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

Load-Bearing Bitch

It was already past quitting time, but Jarrell hadn’t packed up his gear yet.  Brock had said he wanted to talk—not that it would do any good.  As far as Jarrell was concerned, Brock was an asshole.  Of course, there were a lot of assholes in the construction business; Jarrell knew that.  But this was only a temporary job for him; he had no intention of making a career of manual labor, and he could see no reason for dealing with a foreman who was a dick.

And dick was the operative word.  Jarrell knew that Brock had been looking at him funny, eyeing the teen’s ass and his crotch.  Brock was in his early thirties, incredibly well-built, with wavy sandy hair, pale blue eyes and an intimidating, muscular physique.  Jarrell himself hoped to achieve that kinda build one day—unlikely since he was a good five inches shorter than Brock and nowhere near as solid—and though the kid denied any kind of same-sex attraction, the lure of the older man’s amazing body only added to the tension between them.

Especially after Jarrell had put in a call to Jonas Howard, the contractor who owned the company, and accused Brock of sexual harassment.

It wasn’t true, of course; Brock might look, but he had enough self-control not to go any further.   And while the foreman wasn’t as closeted as the teen, he damn sure didn’t advertise his inclinations at work; that would be fatal to his career—and given the violent rednecks he commanded, could possibly be fatal, period, if one of them took it wrong.  As a result, he prized his privacy very highly.

Jarrell’s phone call had put all that in jeopardy.  It was time to have it out with the little punk.  But the shit that needed to be aired also needed no witnesses; Brock had told the kid to come by the office after five.  It was a Friday—and a payday—so the muscle-bound foreman knew none of the rest of the crew would hang around long.

But it was past quitting time and Jarrell hadn’t shown up yet.  Kid was probably dawdling over his gear, padding his work hours—five minutes over was paid as fifteen minutes—so Brock went to find him.  The office, a large trailer that had been trucked onsite, was set back from the construction area some ways; a large swath of former ranchland had been cleared for the subdivision being built.  The row of cookie-cutter homes that were being erected at the moment was some distance away from the office and couldn’t be seen directly from it.

The roads in the subdivision wouldn’t be paved until the heavy equipment was finished; Brock’s black Timberland construction boots crunched loudly on the gravel, accompanied by a faint, rhythmic clanking from the toolbelt at his waist.  It was warm for the time of year and the hardbodied stud’s stained cotton t-shirt clung so tightly to his chest that his jutting nipples were plainly visible.  His skin-tight jeans did nothing to hide his physique, either; the way they cradled the firm rounded globes of his powerful ass would have attracted the attention of any observers. 

But the only observer was Jarrell.

He’d been nailing fascia boards on a nearly-completed home as quitting time had approached and was still scrambling off the roof when he saw Brock coming, the older man’s shadow stretching out far behind him in the sharply-slanted blood-red rays of the setting sun.  The kid was lean and lithe, but several months of construction work were starting to full him out nicely.  He was sporting a torn and dirty Packers jersey—he was a Redskins fan and the shirt was no more than an old rag to him—a pair of torn, stained jeans, and a cheap knockoff pair of black and red Air Jordans that he felt gave him acceptable traction on the sloping roofs.

Even from this distance, Jarrell could make out the foreman’s muscles working under his clothing, but the arrogant punk refused to acknowledge the stirring in his crotch.  He maintained his disgust at Brock’s faggotry by utterly ignoring his own, totally disregarding the way his own body so obviously responded to the buff hardman’s physique. 

The boy was in dire need of a rough, hard fuck in the ass, but he’d rather die than admit it, even to himself.  The problem was, that attitude was causing all kinds of trouble—not for him, but for others.  Now, it had snared Brock—but Brock wasn’t the kind to calmly accept the teen’s bullshit, especially when it put his job at stake. 

Jarrell could see Brock’s body moving, but not his mind.  If he had, he might have had a bit more anxiety about their meeting.

The house Jarrell was working on was nearing completion; the external plywood had been installed.  No windows or doors were in place and the interior divisions were represented only by studs, but within a week or so, it would be recognizable as a dwelling.  The boy had scrambled off the roof by this point and was in what would become one of the bedrooms, in the process of stowing his gear, when he heard the heavy clumping of Brock’s thick boots on the wooden subflooring below.

“Where are you, J?  We need to talk,” came his deep bass voice.

“I’m up here,” the kid called out, managing to squeeze a considerable amount of surliness into three words. 

The staircase was only half-built, but the steps were in place.  Brock was up in no time.

The two buff males glared at each other; the tension in the air was palpable—and sexual.  As much as Jarrell remained in denial, he couldn’t keep his eyes off the older man’s well-built form.  The punk was so out of tune with himself, he wasn’t aware of his own erection—but Brock damn sure was.  It made him even angrier.  The kid wanted dick, but was such a closeted fuck that he’d do his best to take down any male who inspired erotic thoughts in his twisted little mind. 

