showers often included blow jobs.  Norman did participate in those, providing services that were very popular.  The chance to suck other guys’ cocks was just too much to pass up, cautious or not.  The regulars would then have lunch at the bar, whose food was surprisingly good for pub grub.  Keeping the S&M theme there were selections like “Alpha roast” (strong coffee), “flogged eggs” (scrambled), and “slaveburgers” (with or without cheese).  The most popular salad dressing was cum flavored. 

Norman’s routine took about two hours, but since he always arrived at work early he didn’t get much flack about that.  But he also didn’t develop relationships with his co-workers or clients.  He didn’t have any clients of his own anyway, so his work consisted of research in the library to assist other lawyers, which could be done at any time of day.  It was boring, miserable work, but it paid the bills.  He regretted having gone to law school and knew he wasn’t a particularly good lawyer.  Bill’s bar was the center of Norman’s world, such as it was.  Fuck, he often thought.  It was all he had.   This is where he could satisfy his fantasy as a sex slave and that was his fixation.

Norman struggled a lot with his cautious nature, and with getting off during traditional gay sex dates.  Being naked in front of dominant guys, alpha males, is what turned him on, and it turned him on a lot.   Once he started going to Bill’s bar he gradually got more comfortable doing so.  He also realized he liked having them fuck him with guys watching, and maybe whip his ass.  Over time he had opened up considerably to increased use as a submissive sex target by the alphas in the bar.  But he set limits on what alphas could do with him and did not feel ready to try more serious S&M action.  Indeed, he wasn’t sure what he was ready for.  Norman was confused and frustrated.  That’s why he had been seeing the shrink for a little over two years.  Dr. Johnson was a psychiatrist who worked with guys to figure out their sexual desires and help them live with whatever those turned out to be.  The sessions largely consisted of Norman lying naked on a couch and playing with himself as he described his sexual desires.  In the first session Dr. Johnson got Norman to reveal that he was turned on by S&M scenes.  He tried to pretend he wanted to be dominant, but when he watched some fairly tame S&M porn Dr. Johnson could tell he was focused on the submissive as he masturbated.  An embarrassed Norman admitted that was the role he sought, ashamed of the revelation.  Dr. Johnson told him this was obvious from the start, and it was also perfectly OK.  It was also OK that he needed this role to get hard and jerk off.  Getting Norman to become more and more comfortable with accepting and performing his desired role was the goal of the sessions from then on.   It was slow going due to Norman’s reluctance to accept Dr. Johnson’s admonitions to let himself go, but there was progress.  The sessions would include a report by Norman of what he’d done sexually during the past week.  Progress improved once Dr. Johnson told him about Bill’s bar and Norman began to hang out there.  As Norman became more comfortable revealing himself at the bar, Dr. Johnson increased the intensity of the S&M porn that Norman watched as a key part of each therapy session.  Norman soon discovered that the more intense the porn, the more intense the orgasm he had during the session.  Again, Dr. Johnson’s theme was that this was not a problem.  It was just part of who Norman was.   The therapy helped a lot in getting Norman to open up at the bar to new sexual experiences once Dr. Johnson started having Norman submit to serious S&M as part of his therapy, but in some ways, it added to his confusion.  He just couldn’t accept that what he desired was in any sense normal or acceptable.  He felt he was some kind of abnormal sex freak.  More recently, to get Norman to realize he was not unique in his desires, Dr. Johnson showed him very intense S&M videos – more severe than even what Bill played at the bar – and he found himself fixating on them well beyond the sessions.  The point Dr. Johnson was trying to get Norman to understand was that being a sex slave was part of his core nature.  It was what Norman wanted.  Most important, he stressed there was no reason not to seek it out.  It wasn’t a matter of right or wrong.  It was his reality.

However, Norman still had trouble accepting the advice, even after realizing from his experiences at the bar and during therapy that he was far from unique in his desires.  He grew more frustrated.  Of late, he got so depressed he talked with Dr. Johnson about whether he should kill himself.  Dr. Johnson assured him it wasn’t the right path.  “You just have to deal with the fact you have major fantasies about being a sex slave and you get turned on sexually thinking about what your master might do with you.  There’s nothing wrong with that, and as I’ve said many times, you’d be surprised how many other guys have the same desires, as you’ve seen at the bar and in the videos I’ve shown you.  What would really surprise you is that sex slaves live very satisfying and purposeful lives if they embrace and fulfill who they really are.  But you are extremely cautious and reluctant in real life.  You don’t seem to be able to let go, but you need to find your place so your reality and fantasies can co-exist.  For you that means a positive relationship with a highly dominant and sadistic male.  Suppressing your desires isn’t working.  If you keep doing it, you probably will wind up committing suicide.  That would be a waste of a life that could be fulfilling through useful service that would bring pleasure to another male, an alpha.”   The therapy gradually evolved to getting Norman to focus not on himself but on the dominant male he could serve. It made Norman think in a different direction but so far it had not relieved his stress.  He was still highly depressed.

Bill, on the other hand, was completely comfortable with his own totally dominant role.  He wore leather pants with snaps at the crotch that could be opened to reveal and release his large cock.  Ideally, they would be opened by the teeth of a naked slave kneeling in front of him, a prelude to a blow job, a butt fuck, the slave being used as a urinal, or (typically) all three.  He also wore steel-toed leather boots useful for kicking submissives in the balls, and a leather harness that showed off his chest hair and massive build. Bill’s impressive image as an alpha master fit in with the pictures on the walls, which completed the bar’s S&M motif.  They all depicted extreme S&M action and were exceptionally realistic.  Bill had them made specially for his bar, with himself pictured as the lead sadist in each.   Handsome naked slaves were depicted enduring all manner of tortures – fucked with cocks, dildos, and fists; beaten, cut, whipped, electrocuted, and emasculated.  Some were depicted already dead with Bill fucking the body, cutting it up for its meat, or pissing all over it.  They were a huge turn-on for Norman and the other patrons, both alphas ad submissives, but for Norman the realism was a source of fear as much as of sexual arousal.  But when he stared at them while masturbating for the amusement of an alpha who was using him, his sexual arousal was much stronger.  That was another source of Norman’s confusion.

Norman fantasized about Bill and liked giving Bill a blow job or having Bill fuck his ass.  Noman acquiesced when Bill required him to strip totally when he did so.  With Bill in charge, Norman’s hesitancy largely evaporated, and he could get into his fantasy role by imagining the fuck or the blow job was the first part of one of the scenes so realistically portrayed, often one of the more extreme scenes.  But even then, Norman stopped short of being willing to drink Bill’s piss, as other submissives in the bar did.  (Bill never used a regular urinal.) But he did let Bill spray the hot putrid liquid all over his chest and face, which turned him on despite the smell and taste, and was usually followed by Norman’s own orgasm.  Norman was confused but massively drawn to the experience and even the humiliation.  He was like a moth to a flame, and Bill burned bright.

Another reason Bill turned Norman on so much was that Bill was an actual slave owner.  He owned a slave who served as a waiter at the bar, always naked except for a slave collar and a metal cock ring.  He didn’t have a name anymore, just answering to “Slavemeat,” which Bill had branded on his chest.  Bill had owned Slavemeat for a little over five years, buying him from a pimp when Slavemeat had just turned 18.  Slavemeat had a classic and attractive twink build, devoid of body hair except a short crewcut, as Bill preferred for slaves.  After all, he was Bill’s property.

Slavemeat’s enthusiastic availability to customers for their sexual use was yet another reason the bar had lots of regular customers.  That was especially true on Wednesday nights, which was Gangbang Night.  Slavemeat and any other submissive so inclined was tied to a fuck bench and made available to customers.  Norman now frequently allowed himself to be used next to Slavemeat and got massively turned on as guy after guy after guy fucked his ass.  If a customer started his turn by whipping Norman’s ass and back so much the better.  But it required a fair number of beers for Norman to work up the courage to participate and he again insisted on limits.  (This made Slavemeat more popular since Bill did not impose any and customers could do whatever they wanted to him.)

Both the collar and the cock ring Slavemeat wore were electrified with computer chips inserted into them.  How Bill used them was a further turn-on for Norman, imagining himself in Slavemeat’s role.  Bill had an app on his cell phone that enabled him to send Slavemeat an electrical jolt to his neck and his cock when Bill wanted Slavemeat’s attention, or (often) just for the fun of it.  For example, that’s how he alerted Slavemeat that it was time to come lick up Bill’s piss and Norman’s cum from the floor after Norman was doused with piss as he masturbated.  Doing so caused Slavemeat to get an erection – a reaction Bill required, and Norman envied.

“Looking for love in all the wrong places as unseal?” Bill teased Norman as he brought him a second beer.  “Or just planning to get drunk, auctioned, and fucked?”

“All of the above,” responded Norman.  “But especially the latter.  It’s been a tough day and I need sex.”

“Fuck, every guy always needs sex.  But let me guess.  You fucked up again at work.  You know, if you keep fucking up, you’re going to get fired.”

“Yeah, I know.  And I know because I fucked up again and I did get my ass fired.  Worse yet, my fuck-up was discovered by Mark, that asshole lawyer I work with I’ve told you about.  He knows I’m gay and makes fun of me all the time for that, calling me “fuck-up-fag.”  It’s caught on with the rest of the office, even Ed, the boss.  Mark’s the boss’s favorite so he can get away with it even though it’s illegal discrimination.  He could have covered for me, but he turned me in to Ed, who fired me on the spot and said he was glad to get rid of such a stupid fag.  He and Mark clearly enjoyed me being summarily terminated in front of the other lawyers in the library, and Ed loudly told me to get my shit and leave.  I don’t even get any severance and he made it clear he’d see to it no one else hired me.  Mark said he doubted I’d be trainable even at Starbucks, which made everyone laugh.  It was humiliating and I could hear them laughing as I got my personal stuff out of my desk and walked out. 

“I hated that job and I guess I’m glad it’s over.  Being out of there frees me up and lets me concentrate on dealing with my sex issues.  In fact, when I got back to my apartment I jerked off and shot a big load all over my suit.  It doesn’t matter since I’m not going to need a suit anymore.  I am going to focus on finding a full-time relationship that includes kinky S&M sex, like my shrink tells me I should.  There must be lots of guys who would want me.  I’m in great physical shape and I’ve got a lot to offer as a sex partner, especially for an alpha like you.  Within limits I like being whipped and fucked, as you well know.  I can now make finding that guy my full-time activity, at least until I run out of money.  That’s what makes me so horny.  It’s auction night and there will be some guy who wants to use me to work off sexual aggression.  Maybe he’ll take me home and keep me.  I’m going to be more flexible about what I let him do to me, like my shrink also tells me I should do.  Dr. Johnson tells me I’ll get off more if I take more risks and the guy fucking me gets more pleasure at my expense.  He says I need to focus on the alpha’s pleasure, not mine.  Supposedly I’d be happiest if I were some guy’s sex slave.  That turns me on but I’m just not sure what I’m OK with having happen to me.  From what I’ve read some of those relationships don’t end well for the submissive.  Guys like me can wind up dead.”

“It’s about time you got focused, asshole.” Bill lectured Norman.  This time he was a lot blunter and specific, letting his own frustration with Norman’s reluctance come out.  “I know full well what you are and have known it for a long time.  You’re a natural slave but you resist because you’re also a coward.  I’ve seen how you get off when some guy seriously abuses you as well as fucks you, especially if he pushes your stupid “limits.”  For worthless shit slaves like you having a full-time owner/master is essential.  It’s your only purpose.  So far, you’ve completely wasted your pathetic life by denying the only use you’re good for.” 

Bill was worked up and knew this was the time to be completely candid.  “Do you know who the happiest person in this bar is?  It’s Slavemeat.  When he was a whore, he had to make decisions and had no stability or purpose in his life.  Not now.  When I bought him, I told him to strip naked, which he did eagerly.  The pimp took his clothes and the few possessions he’d owned.  I had not bought his stuff, just his body and his life.  He’s never worn a stich of clothing since then, and he never will.  He’s also never been outside the building except when he washes himself off each morning and evening with the hose in the alley.  I know we have nice showers, but I make him do that so he’s uncomfortable and humiliated.  That totally turns him on.  I let him sleep in a cage here at the bar after he cleans up the place and turns off the lights and heat.  He gets table scraps the cook scrapes into q dog dish Slavemeat shares with Lucifer, my Pitbull.  He gets what Lucifer leaves uneaten, which means he’s always hungry.  But the chef sees to it he has enough to keep him from starving.  Lucifer leaves him some food because he’s Lucifer’s bitch as well as the bar bitch.  I’ve trained Lucifer that, if he lets Slavemeat have some of what’s in the dog dish, Lucifer gets to fuck him.  They’ve got the routine down well enough these days that I’m going to add it to our weekly events calendar.  Lucifer is amazingly aggressive and Slavemeat reaches orgasm at the same time Lucifer fills his pathetic ass with dog cum.  It’s fun to watch.  I think being fucked by a dog is the most humiliating way to abuse a slave.  That means Slavemeat’s all for it, of course, and grateful for his orgasm – not that it matters what he thinks. 

“Slavemeat works out every day to stay fit so he can handle the abuse and remain sexually appealing.  He’s also popular – I bet he gets fucked at least 20 times per day, and that usually comes with some serious pain like being whipped or beaten.  He thrives on pain and craves even more, which I encourage my customers to provide.  I’m not sure he could shoot his load without it.  Fuck, he even gets all the beer he can drink, albeit second hand.  Cum and beer-flavored piss are by far his favorite drinks.

“Most important, Slavemeat knows his purpose. It’s to serve me – totally – and satisfy my sadistic pleasures.  If I told him to cut off his balls and serve them to us on a plate he’d be thrilled to do so.  And he’d be more thrilled if I cut off his cock and had him eat it while I watch.  Sometimes I let him come up to my penthouse on the top floor of this building so I can enjoy private torture sessions with him or use him to entertain dinner guests.  If I told him to jump off the balcony so we could watch him fall, he’d do it willingly, his only regret being how quickly he’d die.  He’d be disappointed because he wouldn’t provide all that much entertainment..” 

Norman had heard most of this before, but never in so much detail. Then Bill got into uncharted territory, revealing things Norman had not even guessed.  “The only desire he has that he hasn’t gotten yet is the thrill of having me fuck and torture him to death, but he knows that will happen someday and he knows the timing and method are my decisions, not his.  No decisions are his. But I know he hopes it will be prolonged, painful, and public.  He wants me to enjoy using him to put on a show so lots of guys can participate in him getting snuffed.  That’s what I plan, but for my satisfaction, not his.  I like showing off how talented I am at snuffing slaves.  He also knows I’ll butcher him after I kill him, or maybe while I do so.  That will be his greatest honor and he and I have talked about recipe’s I might use and best cuts of his meat I will enjoy.  I’ll probably do all those things to him, but, again, it’s my choice and not his. 

“And I’m the second happiest person in the bar because I own him and can do whatever I want with him.  In fact, I’m going to replace him soon because I’m anxious for the thrill of snuffing him.  It’s been over five years, which is about the useful life of a true sex slave.  He’s getting a little boring and his asshole isn’t as tight as I like any more.  Too many fists and dildos.  Letting guys cram beer bottles up his ass hasn’t helped either, but it’s a lot of fun for customers so I encourage it.  I’ve finished negotiating with a group I belong to and bought a set of 19-year-old masochistic identical twins.  They are fresh, gorgeous, and eager to serve.  They know that service will eventually mean being snuffed and that is their goal.  I’ll be starting their training tonight at the auction and probably will have them ready to take over Slavemeat’s duties within the next month or so.  It will be a great snuff orgy to start the New Year and both Slavemeat and I are looking forward to it.  Meanwhile he’ll do a lot of the training, anxious to make sure they serve me well once he’s dead.

“So don’t give me this fucking bullshit about things sometimes not working out well for slaves because they literally wind up as dead meat.  Slaves should be grateful for the chance.  It gives us alpha males intense pleasure, which is their only purpose.  And it also causes amazing final orgasms for the snuff slaves if we allow it.  We usually do because that adds to our pleasure as we watch.  A snuff scene with everyone having orgasms means things worked out great for the slave.” 

Norman was stunned. He had read about slaves who wanted to be tortured and killed, and of masters who did so, but never considered the possibility that Bill’s dominance and Slavemeat’s submissiveness went this far.  But Bill’s point on Slavemeat’s fulfillment through his role as a snuff slave made sense.  Slavemeat was obviously happy and highly content, and Bill was saying part of that was the fact Slavemeat was going to be tortured to death for Bill’s sexual pleasure.  He was saying that’s what Slavemeat wants and it would be the climax of his sexual pleasure.  Despite Norman’s shock, he was getting turned on by all this, and a source of his arousal included learning Bill was going to snuff Slavemeat.  He had thought it was all just for show.

“I had no idea this was for real.  But don’t you run a risk with the law?  What if someone finds out?  I can’t believe you just told me all this.”

Bill laughed.   “You really are as stupid as you look.  Guys like me don’t get arrested for snuffing a slave.  It’s what the slave wants and there’s no one to object.  But we also snuff guys who don’t volunteer, which is also a huge amount of sexual fun, and we get away with that too – no problem.  It’s the same system that lets me run a bar with a lot of naked males in it even though that isn’t legal either.  Some of us don’t have to worry about all that legal shit.

“You’re too dumb to figure out that all those pictures on the wall are realistic looking because they’re real.  I belong to a society that satisfies the needs of sadistic alpha males like me.  We buy and sell males like Slavemeat who seek being tortured and snuffed.  We also keep the streets safe for worthy residents by snuffing current and likely perpetrators of crimes – young perps who pose a threat or commit a crime.  They are the dregs of society who need to be permanently removed.  If we get to have fun doing it, that’s a fair tradeoff for the service we provide.  The Chief of Police is one of our senior leaders, and he selects appropriate victims from the young losers that populate the streets.   The pictures are all taken at my penthouse, one of our meeting places.  That’s where I’ll off Slavemeat when I decide to do it.  It will be a great orgy for our group followed by a dinner party with Slavemeat as the main course.  Publicly we refer to ourselves as the Alpha Male Society and we are an elite and powerful worldwide fraternity.  But the AMS really stands for the “Art of Male Snuff” and we do indeed make it an art form.  Slavemeat is fortunate to serve me, and he knows it.  I might add a picture of his snuff, which I know he’d like me to do.  He’s been a good slave, and I’m not adverse to rewarding him so long as the reward involves hum being humiliated, tortured, or killed.  By the way, you comment how much you like our burgers.  They’re called “slaveburgers” because that’s the source of the meat.  AMS sells the butchered meat of slaves and I’m a big purchaser of ground slave meat.  We make full use of the guys we snuff.”

Norman was getting drawn into the flame of Bill’s dominance and ventured a tentative query.  “I’d never really thought of being a slave that way, or understood what it might mean, although my shrink has been encouraging me to explore this kind of option.  Would you ever consider trying me out as your slave?  I’m not sure on the snuff scene, but I think I’d be OK with the bar aspects of being a slave.  And maybe the snuff scene wouldn’t be out of the question.  I’ve been thinking of suicide, after all, and having someone kill me would probably be a better option.  My death would at least have some purpose.  I have to admit I’ve gotten off at times thinking of that happening while guys in the bar watch and laugh at my fate.”