That kinda cunt was utterly worthless, in every way.  The young asshole was a mediocre worker at best, and Brock suspected—but didn’t have the proof yet—that he was altering his timecards.  Really, if anything happened to him, the job wouldn’t suffer at all.  Jarrell would be the one suffering.

Deep in Brock’s mind, some part of him wondered why that thought made his long, thick cock pulsate inside his tight jeans, but he ignored it.

“You called Howard on me, you little fuck,” he snarled.

Jarrell blinked; he knew this was gonna be ugly, but he’d expected some kind of palaver at first.  But if that was how the foreman wanted to play it…

“Yeah,” the boy sneered, “I don’t like fags, and I ain’t workin’ for one.”

To his surprise, Brock broke out in a loud, raucous guffaw.  “You don’t like fags?”  the older man chuckled, “Boy, the way yer eyein’ my bulge, even a blind man could see how bad you want the D.  How many cocks you guzzled in the last week, motherfucker?”

Jarrell flushed with rage.  “I ain’t no fuckin’ homo!” he screamed, his unacknowledged, subconscious awareness of the truth of Brock’s taunts jacking up the pitch of his voice. 

The hardbodied stud grinned at the punk.  “Son, yer the biggest cocksuckin’ pansy I ever seen.  Fuck, only reason you were put on this planet is to service real men like me, and I think is past fuckin’ time ya learned it, too.”

Jarrell’s eyes bulged in outraged horror as Brock opened his jeans at the waist, unzipped his fly, and hauled out his massive, dripping shaft.  “C’mon, asswipe, get on yer knees and put it in yer mouth like a good little fairy.”

“You sick fuck…” the teen gasped.

Brock’s grin became evil.  “You have no idea, motherfucker.  But yer gonna.”

The foreman pulled a foot-long crescent wrench out of his toolbelt and advanced on the kid.  Jarrell saw him coming, but it took a moment for him to realize what was happening and react. 

“Wha-what the fuck you doin’?” he stammered, his attempt at threatening anger belied by the sudden fear in his voice.  “You lay a hand on me an’ yer gonna regret it, asshole!”

Saying nothing, Brock continued to advance.  Jarrell began to back up, holding his hands up in front of him.  Somewhere in the depths of his ignorant, white-trash brain, it began to dawn on him that hurling threats at the much more powerful man hadn’t been the best idea, especially since they were alone—and no one else had known about this meeting.  The boy’s fear came sharply into focus.

“H-hey, man, I, uh, I was just kiddin’, y’know?” he babbled, “I ain’t really gonna do nothin’, honest!”

“Yeah,” Brock growled, “I know you ain’t.”  He kept advancing and Jarrell kept retreating until the boy found his back pressed against the rough exterior shell of plywood.  The older man raised his arm; a stray ray of light glinted from the steel wrench into the punk’s eyes, making him flinch.

“Wait—please, no, I—”

He never got to finish the sentence.  Brock slammed the tool into the side of his head and Jarrell slumped to the floor, unconscious.


The first thing Jarrell was aware of was the throbbing ache in his skull; it was echoed by an external throbbing that he knew to be the generator that supplied power for the various on-site tools; he’d shut it off himself.  There was no time to think about why it was on again or what that might mean, though; the next thing he was aware of was a breeze on his torso chill enough to make his nipples achingly erect.  It took a few moments for him to follow the thought process though to the point of realizing that his shirt had been removed.

“Wha—?” he muttered groggily as he felt his legs being jerked around; as he became more conscious, he was able to lift his head, only to see Brock squatting over him, boxcutter in hand, slicing off his jeans. 

“Whafuck ya doin?” the dazed punk slurred.

“I’m gonna give ya what ya want so bad, bitch—my cock.  Gonna shove my rod up yer ass.  Ya like that, yeah?  We both know ya want it, so just shut up and take it.”

“Get ‘way from me…” Jarrell started when Brock leaned over and punched him in the face, almost casually.  The blow was devastating enough to shut the teen punk up, though.  The older man resumed cutting as the boy moaned and wiped away the blood from his split lip with the back of his hand.

“See, cunt, yer mine now,” the foreman continued in a conversational tone, “And I’m gonna do whatever I want to ya.  I mean, you didn’t tell anyone you were gonna meet me here, right?  Stupid fuck.  And everyone knows what a goddam flake ya are, so when you go missin’, it ain’t like anyone’s gonna be worried.”

“Wha?  Missin’?  I ain’t goin’ nowhere…”

Brock’s chuckle was deep and malignant.  “The fuck you ain’t, faggot.  And you ain’t comin’ back, either.”

The kid was still too stunned to fully process the muscle-bound stud’s words beyond realizing that a threat was implied.  The nature of that threat was beyond his grasp at the moment, but Brock planned to make sure he was fully cognizant—in a moment.

First, though, he needed to secure the fuckmeat.

“Get up, cunt,” he snarled, and made sure Jarrell did so, grabbing a handful of the punk’s long dark hair and dragging him upright by the scalp.  The boy was on his feet and being led, stumbling, towards one of the window openings before he even realized what was happening.  For a brief moment, he was seized with a panic, a fear that the angry hardman was gonna hurl him from the second floor.

If he’d known what Brock had planned, he’d have gladly jumped out of his own volition.

His first clue was the industrial nail gun lying on the bare subfloor next to the opening.  The boy’s deficient imagination could find no purpose for the tool in the current context, so he dismissed it—until Brock bent down and picked it up.  Since the buff stud had yet to relinquish his grip on Jarrell’s hair, the kid found himself yanked down to floor level, then back up.  This close, he realized that the tool had been attached to the generator and was fully powered.

Suddenly, the nail gun took on a new and sinister connotation.

“Wh-what’s that f-for?” he quavered, the question forced form him almost involuntarily—he really didn’t want to know the answer.

“To make sure you don’t go no place for a little while,” Brock jeered, his handsome face twisted with malicious lust, “I don’t like faggots tryin’ to get away when I’m plowin’ ‘em.”

And again, the words “I ain’t no faggot” formed in the closeted homo’s mind, but before he could utter them, Brock had grabbed his wrist and forced his hand against the wall, palm against the raw plywood and fingers splayed. 

Jarrell should have been able to guess what was going to happen, but the loud “thunk” of the nail gun firing took him by surprise.  He stared dully at the shining half-inch disk of metal on the back of his hand; it took another ten seconds before the searing pain of having his hand nailed to the wall made its way through his dim, dazed mind.

His scream was projected out the window; it echoed back from the empty shells of the other houses scattered beyond.  Brock chuckled, unconcerned—the site was empty.  Everyone had cleared out and there wasn’t another person within three miles.  “Fuck yeah, now yer startin’ to sound like the bitch you really are.  Here, lessee if we can getcha to do it again!”

He grabbed at Jarrell’s other wrist, but the boy jerked his hand away—instinctively at first, but with increasing determination as he realized that the sadistic foreman was gonna do the same thing to his free hand.  His sudden attempt to struggle was as useless as it was stupid—he had no chance of evading Brock with one hand permanently attached to the wall, and all he was doing was pissing off the musclebound alpha.

“Quit fightin’ me, faggot!” Brock barked.  In his rage, he pressed the nail gun against Jarrell’s smooth, sweat-slicked back and fired it, driving a three-inch nail through both the scapula and the third rib.  The damage was minor, but excruciating, and Jarrell’s shriek made his prior cry seem like the mewling of a kitten.  The sudden rigidity the trauma produced gave Brock the opportunity he was looking for; Jarrell’s lithe body had barely registered the pain before the new agony in his other hand made him weep.

Brock stepped back, grinning, to admire his work.  The teen fuckwad, nude but for his Air Jordans, had been nailed up in front of the window opening, his long boycock flopping in the open air, his firm rounded ass exposed, vulnerable, and perfectly positioned for the older man’s monstrous hog to tear into it at any time Brock wanted.

And Brock wanted—now.

Sobbing and shuddering, the latent pansy asshole could hear the older man’s boots on the floor behind him.  Part of Jarrell’s fear was his inability to understand what was happening to him—not five minutes ago, he was looking forward to having it out with the masculine foreman; what the fuck had happened?

He craned his neck in an attempt to see what Brock was doing.  The buff older man smirked when he saw the teen’s tear-streaked face.  He approached the boy, peeling off his t-shirt and standing next to the trapped punk in muscular semi-nudity.  Despite the pain and the awkward angle of his neck, Jarrell could clearly see Brock’s massive chest, his large nipples jutting above the broad, hubcap pecs and the golden haze of fur that covered the stud’s rock-hard torso.  But it was the threat of his visibly pulsating cock that forced the boy to speak in spite of his fear.

“Y-you can’t do this,” he moaned in the quavering voice of a frightened child, “I’ll tell.  I’ll tell everyone what you did to me—”

He was interrupted by a loud guffaw from the hardbodied foreman.

“Lemme tell ya something, bitch,” Brock said, grinning, “I been thinkin’ ‘bout this for a little bit.  See, this is a construction site.  Lotsa places for accidents to happen—and lotsa places for stupid little cunts like you to go missin’.  And ain’t no one gonna miss ya if you do.”

He approached Jarrell closely enough that the terrified punk could smell the acrid tang of mansweat and testosterone the stud gave off; in spite of the agony of fear in the teen’s conscious mind, his libido responded involuntarily.  Jarrell was a master of denial, though, and utterly refused to acknowledge his own raging erection.