“No way.  You’re still too tentative and you have a bad attitude.  I am only interested in slaves who make a total commitment.  What you refer to as the “snuff scene” is central to being a true slave.  A slave is property, nothing more.  A master has the right to snuff it whenever and however he wants.  You’re just play acting at being a slave.  I have no interest in play acting and clearly it isn’t working for you.  That’s why you’re an emotional mess. You haven’t admitted what you are and submitted to your true nature.  You bragged about having a “lot to offer as a sex partner.”  That’s crap.  A slave is not a sex partner, it’s a sex object.  And here you are at a gay S&M bar where you’re supposed to be submissive.  Yet you’re wearing shorts and shoes.  You don’t strip completely until you’ve had a lot of beers to bolster your courage.  That shows unacceptable disrespect for us alpha males.  Slaves need to be naked – and naked means totally naked, not just teasing someone with a little show of skin.  Your cock and ass must always be displayed and available.  And no shoes either.  Being barefoot is an accepted sign of being a slave.  Your real problem is that you’re a self-centered coward.  You think you’re entitled to be in control and set limits on what happens to you.  You’re not.” 

“By the way, I don’t care if you’re miserable.  What pisses me off is that you are depriving some master of the satisfaction of owning you, having you serve his sexual desires totally, and then snuffing you – even though that’s what you want and deserve.  Your selfishness, your pride, and your cowardice are offensive.  Ironically, if you ever worked up the courage to become a true slave you’d probably be as content and fulfilled as Slavemeat.”

Norman had no response.  He was silent and considered what Bill had said.  He realized there was a lot of truth to it.  He paused and left the rest of his beer on the counter.  He was not going to rely on that for his “courage.”  He stood and stripped off his shorts and shoes, putting them in his backpack.  To his surprise, his cock had gotten hard and was now sticking out in front of him.  Several of the alphas dressed in leather gear stared at him, and he realized he liked that.  He liked the thought of being a slave, a true slave.

Norman thought about the fact it was Auction Night.  There always was god action at the Friday slave auction the bar sponsored.  He was more anxious than usual to get on stage so the bidders could look him over.  He left his beer and backpack and climbed onto the stage, his cock hard.  Several bidders were already there as were some of the slaves being auctioned.  It was a chance for the bidders to examine the meat, and Norman liked being poked and prodded, now realizing he liked it even more in the context of possibly being a real slave.  He willingly opened his mouth so a bidder could inspect his teeth, as the bidder explained to his buddy that he’d learned to do this in buying horses and he did the same with slaves.  Then Norman bent over so the guy could finger his ass and verify its tightness.  The bidder asked Norman if he had any limits on his use.  Norman’s submissive nature was in control now and his cock was rock hard as he gave a different answer from what he had said to bidders in the past.  “No, sir.  None.  You can do whatever you want with me.”  He got no answer but heard the bidder chat with his buddy about an upcoming AMS meeting.  Norman now knew what that meant, and while it made him fearful it also excited him.

As the bidders inspected him and made rude comments about his body, Norman surveyed the assembled crowd.  He saw lots of the regulars and a few newcomers.  No one was all that impressive physically, but he knew these were guys interested in buying and fucking a slave for 24 hours.  What they would want beyond that he didn’t know, but he was starting to realize that wasn’t any of his business.  He was not in control this time.  He was just confident he’d get lots of use and anxious to encourage much harder and longer-term use than he’d tolerated before.  He finally understood he was there to please the buyer, not himself. 

Norman was now massively turned on.  He had always liked being bought and sold like cattle.  Moreover, what better way to get himself aroused and advertise his body and its availability at the same time?  Norman was no longer focused on what the purchaser did with him.  This wasn’t just because of Bill’s lecture but also because he didn’t have to get up in the morning to go to work, which he used to have to do even on Saturdays.  If he had a broken limb or two it was no big deal.  He wondered if it was a big deal if he didn’t get up at all.  He was still confused, but far less frustrated.  He concluded it didn’t matter.  No one would care one way or another.

Norman stood alongside five other naked slaves being auctioned.    He knew there of them, all of whom had full-time owners.  One was the slave he saw work out with his master during the noon hour.  It amused the masters to sell their slaves for the evening and watch as they were fucked and abused, usually joining in the fun.  The other two slaves being auctioned were new to Norman and clearly were the identical twins Bill had purchased to replace Slavemeat.  They were as fresh and gorgeous as Bill had claimed.  He was concerned that they would attract the best bids and most desirable masters, but there was nothing he could do about that.  As he thought further he again realized how much he needed to work on his pride.  Bill was right.

Neither Bill nor the masters whose slaves were being auctioned put limits on what could be done to slaves, so the bids were often high because the sex/torture sessions were usually intense and brutal.  As his mind wandered Noman wondered if the bids for him would be higher now that he was in the “no limits” category.

Bill encouraged the S&M fun that followed the auction to start at the bar so all the patrons could enjoy watching even if they weren’t themselves inflicting the pain.  Public humiliation was a key attraction for all participants, including the slaves.  And while alcohol consumed by the masters made the S&M more dangerous for the slaves, it also made it more fun for the alphas and more profitable for Bill, which were what mattered.  The winning bidder usually took the slave to his home at some point and what happened there was private and often even more intense.  In theory the slave was to be returned the following afternoon, which meant it was really a “rental” more than a sale.  But that only mattered if it was a limit put on a slave by the owner who was selling it.  Otherwise it didn’t matter.  There were occasions when a slave did not show up again, especially one that had not had a master.  Norman now understood what had probably happened to the slave, but that thought didn’t turn him off.  Maybe it’s what the slave wanted.  Maybe it’s what Norman would want.  And the sadistic winning bidder probably had a huge amount of pleasure from the kill.  Norman was adjusting to the new reality he had finally faced.

Bill came on stage to start the auction.  It was another aspect of his bar that was quite profitable since Bill took a 15% cut of the bids.  The rest went to the owner of the slave. If there was one.    If there was not an owner, as in Norman’s case, Bill took 100%.  Norman had always been OK with that.  He had never cared about money, which was one reason he didn’t have much.  Besides, how could he possibly accept money as a slave?  That had been his view even when Norman was play-acting, but even more so as he contemplated being a slave for real.

Bill got everyone’s attention and welcomed them to the event.  He started by stressing the bar’s and the slaveowners’ lack of limits on the use of the slaves, adding (at Norman’s request) that this applied to all the slaves, and previous limitations that had been placed on the use of some of the slaves were no longer applicable.  The slaves were the property of the winning bidder to do with as he wished for the next 24 hours.  Winning bidders who used the slaves at the bar at least until midnight would be rewarded with free drinks.

Bill next presented the six slaves.  He had each slave step forward and stand at attention so the bidders who hadn’t inspected the merchandise prior to the auction could get a good look at it.  If the slave’s cock was not already hard, he was instructed to get hard, but all six were already erect, aroused at the reality of being sold.  Then the slave was instructed to turn around, bend over, and use his hands to spread his butt cheeks.  That way the bidders got a good look at the butt and ass the winner would soon rape.  Bill described the sexual performance and skills of each candidate; since he had fucked them all and knew their bodies well.  He especially focused on the young twins.

“I’m especially pleased to introduce two slaves who will be sold as a package tonight.  I have just purchased them to add to my slave holdings and they will serve here at the bar alongside Slavemeat.  I see no point in slaves having names, so in honor of Dr. Seuss’s Cat in the Hat, for now I’m just calling them Thing 1 and Thing 2.  I’ll decide on final labeling later, which you’ll be able to tell since I’ll brand them as I did Slavemeat.  They’ll replace Slavemeat in a month or so, since as you probably noticed he’s starting to show the scars from five years of being whipped, and his ass isn’t all that tight, which isn’t a surprise given all the things we’ve rammed up it.  But don’t worry.  he’ll be around for the holidays and you can still use him however you feel like.  And he’s training Thing 1 and Thing 2, so they’ll know what to do to please you.  If you are interested in tickets to his “send-off” party let me know.”  There was a knowing laugh from some of the alphas.  Slavemeat, who was not being auctioned this particular night since he needed to play bartender when Bill left for another event, looked pleased.

After displaying his ass for the bidders Norman turned around again to face the audience as he waited to be sold.  He still didn’t see much in the way of interesting buyers. 

Then Norman saw an impressive alpha master enter the room.  The master was about 6’5”, dressed in dark leather.  He was amazingly thick and muscular with John Wayne-style movie star looks.  Norman had never seen him at the bar before.  He had dark, sharp features and a look of complete authority.  His demeanor was even more dominant than Bill’s.  The master appeared to be alone but, somehow, he was nonetheless in charge.  Norman got more erect on stage just looking at the master, dripping a little pre-cum, and the master noticed both the intense stare and the resulting added arousal.  When the master sat at a table Bill started the event by inviting bids for Norman.  The master put in the opening bid at $1.  As other bidders laughed and started to enter the process, assuming the bid was a joke of some sort, the master stared at them intently and they backed off.  Bill chuckled, even though the low bid for Norman was costing him money.  Bill seemed to know the master and didn’t interfere.  The master had somehow taken over control of the entire situation by force of personality without saying a word.  There was only one bid, and he acquired Norman for $1.  Bill addressed Norman and explained: “That’s all you are worth, slave.  Fuck, it’s a little high for a worthless piece of shit like you.  Don’t fuck it up by being your typical dumb shit asshole self.”  Norman was even more turned on, determined to do as Bill said.

Once he was declared sold, Norman scrambled down from the stage to the table where the master sat, alone, nursing a single malt Scotch Slavemeat had delivered without the need for him to place an order or pay for it.  Norman knelt and bowed low, keeping his eyes to the ground as befit his status.  He had played this part many times and knew it was not his place to speak.  He always enjoyed this part of the ritual.

 “It is raining outside and there is mud on my boots.  Use your tongue to clean it off.”

Norman was caught by surprise.  This was not a command he had encountered before, and it was not something that turned him on.  He hesitated briefly but quickly remembered his resolve and degraded himself by licking the master’s boots and swallowing the mud.  He made sure to also use his tongue to restore the shine.  But he had not acted quickly enough to please the master, who then told Norman to get on his knees and look at him, after which he kicked Norman hard in the balls.

“You are not to hesitate.  You are to obey me immediately.  This bar is inadequate for evaluating your worthiness to be my slave, which seems unlikely.  Meet me at this restaurant in exactly one hour.”  The master spat in Norman’s face and dropped a card on the floor next to Norman, successfully aiming it to land in a little puddle of piss from an earlier sex session that Slavemeat had not yet licked up.   He downed his cocktail and walked out of the bar without saying anything else or waiting for Norman’s response, although he did kick Norman in the balls again, this time much harder.  The exchange had been direct and the instructions precise, so nothing further was needed. 

Norman doubled over from the pain in his balls, but he was sexually excited, and his cock quickly got hard again.  He picked up the piss-soaked card, not knowing that Slavemeat had been instructed to leave the pool of urine for the master’s purposes in degrading Norman.  The card had the name and address of a restaurant that sounded familiar.  Norman got his cell phone out of his backpack and checked it out.  It was one of the fanciest restaurants in Manhattan, with a dress code requiring a suit and tie.  Norman left some money for Bill, more than usual in thanks for the instruction.  He grabbed his backpack, and, still naked, ran back to his apartment – his cock hard and bouncing in front of him.  In his sexual arousal he didn’t even feel the rain or the cold.  It was about a mile to his apartment and fortunately no one hassled him, although a lot of people stared and swore at the naked guy with a hard on running through the streets.  Norman liked that.  He got nervous when he saw a cop but was relieved when the cop just started laughing.  His submissive side was now surging in his psyche.  He made it to his apartment in just over 6 minutes despite the crowded sidewalks, and after finding his key in the backpack he entered his apartment.  He was out of breath but didn’t slow down.  He knew he needed to be on time and wasn’t sure how long it would take to get to the restaurant.  He quickly showered, put on a suit just returned from the cleaners and called an Uber.   The Uber came right away, and he was relieved to see that he had gotten to the restaurant early.  But he did not enter until the exact time the master had stated.  He had a feeling precise obedience even as to timing would be required.  The master seemed as precise as he was dominant. 

When Norman entered, he saw the master sitting alone at a small table for two in the restaurant’s bar area next to a window. The master was now dressed in an obviously expensive suit and drinking a glass of champaign.  The bottle was open and staying chilled in a bucket of ice next to the table.  The master looked at his watch, verified the time, and signaled to Norman that he could walk over to the table and sit across from him.

“You are on time, which is required.”  The master did not offer him a drink, but just sipped his own as he surveyed Norman much as a dairy farmer might view a cow he was thinking of buying.  Norman sensed what was happening and kept his head bowed. He desperately hoped he was passing muster.  The silence was not awkward for Norman pr the master.  He was examining the merchandise he’d just purchased and taking his time doing so.  Norman was comfortable being that merchandise.

“You hang out in that gay S&M bar and have put yourself up for auction many times.  You have no successful personal or sexual relationships, just one-night stands.  You are a natural masochist but have largely suppressed the logical implications of that.  You are now exploring those implications and seek a permanent owner and master, but you’re also a vain coward and afraid to act.  You often contemplate suicide as a way out, but your cowardice has prevented you from doing that. You are afraid to act.  And as of today you are unemployed with no prospects of getting another job.  You’re broke and won’t be able to pay your bills.  So you’ve decided to act.  Correct?”

Norman was amazed.  How did this person know so much about him?    Everything he said was true.  What was this amazing alpha going to require?  Could this turn out as well as he hoped?  In his excitement he forgot proper protocol and just answered “Correct.”

“You are to address me as Master.’

“Sorry, Master.  Correct, Master.”

“Despite your pathetic existence, or maybe because of it, you are of possible use to me.  You’re nothing special physically, but you will react especially well sexually to pian and humiliation as your masochistic nature runs unusually deep.  In short, you have the potential to be a willing snuff slave, like Bill’s property, Slavemeat.  Resisting that true nature is why you are miserable and considering killing yourself.  Your fulfillment can come only if you embrace that true nature and provide total service as a slave until such time as your owner decides to end your service by torturing and killing you.  Unlike Slavemeat, you are only coming to this realization now and you have developed unacceptable traits in the meantime.  The issue I wish to determine is whether your attitude is sufficiently curable to make you worth the trouble of owning you.  That will require eliminating your pride and vanity and causing you to understand you are indeed just a worthless piece of slave shit whose only purpose is service to a dominant owner like me.  Based on the reports of Bill and Dr. Johnson I am willing to allow you to prove yourself acceptable to meet my requirements.”  Master ended his comments and waited for Norman to consider and digest them.

Norman was nervous and afraid, but also excited.  Clearly here was a master who totally dominated and knew everything about him.  He realized Bill and Dr. Johnson had been working together on behalf of Master and molding him for this moment.  He was not upset by that, but grateful.  They had convinced him this was his only positive option in life.  Realizing that they were correct, Norman was getting more and more aroused, and he could tell his cock was hard.  After just the few minutes he had spent in Master’s presence, Norman realized this could be the chance at service and fulfillment he’d always dreamed about but was afraid to seek for real.  But, even now, was he ready to go all the way?  That ran counter to his nature and he was struggling.

Sensing Norman’s thoughts, Master continued.  “To maximize my pleasure, which would be your only purpose in life and death, your decision must be totally voluntary and in no way forced.  Nor can it relate to my current ownership of you based on the auction at the bar.  That’s a pretend and temporary ownership.  I want far more than just an evening or two.  I am considering letting you become my property permanently and doing whatever I want with you once that is established.  To that end my offer is simple.  I am prepared to allow you to serve as my full-time slave starting immediately.  If you perform to my satisfaction, and I become confident your service is indeed voluntary and total, you will stay in my service until I decide to entertain myself by snuffing you.  This means you must abandon your pride.  If you accept this offer, it will be the last decision you will ever make.

“Today is an inflection point in your worthless life.  Because of your potential depth of masochistic service, you are being given a chance to serve, and to therefore have a purpose.  Your purpose will be to provide me with pleasure, especially sexual pleasure.  Understand that I derive sexual pleasure from extreme sadistic use of masochistic males.  You will obey me absolutely and there will be no limits on your obedience or how I may choose to use you.  You are not yet fully aware that total ownership and service are what you desire, but you will come to recognize that soon.”

Norman glanced around the room as he considered Master’s words.  He was startled to see Dr. Johnson, his shrink, having drinks at a nearby table, and more startled when he realized the other people at the table were Bill, owner of the S&M bar, Mark, who had made his life at work miserable and had humiliated him when he was fired, and Ed, his former boss who had fired him.  They were laughing and watching his interview with Master.  Norman wondered how deep the conspiracy to mold his psyche had been, and he was suddenly extremely self-conscious.  All four were staring at him and laughing among themselves.  Norman had little doubt who they were laughing at.

“I see you have noticed my dinner guests.  Good.  All five of us are members of the AMS organization Bill described to you earlier today.  Tonight is an intervention.  If you were an alcoholic, which you are becoming, the formula is for those closest to the person to create a situation where the person is threatened with having all contact with his closest companions cut off but given an option to go into treatment instead.  Your situation is similar.  If you accept my offer you leave with me as my property, and you spend your life in my service until I choose to end it.  If you don’t accept, you walk out of the restaurant and you will not see us again.  You are already terminated from your job, and you will find you are unemployable.  We’ll see to that.  You are of no further interest to Dr. Johnson and you couldn’t afford him anyway.  He treated you solely for the purpose of verifying the depth of your masochistic nature and getting you to understand it, molding you so you could become my slave.  He doesn’t give a fuck about you at all.  As a member of AMS he seeks out candidates for use as voluntary snuff slaves on behalf of fellow members like me.  And you will no longer be welcome at Bill’s bar.  He’s disgusted with your indecision and he wouldn’t want a reminder of what a worthless fuck you are.  But if you decline, we will provide you one final service.  My driver will drop you off at the city morgue and provide you with a handgun loaded with a single bullet.  That way, when you shoot yourself, the body will be convenient for the city to collect and burn.  And have no doubt about it.  We know your nature, and we have triggered enough of it so this time you will kill yourself.  Your life will end a total waste, as it has been so far.

“So, as I said, this has been an intervention.  But don’t get the idea it’s about you.  It’s not.  It’s about me and my enjoyment owning slaves who fundamentally need to serve the way a slave should serve – totally.  It’s not just your shrink.  NO ONE gives a fuck about you whatsoever.

“Now you must decide, one more thing you are not good at.  What is your decision?”

Norman was beyond stunned.  He didn’t know what to think or how to react.  Yet he found he was even more aroused.  He didn’t have any purpose in his life that was meaningful or satisfying, especially sexually.  The idea of serving someone as arousing and obviously powerful as Master was downright thrilling.  It would add a purpose he knew he could embrace.  He also knew his other choice was the ride to the morgue, at which point he will have made no contribution whatsoever with his life.  Suicide would be his only option and that turned him off.  The idea of being a slave destined to be snuffed now excited him, especially sexually.  He remembered the contented slave who worked out at noon and he remembered Bill’s description of Slavemeat.  He realized at long last that being a slave was what Norman wanted too.  He now realized being snuffed would be the logical culmination of his service.  How could he truly be a slave if he didn’t submit to being tortured and killed when his master found it convenient to end his service?  So to his own surprise (but not to Master’s) Norman paused only briefly and responded.  “Yes, Master.  I accept your generous offer.  Thank you, Master.”