Brock noticed it, of course; it only increased his determination.  “I’ve been havin’ some…interestin’ ideas lately about what I’d do to a worthless piece a’ shit like you if I ever got the chance, but I didn’t think I’d ever get to do ‘em.  Now you just handed me a whole wad of reasons to try ‘em out on you.  Gotta thank ya for that, you dumbass motherfucker.”

He placed his hand on his toolbelt.  Stupid as Jarrell was, he still understood the significance of the movement and very quickly changed his tune. 

“P-pl-please, oh god, please, I-I was just kiddin’ when I said I’d tell,” the teen babbled in panic,  “I sw-swear I won’t tell no one, just don’t hurt me, oh fuck oh god please don’t—”

Brock smiled sweetly, almost gently at the weeping punk.  “Hurt ya?  Cunt, I ain’t gonna hurt ya.  Hurt don’t come close to what I’m gonna do to ya.”

As Jarrell moaned in abject terror, Brock realized how erotic the mere mindfuck was and kept up the pressure.  “And I know you ain’t gonna tell no one.  By the time they find you, I’ll’ve fucked you up so bad they ain’t gonna be able to tell what happened to ya…if they find ya at all, har!”

The stupid young punk’s moaning became more pronounced when Brock stepped behind him and the boy felt the massive head of the stud’s cock probing his virgin asshole.  “Yer gonna love this, faggot,” the foreman jeered as his big strong hands grabbed Jarrell by the hips and pulled his pelvis backwards to position him for penetration.  The kid cried out in pain as the movement jerked his hands, tearing the wounds caused by the nails—not enough to free him but enough to hurt.

“Aw fuck yeah!” Brock said, “Ya like that feelin’, huh?  Ya like bein’ hurt, you worthless fuck?  Buckle up, asswipe, ‘cause I’m gonna rip yer ass open like a log splitter!”

Jarrell didn’t have time to brace himself before Brock was inside him, plowing deeply and relentlessly though his colon. 

As bad as the pain in his hands and his shoulder was, it was nothing compared to the agony of having his tender sphincter torn to shreds by the older man’s huge, vein-wreathed shaft.    It hurt so bad that Jarrell couldn’t believe he was being fucked—he was sure that Brock had jammed a baseball bat up his ass; only the feel of the foreman’s wiry fur scraping against his smooth back as he thrust himself remorselessly into the boy’s guts convinced him otherwise.

Brock ran his hands along Jarrell’s smooth, heaving flanks, slick with the cold sweat that physical agony was forcing from the teen’s lithe body.  The kid’s subdued blubbering added an aural counterpoint to the rough smacking sound of flesh on flesh and the hardbodied sadist’s grunts of pleasure as he plowed the youth’s fuckhole.

Jarrell’s mind was starting to cave under the physical onslaught—and it wasn’t helping that he could feel his own long, thick dick swinging between his legs with every thrust of the alpha’s hips.  What little lucidity the pain and terror left him with was unable to process why he was sporting a raging erection during a violent rape; he had no idea that part of it was an involuntary reaction from the way Brock’s tackle was brutally massaging his prostate—and he damn sure refused to recognize his own deep-seated desire to get reamed like a whore.  But his body understood what his mind shied away from, and as the older man’s pounding became more intense, precum began to ooze form the teen’s rod, spattering against the bare plywood wall beneath the window opening.

As Brock’s fucking became more intense, he felt his loosened jeans begin to slide down.  Soon his muscular ass was bare, the taut, hairy cheeks clenching and flexing visibly with each deep, brutal thrust.  They didn’t slide any further, so he didn’t bother to pull them back up—his toolbelt was still in reach, which was the important thing.  But the nail gun wasn’t, and Brock realized he was likely gonna need it soon—the fuckmeat was getting restless.

Between the pain and the sexual assault, Jarrell had been in a deep, uncomprehending mental fugue, a haze of agony and bewilderment.  It was sunset on a Friday night; he was supposed to be meeting some buds to down a few brews, pass a joint or two, and brag about the chicks they’d fucked—all lies, of course, but it was his routine, and one he enjoyed.  What was happening to him now was surreal, not real.  This was some kinda nightmare and he needed to force him self to wake up.  Twisting and jerking his lithe, sweating body, the teen pulled himself forward every time Brock’s enormous hog was thrust up his ass, deliberately avoiding the sheer agony of the massive member tearing into his guts.  It was pissing Brock off, but Jarrell didn’t know that and wouldn’t have cared if he had.  All he wanted to do was stop the pain.

“Stop it, ya useless faggot,” the alpha snarled, “Yer gonna stay still and take my cock if I hafta nail you in place to do it.”

That was enough for Jarrell.  He heard the threat without processing the literal meaning of the words, and he couldn’t take it anymore.  With a violent lunge forward, he managed to pull himself off Brock huge shaft with an audible popping noise, a loud, inarticulate cry of relief slipping from his lips as he did so.