Master handed Norman a piece of paper, and Norman noticed a pen in front of him.  He started to read it but stopped.  What difference did it make what the paper said?  He was now a slave and if Master wanted him to sign something, he singed it.  So he signed and handed it back to Master. 

“Good.  If you had read it I would have rejected you.  You are no longer permitted to make decisions.  You are simply to obey.”  As Master put the paper into a folder by his plate, Norman saw Master’s guests high five each other and raise a glass to toast their success.  They knew what signing the paper meant.  Norman knew they were not toasting him, as he no longer mattered.  Fuck, he realized.  He never had mattered.  Why had he not understood that?

Master looked directly at Norman and officially took charge.  “You are now my slave and your service starts immediately.  You have singed over to me all your property, including your body.  Strip naked and put your clothes and other possessions, neatly folded, in the bag next to your chair.  You will spend the rest of your life naked.  I assume you are erect, but if not get hard.  Stand up facing me with your cock sticking out in front of you.  Put on the cock ring and the slave collar you’ll find in the leather pouch next to your plate.  Attach the leash to the collar and hand me the other end.”

Norman was shocked.  “Strip?  Here?  In front of the window and all these diners?  In front of people I know?  This is an extremely fancy place.  Won’t that be a problem?  I could get arrested!”  The stress of the day and his decision had swelled up and Norman had lost it.  He was almost sputtering.

Master reached over the small table and slapped Norman in the face.  Hard.  Then even harder using his other hand, “Learn your place slave.  You are to do as I say no matter what.  Whether you get arrested is not your concern, and no one cares if you’re humiliated.  You deserve to be.  If I tell you to strip, you strip.  If I tell you to cut off your balls and feed them to me, you cut off your balls and feed them to me.  You are to obey me and serve me.  I will allow you this transgression since you are new to your status.  But never question my orders again.  Is that clear?” 

Norman got control of himself.  He gulped in surprise but recovered quickly.  “Yes Master.  I’m sorry Master and I will always obey you.”   Then Norman quickly stripped as instructed.  As Master predicted he didn’t need to get an erection, and it got a little harder as he slipped on the cock ring, fastened the slave collar, attached the leash, and handed control of the leash and his life to Master.  He stood naked and erect for the whole bar and anyone walking by on the sidewalk to see.  It was utterly humiliating.

The loud slaps had gotten the attention of the other customers in the bar, and Master’s companions were now staring at Norman with glee at his embarrassment.  For the first time in years Norman was self-conscious as he realized everyone was watching him. He was accustomed to being naked when he assumed a submissive role, and he liked that feeling.  But that was at Bill’s S&M bar.  This was different.  It was far more intense a feeling of being on display. As he continued to submit and gain control over his reactions, he realized this was not simply different.  It was better.  He realized the other patrons, especially Master’s friends, were laughing and pointing at his hard cock, which was now fully erect and pointing upward from the pressure of his sexual excitement.  It was extremely embarrassing to stand naked and erect in a fancy restaurant.  But it was Master’s decision and he belonged to Master.  He totally bought into the reality that decisions were for Master, not for him.  Norman could even understand how this would help him cure his stupid pride and better understand just how worthless he was other than as a source of Master’s pleasure.  He deserved this humiliation, and much worse.  He was grateful to the AMS alphas who had guided him to reality.

“Now you are to masturbate, with your cum spraying into the partially filled glass in front of you.  I had the waiter fill it halfway with piss.  Once you add your cum you are to drink the entire combination in one swallow.  Alcohol impedes sexual performance, so you are never to drink that again.  You are embracing your status and you won’t need it anymore as an escape.  Piss and cum will replace it and in due course you will crave them and become aroused if you are permitted to consume those liquids.  You will consume them a lot, especially piss, as I plan to use you as a human urinal and let others do so as well.  After your initial shock you did well getting naked and erect.  When you obey perfectly you may earn permission to have an orgasm, which you may now achieve for my amusement and that of my friends.  And these total strangers.  After all, you’re just a sex object.  Part of our enjoyment will be your humiliation.”

Norman had masturbated for the amusement of the patrons at the S&M bar many times, so this was not new.  But this too was better, as it was far more degrading.  As he stroked himself, he got added pleasure realizing the diners were enjoying watching him, the laughter growing much louder. Best of all, Master seemed pleased, which was now Norman’s only goal.  It did not take him long to reach climax, and he was surprised how intense and satisfying it was.  He sprayed a huge load of thick cum into the glass.  The noise in the bar turned into a cheer and there was even a little applause.  Master’s friends toasted themselves and again drank to their success. 

Norman had swallowed a lot of cum over the years, which he loved, but not much piss.  He didn’t hesitate, however, and drank the piss and cum mixture now in front of him.  Being a natural exhibitionist whose tendencies in that area were finally released, and to add to the entertainment, he used a spoon to mix them and licked the spoon after he drank all the liquid.

“I did not give you permission to stir the liquids.  You acted as if you were a person instead of a slave, and you made a decision.  Therefore you will be punished.  If you disobey me again like this, you will be deemed useless and killed.  Your pride is excessive, and you have much to learn.”  Master took his cell phone out of his pocket.  He opened the same app Bill used for Slavemeat and turned it to full power.  Norman felt a severe shock hit his neck and his cock.  He gasped in pain but did not speak or cry out.  When Master finished punishing him, after five more jolts that added to the laughter as Norman could not help convulsing from the pain, Norman apologized for his error and thanked Master for the lesson.

“You must understand your status and role.  Remember that you have no decisions to make and my tolerance is essentially zero. 

“I am going to join my friends for dinner in the dining room.  You are to go to the restroom and kneel in front of the space where one of the urinals has been removed.  The waiter will tie you to some restraints.  Open your mouth and, if anyone wants to use you as a urinal, you are to service them and thank them for the honor.  The same is true if anyone wants a blow job.  These will be among the tasks you will learn to perform well to serve me, and the experience will help you abandon your pride.  It’s hard to be very vain when you’re tied up in a bathroom and used as a urinal with piss pouring down your throat.  The waiter will collect your clothing and other belongings, which are no longer yours.  Mark will arrange for a death certificate to be filed showing you as a suicide, which means you’ll no longer exist as a person.  What little you owned will be given away.”

As he knelt in the restroom, Norman was permitted to serve quite a few of the patrons, usually both as a urinal and by sucking them off.  A few of the guys took their belts and used them to beat Norman, lashing his chest.  He found the experience exciting and wonderful, but mostly he contemplated how fitting this use of him was.  He had indeed wasted his life until now.  This was the kind of service slaves like him should be used for.

Master’s companions were especially aggressive and so confident about their upcoming success they had brought whips for flogging Norman when they left the dining room to take a leak.  They wanted the pain to be more intense.  Norman realized his former colleagues Mark and Ed were gay, dominant alphas.  In addition to the blow job and piss, Mark, who was about Norman’s age and quite strong, added to the flogging with blows to Norman’s cock and balls, his dress shoes administering much more pain than Norman was accustomed to.  Then he proceeded to gut punch Norman multiple times with a set of brass knuckles he had brought for that purpose..  He added verbal abuse pointing out how worthless Norman was, what a fuck-up he’d been at work, and how much he was looking forward to joining in snuffing Norman when the time came.  The pain and humiliation were intense, but Norman willingly accepted it as his due and thanked him for the abuse.  Mark responded with another round of gut punches, this time causing Norman to double over in pain and vomit all over himself.  But he knew enough to thank his tormentors again for degrading him and delivering the pain he deserved.  The appreciation was genuine.  They laughed at the dripping filth that covered his body.  But he still had a hard cock, which bounced for their entertainment as Bill administered electric shocks using the cell phone app.  They all spat in his face as they left to return to the dining room.  It was a lot of fun for them and a good indoctrination for Norman in his new role.  Norman was totally tuned on sexually and emotionally.  He was freed of any need to understand what was happening.  His only need was to strictly obey Master, and he was determined to do so.

In due course the waiter returned, untied Norman, and instructed him to lick up the piss and puke that lay in a pool in front of him.  After Norman did so, gagging a bit, he was led outside through a back entrance to where Master’s limo was waiting.  Master arrived after a while, accompanied by three of his dinner companions.  Bill had returned to his bar to enjoy the S&M action that was no doubt in full swing by now.  The rain had intensified, and Master’s chauffer held up a large umbrella for Master and his guests as he opened the limo’s rear passenger door.  Norman stood naked in the rain covered with piss and vomit.  (He’d swallowed most of the piss and cum, but many of the guys sprayed his body and face as well as sending some down his throat.)  He could see that there was a naked young male tied up inside the limo, his mouth taped shut, who looked terrified.

The chauffer, who was also naked except for a traditional chauffer’s cap, explained to Master.  “This is a perp who will be used for tomorrow’s dinner meeting, and the Chief thought you might enjoy a little fun with him as you head back to your estate.  It’s a thank you for hosting the event.”

“Thanks James.  This is one more case of how great it is to have the Chief of Police as one of our senior members.  It’s always fun to get these worthless losers ready for the meetings.  This one looks very promising.  Meanwhile, this slave stinks, so put him in the trunk.  But take a blood sample first for the physical he’ll get tomorrow.  I want you to handle his initiation.  You know the drill.”

2

Training

Master’s estate was immense, including a beach that was several miles long in an isolated rural part of Long Island.  Few people had any idea such a large estate existed so close to the city.  But Friday night traffic was heavy, and the drive took well over two hours..  As it progressed Norman could hear lots of talking and laughing from the interior of the limo, where he assumed Master and his friends were enjoying the young stud provided to them.  The noises soon included screaming, followed by more laughter.    That pattern lasted for quite a while, although Norman had no idea how much time had passed.  Then the limo stopped suddenly with brakes screeching.  Norman was tossed around in the trunk like a bag of fertilizer. There was another, more intense scream that was followed by loud cursing.  Norman heard nothing further until the limo stopped and he heard the sound of a door opening and more angry talking.  He couldn’t tell what had happened or what anyone was saying.  The door was closed and the limo started up again.  He heard a garage door opening, and then closing. There was no further conversation.  He heard someone, presumably James, unloading something from inside the car.  Norman had no idea what had happened, but it was not his concern and in due course, since James did not open the trunk, he fell asleep.  As he drifted off he was surprised how contented he felt.  His body was beat up from the events of the evening, and he smelled terrible, but that did not prevent him from a peaceful night.  It was his first in a long time.

Norman was awakened the next morning by the sound of James entering the garage and eventually opening the trunk where Norman had been stored for the night.  James left the trunk open and cursed at Norman for the stench that escaped when the lid was raised.  He ordered Norman to climb out and kneel in front of James, which he did promptly.  Then he was doused by a huge load of James’ piss and treated to the sound of his derisive laughter.  Norman stank even worse and James ordered him to clean himself off using a shower in the corner of the large garage, cold water only.  He was also given permission to use the toilet next to it, for which Norman was quite grateful.  As Norman approached that area, he noticed a curtain that he instinctively started to grab to close around the facilities. As he reached up, he felt the electric shock in his neck and cock that he had become familiar with the prior evening and again heard James’ derision.

“You are a fucking piece of  shit, more worthless than a monkey in a zoo.  What makes you think you’re entitled to privacy?  You’re a sex object for the pleasure of the Boss and his friends.  Part of that pleasure is your constant humiliation.   The curtain stays open and you do your business in full view of me and anyone who happens to wander in.  The Boss said you had a lot of vanity that needed to be beaten out of you, and he was obviously right.  I’ve been assigned to orient you to being one of the Boss’s slaves, which I plan to enjoy.  I got the assignment because the Boss knows I’m an experienced sadist and good at it.  Clearly, I’ll have a lot of work to do, and I will make it as degrading for you as possible.  I’ll enjoy that.”  Norman apologized, realizing James was right and vowing to himself to do better.  The experience at the restaurant had done a lot to cure his poor attitude.

After Norman completed his morning piss and dump with James watching and laughing at him, he cleaned himself with the ice-cold water and was permitted to shave and brush his teeth.  He was grateful for these normal aspects of starting the day, even if it was a bit embarrassing with James supervising and making degrading comments.  He wondered what James had in mind for his training but quickly recognized that was none of his business.  He asked no questions.  His sole duty was to obey.  Master would mold him into whatever Master wanted him to become.  He acknowledged to himself that having the day start by being pissed on and humiliated would no doubt help him develop his appreciation for piss and overcome his wrongful pride.  He had no decisions to make and he was surprised how much he liked that.  For the first time in years Norman was in a good mood.

Once Norman was clean, James had him lean over the hood of the limo so James could whip his ass and back and then fuck him.  James was strong and the flogging was severe.  It was punishment for thinking he was entitled to privacy as if he were still a person, but James made it clear no reason was needed for Norman to be punished.

 James was naked, as he had been the prior evening, but Norman had quickly realized James was not a slave. He was a young alpha male who worked for Master.  After he shot his load up Norman’s butt, he whipped him again, this time on his chest and belly, then shoved his cock into Norman’s mouth for Norman to lick clean.  Norman thanked him for the lesson.  James was really good looking and dominant, with a large hard cock, and it had been a great fuck.  Norman could not hide the fact he was turned on sexually.  James laughed and made fun of Norman’s erect cock,, kneeing him in the balls as he reminded him he was not permitted to have an orgasm even though he obviously wanted one.  Norman just stood at attention, ready for whatever was next, with his own hard cock sticking out in front of him.  Well, he thought, it wasn’t really his anymore.  He already knew he needed permission for an orgasm, but he was massively horny and focused on controlling himself.

Having satisfied his lust for a while, James assigned Norman the task of cleaning the limo, starting with the trunk.  Norman immediately began, anxious to please anyone in Master’s household even if it wasn’t Master himself.  Besides, cleaning up piss and vomit that had soiled the trunk from Norman’s body seemed a good first task for a slave, as James pointed out rather coldly.   James made his contempt for the salve and his own arrogance quite clear.  Norman was starting to adjust to that and complied without comment other than thanking James for the lessons and promising to do better.

As Norman scrubbed out the trunk and cleaned its contents, James described the household and how things worked.

“The Boss has both slaves and employees.  It takes a lot of people to run an estate of this size, as well as the Boss’s many business interests.  He mostly works from here although he has other residences and offices all over the world.  The slaves are all worthless scumbags like you, who eventually get tortured and eventually snuffed as you deserve.  The Boss enjoys using you for all kinds of purposes in addition to sex, including being lab rats for medical research.  You will serve the Boss or perform other duties at all times, with no time off.  All of us on staff will enjoy making your life as demeaning and miserable as possible to maximize your humiliation.  The Boss will subject you to continuous sexual abuse and torture that culminates in some sort of entertaining snuff scene when he gets tired of you or you don’t do your tasks well enough.  You don’t get to fuck up and you certainly don’t get to exhibit vanity or pride.  I suspect you’ll not last long from what I’ve seen and heard.  That will make your death more horrible and therefore more fun to watch.  Master gets angry easily and if that leads to him snuffing a slave it’s amazingly painful.  I hope I get to help torture you.  You’re more pathetic than even the other slaves but you’ve got a sexy body that would be fun to destroy.”  As he explained things, he also illustrated them by zapping Norman numerous times in the neck and cock.  He informed Norman he was to thank him each time, which Norman did.  Getting accustomed to ongoing sexually oriented pain was obviously an important part of Norman’s training.  It was designed to generate sexual arousal that would not be fulfilled since no orgasm was permitted. 

“By contrast, employees like me are well treated and valued.  We are free to come and go as we wish, although most of us choose to live together in dorms on the estate.  Our quarters are quite elegant.  We are all attractive gay males, most in our 20s or early 30s, so the sex in the dorms is awesome and constant.  There are also some older males, long-term employees whom the Boss especially values and rewards.  They have even more elegant cottages scattered around the estate near the many gardens or overlooking the beach.  He takes great care of all of us, including generous salaries we can just put in the bank since we don’t have any expenses while we live on the estate. 

“But there are rules for us too.  The Boss requires us to always be naked, as he likes to observe our bodies and use us sexually.  I don’t like that because I’d rather have a leather outfit that reflects my alpha nature.  But in one sense it’s a fringe benefit since we get to enjoy looking at each other’s great bodies and having sex with him and with each other and there are lots of great spots on the estate for that.  As I said, the sex is constant, and I do like the fact everyone is in great shape.  We joke that we don’t take coffee breaks, we take sex breaks.  But the joke is true. We’re free to do whatever we like sexually, which works well since we’re a mix of alphas and submissives.  For submissive employees it must be something they agree to, which is a shame.  Some of them would make great snuff targets but we’d have to get their permission and the Boss’s before we did that.  He has an astonishing and totally sadistic sexual capacity and especially enjoys watching us torture each other with his direction and participation.  There is an extensive camera system throughout the estate so anyone can watch or join a session if he’s got the time.  We’ve always got the urge.  I have worked for the Boss now for three years, starting just after college. I understand you learned about AMS yesterday.  I’ve applied to join since becoming a member is my main ambition.  I know I’m one of the top candidates despite being so young.  The Boss has clearly been impressed with my skills at inflicting pain on scum like you and on other employees who are submissive.  He’s also starting to realize I have lots of skills besides being his chauffer.  That’s why I get the fun of initiating you.  

“AMS is having a meeting here today followed by dinner tonight.  The organization is run by a group of four leaders, and the Boss has recently become the Supreme Leader.  So he wears a “1” on his lapel to signify his status.  It means he has complete authority over all AMS members, of which there are several thousand worldwide.  There are three Regional Leaders who rule the Americas, Asia, and Europe.  The Chief is #2 as leader of the Americas and he and the Boss are close friends and frequent lovers.  The regional leaders are in charge of procuring young worthless males as slaves, who are either tortured and killed right away or are put into some sort of service after being conditioned to accept their fate.  Not many are volunteers like you, which in my view makes you even more pathetic.   But the Boss likes your type for his pleasure, and he usually keeps voluntary slaves for a longer period of time to get full value.”

James returned to his favorite topic, himself.  “I think I’m going to be offered an AMS membership at the dinner tonight.  The Boss has strongly hinted at that, especially when I dropped him off last night at his private entrance to the estate’s main building before parking the limo in the garage.  I’m the most talented sadist of his employees as well as one of the best looking.  I plan to be one of the senior AMS leaders by the time I turn 30.  I might have to create an opening but snuffing another AMS member to get ahead is OK so long as you don’t get caught.  I think some of the senior guys have gotten complacent.”  James zapped Norman several times to emphasize the point about his sadistic talents, then flogged his ass again as he leaned into the trunk to put back the contents he’d finished cleaning.  “No point wasting a chance to flog an available slave ass.”  Norman thanked him, of course, but also realized he was getting consistently turned on by the beatings.  He was grateful to be used as a sex object.  He was making progress.