Brock’s handsome face flushed with rage—but now he was free to retrieve the nail gun.  He stooped and swiftly snatched it up as Jarrell began gingerly testing his hands, trying to find a way to free them without incurring more pain.  The assfuck had hurt so bad that it literally hadn’t occurred to him that he was still trapped and no better off now than he had been, aside from the fact that he was no longer being impaled by Brock’s rod—but that was only temporary.

“Ok, you worthless piece a’ shit, you asked for it,” the hardbodied foreman barked, brandishing his dick in one hand and the nail gun in the other.  Jarrell whimpered in terror and yanked his hands even harder, tearing at the flesh and tendons but still unable to break free.  When the pain hit him from behind, that cruelly lucid part of his mind was amazed at how full of cock he was; it was like being hollowed out so his body could be nothing more than a sheath for the older man’s shaft.

But then Brock wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled, bending Jarrell’s lean young body backward.  The boy could see the alpha’s hand coming around, clutching the large, intimidating nail gun; he could feel the cold metal pressed against his flat, heaving belly—and he could hear the loud “thunk” as Brock fired it.

There was no bone to arrest the progress of the nail; all three inches of sharp steel punched cleanly and instantly into the kid’s guts with the head flush against his smooth skin.

“NGAH!” he screamed mindlessly as his body went rigid with pain.  “Aw, fuck yeah, that’s it, bitch!” Brock muttered as the teen’s asshole gripped his pulsating tool in agony, “That’s whatcha needed to work my dick, huh?  Shit, cunt, take it again!”

He fired four more nails into Jarrell’s belly in rapid succession, lowering the gun about an inch each time until the lowest was just above the punk’s jutting erection.  This last one tore into the boy’s bladder, eliciting a scream that reverberated in the empty room and beyond.

And at each one, the teen’s colon clutched Brock’s massive tool as if the bitch was actively working to make the alpha cum.  His torso, slick with cold sweat, shuddered against the foreman’s hairy chest with every puncture as his entire body bucked involuntarily in pain.

For Brock, it was an epiphany.  He’d fantasized about doing this kinda thing before, but he’d always kept himself under enough control to avoid doing anything that would cause trouble.  But the meat had started the trouble this time; in the alpha’s mind, that relieved him of any responsibility for what happened next.  Jarrell had brought this on himself—and Brock was having the time of his life.

“Goddam, asswipe, I gotta remember this next time,” he whispered to Jarrell, the rough blond scruff on his cheek scraping the teen’s ear.  “Course, you ain’t gonna be there for that—yer gonna die on my dick here and now.  Fuck, cunt, feels so fuckin’ good, don’t it?  Lessee if I can make it feel any better…”

Jarrell felt the nail gun’s removal from his belly but he didn’t start babbling in utter terror until he felt it pressed against his right ear.

“Oh Jesus no don’t dear God NO NO—” KA-THUNK!

The teen’s physical reaction as three inches of sharp steel tore through his ear drum and plunged into his brain were indescribable; Brock’s pulsating rod had never been worked so well.  It didn’t shut Jarrell up—but the effect of a nail to the skull was obvious.

“AAAGH no pleath no more sthop it Jethuth help me MOMMY PLEATH—”

WHAM!  WHAM!  Brock had raised the gun slightly and fired two more into the punk’s long dark hair.  The lithe young body thrashed and flailed as the kid continued to cry out, but by now his brain had been damaged past the point of no return.

“IGTH!  AGG!  NGTH!” the young faggot blurted out incoherently, no longer able to form words—but still conscious and excruciatingly aware of what was happening to him. 

But just in case he wasn’t, Brock made certain to enlighten him.

“There we go, motherfucker—now yer just a piece of meat to be fucked, yeah?  All ya ever were to begin with, cocksucker, but now I don’t have to hear ya beggin’ for yer worthless life.  It’s all gonna be over soon anyway, cunt—just make me cum and I’ll end yer pain.  That’s whatcha want now, meat, right?  So work my dick, you useless faggot.  Milk my load so I can put ya down like ya need, bitch!”

Jarrell heard Brock’s words, but he didn’t have the ability to process them.  The nail shot through his right ear had done more than just fuck up his hearing; the delicate balance mechanism of the inner ear had been instantly destroyed and the hapless teen was swept up in a tidal wave of nauseating vertigo that only enhanced his agony. Even the vision in his left eye was gone.

The young punk gagged and babbled uselessly as his heart raced in panic.  Deep under the screaming agony, enough of what passed for his intellect still existed—enough to know that he’d suffered irremediable brain damage.  Worse, it wasn’t bad enough to prevent him from suffering; in fact, it had increased his sensitivity in some perverse way.  Every nail embedded in his lean youthful body felt like a railroad spike, Brock’s vicious reaming seemed to be ripping his guts out through his ass with each powerful thrust—even the swinging and bobbing of his own swollen, leaking cock caused him unspeakable agony.

And deep inside, the stupid little cunt had managed to realize that worse was to come.  He knew that the death the alpha was going to inflict on him would culminate in unspeakable pain, even if he didn’t know how.

Brock didn’t keep him long in suspense.

The helpless homo, lost in his terror, never heard the metallic click as the buff foreman opened up his boxcutter, but he felt it when Brock placed the well-worn edge of the blade against the soft, vulnerable flesh of his throat.   “I’m gonna cum in yer ass, bitch,” Brock hissed in his ear, “And I’m gonna rip yer throat open when I do.  Fuckin’ hot as hell, yeah?  Shit, I always wanted to do this to a useless piece a’ meat—and you gave me just what I wanted, cunt.  Goddam, my balls ache so bad—aw fuck, I’m gonna unload!  Ya ready, asshole?  Ready to gargle yer own blood as I fill yer guts with my spunk?  Yeah, faggot, here we fuckin’ go!”

For one brief moment, Jarrell felt the hot splash of the foreman’s potent seed spurting into his intestines, and then it was lost in the horror of the boxcutter digging into his neck.  The blade needed changing; a sharper blade would have made a smoother, faster cut but this one was old and nicked.  It didn’t slit the teen’s throat so much as puncture the skin, then rip the flesh apart.

It took some effort, too.  The esophagus is a rubbery piece of tissue; Brock grunted and spewed, his masculine face twisted into a mask of rage and lust as his bicep bulged with the force needed to open up the punk’s windpipe.  Jarrell screamed loudly and shrilly, the sound of a pig being slaughtered; as his trachea was torn open, the shriek became a gurgling hiss accompanied by a spray of aspirated blood.

A n iron-like scent filled the unfinished room as a scarlet jet pumped out of the gaping wound, spattering on the mud and dirt below the open window space.  The dying boy thrashed in terror and mortal agony as blood poured into his lungs but his dick never lost its excruciating rigidity.  Jarrell never knew that Brock had dropped the boxcutter and swung the nail gun around to his crotch, but in his last few moments alive, he experienced the nightmarish pain of having two nails fired into his scrotum.  The sharpened steel tore through his semen-filled testicles; the sudden explosion of physical trauma triggering an orgasm of unimaginable force.

As Jarrell died, a steady geyser of blood-tainted cum erupted from his thick boycock, shooting out the window and into the coppery pool that was already seeping into the dusty ground below.  The convulsion had been so intense that the kid had jerked backwards against Brock’s hard, hairy torso with such violence that he ripped his hands loose, finally freeing himself when it was too late to do him any good.  The nails were still embedded in the wall, bloody, a length of tendon dangling from the one on the right.

With a deep, satisfied moan, Brock stepped back and let the quivering fagmeat slide off his still-oozing shaft; it collapsed in a heap on the raw subfloor.   The buff older man was sweaty and trembling with exertion and sexual satisfaction; he’d known a snuff kill would be hot, but he’d had no idea it would feel so good.  The sheer sense of power he’d had over the trapped youth had intensified his pleasure so much that it rang a warning bell in the back of his mind—he could easily get addicted to the sensation.

He’d have to be very, very careful.

That started now.  He looked down at the huddled pile of boymeat shuddering at his feet.  Luckily, there wasn’t much blood on the interior of the structure—it was notoriously hard to remove from bare plywood—but the well-used corpse needed disposal.  The foreman pondered for a moment, then remembered the subdivision entrance.

A large sign was being erected where the primary drive for the area under construction branched off the main road; it was going to be a tall, elaborate structure and deep pilings were needed to support it.  The excavations for the pilings had already been dug and the concrete was going in tomorrow.  It would be a simple matter to dump the dead bitch down the hold, shovel some dirt over the corpse, and let the crew finish the job in the morning.  The worthless little fuck would never be found.

As he bent to retrieve Jarrell’s body, Brock felt the chill breeze on his firm, hairy ass and realized his jeans were still around his knees.  He pulled them up and fastened them at the waist, leaving his cock hanging out the open fly—it was still dripping and he didn’t want a stain in his groin.  Then he grabbed the dead teen, sliding his hands under the boy’s arms, and dragged him out of the room.

Jarrell’s feet thumped on the stairs; his heels dug furrows in the dirt as Brock dragged the twitching corpse the two hundred yards to the gaping hole.  With a twist of his muscular torso, he threw the body in, hearing the thud as it landed in the dirt twenty feet below.  Grabbing a spade from a nearby stack of tools, he quickly shoveled some loose dirt on top of the dead punk—just enough to cover it so it wouldn’t be seen from ground level; no more was needed.

Brock wiped his hands down and felt satisfied with his work, until he realized that the little cunt’s clothes were back in the unfinished house.  Muttering under his breath, angry at his own carelessness, he retraced his steps—and was glad he did so.  He hadn’t realized that Jarrell’s kicks had come off as the faggot had been dragged to his grave.  As he strode along, he bent down and snatched up one, then the other, before entering the house and gabbing the kid’s clothes.