James continued, explaining the day’s big event.  “Tonight is one of the AMS major celebrations – it’s winter solstice and celebrating winter and spring solstice are their main ceremonial events when they do their planning and admit new members.  There will be about 25 members present, all very senior, including all four members of the “Quartet” as they’re called.  In fact, the group tonight comprises all the senior leaders, so the Boss wants everything to go well.  I’ve been involved with a lot of the planning, and while we had some challenges it’s finally all set.  AMS is a very select group and amazingly powerful and wealthy.  They focus on the “art of Male Snuff”- what AMS really stands for – and perform that wonderfully well.  Slaves like you should be honored to contribute your worthless lives to enhance their pleasure. 

“There will be an orgy where a bunch of slaves will be snuffed at the celebration tonight, which is the main activity tied to the dinner.  These are typically losers who are being culled from the population because they are perpetrators of crimes – “perps” – or are likely to become so.  It’s a public service to eliminate them, like the guy in the limo last night.  He’ll be the cooked meat, and they’ll select another loser who will be eaten alive by those who prefer their meat fresh and raw.   It’s an amazingly painful way to die – in my view the worst possible option given the extreme level of pain and the utter humiliation – but lots of fun for the diners.  That’s partially because of the challenge of keeping the victim alive as you eat him.  AMS has developed lots of ways to do that, and the meat is frequently still alive even after dinner, allowing it to be finished off the next morning after spending the night in horrible agony.  I can’t imagine a worse snuff, so I hope that is how you die.  Or maybe you will be part of the research AMS conducts on how to make the event last longer.

“I’m not sure yet what use the Boss has in mind for you.  I don’t think he plans to snuff you yet, hoping to get some longer-term service if you can be trained well enough, but that’s obviously an option.  My guess is that he’ll just torture and fuck you as part of the lower-key entertainment.  Other slaves will provide the real fun and the protein.”  James laughed at the cleverness of his explanation.

 Norman had thoroughly cleaned the trunk and its contents and now moved to the inside of the limo, as instructed.  Upon opening the door he saw a considerable amount of dried blood on the leather interior.  His look of surprise caught James’ attention.

“Oh, I forgot about that.  You’ll need to use the solvent on that shelf over there to clean the blood and gore off the leather.  It’s an AMS product they created since we have a lot of use for it, and it’s quite effective.  Don’t forget the carpet.  That asshole perp made a mess as he died.  Knowing how to clean that up will be useful for you to learn.”

James was enjoying himself as he watched Norman work.  His cock was hard, and Norman was impressed by its size.  No wonder the fuck had hurt so wonderfully!

“The perp in the back of the limo last night was scheduled to be eaten alive at the diner.  Having him die on the ride here was an accident.  The idea was to scare the shit out of him about what was going to happen, which is a lot of fun.  He screamed when they made a sport of burning him with cattle prods.  They described what it’s like to be eaten alive and he knew his upcoming death was for real and going to be unbelievably painful.  He was terrified and there was a lot of laughter as they continued to play with him.  Hearing him beg for his worthless life was especially entertaining.  But he begged even more, and screamed the loudest, when they fucked his ass.  He was apparently straight, hadn’t been fucked before, and was highly homophobic.  So that was hugely entertaining.  After everyone fucked his virgin ass your former lawyer buddy Mark was showing him the knife that would be used to emasculate him, holding it up to his face so he could kiss it, then drawing it across his cock and balls so he could feel how sharp it is.  They were having a whole lot of fun with him.

“I was keeping an eye on the fun in the rear-view mirror.  Then some fucking asshole tried to pull in front of me and I had to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting him.  That caught everyone off guard, and since they were busy playing with their new sex toy they didn’t have seatbelts on.  Mark fell on top of the perp and wound up sticking the knife deep in the guy’s gut.  The wound was fatal, and he bled a lot as you can see.  The Boss was seriously pissed, and everyone got yelled at.  The blood got all over their clothes, which really pissed off the Boss.  I wonder if it will harm Mark’s chances at advancement.  He’s older than me and already a member of AMS, but I know he has ambitions too.  In fact, I think he’s my main long-term rival for leadership.   He has the backing of Ed, your former boss, whom he works for.  Ed is the top lawyer for AMS and negotiates all the deals with various governments to arrange for AMS to acquire young perps who should be disposed of.  He and the Boss are also close, and he attends meetings of the Quartet to advise them.  But the Boss obviously outranks Ed as AMS #1.  My odds of eventually outranking Mark are good but having him get in trouble would help.”

Norman just listened and continued working.  When he finally finished the interior, he knew he had done a good job, and even James did not find cause to complain.  Of course, he also did not compliment Norman on his efforts. 

“Since you didn’t fuck up too badly cleaning the trunk and the interior, you will be fed.  You are to eat doggie style from this dish.  You can also drink water from the toilet.”

With that James filled a dish with dog food and placed it on the floor next to the toilet. With a smirk that again illustrated his contempt for Norman, he unleashed a load of piss into the dish, thoroughly soaking the food.  The rest of his load went into the toilet.  “You can flush the toilet after you drink from it.”  James watched the humiliating scene as Norman quickly ate his meal and drank from the piss-flavored water in the toilet.  Once Norman had expressed his gratitude for the meal and the lesson, James informed him he was to wash the outside of the limo while James took a break for his own breakfast.

“I don’t want all the dirty water from washing the limo messing up the garage.  It’s not raining now, so I’m going to back it into the driveway, and you can wash it there.  Use the hose that’s outside and don’t fuck up.  It’s cold, but I don’t think the water will freeze before you’re done.

James opened the garage door and backed out the limo, pointing to the hose Norman was to use and handing him a bucket with soap and a sponge in it.   Then he re-entered the garage and closed the door, leaving Norman to his task.

Norman had long since finished washing the limo when James returned and drove the limo back inside the garage.  Norman had been waiting, naked and freezing, recognizing that this was another aspect of his training.   He had no objection and remained in the driveway until James gave him permission to enter the garage.

James made no comment on how Norman had performed his task, which Norman assumed meant he had done well.  James simply informed him of the next task.  “The body of the perp from last night is in the meat locker adjoining this garage. It needs to be drained and delivered to the chef for preparation as an entrée’ for tonight’s dinner meeting.  Follow me.”

James led Norman to a large meat locker where he saw several naked males hanging by their ankles.  Most, but not all, appeared to be dead.  The room was very cold, but the meat was not frozen since it would be butchered and sold to the members attending the dinner.  The slabs that were alive would be sold to members who enjoyed doing their own butchering.  James put on one of the fur coats hanging near the door to stay warm, but of course did not offer one to Norman.  James then used the automated ceiling track to reposition one of the slabs of meat, which Norman recognized as the body of the young male he’d seen in the limo the prior evening.  James centered it over a large drain and handed Norman a hack saw. 

“The chef will impale him, inserting the stake into his ass and having it come out through the neck.  Then he’s going to be barbecued and carved table-side at dinner.  So the head needs to come off.  It will be opened on top so the brains – Sweetmeats to the sophisticated diners – can be spooned out.  The tongue and liver will be removed and used to make a pate’, and the other internal organs will also be removed so the inside cavity can be filled with fruit-flavored stuffing.  It’s an extremely popular presentation of the meat. 

“Saw off the head and hold the body so the gusher of blood and gore that will come out all go down the drain.  Don’t you dare get any of it on me.”

Norman had never seen a young naked dead male before other than in S&M pictures like the ones Bill had in the bar.  To his surprise, it turned him on.  He could imagine himself hanging in the locker after being snuffed, ready for final service as meat.  Or maybe he would just be stored there like some of the other males who were still alive pending their sale.  James explained that, in addition to the slaves being sold live for butchering by the buyers, a few of the live slaves needed an adjustment of their attitude before being snuffed.  “They need to understand that they will become meat for us to enjoy once we torture them to death or maybe as we do so.  Hanging upside down in a meat locker helps that.” 

Despite the gash in the guy’s gut he looked sexy.  And despite the cold Norman was getting aroused staring at him.  James noticed Norman’s reaction and laughed.  “Don’t worry.  You’ll be a slab of meat too, probably fairly soon.”  Norman lifted the shoulders slightly and used his knee to prop them up.  That gave him easy access to the neck.  He could still sense the look of terror in the beautiful young face.  As he sawed, the fluids started to run out, and by the time he had severed the neck it was a gusher of blood and gore.  He managed to direct all of it into the drain as ordered, and then held up the wrists so fluids in the arms would also be emptied.  Norman himself was covered with gore, but once the body was emptied of fluids James released a shower of cold water from the ceiling, washing off both the body and Norman, which also flowed into the drain after cleaning the two slaves.  He then lowered the perp and had Norman release the ankle shackles and carry it on his shoulder.  James put the head in a bag and carried that.

It wasn’t a long walk to the kitchen area, and as Norman followed James he realized he had an erection again.  It was from the feel of the perp’s body and imagining himself in the meat locker ready to be processed.

After delivering the meat, and to finish the orientation, James took Norman on a tour of the main building of the estate.  He especially stressed the array of “playrooms” located throughout the mansion, each containing a full complement of S&M implements of torture and each containing workout equipment.  They were all set up like the equipment in Bill’s bar, including large screen TVs.  Many of the playrooms were in use, with workouts and sex scenes.  The sex scenes were rough, but none were extreme.  James explained that these were sessions among employees so there wasn’t permanent damage to the victims even if one was a slave.  That would require permission from the Boss, who almost always joined in when that was part of the plan.

James also pointed out the regular workout equipment.  “The Boss insists that everybody stay fit, very fit.  So he makes it easy for us by having lots of options.  There are also swimming pools and jogging trails.  We can use whatever we want so long as we do it naked.  Slaves are no exception, and at least an hour of every day will consist of you performing a rigorous exercise routine.  It will be supervised, at least at the start since you’re obviously not nearly fit enough to meet standards.  Your bodyfat ratio will be brought down to 3.5% and your muscle tone will be increased dramatically.  The Boss likes his sex objects in perfect physical condition.  If he decides to convert you to just a meat slave, your bodyfat will be increased so there is more flavor in your meat.  While you will eat dogfood as you did today, it is a special AMS blend that is extremely healthy.  It will always be drenched in piss, which will also be in the water you drink.  Your fluid intake will be strictly cum, piss, and piss-flavored water.  You will eat doggie style from a dish placed next to a toilet as you did today.  On some special occasions, if the Boss is in a good mood, you may get table scraps.  You are to catch those with your teeth and position yourself on your knees like a dog would.  But don’t get delusions.  In this household a dog has much higher status and will get the better choices.”

James had finished Norman’s indoctrination, and led him to a room labeled “veterinary clinic.”   Under the sign was a picture of a very handsome young male on all fours, wearing a dog collar, with a tail that extended from a dildo stuck in his ass.  Next to that was a picture of the same male dismembered, its arms, legs, head, and genitals spread out and displayed on a dining room table. There was a distinguished looking but somewhat older male standing over it, smiling broadly, and holding a butcher knife.  Under the pictures was a caption reading: “Supporting AMS with cutting edge preparation and research.”  That same male walked out and invited Norman to enter.  He informed Norman he was going to have a comprehensive physical to assess his level of health and sexual utility.  He then explained his role.  “I’m the lead research doctor and I’ve worked for the Master for over three decades.  In addition to medical research on how to increase sexually oriented pain, I manage the physical and psychological condition of the slaves, especially wiling submissives like you.  As a result I’m called “the Vet,” a nickname I like.  I especially enjoyed vivisecting the slave in the picture to illustrate the cutting-edge joke, but he wasn’t a voluntary slave, and I don’t think he quite understood how amusing it was while I dismembered him.  I’m also a sadistic alpha and having no limits on what I do to slaves as I try new methods of inflicting pain is a big turn-on.  I’ve got the best job of all in the Master’s organization.  I enjoy it a lot.”  The Vet had a kindly, almost fatherly tone, devoid of the arrogance Norman had witnessed with James.  The Vet had learned that his approach eased tensions and developed trust from the slaves, which he could build on to improve their cooperation and performance.  After all, as he explained, true submissives want to suffer and developing new methodologies often become a mutual endeavor with willing slaves making insightful and helpful suggestions. This made sense to Norman.

But this was a medical visit.  “The Master wants to be sure none of his slaves have any contagious diseases when he acquires them, and to know the state of their health and pain tolerance.  With that information I help him design the most effective torture and sex sessions.  The beauty of the symbiosis between the Master’s sadistic desire to degrade and inflict pain and your masochistic desire to endure pain and humiliation is a powerful tool I use to enable fulfillment of both sets of needs.  I think slaves perform an important function and my research makes it more so.  But understand clearly:  it is not your needs that matter.  You are just property owned and used by the Master like furniture.  The fact you understand and accept that makes you a vastly greater source of his pleasure and therefore more useful.  That’s what matters.

“On a more practical level I’ll start by checking to make sure your asshole is tight enough to provide him pleasure when you’re fucked, and to repair it if it’s not.  Given how slaves are used, you will require repair from time to time even if you’re adequately tight now.  The surgery is fun for me since it’s quite painful and I don’t provide anesthetic.  Other doctors focus on reducing a patient’s pain.  I focus on maximizing it.  It’s quite satisfying.

“Lie down on this table on your belly and let’s start with your hole.  It’s your most useful feature.”

Norman did as instructed but was curious.  “May I ask a question to help me better conduct myself?”

“For that purpose, yes.  Otherwise no.”  The doctor was kindly but firm.

“I notice you refer to “the Master” while James referred to “the Boss.”  I assume I am to call him Master if permitted to speak, since he owns me, and I am to obey him completely.  But is there another protocol I should be aware of?  For example, how should I address regular employees, which I assume you are?”

“That is an acceptable question.  First, you are to call the Master by that name and never anything else.  Second, you are to address others, including both employees and the Master’s friends, as “sir.”  As a slave you are never to call a person by his actual name.  If you address another slave you may use its name if it has one but preceded by “slave” to confirm its status. 

“I am a very long-term employee and refer to my employer as the Master because of my immense respect for him and my gratitude for all these years of being allowed to serve him.  I have dedicated my career and my life to his service.  While I am an employee and not a slave, if he wanted to snuff me I would willingly cooperate.  Those of us who have been here a long time feel the same way.  He is a wonderful, extraordinary person and his work makes the world a far better and safer place.  But he has never made that request of us and treats us extremely well.  James is new and arrogant.  He views himself as the Master’s favorite and focuses on his own ambitions.  He is not, in my view, adequately respectful.  Perhaps he will learn over time.  I trust the Master to train him.”

“Thank you, sir.” 

The Vet did a careful examination, including a prostate check, and seemed a little surprised.  “Your ass is very tight for a submissive.  Have you been fisted or fucked with dildos much?”

“No, sir.  I have only been fucked with cocks.”

“That’s excellent!   This will give the Master added pleasure as he adds to your experience and your level of pain.”

The Vet then had Norman lie on his back.  Norman had gotten aroused from the Vet’s description of his role and from the examination of his ass.  The Vet stroked Norman’s cock to get him fully erect.  He then removed the cock ring Norman had received the night before.

“You will wear a slave collar most of the time as Master chooses.  But I have invented a better device for your genital pain, which is also a source of humiliation.  It’s based on the cock play called ‘sounding.’” Norman had never experienced “sounding” but he had seen it in sessions at Bill’s bar. A metal rod would be inserted into the piss slit of an erect cock and used to stimulate the penis from inside.  It generated intense levels of masturbation and was one of the many things Norman had been afraid to try.   

The Vet inserted an extremely thin metal needle into Norman’s piss slit, careful to let gravity cause it to go further in rather than pushing it.  He did not want to cut the inside of the stiff muscle, When the rod reached the scrotum, the Vet cut into Norman’s ball sack and inserted a tiny piece of metal into which he inserted the bottom end of the needle.  He closed the wound and admired his work, playing with the end of the needle that now stuck out about an inch beyond the tip of Norman’s cock.  The cut had hurt but Norman found the stimulation arousing.

Next, the Vet activated an app on his cell phone and Norman felt an astonishing level of pain from the rod.  He had great difficulty suppressing a scream, but also felt himself getting even more aroused.  The metal chip was not just causing a flow of electricity, it was causing the needle to vibrate, masturbating Norman from inside his penis.  As the pain and pleasure both continued to increase he lost control and let out a loud yelp of pain as his cock exploded with an eruption of cum.  The needle was thin enough for the cum to shoot out his cock, and the liquid added to the intensity of the electricity flowing into his genitals.  He knew he was not permitted to cum without permission and apologized once the pain level was reduced.

“You responded to stimulation of your cock accompanied by an exceedingly high level of pian by having an orgasm.  This confirms the depth of your masochistic nature as your psychiatrist, Dr. Johnson, concluded from your therapy sessions.  He is one of my best protégé’s and we have been working together to release your true nature.  The orgasm was outside your control and the Master can use this toy to generate one whenever he wants.  Or he can use the phone app to just send an electric jolt without the vibrations.  That just generates pain without the pleasure.  It is one more example of the fact you have no decisions to make.  That includes if and when you are permitted to cum and how much pain you receive when you do.  At some level of pain, combined with the stimulation to the inside of the cock, a true masochist slave has no choice but to cum.  That’s a great power trip for the Master, highlighting the fact you’re just a sex toy.  The pleasure the slave feels from the orgasm is entertaining and trains the slave to seek greater and greater levels of pain to achieve the orgasm.  I think the Master will have lots of fun with your ability to endure a high pain level and reach orgasm as the pain increases.  Over time you will be conditioned to require pain in order to shoot your load.  Again, understand:  As with everything else in your life, you are no longer the decision maker.  Master is.”  The Vet alerted Norman that the rod would cause him to experience pain when he pissed.  This was of course another advantage of the device.  The more he felt pain from routine actions, the better.  And finally, while the rod would be replaced from time to time there would now always be one inserted into Norman’s cock and it would cause the cock to remain erect at all times.  A slave should be erect in the presence of its master, and in this case it would also be a further humiliation for Norman in public, with the metal end of the rod sticking out of his hard cock for others to laugh at. 

Norman said nothing but felt this was the best orgasm he’d ever had.  His belly and chest were covered with cum from the strength of it.  He even liked the idea of being an object of reticule.  Had he been permitted to speak he would have thanked the Vet for installing this awesome source of pain, humiliation, and pleasure.  As he contemplated all this, the Vet provided a final point of explanation for Norman. He illustrated another use of the metal rod, taking a lighter and holding the flame under the end of the rod, which became extremely hot. “I encourage alphas to be careful with this use, since it cooks the cock form the inside.  The pain is fabulous, but the result can impede the cock’s functions.  So it’s best used when it’s time for the cock to be removed.”  He applied some ice to cool the metal before there was damage., Norman didn’t focus or even hear what the Vet had said.  He was loudly screaming, and passed out, from the unbelievable pain.  The Vet laughed, pleased with the session so far.

When Norman awoke he saw that the Vet had summoned a medical assistant to help with the rest of the exam.   The assistant appeared much younger than Norman and looked familiar.  He had a beautiful twink body highlighted by an unusually large cock that was fully erect.   It had one of the sounding rods sticking out from the end of the cock.  “This is snuffslave Vincent, another willing submissive like yourself.  The Master gave him to me as a present, and I use him for some of my experiments in addition to sex sessions.  I also trained him to assist in my research and help me manage the slaves, since he majored in biology in college and did well.  Like Bill’s Slavemeat, and unlike you, Vincent realized his true nature early on, in his case during college.  Once he walked off the stage at graduation he tossed the diploma into a garbage can, stripped off his gown (revealing he was wearing nothing under it), signed the agreement selling himself and his possessions to the Master, and walked to one of Master’s trucks wearing just a slave collar with a leash provided by one of Master’s naked employees.  His cock was rock hard.  Everyone stared in shock and pointed, with lots of rude comments ridiculing him, but he smiled broadly as he climbed into the rear cargo area alongside some manure.  Both he and the manure were destined for Master’s gardens, although he would provide service and entertainment first.  He has been a snuffslave ever since.   He’s proved useful as well as enthusiastic about being an object of extreme pain and abuse.  He will be a good role model for you and give you some added instruction.”  AS the Vet was speaking Norman realized he’d indeed seen Vincent before – in the waiting room of Dr. Johnson’s office.  The two “graduates” of that training nodded to each other but being slaves they did not speak, but Norman could tell Vincent was content in his role.  He also was impressed at how Vincent was able to serve even beyond being a sex object.  Norman was coming to realize that snuff slaves could perform important tasks while awaiting their termination.  Over time, he found Vincent a great example and they became true friends.  They couldn’t be lovers, of course, since they didn’t have permission.  But they did get to compare what they’d each learned from Dr. Johnson and made suggestions to the Master and the Vet on original ideas for torturing and using them.

At the Vet’s instruction Vincent started the next phase of the exam by licking up Norman’s cum, which he obviously enjoyed.  Then, as the Vet undertook other aspects of the exam, Vincent continued the explanation of how Norman would be used.  “Master enjoys thrusting his cock all the way down the throat of a slave, so your tongue can massage it at its base.  Since his cock is remarkably large, this produces a gag reflex.  I will administer a procedure that will disable that.  My Master did it on me, and I find it satisfying to do such a much better job servicing his cock, or any other alpha, when I’m permitted to do so.  As an added plus it gives the alpha I’m serving the option of using his cock to choke me to death, which is the ultimate breath play and a power trip they enjoy.  So far it’s just been to cause me to pass out, but whether they withdraw their cock so wake up is the alpha’s choice.”  Norman understood and appreciated the utility of the procedure, doing his best to cooperate despite the fact that, without any anesthetic, it was fairly painful.  Breath play was another thing he’d been afraid to try.

The rest of the exam was more routine, including EKG and EEG tests, reflexes, weight and bodyfat levels, and so forth.  It was quite comprehensive, but the Vet and Vincent were efficient, so it went quickly..  The Vet informed Norman he was in excellent health, including the results of the blood draw James had taken the night before prior to loading Norman in the trunk of the limo.

“There is no need to address any issues and you are ready for immediate service.  You have strong cardio and pulmonary systems and can endure a lot of physical stress and pain.  Pain causes you sexual arousal, so the Master will enjoy using you, and when he decides to harvest you it can be an especially pleasurable event for him given your sex drive and pain tolerance.  Dr. Johnson has already measured that and it is one of the reasons for your selection.  Slaves with your need to serve and your ability to perform sexually as you are tortured are somewhat rare.  I’m extremely pleased, knowing how much the Master will enjoy your body and service.”

After the physical one of the personal trainers was summoned and led Norman to one of the playrooms, where he guided Norman through the most rigorous exercise routine he’d ever experienced.  If the trainer didn’t feel Norman was performing well enough, he administered a shock through the collar and sounding rod, or simply flogged Norman, usually on the genitals. Norman was totally drained afterwards but grateful for the instruction.  He liked working out bit had not experienced combining it with being punished, as he had seen the master and slave perform at Bill’s bar.. Not for the last time, Norman wondered why he had resisted his true nature until now.  If this were part of the daily routine that would be wonderful.

After permitting Norman to take a cold shower the trainer escorted Norman to the Master’s suite.  Norman was nervous and excited.  Would he be accepted as Master’s slave?  His eagerness serve Master was total.

3

In Master’s Presence

As Norman entered the room he saw Master enjoying a session with another slave, who was kneeling in front of Master and swallowing a stream of Master’s piss.  For the first time Norman beheld Master’s naked body and Norman was overwhelmed.  Master was far beyond handsome and dominant.  To Norman he was god-like, his bronzed skin glistening with sweat from whatever use he had made of the slave.  Every inch of his muscular body and every aspect of his demeanor showed the power he possessed, both physical and psychological.  Snuffslave Vincent had described Master’s cock as large, but massive would have been more accurate.  Norman immediately contemplated how wonderfully painful it would be if Master used his amazing tool to fuck Norman’s unworthy ass.  Instinctively, Norman knelt before Master, awaiting instructions.

While Master was aware of Norman’s presence he said nothing, continuing to fill the slave’s throat with urine.  When he had done so Norman’s attention turned to the slave and he realized it no longer had a cock or balls and was bleeding from where they had been.   Its skin was severely lacerated and also bleeding.  Master instructed the slave to stand and then lie on its back on a nearby fuck bench, which it did.  There was obvious pain as its shredded skin touched the bench, but the slave did not speak.  Then Master thrust his giant cock into the slave’s hole and began fucking it.  Once he got his rhythm fully engaged, he took a knife and inserted it deep into the slave’s gut, cutting upward well beyond the belly.  The slave was in fatal agony but was still able to express its thanks to Master for having been allowed to serve him and his shame that the service had not been performed to Master’s standards.  Master felt the thrill of ultimate dominance as the slave died, its asshole tightening around Master’s cock as life was drained from its body.  Master achieved orgasm as the body entered its death spasms, filling the hole with a major load of cum.  He withdrew his cock and looked at Noman.  “My cock needs cleaning, slave.”

Norman instantly crawled to Master and used his mouth to lovingly clean the gorgeous muscle.  He was grateful that Snuffslave Vincent had removed his gag reflex, as Master drove the male weapon deep into Norman’s eager throat.  Norman had trouble breathing but was sexually thrilled.  If Master chose to choke him to death that was fine with Norman.  But that was not Master’s current plan and he allowed Norman to breathe.  He next addressed the trainer, whose cock demonstrated how much he’d enjoyed watching the snuff scene.

“This slave did not perform its duties well for quite some time and I frankly got tired of it.  This was a satisfying way to release my frustration and at least it had the right attitude as it died.  Would you like to fuck it?  The ass is tight and the body is still warm.  It looks like you might need a little release yourself judging by that hard on you’ve got.  I’ve lubricated it rather thoroughly for you.”  Master chuckled, looking at the dead slave and admiring his handiwork.  Norman felt the cock in his mouth harden a bit.

This was the first of many examples Norman would observe showing Master’s generosity to his employees.  The trainer was grateful and quickly inserted his own cock, energetically fucking the warm slab of slavemeat.  It was not long before he also had a satisfying orgasm, and Master directed Norman to now service the trainer by cleaning his cock.  Norman did so at once, completely aroused by the uses to which he was being put.  The snuff scene had been a turn-on, and he vowed to himself that he would perform well for Master so that when Master snuffed him it would not be because Norman had failed in his duties.  He wanted the snuff to be because Master wanted a little fun, not because Norman needed to be punished.

“Take the slave to the main hall and string him up for others to observe.  Be sure employees know he’s fair game to fuck.  I want all the slaves to be reminded what happens if they disappoint me.”  The trainer thanked Master for the chance to fuck the slave, then easily picked up the body and put it into a bag so it wouldn’t bleed on the carpets as he caried it.  Quite a lot of blood had flowed out, some onto Master. 

Master turned to Norman.  “I wish to shower before using you.  You may have the honor of assisting me.”  Norman followed Master into an adjoining bathroom where he was instructed on how Master required slaves to serve him as he showered and dried.  Norman paid close attention and did exactly as instructed.  After a long and refreshing shower they returned to the main suite.  To Norman’s surprise the suite was now completely cleaned, the bloodstains and other remnants of the slave having been carefully removed and all the equipment returned to its proper location for Master’s future use.  Then Norman remembered how easily the solvent he’d used cleaned the blood-stained interior of the limo, realizing that an army of slaves had no doubt scrubbed the area while Master showered.  Master ran an orderly and precise empire with no detail ignored.

“I have heard promising reports on your indoctrination.  The Vet in particular is optimistic you could serve my purposes and saw no reason to postpone that service.  He was even optimistic about your progress in abandoning your disrespectful pride and embracing your true status and purpose.  Is he correct?”

“Yes, Master,” Norman replied, almost eagerly.  “I now realize being your slave is the best use of me and I am anxious to serve you totally.  Please use me or dispose of me however you wish to.  You can count on my cooperation and gratitude no matter what you choose to do.  I realize all decisions are yours to make.”

“Good.  Dr. Johnson predicted you would quickly adjust once you embraced your nature and purpose.  The Vet also says you have a tight ass, and he believes your claim that you have never been fisted or had large dildos thrust into it.  Is he correct?”

“Yes, Master.  I have been fucked many times but only with cocks.  It was part of my absurd resistance to releasing myself to fulfill my true nature.”

Master smiled.  He was already in a good mood after his luncheon meeting with fellow AMS leaders.  They had efficiently handled the business issues they needed to address, including a personnel challenge, and the rest of the day could now turn to enjoying well-deserved sadistic sexual pleasure like snuffing the slave who had not performed well.  It was a lot of fun and he was looking forward to his first use of Norman.  He directed him to lean over the fuck bench he used for the snuff, which Norman immediately did.  His ass now nicely positioned for Master’s use.  He hoped Master would enjoy whatever he was about to do to it.

Master started by securing Norman’s wrists and ankles to the bench.  It wasn’t that he had any worries of Norman resisting, but it helped stress Master’s total control. Then Master thrust his cock into Norman’s man hole, verifying its tightness and giving himself pleasure as he thrust in and out, creating a rhythm to the fucking.  As he did so he explained Norman’s use beyond being a sex object.

“I am a person of great wealth and power, and I require the total service of sex slaves even beyond sexual roles and snuff scenes.  One part of that is what I call a “body slave.”  The role is patterned after the “body men” who serve the President of the United States and other world leaders.  They are always present, and they carry things and perform tasks that are helpful for the leader they serve.  That includes everything from energy bars to cell phones.  They handle errands and deliver messages as needed.  They position the chair for the leader to sit as the meeting starts.  It is a role of total personal service that is quite useful for the leaders.  It also enhances our sense of power knowing we have a person at our disposal whose only role is to meet our slightest needs and desires.

“You will henceforth be one of my body slaves.  You are better educated, more mature, and more submissive than my typical slaves so you may have the honor of becoming my main body slave, another prediction of Dr. Johnson, which the Vet shares.  The role is obviously different from a body man in some ways, since you are property, which means there are no limits on how I use you.  And you will be naked, as you will for the remainder of your life. You will carry things in a sling bag over your shoulder.  I require slaves to be erect in my presence, which the sounding rod sticking out from your piss slit will assure.  That’s especially important as I want to have you constantly humiliated.  Being naked and erect around important people assures that, especially as they make degrading remarks about you and enjoy comments about the part of the needle that sticks out from your cock.  It’s part of demonstrating my power and dominance, and also theirs.  The bag will contain the usual stuff a body man has, but it also will have some of my favorite S&M toys so I can torture you whenever I feel like it.  That might be private or public.  For example, one of the tools will be a lighter to heat up the needle so it burns the inside of your cock.  Another will be a knife I can have you hand me if I decide to cut off your cock and balls and offer them as a present to one of my guests or gut you if you fail to perform as instructed.  My cell phone has the app for causing the chip in your balls to send electric current and cause the needle to vibrate so you are masturbated for everyone’s amusement.  And finally, as you would expect you will be used as a human urinal by everyone present with an expectation that you also suck their cocks..

“Vincent has served this role for a few months since I got bored with my prior body slave and snuffed him.  He had served me well for some years, but his ass was so loose even the Vet couldn’t repair it and his body was showing increasingly visible signs of the abuse he received.  He completely agreed it was time, not that his opinion mattered, and cooperated fully with the snuff.  I secured him on a rack and used it and a small axe to rip his body into pieces.  He had watched that happen to another slave and had a major orgasm imagining it happening to him.  When I picked that as the method I’d use to kill him he expressed his gratitude for the choice and the chance to serve.  As he died he again had a massive orgasm while I was cutting off his cock and balls.  You will be shown a video of the event, so you have a role model to follow when I torture you to death.  And if you serve me well, in due course I may take your desires on how you are snuffed into account.  It adds to my pleasure to know my slaves are eager for their death at my hands and it’s a suitable reward for their service.  But the decision is, of course, entirely mine.

“Vincent will fill you in on details of your tasks.  He has done it well, but I noticed how much his young body and great attitude sexually turned on the Vet.  I gave him Vincent as a birthday present and a reward for his great work.”  Master did not ask if Norman had any questions, but just kept thrusting in and out as he spoke.  Norman felt pain from the size of Master’s cock and was overcome with joy and arousal from that and the prospect of this fantastic chance to serve.  Even if asked he would not have had any questions.

Master did not reach orgasm.  He had shot a load into the slave he snuffed and wanted to save himself of the evening fun.  Instead, he withdrew and then examined Norman’s hole more closely.  “Time to introduce you to new uses.  You will find this extremely painful.  And you will experience it frequently.”

Master inserted several fingers into the hole, then added more as he proceeded.  Norman had not felt this level of pain up his butt before but was determined to cooperate.  As the collection of fingers was replaced by Master’s fist, Norman felt not only a huge increase in the level of pain but also a welcome pressure on his prostate.  It was a mixture of torture and arousal he was learning to respond to, and he was now focused on making sure he did not have an unauthorized orgasm.  Master now had his fist inserted fully and stopped as his wrist drew even with the start of the hole.

“You are indeed a virgin as to fisting,” he said.   “Or at least you were.”  Master next withdrew his fist and took a whip to the ass, then released Norman and had him roll over on his back.  He flogged the chest and belly after again securing Norman to the bench.  The session ended with a focus on Norman’s cock and balls.

“Both the Vet and Dr. Johnson report that you respond unusually well to cock and ball torture.  Let’s find out how well.  I expect you to cum for my satisfaction.”

Master positioned Norman to give himself easy access to the genitals.  Norman’s cock was still quite hard – maybe more so – and both cock and balls were fully exposed and vulnerable.  Master then took the whip and began lashing the cock and balls.  Norman, knowing he had permission, did not hold back his arousal.  After about two dozen strokes he felt intense sexual pleasure that overtook the torment.  His cock erupted with a stream of thick cum shooting into the air. 

“Well, Dr. Johnson was correct as usual.  Fuck, if I get bored with you I could sell you to a circus as part of a sex freak show.  You are truly a pathetic piece of masochistic slave shit.”

Master was quite pleased, and Norman was amazed to realize this orgasm had been even stronger than the one generated by the Vet’s sounding device earlier that afternoon.  He remembered when Dr. Johnson had experimented with him during the psychiatric sessions and was grateful to have been trained to reach orgasm while his genitals were whipped.  But none of those orgasms was anything like this one.  This was a level of intensity he had not imagined possible.  This was an orgasm for Master’s enjoyment and that made it awesome.

Norman could not believe his good fortune, angry with himself that he had waited so long.  This was the perfect relationship.  If Master decided to snuff him as early as that evening it would still have been worth it.

4

An AMS Dinner Party

After Master finished his fun with Norman he allowed Norman to assist him as he prepared for the dinner party.  He started with a hot shower and Norman had the honor of washing his body again and then toweling it off.    Norman fetched the outfit Master would wear, learning where various items of Master’s clothing were kept.  It was essentially the same outfit Master had worn at Bill’s bar, but this leather jacket had “AMS” on the left breast with “1” underneath it, signifying Master’s status.  As Norman used his tongue to spit-shine Master’s boots he thought about how important and powerful Master was and what an honor it was to serve him. 

When he was ready Master attached a leash to Norman’s collar, and he followed Master, crawling on all fours like a dog, as Master headed to the estate’s main ballroom.  As they exited Master’s suite Norman saw Vincent, also on all fours and wearing a collar with a leash.  He held the end of the leash between his teeth, like a stick retrieved by a dog that was ready for the owner to take.  As Master took hold of the leash Vincent quietly explained to Norman that he was there to assure Norman learned his tasks and nothing went awry.  Norman was very grateful and very impressed.  Clearly Master thought of everything.

The ballroom was large and divided into several sections.  There was a stage that overlooked everything, and a separate area set up for formal dining.  Another area was designed to host the cocktail function prior to the ceremonies and dinner, which included an assembly of S&M equipment for AMS members to use as they partied.  Norman saw about 25 alphas dressed much like Master, and he correctly assumed these were the AMS members.  They were accompanied by their own slaves, naked except for collars and leashes like Norman and Vincent.  Some of Master’s employees served as waiters and provided outstanding appetizers and whatever the alphas wanted by way of drinks.  They were also naked but had black bow ties to signify their status.  Norman noticed James was among the waiters and wondered if that meant he had not gotten an invitation to join AMS.  James had described his role as managing the event, not being part of the wait staff.

Some of the AMS guests were admiring the preparation of the perp Norman had carried to the kitchen earlier in the day. The body had been placed on a rotisserie with a long metal spike driven into its ass that protruded from its neck.  The spike was long enough so the arms and legs could also be attached, and the meat was slowly turning over hot coals at it roasted.  There was a wonderful aroma as it was cooked to perfection.  The head was displayed with the top removed and a spoon inserted to scoop helpings of sweetmeats into elegant cups made from the scrotums of other slaves.  That table also included a wide variety of side dishes, including fresh steamed testicles with toothpicks to use in dipping sauces.  Like the scrotums, these were harvested from slaves deemed unworthy for sexual use.  Many were agricultural slaves assigned to work the fields, who were emasculated to make them more docile.

As they socialized and enjoyed the appetizers most of the AMS members were using the S&M equipment to have fun with their own slaves plus others provided for their amusement and some of Master’s submissive employees who had requested this use..  The slaves would be auctioned off later so this was a chance to inspect them, especially the tightness of their asses and their pain tolerance.  The employees were just there to satisfy their masochistic nature while entertaining the AMS guests.  It was typical of Master’s thoughtfulness.  The focus, however, was on the AMS members catching up.  This was a group of close friends who enjoyed each other’s company and their shared hobby.

As it came time for the program prior to dinner Master took the stage and got everyone’s attention.  Norman and Vincent were led onto the stage, still on hands and knees, and positioned at the side in case Master wanted some service from them.  Two especially attractive young males were suspended upside down and naked on the stage.  They were straight and had been fucked multiple times by AMS members during the cocktail hour.  The group had enjoyed their pitiful protests and pleas for to be released.

“Welcome AMS members!  It is great to see so many of my closest friends and fellow leaders together.  I hope everyone has had fun using and examining the slaves being auctioned tonight.  I would remind you that your waiters and some of the submissives available to torment are my employees, not slaves, so I’d appreciate it, as would they, if you refrain from killing them during our sex play later.  We’ll provide plenty of snuff slaves for that.  But they are certainly available to be fucked and otherwise used, whether submissives or fellow alphas.  All of us want to be sure everyone feels welcome and has lots of sexual fun.  If my alphas get fucked and humbled a bit it might do them some good,. So that can be extra fun. I have personally tested each of them to be sure he’s a good fuck.”  Everyone laughed and cheered. 