By the time Brock got back to his truck, he’d made a decision.  The clothes were a total loss, cut to shreds; he’d dump them in a random trash can.  The Air Jordans, though, were a different matter.  He’d already used one to wipe off his dick, rubbing his long member inside it to clean the last of his cum of the head.  He wanted a trophy.  It had been a fantastic fuck, and he knew a physical connection to the kill would help keep it fresh in his mind.

Besides, they were in good shape and looked like they might fit him.  He tossed the clothes in the bed of his truck, then climbed inside and placed the sneakers in the passenger seat next to him, glancing at them periodically and grinning as he drove off the site.  Who knows? he thought.  He might wear them himself if he decided to do this again.

And the way he felt, that seemed very likely.

Rocko Busts Robbie

Rocko was drunk and angry, and that was a dangerous combination.  Stopping off at a bar after work hadn’t taken the sting out of getting fired; on the contrary, the cheap alcohol had stoked his temper to the boiling point.  But that was ok—he’d be able to vent it.  Robbie was waiting for him.

He’d picked Robbie up some three weeks ago as he was heading west after killing Jessie.  The boy had been hitching and eagerly jumped into Rocko’s battered Ford.  It was obvious from the start that the little fucker was a fag and the escaped murderer had no qualms about letting the boy service his dick.

So Rocko had gotten a room in a sleazy by-the-week motel that asked no questions, and had manage to work himself into a team lead job in a warehouse, under the table, cash pay only—the warehouse staff themselves were ex-cons and finding someone able to control them had been impossible; the owner was desperate.  

Robbie hadn’t been able to find anything.  He claimed to be eighteen, but he looked a couple of years younger and had no ID.  Youth and inexperience had prevented legal employment and while he could easily have turned tricks, Rocko didn’t need his fucktoy to get picked up by the police and lead them straight back to him—after all, he was officially a serial killer at this point.

But things were different now.  Evidently Rocko’s management style was too rough, even for a bunch of hard-core convicts.  Faced with a choice between dumping Rocko or a revolt among his ferocious workforce, the warehouse owner had very abruptly given Rocko the ax as of quitting time.

So now the muscle-bound killer was headed back to his cheap little motel room, drunk, in a foul mood, and with little cash.  He needed someone on whom he could vent his rage, and Robbie was a sitting duck.


Rocko was late, and Robbie was worried.  If he was late, something might be wrong, and if something was wrong, Rocko could get mean.  Like, real mean.

It was that aggressive roughness that had attracted the little homo to the hulking alpha with the buzz cut and the strawberry blond goatee; the moment he’d hopped into Rocko’s car, he’d inhaled the heady scent of testosterone and adrenaline given off by the dangerous-looking stud, and he’d been hooked.

Robbie’s body was relatively average; he wasn’t a skinny twink, but he wasn’t well-built, either.  He had brown hair with long bangs that almost covered his widely-spaced eyes, large and brown, like a spaniel’s.  The adolescent was a true bottom pig faggot; from the moment he’d hit puberty, he’d been shoving things up his ass.  His sexual behavior was out of control to the point that his parents sought professional help—at which point, Robbie ran away.

He was still running when he met Rocko, and he knew at a glance that this was a man who could give him the brutal assfuck of his dreams, and he’d been right.  In the few weeks they’d been together, Rocko had repeatedly plowed his hole with a total lack of respect that Robbie found incredibly erotic.

But as much as Robbie liked it rough, Rocko was becoming increasingly violent, and it had begun to scare the boy.  The tatted hardman was hot as hell, but he was much stronger and more powerful than the adolescent, and Robbie knew that if Rocko ever really decided to hurt him, there was little he could do to stop it.

Robbie didn’t believe Rocko would ever actually do anything to him, but that didn’t stop the butterflies in his stomach.  He had bad news tonight, and the thought of having to tell Rocko intimidated him.  It intimidated him even more when he heard gravel crunching outside the door to the room.  The heavy rumbling of the ancient Ford was unmistakable—Rocko was home.

The moment he threw the door open, Robbie knew there was gonna be trouble.  The older man filled the doorway, his muscular body as clearly revealed by his tight clothing as if he’d been nude.  The stained wifebeater was at least two sizes too small and stretched over his furry pecs nearly to the point of bursting.  The worn, faded jeans tucked into a pair of Carolina logger boots highlighted his powerful thighs, hard ass, and the massive bulge in his crotch.  Nearly visible waves of mansweat and alcohol radiated from him as he stormed in the door.

Robbie, who had been lolling on the bed, his youthful form clad only in red bikini briefs and white ankle socks, immediately jumped to his feet.  Rocko was drunker than Robbie had ever seen him, which was a bad sign.  The vicious alpha wasn’t just a mean drunk—he didn’t lose control.  Booze made Rocko violent and brutal, but it didn’t make him pass out.  Robbie needed to pass his news on before things got worse.