“But enough preliminaries.  We have traditions before we enjoy our feast.  One is enjoying some snuff fun that will get us in the mood for our evening fun – not that we’re ever NOT in the mood.  As always, I want to thank the Chief for finding such outstanding snuff candidates.  These two are particularly worthless with great bodies for our use.  He and I are going to start the fun.”

At that point, the Chief, AMS #2, joined Master on stage and they each approached one of the terrified young males.  What followed was a demonstration of exceptional sadistic talent as the two mega-alphas brutally destroyed the victims.  The Chief focused on flogging his target with a metal tipped whip that cut into the skin such that little chunks of flesh were cut off.  He was particularly effective with the cock and balls.  The cock was unusually long and had been kept hard with a tight cock ring.  It hung down well past the belly button – an inviting target.  He managed to shred both cock and balls, leaving the victim completely emasculated. 
After a long session of whipping the slave was near death, and the Chief switched to a gutting knife to open up the belly, causing the exposed innards to fall out.  As the perp died the screaming was replaced with load cheering from the guests.

Master took a different approach, using a sharp knife to expertly skin his target.  He was designing a new outfit and wanted fresh leather.  He successfully tore off the skin covering the animal’s torso in one large sheet, a skill he enjoyed showing off frequently.  He finished by emasculating the pathetic perp as it died.  He held up the cock after he cut it off and then tossed it toward Norman.  Norman, clued into what was expected by Vincent, was already on his haunches doggie-stye and caught it with his teeth.  At Master’s signal he chewed and swallowed the shriveled man-muscle, mimicking a puppy grateful for table scraps from its master.  The members enjoyed the gag and laughed at Norman’s humiliation as blood dripped down his chin.  Then Master cut open the scrotum and offered the Chief one of the fresh testicles as he ate the other.  Again, as the screaming ended it was replaced by loud applause.

“Now that we’ve officially started our ceremony it’s time for announcements, promotions, and introduction of new members.  Under announcements, I want to put on display a new slave I’ve acquired, As I just illustrated he is a remarkably pathetic masochist whom I’m planning to use as my main body slave – for a while.”  The members laughed at the obvious implications of the phrase “for a while,” knowing what that meant for Norman’s future.  So did Norman. 

Norman was directed to stand in front of the group, his hard cock evidencing his acceptance of his new role.  Several of the members pointed at the sounding rod protruding from his piss slit.  This was a new device they had heard about and there was a lot of interest in getting them for their own slaves.  The Vet had demonstrated it during the cocktail hour using Vincent and it was a big hit when Vincent’s cock erupted with its orgasm.  This would be very profitable for Master to sell and he would share the proceeds with the Vet.

At this point Master also introduced James.  “Let me also introduce James, one of my employees who is an alpha and has applied to join AMS.  He handled the slave’s indoctrination today and is going to help me with the final stage of that process.”

James climbed on stage and tied Norman to an X cross next to one of the now-dead perps.  To illustrate how masochistic Norman was Master then took a nearby whip and began lashing Norman’s rigid cock and balls, demonstrating the trick he’d enjoyed when Norman was in his suite.  Norman again got aroused by the pain, and the fact he was being used in front of a group of alpha males, to the point he shot another load of cum.  (One of Norman’s amusing talents was his ability to shoot a load a long distance.  Some of it landed on James, who was not pleased.)  Master’s AMS colleagues were effusive in their cheering and praise of his efforts.  Norman, in turn, was thrilled to be an object of ridicule in a way that pleased Master.  He was learning just how much he liked being a sex object and nothing more.

“Our good friend Dr. Johnson trained the slave to perform this trick while he was molding his psyche, and I tested it this afternoon.  I knew you would all enjoy it.  His submissive psyche and overwhelming sex drive should make him a lot of fun to use.  I want to thank Dr. Johnson for finding and conditioning him.”  Dr. Johnson was present and took a well-deserved bow.

Master then made Norman’s status official.  James wheeled over a barbecue filled with hot coals that contained a branding iron.  Master slowly lifted it by the handle and showed it to Norman, who was both terrified and thrilled.  There was a searing and almost a sizzle as he applied it to Norman’s left breast, which now read “Snuffslave Norman.”  Norman managed not to scream, but the pain was overwhelming, and he almost passed out.  Norman knew what he was, and this would let everyone else know too.  That seemed right to him as his cock hardened yet again.  James released him from the X cross and Norman returned to the side of the stage by Vincent.  James stood nearby, not sure what he was supposed to do next.

“Now for recognition of a well-deserved promotion.   As many of you know, Mark has served for several years not only as a member of AMS but as Ed’s understudy.  He has done an outstanding job and will be promoted to the position of senior adviser, reporting to me.  I have invited him to join me here at the estate.  He has accepted and is moving into one of the suites this weekend.

” As you know, we provide a great service worldwide by eliminating worthless and troublesome young males.  Some we use for our own purposes as slaves of AMS members and features at our snuff parties.  Most, of course, wind up as slaves to be bought and sold in the markets we manage.  There is a growing need for this service, and under Ed’s leadership Mark has negotiated a series of major expansions in the societies where we provide our service.  We will now have a much larger supply of slaves to use or sell.  While Mark and others of us use the title “Alpha Male Society” to identify ourselves externally, we all know the real purpose and meaning of AMS – the Art of Male Snuff..  He is committed to that and has shown remarkable competence and dedication to AMS that reflects our values.”

 Mark came onto the stage and shook hands with Master and then with Ed, who had also joined the group.  Master handed him a new leather jacket, with the number 9 under the letters AMS, signifying Mark’s new rank. Being one of the top 10 leaders of AMS was a really big deal.

“What most of you don’t know is that Snuffslave Norman used to work for Ed and was a colleague of Mark’s, albeit a total fuck-up.  I thought it would be fun for them to have a reunion on stage.”

At this point James was struggling to conceal his jealousy.  Not only was James functioning as a mere helper on stage, naked in his status as one of the Boss’s employees and required to stay erect in front of everyone, but Mark was obviously far ahead of him in rank even if he was allowed to join AMS this evening.  Not having heard anything from Master on that he was doubly worried. If he didn’t get an offer he decided he would quit.

Nonetheless, he controlled himself and at Master’s direction he wheeled the branding equipment to the back of the stage and wheeled a large bed to the front.  Cameras above and alongside it gave the audience great views of the action about to take place.  Then he positioned Norman on the mattress.  By that point Ed and Mark had stripped off their leather outfits and approached Norman with their cocks stiff and ready.  Everyone admired their awesome naked bodies, especially Norman.  He had lusted after each of them throughout his time in Ed’s firm, especially imagining Ed’s thick cock and tight balls and Mark’s giant cock.  His imagination was confirmed.  Mark positioned himself on his back with Norman on top of him, then thrust his cock upward into Norman’s ass.  Ed lined up and added his cock to the hole, at which point the two colleagues vigorously double-fucked Norman.  They were putting him to the kind of use he was meant for, and he knew it.  The fucking was savage, and they took a long time, but as they did so the audience laughed and cheered them on.  Most had their own cocks out, nice and hard in the mouths of their slaves.  When Ed and Mark finally shot their loads up Norman’s ass he was quite sincere in his thanks for being used and eagerly used his tongue to clean their cocks..  Fuck, this had been one of his fantasies.  Everyone agreed it was a great way to celebrate Mark’s promotion and Norman’s enslavement, and a few of the AMS members let loose their own orgasms.

“I am always so pleased to see worthy AMS members like Mark get the recognition they deserve.  He has a very bright future with AMS.  And speaking of bright futures, it’s now time to announce new members.  We have six candidates we voted in this afternoon.  As I call your names, please join me on stage.”

Master called out all six, and James was relieved to hear his name among them, albeit the last one.  But he was pissed that the others had obviously gotten advance notice and were dressed in alpha male leather outfits.  His nakedness stood out as the group formed on stage.  Being naked at work was a requirement James resented.  He knew he was superior to the other employees but felt his membership in AMS would finally give him the status he deserved. 

The group stood at attention as Master administered the AMS oath, which included requirements of honor, obedience, and devotion to AMS members and AMS values.  After the oath, Master added some comments before awarding them their official AMS leather jackets.

“As you all know I hold my employees to a high standard and require them to stay naked while working.  James here is one of those employees and has been serving you tonight and helping me on stage.  In those roles he is required to be on display like his fellow employees, and stay erect, for my enjoyment and that of all my AMS colleagues, and for that of his fellow employees.  My staff have awesome bodies and I want everyone to enjoy them.  So do they and I know my requirement is also their desire.  But there is another reason I’ve had him stay naked, even as his fellow new members were permitted to wear alpha gear and will now receive their AMS leather jackets.  Our tradition is to enjoy live meat, and the perp we had planned to use for that is now dead, cooking nicely but unable to fulfill our custom.  Since James is the one who caused his death, and since James also is an arrogant asshole who does not really reflect AMS values of loyalty and honor, he is going to replace the perp.  I wouldn’t snuff an employee without his consent, but AMS members must meet higher standards and as members we all agree to be snuffed if we fail to do so.  James just swore allegiance to those rules, and since he doesn’t meet our values he’ll fulfill our custom for live meat at our dinner.  We accepted his application with that use in mind, also being aware he hates being required to be naked and being eaten alive is the form of snuff that most terrifies him.” 

The crowd again cheered, looking forward to enjoying James’ delicious-looking flesh.  The loudest cheers were from Master’s other staff, who were delighted to see James get the horribly painful punishment his arrogance deserved.  Norman listened and was again impressed with Master’s abilities as a leader and his high values.

James was horrified and terrified, and he started to protest.

 As he pleaded and yelled obscenities his fellow inductees joyfully carried him to a trolley next to where the dead perp was cooking and tied him so everyone could enjoy selecting and helping themselves to their favorite cuts.  The Vet, who especially disliked James, stood nearby to advise which cuts would be most painful yet least deadly.  He started the fun by cutting off James’ cock and making him eat it.  Then James’ former fellow employees gleefully handed knives to the AMS members, offering additional suggestions on especially painful ways to cut the live meat.  With the benefit of their advice and the Vet’s overall guidance, James remained alive not only for the entire evening but also for a special employee breakfast the next morning.

The dinner, the slave auction, and the orgy that followed were great successes.  Each of the AMS members enjoyed snuffing at least one slave, thanking Mark for the negotiations that had greatly increased their supply.  And many showed considerable creativity in practicing their art.

After the celebration ended, Norman accompanied Master and Master’s lover, the Chief, back to Master’s suite.  Norman was permitted to help them strip off their fine leather attire, carefully hanging them in a closet as instructed.  As they showered together he was even allowed to soap their powerful bodies and dry them off afterwards.  They were mostly spent from the long, wonderful evening, but they still had energy for sex, sharing their deep feelings for each other.  Norman was a sex toy for them to fuck as they did so.  As they drifted off to sleep he was stored nearby, crawling into a cage for later use.  Norman drifted off to sleep as well, more content and fulfilled than he had ever been.

5

Serving Master

Norman was not Master’s only slave.  A steady stream of young males arrived each week to provide Master and his friends with the sexual fulfillment of snuffing them, inflicting the painful and degrading deaths they deserved.  These would last just a few days.  There were other slaves working at the estate in a wide variety of tasks.  They were deemed to be of some value, and were easy to identify as they were all, like Norman, branded.  Their brands just read “slave” as they were not volunteers so their primary purpose was the service they provided.  But they would die when they were no longer of use or if they failed to obey totally.  These involuntary slaves were resigned to their fate, often after psychological “treatment” from the Vet.  They did not embrace being property.  They did come to understand that they were worthless losers who were being given a chance to do something worthwhile by serving Master.  They especially understood there were a variety of options for how they would die and what use they would be put to until then.  They were told it was in their interest to be obedient and respectful, in return for which they could earn a fairly quick death.  In reality their conduct had little if anything to do with how they died, which mostly depended on Master’s mood as he snuffed them. 

Since they didn’t observe snuff scenes until it was their turn to die they were unaware of that.

Norman was one of the few slaves that had sought out and embraced its status.  He learned that voluntary slaves like himself were comparatively rare and filled a special role within Master’s dominant sadistic needs.  Torturing to death a terrified, screaming young male was always fun, but Master got his greatest sexual and psychological satisfaction from snuffing slaves who cooperated, understanding their purpose was not just to serve some function in his daily routine but to suffer and die for his sexual pleasure.  He was always on the hunt for these slaves.  Finding and “coaching” them was Dr. Jonson’s main focus.  There were about five of them in use at any given time.  When he got a new one he would enjoy torturing to death one he already owned. 

Master’s relationship with these voluntary snuffslaves was different from other slaves or employees and was quite positive.  They attended the snuff sessions and often helped out.   Master would have conversations with them about his ideas on how best to enjoy their deaths, soliciting their ideas on ways to make it more degrading and painful for them and therefore more entertaining for him.  When it came time for one of them to die he often assembled them for snuff orgies where they would draw straws to see who would have the honor of being snuffed.  Then everyone, including the “winner,” would discuss the best way for that slave to die.  Master would pick the best ideas and invite the other slaves to join him, along with selected AMS members and employees, to watch the fun as he administered the tortures and the eventual kill.  He was always the one doing the ultimate kill (after all, he was Master) but he was generous in sharing his pleasures, like fucking the dead slave while the body was still warm.  This generosity was a key part of his nature and everyone around him appreciated it.  The events were a kind off celebration that was community building, although there was one fewer member of the community when it was done. 

As he adjusted to Master’s world, Norman found he was also turned on by these sessions, looking forward to when it would be his turn.  As he awaited that objective, Norman enjoyed the uses Master had assigned him, especially given the amazing people with whom he interacted.  He had indeed become Master’s primary body slave and Norman spent most of his time at Master’s side – usually literally.  He would provide Master with whatever he needed during events and meetings, and he accepted as his due the ridicule and humiliation Master and everyone else heaped on him.  He was thrilled to drink the piss and suck the cocks of some of the most powerful and famous people in the world, realizing Master’s prestige and power meant no one objected at all on the presence of a naked slave, branded to advertise its fate, who served Master.  He would just be Photoshopped out of the group pictures for public consumption, as if he didn’t exist.  After all, in terms of actual people present, he didn’t.

Mark was a frequent attendee at Master’s meetings, since he now lived at the estate, and he was particularly cruel.  He would almost always take time to beat and fuck Norman, which amused Master.  He would always drink lots of coffee before meetings, so he’d have giant loads of piss for Norman to swallow as others looked on, laughing.  When they had worked in the same office Norman had hated Mark, but now that their relationship was properly aligned he was grateful for the attention and abuse.  He understood Mark’s contempt for him came from Norman pretending he was a person instead of an object.  The fault was Norman’s and he attempted to make up for his absurd delusions of humanity.  The whole series of events turned Norman on big time, which made it even funnier for the participants to watch and join in.  Best of all for Norman, the favorite way to degrade him was using the sounding needle that stuck out from his cock.  All Master’s regulars had the app to activate it on their cell phones, and Norman entertained them with the combo of pain and pleasure that resulted in him having a giant orgasm.  (Mark, however, only activated the feature that inflicted pain, not he vibrations that generated the orgasm, often raising it to a level that caused Norman to pass out from the pain without the reward of sexual release.  But he was content as he heard Master laughing as he lost consciousness.  And he also was anxious to please Mark since that also pleased Master.)

In addition to attending Master’s meetings and events, Norman was also typically included during Master’s sex sessions.  Master found Norman’s body sexually attractive, and especially enjoyed fisting him.  Norman, in turn, found this the greatest turn-on of any of the uses he experienced.  Master thrust his fist far up Norman’s ass and the pain put Norman into sexual rapture.  Those orgasms, along with the ones that followed Master flogging his cock and balls or using the sounding needle app,, were the most intense he had ever experienced.  Masturbating after getting fucked was still good, but without the accompanying pain it was far from intense.  To his delight orgasms accompanied by serious pian were quite frequent, usually several times per day.  Indeed, over time he had trouble achieving orgasm without some form of painful torture, as the Vet had predicted.

Master worked out daily with a personal trainer who was as large as Master and expert in assuring his clients were in ideal physical condition.  Master was, and he wanted to keep it that way.  So the daily workout was rigorous, with Master and the trainer naked to show off their bodies.  Norman was often assigned to assist them, one more chance to see and admire Master’s impressive masculinity.  To Norman’s further delight, Master had decided Norman and the other voluntary slaves also needed to be in ideal shape, so they were more appealing to Master.  He assigned the trainer to put them through their paces after the workout with Master.  The trainer was also an alpha sadist, so part of the ritual was training Norman and his fellow slaves on how to endure ever more pain and satisfy Master sexually while they were being tortured.  Characteristic of Master’s generosity to his employees, Master invited the trainer to torture and fuck them whenever he felt like it during the sessions.  Norman loved the feel of yet another giant cock up his ass.

Best of all, Master often joined the slave workout sessions.  He liked to add routines, such as having the slaves do deep squats standing with legs spread and feet positioned on two sets of steps.  Master would attach heavy metal chains to the balls and let them swing loose as the slave did his squats, getting whipped on his back and butt as he did so.  The chains swinging free created a lot of pain, but there was even more when Master would cup the chains in his hands, lift them up, and then drop them so their full lengths swing below the slave’s elevated feet.  The drop sometimes tore the scrotum, but so far it had not completely severed a slave’s balls.  For Norman, it made his cock just a little harder from all the pain inflicted on his manhood.  Squats had become his favorite exercise, and the Vet was expert at repairing torn scrotums as needed.

As time passed, Master introduced more forms of sexual use for Norman and his other slaves.  Master noticed that Norman reacted especially well to breath play, cutting off Norman’s supply of oxygen until he passed out, using either a plastic bag over his head or Master’s cock thrust down his throat.  Norman would masturbate as that happened, learning to time his orgasm to match when he lost consciousness.  Norman soon also craved that activity.  When he and the other slaves talked about the most intense snuff they could suffer this was always his choice.  The difference would be that the oxygen wouldn’t be restored in time for him to wake up again.  That would add a lot to Master’s pleasure, knowing this time it would be fatal, and Norman’s death would fulfill his purpose by providing intense pleasure to Master.  That’s what he was meant for.  The problem was that it wasn’t really painful enough, and the group enjoyed adding ideas to fill that critical gap.  Norman was the most eager to find a solution that would please Master.  It illustrated how the problem of Norman’s pride that had arisen as he was added to Master’s collection of slaves had never materialized.  Norman fully accepted the reality that he deserved humiliation as well as pain as part of his service.  If he ever had doubts, Mark was usually around to viciously remind him of his status and purpose.

As the weeks of service turned to months and years, Master found Norman especially useful and satisfying.  Norman’s obvious joy at being Master’s property and sex toy appealed strongly to Master’s desire for dominance and for sexual pleasure through sadistic use of a willing object.  The symbiosis between them grew into a positive, almost loving relationship.  There was never any change in their status, of course.  Norman was a slave, mere property.  Master could (and would) do whatever he wanted with him.  They both knew Norman would be snuffed, his life fulfilled by adding to Master’s need for the ultimate dominance.  Norman totally embraced that result.  But that did not mean Norman could not be a trusted confidant of Master, a disposable resource with whom Master could share his thoughts.  It was an honor Norman had never imagined possible.

In particular Master would sometimes open up to Norman about his thoughts on owning slaves and how he had developed them. 

“I remember my first slave..  I was in my late 20s, and he was a few years younger, so we were both fixated on sex.  Until then I had no idea how deep sadistic and masochistic tendencies can be.  I knew I was a sadistic alpha, and I knew I wanted greater levels of dominance over the guys I fucked.  But I was also busy building my empire so I would be a multi-billionaire by the time I was 30 (which I was).  I didn’t even know about AMS then.  I didn’t encounter AMS or delved into serious S&M until I started buying and selling slaves as one of my businesses. 

I got this guy through a so-called “escort” service, and they represented that he was unusually submissive.    That turned out to be an understatement.  The first time I rented him he brought a bullwhip and handcuffs, encouraging me to tie him up and flog him on the back and chest until he was bleeding.  I took him up on the offer and was amazed how aroused we both became.  It was the best sex I’d ever had, and it wasn’t long before I had him move into my condo so I could use him all the time.  Within a week he suggested he become my full-time slave.  I accepted and had fun drafting a document that transferred ownership of everything he had, including his body, to me for my use and disposal.  It’s the same one you signed.  Like you he didn’t have much at all, but the ceremony and symbolism were remarkably satisfying.  That’s why I still use it.  I have a file with all the voluntary slave agreements that I keep as memorabilia.  He was naked when he signed it and that’s when I realized I liked having him stay naked all the time, even in public.  I was rich by then and people tolerate a lot when you’re rich, so it wasn’t a problem.  I also discovered he loved being on display.  As I think k about it, the two of you had a lot in common.  I’ve often thought masochists are natural exhibitionists.

“Even after all these years I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a naturally extreme masochist.  He didn’t need any coaching.  The guy just craved pain and humiliation.  No matter what I did to him he wanted more.  After a while he admitted that what he really wanted was for me to snuff him, and to do it in a way that was prolonged and extremely painful.  Then he hoped I’d fuck and eat his corpse, which he thought was the most humiliating possible use for a slave.  I had always been intrigued by snuffing another guy, but I had never considered the possibility the guy would cooperate, let alone encourage fucking his dead body and using it for meat.  It turned me on to think about it and we started talking about ways to carry it off.  That turned us both on even more.  I was part of AMS by then and they provided helpful ideas.

“I started bringing other submissives in for my use.  One reason II bought this estate is so I didn’t have to worry about neighbors complaining about the screaming when I tortured somebody, He wasn’t the only guy I rented for torture, but at that point he was the only one encouraging me to snuff him.  The estate also solved the problem of what to do with whatever was left of the body.  As you know from snuff sessions you’ve participated in, there’s a chipper on the property, and it isn’t primarily for wood and yard debris.  I bought it after watching that great scene in the movie Fargo where a guy gets dumped into a chipper and ground up.  I still use it and now it’s got sentimental value to me.

I kept the slave for a little over a year and then finally agreed to snuff him.  Through AMS I had gotten a replacement who was also a voluntary snuff slave.  But that first young dude was still one of the best snuff sessions I’ve ever had.” 

Master paused in his story, enjoying his fond memories, but Norman was turned on and curious.  “Master, may I ask how you did it,?”

“You may.  I like to think back on it.  He and I concluded that flogging him to death would be the best approach.  It was the first form of torture I had used on him, and it still turned us both on a lot.  Plus, I could do it over a series of days, which is an approach popular with my business partners in Saudi Arabia.  It’s one of the biggest markets and sources for slaves.    They talk publicly about a weekly series of 50 lashes for prisoners.  In theory that’s not fatal.  In reality, they do a lot more and the sessions are more frequent, so the victims wind up dead after a week or two of torment.  I wanted my slave to suffer for at least a few days, and I wanted him to die as I whipped him, not in between sessions.  I used the bullwhip he brought for our first session, which I still have and use, as you’re well aware.  I tend to be a bit nostalgic.  The first session was 100 lashes. Then I fucked him and let him masturbate for me.  We both had great orgasms.  He was in bad shape from the flogging, but he was massively aroused.  The next day I did another set of 100 and fucked him again.  I had a great orgasm, but he was too far gone to be able to cum.  I’d gotten a little carried away lashing his genitals and was afraid he’d die before session three.  That inspired me to cut off his cock and balls, since they weren’t of any use anymore.  I tried eating one of the testicles and discovered how tasty they are.  I enjoyed the other one too, while he watched, and then fed him his cock.  It didn’t look tasty.  He was delirious with pain by this time, but he not only ate the cock – he thanked me for letting him watch as I ate his balls, and for letting him eat his cock.  He was so into it and I was so aroused at this point that I resumed the lashings and finished him off.  He died at stroke 269, so he didn’t get the full third series and the session only lasted two days.  I’ve gotten better at it since then and can do prolonged whipping snuffs over a period of many days if my schedule permits. 

“The biggest surprise was how much sexual pleasure I got from fucking his dead ass.  I’d had an orgasm just an hour or so before that when I was emasculating him, so I was worried if I’d have much left.  It turned out this was one of the best orgasms I’d ever had.  The ultimate feeling of power over a snuff victim I’d just killed, plus the warm tightness of an asshole as the slave finishes dying, are an amazing combo.  When I snuff you, I’ll use your body that way too.  It’s a big thrill.  I also decided to butcher him, and I enjoyed cooking and eating his meat as he’d suggested.  The rest of the body I pushed into the chipper and watched it come out as fertilizer.  I spread that in the garden.  He was fully used up, and I realized this was something I wanted to do again and again.  But I also realized that what made it work so well is the fact he wanted it as much as I did.  When the slave isn’t willing or better yet eager, it’s a different kind of fun – a pure alpha power trip and great sex but no more.  Exercising power of life and death over someone who recognizes and accepts it that is a far greater thrill for me.”

Norman considered what Master had said.  The story turned him on not just sexually but also emotionally.  How could he not be eager for Master to get such a thrill?  Anything else would be selfish.

6

Disposal

Despite the cold Norman was utterly turned on as he watched the sun rise on the last day of his life. Master, with Mark’s help, had attached his wrists and ankles to a vertical rack next to a beautiful spacious garden.  The garden was next to the main building of the estate and Master’s suite overlooked it, one of several reasons this garden was special.  Another was because it was nourished by fertilizer that was the ultimate product of Master’s slaves when they came out of the chipper afar being snuffed and butchered.  Norman wondered which part of the garden he would wind up fertilizing.  But he was not able to survey the garden itself, as he was suspended such that his view was of the chipper.  Master wanted him to focus on his pending disposal even though (unfortunately) he would not be alive as his body was mulched by the large blades.  He needed to be dead for Master’s final fuck of his slave ass.  Besides, it was now the middle of winter and he knew the gardeners wouldn’t get to spread the fertilizer he would become until spring.  The temperature was in the teens, made colder by a breeze from the ocean that also cleared away any clouds and assured a gorgeous cold winter day. 

Norman was naked as always and every inch of his body was exposed and shivering in the cold.  Blood and sweat had dripped down his back and chest where he had been severely whipped the prior evening, which had frozen to his body.  After the flogging Master and Mark tightened the rack to the point Norman’s arms popped out of their sockets at his shoulders, tearing his skin a little and leaving him in continuous pain.  He was a little disappointed when they told him he would never need to use his arms again, even in a final act of masturbation.    But he knew that was their decision and was only worried that he might die of the exposure to the cold, depriving Master of the pleasure of the upcoming snuff.  He remembered the Vet had observed his strong cardio and pulmonary systems when he was first examined, commenting that this would allow Master to inflict especially stressful tortures.  He figured the Vet would have considered that and made sure he’d still be alive in the morning, which he was.  The pain kept him awake all night, but it was balanced against his excitement about what was going to happen to him that day.  Mark’s parting taunt was not to worry about losing sleep.  “You can catch up on your sleep tomorrow night when you’re dead.”

As daylight began to seep into the garden area, Norman reflected on how fulfilling his life had become since Master acquired him 6 years ago.  That was the start of amazing fulfillment as Norman learned how best to serve and provide pleasure for Master.  Master enjoyed watching Norman’s orgasms, all of which were generated by the remarkable levels of pain he could endure and had learned to crave.  His orgasms were amazingly and wonderfully intense and entertaining.  Norman thrived on the pain, the humiliation, and even the diet of piss-soaked dog food combined with loads of piss and cum.  He was totally committed to Master, but he had come to understand that Master wanted him to please Mark as well.  Master and Mark had become lovers and it was clear Mark achieved a special level pf satisfaction from tormenting and degrading Norman.  Much as Norman hated Mark when they worked together, he had always lusted after Mark’s body and now he found it arousing and fulfilling when Mark did so.  Not that Norman’s feelings or desires mattered, as Mark enjoyed pointing out.  Now that their relationship was properly structured, Norman had some to appreciate how much he deserved the humiliation and degrading use Mark inflicted on him.  Nark clearly enjoyed it and adding to the pleasure of a master was all that mattered to Norman.

Master had informed Norman the Vet concluded Norman’s asshole was beyond repair.  All the fisting and other uses had made it simply too loose to satisfy Master’s desires.  The same was true of the welts that reflected all the beatings and flogging of Norman’s once-smooth skin. 

Besides, Mark had procured for Master’s birthday a terrific young and fresh voluntary slave.  Master had decided to snuff Norman as part of his birthday orgy.  Thus was an exciting new body Master was anxious to train and enjoy.  Norman, of course, heartily agreed – again, realizing his opinion was irrelevant, as Master had made clear.  He knew that a big part of Master’s enjoyment of the snuff would depend on Norman being eager and cooperative, and he was determined to fulfill that part of his role.  Master’s pleasure was always the only metric.  To that end Norman had spent much of the prior week training the new voluntary slaves to take over duties as Master’s primary body slave, and it had gone well.

It had been Mark’s idea to severely whip Norman and have him spend the night in the cold on the vertical rack.  Mark was disappointed Norman was not going to suffer as prolonged a death as Mark felt he deserved, and convinced Master that this would partially fill that gap.  Master agreed and was especially pleased to be able to use the bullwhip that had been the main tool for his very first snuff.  Norman remembered the story and was honored to see Master’s sentimental view of how Norman’s snuff should begin.  It reminded him of the nostalgic conversations he and Master had had on occasions during the 6 years.  He had reflected on those as he suffered through the darkness, cold, and pain and he felt content. 

As the sun rose, the Vet sent his slave, Vincent, to release Norman and bring him to the Vet for final preparations.  It was a thoughtful gesture as Norman was able to bid Vincent farewell and offer his wish that Vincent would suffer the prolonged death he yearned for.  They had become friends – the only true friend Norman had ever had – with a shared passion for serving the alphas who owned them. 

Master had meetings that morning and the new body slave would serve on his own for the first time.  Norman was confident it would go well.  He doubted he’d still be alive when the slave was branded at the party that evening.  It would have been satisfying to watch the ceremony.

As he entered the Vet’s clinic Norman was excited and even eager.  He was glad it appeared Vincent would be helping with the snuff.

“The Master has decided to snuff you later this afternoon once his meetings are over, and you will be honored to know he will than have you butchered and served as the meat entrée’ at dinner tonight, starting his birthday celebration.  Mark and I will be there, of course, and he’s also invited your old boss, Ed, to join, along with the Chief, your bartender buddy Bill, and Dr. Johnson.  It will be kind of a reunion and we’re all looking forward to watching you die and enjoying eating your meat.  I need to replace the Sounding Chip inserted in your balls in prep for the fun, and then Vincent will lead you to the meat locker where you’ll be hung upside down like the slab of meat you will soon become.  It will help you focus on that fact.  Lite down on the table on your back.”

  Norman did as instructed, remembering how turned on he had been his first day when he saw the dead perp that James had him behead and carry to the kitchen to be prepared for being roasted at the AMS dinner.  He hoped Vincent would enjoy a similar reaction, anticipating his own use someday as Norman had done.  The Vet quickly cut into his scrotum and replaced the computer chip, then closed the wound and released Norman.  When he and Vincent reached the meat locker they found Mark there, ready with a whip to flog Norman one last time.  He used his steel-toed boots to kick Norman in the balls before signaling to Vincent to attach Norman’s ankles to the winch and lift him into position.  Mark smiled in satisfaction as he watched Norman swing freely like the other slabs of meat hung near him.  Once Mark finished the flogging Norman thanked him for the beating.  He was sincere in doing so.

The snuff itself went extremely well.  In preparation Norman and Mark had both made suggestions on how it could proceed, all of which Master enthusiastically accepted.  The actual snuff would be via breath play, as Norman had hoped, with a clear and somewhat larger than usual plastic bag over Norman’s head.  That way the deprivation of oxygen would be slower than usual, prolonging the phase of Norman gasping for air.  That would allow Master to have more time to enjoy watching the desperation grow as the amount of oxygen declined.

However, the gasping would be balanced by the sexual euphoria that was an integral element of breath play, and Mark had not wanted Norman to feel that pleasure devoid of further pain.  So he suggested increasing the voltage of the chip in Norman’s balls so the pain level would be just below fatal.  That’s what required a new chip with greater voltage options.

As the audience gathered for the show, Master placed the bag over Norman’s head, tightening it at the neck and commenting to his new voluntary slaves that Norman was fulfilling his purpose with the right attitude.  Norman was immensely grateful for the complement, feeling this was the highest praise he could get and contrasting it to the concerns Master had when Master acquired Norman.  Mark held his cell phone and started the Sounding App, slowly increasing the level of current to cause Norman to feel the pain building in his balls as he began breathing into the bag, tunning the oxygen into deadly carbon dioxide.  His mind began to wander as the oxygen faded and the pain gradually increased.  Then, to his surprise, he felt the vibrations inside his cock, which were also more intense than usual.  Mark had told Norman the app would not be used to generate the vibrations that would also produce an orgasm.   He said Master did not think Norman was worthy of that reward.  Norman now realized this was just one more act of torment and he was going to be able to provide Master with the added satisfaction of watching him cum.  He now understood why he would not need use of his ruined arms or hands. The needle inside his cock would do the job for him.  He also realized why Norman had been denied any sexual release for the prior week.  It wasn’t a punishment as Mark had said.  It was to assure a plentiful supply of cum would be shot from his cock as he died.  Master especially enjoyed seeing that.  Norman knew his purpose would indeed be totally fulfilled.

The combination of the euphoria from the limited oxygen, the vigorous massaging of the inside of his cock, and the intense pain in his balls was spectacular.   As the last of the oxygen was consumed all of his senses exploded at once, causing the most intense orgasm of his life as he gasped for his last breath, struggling as death overcame him and shooting a massive stream of think cum that covered his belly and chest.  Master and Mark had moved quickly before the stream of man-juice started, inserting their cocks into Norman’s ass for a double-fuck as the body’s death throws provided warmth and pressure even though the ass was too loose to please a single cock. They achieved their orgasms just after Norman had his, filling his ass with their cum as his cock erupted with his.  That added one more sexual stimulation to Norman as he died.  His “death rattle,” in turn, put added pressure on their cocks, adding to the intensity of their pleasure.  The session was a great success, and Norman’s replacement was indoctrinated through a worthy example of a slave completing its duties.  He and Vincent were permitted to lick up the cum that covered Norman’s belly and chest as well as the cum dripping from Norman’s ass..

At dinner there was praise for Norman’s lean, freshly butchered meat.  As he helped himself to another slice of Norman’s delicious breast meat, Mark reflected that Norman had chosen the right career for himself.  “I thought the jerk was totally worthless, just a sack of slave shit who screwed up all the time.  But I have to admit he provided a lot of major orgasms for me and II had a lot of fun making his life as painful and degrading as I could.  Today’s snuff was one of the best I’ve enjoyed.  So I guess he wasn’t totally worthless.  Fuck, he’ll probably even make decent manure for the garden.” Everyone laughed, and agreed.

Adam Loses Control

Adam was furious. Whipping out his stolen phone, he saw 4 profiles surrounding him in less than 100 feet proximity. These faggots were practically swarming him while he was busy making gains at the gym to maintain his prime physique.

Adam’s feet, clad in the Nike Flight Falcons he’d swiped from his very first necro experience, pounded heavily on the staircase leading into the lobby of the gym. He’d had enough, and a furious rage was brewing.

What was also brewing was Brewski Friday’s at the gym, and sure enough, sitting behind the counter, was one of the fags Adam had seen on the app. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out; dude was wearing the same outfit as his headless profile picture on Grindr.  It was headless, but not nameless—Derek was the moniker associated with the pic.

The object of Adam’s hate and suppressed lust was happily oblivious to the maelstrom brewing behind him at the head of the staircase. In his late 20s and a bit of a gym rat, Derek spent hours away from his white-collar job at the gym to perfect his own physique. He certainly did not have any qualms doing it on his employer’s dime, being Asian. And his boss tolerated Derek’s absences—and his obnoxious demeanor—largely due to the numbers he could deliver.

Derek worked out with a serious dedication and it showed.  He was showing off his toned arms in a snug fitting grey t-shirt, and his legs managed to just slightly stretch the hems of the black Nike basketball shorts he was wearing. The simplicity of his outfit highlighted the carefully planned toning and mass he’d acquired in his years of working out. On his feet were a pair of white Nike crew socks and black Nike Free RN 2018’s that Derek had been wearing religiously to gym for the past year. He’d dressed with a slight exhibitionist streak—both to work out, and to show off his gains to the desperate housewives and gym faggots trolling the gym.

Adam, on the other hand, had a very different take. Faggot was polluting his gym and needed to be taken out. The irony that he was wearing his trophy Nike Flight Falcons was not lost on him. Glaring at Derek, he decided that the Asian bro would not only serve as his cumdump and cardio for the day to complete his workout, but would provide the opportunity to truly earn his trophy sneakers. He hadn’t snuffed that first Asian boy in that condo, and instead had only enjoyed sloppy seconds from his unmet mentor. There was both rage and a sense of duty to purge the faggot Asian bro to make up for what he he’d been unable to accomplish years ago.

The dude was busily pecking away at his own phone—probably arranging a hookup to go suck some cock, Adam figured—when suddenly he pocketed it and sprang to his feet, picking up a gym bag that had been sitting at his feet.  Swiftly heading towards the exit, he passed Adam at a distance of less than three feet, but was evidently so lost in anticipation of getting dick that he didn’t notice the glowering killer staring at him.

The space was close enough for Adam to get a good look at him.  Sure enough, he recognized the cunt from earlier in the week; the faggot had been eyeing him hard, checking out his thick, muscled legs and admiring his kicks.  Adam had been too into his routine at the time to properly attend to the homo’s gawking, but now he’d make up for the lost opportunity.  He waited for five seconds, then followed Derek out.

Despite the chill outside, neither man had bothered to change out of their gym gear.  Adam figured he’d be in the warmth of his truck in a matter of seconds; he was rather taken by surprise when the Asian homo walked right past the parking lot and headed across the street, still on foot.  Adam followed, his Nikes silently padding on the pavement as he quickened his pace to catch up.

Down three blocks and up a side street they went, Adam experienced enough to linger in the shadows anytime Derek showed signs of slows or pausing to look around.  It didn’t take long to reach their destination, which appeared to be an ancient hotel that had evidently been converted to apartments.  Adam crossed the street and stared intently as Derek entered, noticing that there was no lock and no security at the front entrance.  He also marked exactly which mailbox the fag cunt opened in the long bank of brightly-polished antique brass.

Once the Asian was out of sight, his muscled legs pounding up the opulent marble staircase, Adam darted across the street and noted that the pansy had retrieved his mail from a box marked 237.  An apartment on the second floor, then; made sense why he hadn’t bothered with the elevator.  It didn’t take long for the hate-filled killer to mount the stairs himself.

The old room indicator signs were still in place; rooms 230-251 were to the left, then back.  The doors were glossy mahogany with brass plates; 237 was in the back corner and probably had a great view of a shitty alleyway.  More importantly, though, was that as Adam approached the door, he could see that it had been left open a crack.

Maybe the homo actually was expecting a hookup.  Adam grinned maliciously.  It didn’t matter; he was there first, and he was gonna do what needed to be done to the useless cocksucker.  He paused only for a moment, then silently pushed the door open.

It was obvious from the first glance that the apartment had once been a two-room suite.  A small kitchen area had been carved out of a corner of the front room while the bath was in the rear room.  A high, decorative archway between the two rooms that had likely been originally closed by a curtain was now partially filled in, with a rather small and inadequate door set in its center, but otherwise the conversion had been tastefully and rather expensively done.  The Asian fag wasn’t living cheap.

Adam’s grin widened.  He wasn’t living long, either.

The living room, with its modern leather furniture and oversized TV, was empty, but the door to bedroom was open and the psychotic necro killer felt his dick stiffen as he heard the sounds of his victim moving about.  Goddam chink homo needed to die so Adam could release the sperm building in his huge hairy sac.  And the fag deserved it in the worst way.  It needed to suffer.  The thought of putting the pervert in pain so excited Adam that he had to place his hand against the wall to steady and compose himself.

This was another rebirth for him, and the most important one yet.  With this one, he was going to establish his true identity as avenger of morality, expunging all cumsucking homo cunts.  They needed to die to earn real mancock; no one would mourn their useless wasted queer-ass existences.  He was purifying the planet, and he needed to do it right—he couldn’t allow his own excitement to ruin the perfection he was bringing unto the world.

He slowly pushed the bedroom door open and peered in.

There was a queen-sized bed with an elaborate antique headboard on the left side of the room; on the right was home gym setup that consisted mostly of a weight bench, with a few other devices.  The corner in which it was located was lined with mirrors.  To the extreme right was the bathroom; Adam could hear the shower running.

Derek wasn’t in the shower, though; at least, not yet.  He was getting ready; in fact, he’d stripped nude but for his own Nikes.  He was in front of his dresser, pulling out clothes—obviously trying to find the perfect slutty outfit to get his homo ass reamed before he jumped into the tub to wash off the gym sweat.  There was a mirror on the dresser, as well—Adam didn’t have to move too far into the room before Derek, momentarily glancing up, spotted him.

“Hey, you’re early,” the Asian homo said cheerfully, but then his eyes narrowed and his smile faltered.  “Wait, you’re not the guy on the app—‘least, you ain’t the guy in the photo.”

“No, I’m Adam.  And you’re fuckmeat, you goddam faggot.”

Derek’s face flushed red.  “Who you think you are, bro, comin’ into my place and throwin’ shade?”

“I think I’m the guy who’s gonna teach you yer proper place on this planet, cocksucker—rottin’ like garbage after I waste yer perverted ass and fill you with righteous manseed.  By the time yer pansy little hookup gets here, ain’t gonna be nothin’ left of you but well-used fagmeat, gettin’ stiff and cold.”

The words were like a slap in the face to Derek; he had one brief moment of clarity.  “You’re that fucker from the gym…”

“Yeah, asswipe, and I’m sick of yer faggot eyeballs crawlin’ all over me every time I work out.  You want me, dude?  Fuck, only way yer gonna get the dick of a real man like me is to die for it.  Guess it’s gonna be yer lucky night, then, motherfucker, cause I’m gonna dick you down just like yer little homo ass has been beggin’ for!”

The Asian faggot automatically dropped himself into a fighting stance, his smooth, muscled body crouched low.  His dark hair glinted almost blue-black in the dim light as his thick, uncut cock swung like a pendulum between his thick, firm legs.  Almost unconsciously, he found himself grinning at the intruder, as if anxious to prove his worth against the slurs of the intruder.

Adam smirked as the dude planted his red Nikes at shoulder-width on the floor; he hoped the worthless chink pansy would try to fight him.  Motherfucker needed to be taught a lesson; the thought of doing so already had the psycho sex killer hard as a brick.

“Think you can take me, ya fuckin’ gook?” he sneered.  “Come at me, bro.  Lessee what kinda damage a useless pansy like you can do to real man.”

Derek lunged.  Adam was expecting it; he neatly side-stepped the young man’s rush and took a swing, his right fist connecting with Derek’s jaw with a loud smack.

Stunned, the buff Asian stagged sideways, clutching at his face.  He turned and stared at Adam, the cockiness and arrogance in his expression tamped down by the blow he’d received.

“You sick, racist asshole!” he hissed through gritted teeth.

Adam laughed broadly.  “I’m sick?  You’re the fucking pervert who wants my cock, queerboy.  Well, guess what, faggot, I’ll give it to ya—but ya gotta earn it.  Wanna know how to do that?”

Derek looked at him in trepidation as Adam balled his fists, deranged rage coming off him in almost visible waves.  “You gotta die for it, ya sack of homo shit.  You get it now?  I ain’t no fag; I don’t fuck men—but I ain’t got no problem reaming out the hole of a quiverin’ piece of meat.  Don’t worry, boy, I’ll fuck ya just as hard as yer sick little pansy heart wants—but you ain’t gonna be around to enjoy it.  Too many fuckin’ pervs like you on this planet as it is.”

Derek’s innate self-assurance refused to acknowledge the twinge of fear he felt—but it was nothing more than a twinge, after all.  He’d ogled Adam often enough at the gym to know the sex killer’s physique, but he didn’t really believe that he was gonna die tonight.  He might not be as quite a big or as muscular as his assailant, but he was wiry and strong, and had no doubt he could hold his own.

That was when Adam waded in, both fists flying.

Derek had done some sparring at the gym, but he’d never been up against someone so filled with hatred and a desire to kill.  He blocked the madman’s punches as best he could, and even managed to land a few of his own, but they did nothing to stop the vicious flurry of pounding.  Adam’s hard, firm body absorbed the blows with as little damage as if Derek had been slugging a marble statue.

On the other hand, Derek’s own body, toned as it was, was beginning to suffer under the repeated impacts.  Adam’s powerful fists landed with the force of wrecking balls on the Asian’s flat belly and bulked-out pecs, tenderizing the young fuck’s torso like the meat Adam considered it to be. 

For the first time in his privileged life, the Asian stud began to feel fear.  He’d always had an almost inbred sense of his own superiority, his own ability to overcome any situation.  He’d compensated for a feeling of physical inferiority by a grueling and punishing regime at the gym until he’d finally approached the bodily ideal he’d dreamed of, a body that would have white dudes drooling with lust for his ass.

Now, it was clear that it hadn’t been enough.  So far, Adam hadn’t targeted his face, but his torso was bruised and ached as badly as if he’d been in a car wreck; some random corner of his mind wondered if any of his ribs had been fractured—it kinda felt like it.  It was hard to breathe; every attempt to inhale was accompanied by a tortuous pain in his smooth flanks.

Derek’s defense was flagging.  Even worse—he could tell Adam had noticed.

“Ain’t gonna last much longer, are ya?” the psycho serial killer sneered.  “Fucking cocky-ass gooks like you just can’t hold up against a real man.  Keep fightin’ it, ya stupid cunt; every time I punch yer worthless fag ass, my cock oozes a little more.  Fuck, wastin’ yer sick chink ass is gonna be so goddam hot I might actually blow a load before you die.”

He paused and grinned malevolently.  “Naw, you don’t deserve that, asswipe.  But fuck, it’s gonna be close, cunt.”

He plowed in again.  In the next few minutes, Derek learned the true meaning of the word Hell.  Despite his best efforts, he found it impossible to fend off the more powerful alpha’s brutal attack.  Blow after blow rained onto his unprotected face, blackening his eyes and crushing his nose with a loud crunch.  The muscled Asian youth sank to the floor, moaning in pain, but still refusing to admit defeat.

Adam knew it, and was determined to change it.  He grabbed a hank of the punk’s dark hair and dragged him back to his feet.  “Smile for me, bitch,” he sneered, “Gimme somethin’ to aim at.”

Dazed and swaying, Derek could only gulp and stare blankly at the hate-filled face looking into his.  That driving will, that arrogance that had kept him going had somehow suddenly evaporated.  Even though he knew the takedown punch was coming, he didn’t duck—he didn’t even flinch.

The impact, square on the jaw, had enough force to send him backwards into the dresser.  His head snapped back, shattering the mirror, but he was too busy trying to hack up the teeth that had been knocked down his throat and lodged into his trachea.  Falling again to his knees, his spit them up in a drool of blood.

He kept his eyes fixed on the carpet.  His swollen face and bruised body were causing his great pain, but the realization that he’d lost—that a bigger and stronger man had just beaten the fuck outta him—was more than he could bear.  By an almost deliberate effort of will, he powered his brain down, refusing to contemplate what was happening to him, or what the defeat would truly mean.

He wasn’t able to avoid reality for long.  Adam’s black Night Falcons soon appeared in his field of view.  Derek still couldn’t comprehend that the sight signaled the beginning of his end, but he knew that what was coming would be bad.

He didn’t understand what was happening, or why.  He’d hooked up with someone online, but that conversation couldn’t have been with this psycho—not that he hadn’t been attracted to this hot stud.  He’d only wanted to give him pleasure.  It was utterly beyond his mindset to realize that only his slow, painful death could stimulate the sick fucker to orgasm.  Derek’s mind simply didn’t run along such lines.

And soon, it wasn’t going to run along any lines at all.

Adam bent down and wrapped his powerful hands around the Asian’s throat.  With a frightening display of brute force, he straightened up and deadlifted Derek off the ground.

Adam was only about five inches taller than Derek, but it was enough that when he held the suffering faggot out at arm’s length, the latter’s whore-red Nikes kicked uselessly in the air, seeking some non-existent purchase with which to support his dangling body.  The pain of his aching, damaged body receded into the background the moment his airflow ceased, and sheer panic set in.

Derek had been used to utter control over his life.  Up until now, nothing had happened that he hadn’t felt was out of his ability to master.  The beating had been bad enough, but this—this was exponentially worse.  He’d even lost control of his ability to inhale.

Adam grinned in Derek’s swollen, blackening face, savoring the terror.  “Fuck ya, you worthless chink cunt, now yer getting’ it huh?  You want my load, dontcha, faggot?  This is how yer gonna get it.  But it’s gonna be nice and slow—the more you suffer, the harder my cock gets, ya homo bitch!”

Derek heard the words, but they made no impression—his terror was already at maximum pitch.  His fingers scrambled, clawing frenetically at Adam’s brutal grip and at his own compressed throat, to no avail.  He could feel his tongue swelling, as if it was literally being squeezed out of his esophagus.  And then Adam whispered, deeply and seductively, in a way that manager to get through to him.

“Whaddaya say, fag, wanna take this to the bed?  It’s what you been wantin’, ain’t it?  Come on, you perverted gook, I wanna hold ya tight as you kick and die.  Yer pain and fear is so fucking hot, asswipe.  I wanna enjoy it.  I wanna feel you fucking suffer and die, bitch.  C’mon, motherfucker, let’s hit the sack!”

Enduring yet more degrading proof of his utter loss of power, Derek felt himself being carried involuntarily to his own bed to die.  Suddenly there was a violent sensation of motion, but it was accompanied by a blissful cessation of the crushing pain around his throat.  He had just a split second to inhale before he struck the bed hard enough to bounce; the realization that Adam had flung him down flashed through his head and gave him an idea.

He had a moment—a brief one, a second or two at most, when escape was possible.  Now that he was no longer in the lunatic’s power, his self-confidence came flooding back in a rush.  If he could just regain his feet, he’d show this motherfucker a thing or two…

But then Adam was in bed along with him, a dream swiftly taking on the aspects of a nightmare.  The powerful man’s scent, mansweat and testosterone, filled his nostrils and Derek realized with horror that his own cock was becoming stiff in spite of himself.  He thrashed, trying to climb off the mattress, but then Adam’s fists plowed into him in a flurry of blows.

Derek was young and strong; his buff, toned body was capable of withstanding a massive amount of punishment.  But Adam’s punches impacted his flat, firm belly like a runaway train—and after the first two or three pounded into him, Derek found his air forcibly expelled from his lungs. 

It wasn’t as if the Asian gym rat was incapable of defending himself; it was just that his own blows seemed to damage his assailant as much as they would a cinderblock wall.  Nothing he did seemed to have any effect.  And before he could formulate any coherent plan of escape, Adam had stopped hitting him—and started strangling him again.

Derek clutched Adam’s arms as tightly as Adam had gripped his throat; in a heartbeat, the vicious struggle on the bed had quieted into two men holding each other and staring into each other’s eyes.  It could have been a moment of pure love—but it was the beginning of the end of the life of one of them, solely for the other’s sexual gratification.

Derek’s panic came back in a rush; finding his attempt to shift Adam’s strong hands utterly futile, he began clawing out in sheer panic.  As Adam smirked, the Asian faggot tore his t-shirt to shreds, opening the front to expose the serial killer’s furry, muscular torso.  As the thin cotton fabric dissolved under Derek’s scrambling fingers, he dug into the wiry copper-tinted hair that covered the killer’s chest.

Adam pulled Derek closer to him.  “Yer dying, ya chink asshole.  How’s it feel? Ya likin’ it?  Fuck, ya just gotta be lovin’ this, you sick-ass faggot pervert—yer little gook’s dick is so hard it’s pokin’ me.  Shit, ya worthless little cunt, you ain’t felt nothin’ yet!”

He leered into the suffering Asian’s face and squeezed harder, feeling the homo’s trachea starting to collapse under the sheer force of his own hands.  This was what he loved, what he lived for.  His own massive hog was so erect it was starting to ache.  The cocksucker was in obvious agony; his almond eyes bulging from their orbits—fuck, Adam could see hemorrhages popping in the chink’s eyes like mini-fireworks as the pressure inside the faggot’s head spiked.

Derek still refused to acknowledge his imminent death; utterly unable to cede control, even at the very end, he could only thrash in helpless agony.  His leges flailed violently enough for him to dislodge one of his Nikes—it flew backwards off the bed, leaving his foot free in its ankle sock, toes curling as his struggles slowly began to subside.

It was so incremental, Derek didn’t know it was happening—but he was swiftly reaching the point of not being able to realize anything at all.  His dark eyes, as Adam had noted, were already so swollen beyond their natural limit that, despite bulging past the point of allowing the lids to close, Derek could no longer see.  His hearing was fucked up, too; the frenetic beating of his desperate heart banging and echoing inside his skull.

But he could damn sure feel.  If it had been in his nature to wish for death, he would be doing so now.  His tongue seemed to fill his mouth and he could feel his own slimy drool leaking own his cheek, but that was nothing next to the pain.  The pain was everything.

The pain was in his head and his chest, his throat and deep in his lungs.  The last were on fire, burning with an incandescent heat he didn’t know was possible inside the human body, and the first, his head, seemed to be on the verge of rupturing, popping like an over-filled balloon—but that wasn’t the worst.  The worst was his cock.

It was alive with a will of its own, aching and burning as he slowly died under the serial killer’s hands.  Even as his brain began to sputter and misfire, the buff Asian could feel his uncut member pulsing and throbbing.  And along with the awareness of his own raging erection, Derek could still sense the closeness of the powerful stud whose body he had craved.  The hard, hairy body, so near to him…he knew he wanted it…something was wrong, though, but he couldn’t remember what…but that firm, sexy body was so near, in his bed with him…

Adam knew the cunt was almost gone, but he was experienced enough in mankilling by now to know that if he pitched his voice just right, he could get through to the fag before it became fuckmeat.  He bent his head towards the dying Asian, brushing Derek’s swollen, purple cheek with his own as he hissed in gym rat’s ear.

“Almost there, homo,” he muttered in a deep basso that penetrated the deathfog clouding Derek’s mind, as he knew it would.  “Ready to die, pansy?  Ready to earn my mandick?  Fuck yeah, cunt, here ya go.  Just a little more suffering—goddam, it’s gonna hurt like all fuck, you asswipe, but it’ll all be over and you finally get what yer sick little faggot soul has always wanted—my shaft up yer perverted queerboy asshole!”

Derek heard.  The last screaming fragment of his cocksucker’s soul heard the words, and refused to understand them—but his lithe young body understood.  As Adam’s inexorable grip tightened excruciatingly, compressing his trachea beyond its ability to recover, the buff Asian’s uncut rod began to spew semen uncontrollably.

“GAH!” Adam cried.  “You fucking disgusting faggot pervert!”  Baring his teeth in outraged fury, he crushed the punk’s esophagus like an empty beer can, his own shaft drooling precum as he felt it crumple under his hands.  Derek convulsed violently, his smooth, firm body pressing against that of his killer as he continued to blow his deathwad, smearing his load over Adam’s torso and matting the psycho’s body hair with the seed.

Long after Derek had drained his balls and died—not necessarily in that order—Adam finally let his enraged grip go.  The Asian meat was still shuddering, its face livid and its tongue lolling out of hits mouth.  “Finally,” Adam whispered to it, stroking the smooth quivering chest, “Finally, you’ve earned it, asswipe.  Time to take my cock, ya worthless gook motherfucker.”

Unceremoniously rolling the dead man onto the floor with a dull thump, Adam got off the bed and shrugged off the shredded remains on his t-shirt.  It was an easy matter to slip his gym shorts down and step out of them, leaving the powerful killer sporting nothing but his Nike Night Falcons and a raging erection.

And that was when he heard the door open behind him.

Whirling, he found himself confronting as huge man, even taller and more powerful than himself.  The dude was wearing a leather biker jacket, open, with no shirt underneath, revealing a broad, incredibly muscular chest and belly, covered with dark wiry fur.  Beneath that was a pair of worn jeans so tight that his frighteningly massive hog was clearly defined in the crotch; the jeans were tucked into a pair of loosely laced, untied Carolina loggers.

Adam was taken aback.  He stared at the apparition, his jaw agape.  “Who-who the fuck are you?” he asked blankly.

The newcomer gazed at him, then calmly turned his eyes to Derek’s shuddering corpse on the floor.  A slow grin crept across his hard, handsome face—a grin that made Adam’s blood run cold, something he’d never experienced before.  But then the man spoke and it only got worse.

“I’m Joe,” he said, “and it looks like you owe me some fuckmeat.  Bend over, fucker—I ain’t going home still someone dies on my dick, boy.”

–TO BE CONTINUED