“Hey, uh, the manager was here today,” he blurted out before Rocko could speak, “He says if we don’t pay the past due rent by tomorrow morning, he’s calling the sheriff to have us thrown out.”

The effect on Rocko was surprising and not as bad as Robbie had anticipated, at least at first.  The older man paused and seemed to be thinking about something, which was better than just swinging his fists.  Thinking the worst was over, the boy turned back to the bed to light the joint he’d rolled just before he’d heard the car.  In that position, he couldn’t see the look on Rocko’s face change.

It was an easy calculation for the experienced killer; he didn’t have the money, and he didn’t want to face the sheriff.  He needed to bug out, now, tonight.

And he needed to travel light.  No useless meat tagging along for the ride.  Rocko had only kept Robbie around as a fucktoy; he thought the kid was a worthless piece of shit, but he was handy to bang. 

Rocko’s internal rage came to a sudden white-hot focus.  This was all the cunt’s fault anyway.  It had been the one to pick this dump, it was incapable of supporting itself—and Rocko had made it interact with the motel staff.  No one had seen, or could ID Rocko.

The look of anger on the escaped convict’s face became something much colder and more frightening.  As Rocko contemplated expressing his true hatred of the faggot piece of shit, his expression became one of malignant lust.  And poor teenaged Robbie, sitting on the bed and taking a huge hit of the cheap smelly skunk weed he’d bought, was utterly oblivious to the fact that a hellish nightmare of agony and rape would be unleashed on him before he could finish getting high.

The ultimate trigger was innocuous enough.  “Boy, go get me a beer,” Rocko demanded as he crossed the room and began pulling off his sweat-stained shirt.  Robbie, with a vague sense of the simmering anger beneath Rocko’s cold surface, did as he was told.  The minifridge’s modernity was jarringly incongruous with the dilapidated thirty-year-old furniture; the only thing it all had in common was cheapness.  The fridge would only hold a single six-pack—but tonight, it didn’t even hold that.

“There’s, uh, there’s only one left…” the teen slut stammered diffidently.

“What?” Rocko barked, “What was that?  You were supposed to go—”

“I forgot,” Robbie said quickly and quietly, and they both knew it was the truth.  He’d spent the day getting stoned and getting Rocko more beer had slipped his mind.

He was still reaching into the fridge when he heard a metallic rattling behind him.  Retrieving the single cold beer can, he turned around to see Rocko sliding the chain lock on the door.

“What’s that for?” he asked, handing the hulking convict the beer, but Rocko didn’t answer immediately.  He reached out and snatched the can that Robbie was holding, popped the top, and swilled down nearly half of it.  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked steadily at Robbie.

“It’s for you, bitch,” he replied, then grabbed the teen by the neck.  Almost casually, he lifted the boy single-handedly by the throat and pulled him in close.  Robbie’s air was nearly cut off, but not completely.  This close, he could smell the mansweat, hormones, and alcohol washing off Rocko’s hard body.

Robbie’s fingers dug at Rocko’s hand as his feet kicked helplessly eight inches above the thin, stained carpet.  The boy was scared; Rocko had hurt him before, but this was on a different level.

It got worse when the escaped killer spoke.

“Yer a worthless piece of shit, ya know that, cunt?” he growled.  “I only asked ya to do one goddam thing today, faggot.  One—goddam—thing, just get me more beer.  I even left ya the cash for it.  What’d ya do, spend it on something else?  I’m fucking sick of this bullshit and I’m puttin’ an end to it right now!”

Robbie still had the cash—he hadn’t left the room—but before he could even formulate the words of denial, he was flying through the air.  He slammed into the wall, putting a huge hole in the sheetrock, before he even realized Rocko had flung him across the room with the ease of a rag doll.

Stunned, Robbie managed to pull himself up on his hands and knees.  He was still staring down at the floor when Rocko’s boots came into view and the older man’s voice came rumbling from above.

“Boy, yer lazy and stupid, and you ain’t even a good fuck no more.  Little homos like you can’t take a real man’s cock; yer fuckhole gets all stretched out and you ain’t no good for nothin’.”

Rocko bent down and, grabbing a hank of Robbie’s hair, used it to drag him up, first to his knees, then to his feet—squealing in pain all the way as his hair was nearly pulled out by the roots.  When he finally stood facing Rocko, his face was clouded by fear and confusion.

“I—I d-don’t un-understand—” he sniveled.

“Bitch, you’ve had this comin’ for a long time,” Rocko snarled.

Robbie saw Rocko drawing back his powerful, heavily-inked arm in horror; everything seemed to be moving in slow motion—especially Robbie himself.  He could see what was coming at him but knew there was no way he could avoid it.  The blow landed in his gut like a cannonball, forcing the teen to violently empty his lungs with a shrill squeal.  As he clutched his throbbing belly and doubled over, Robbie saw Rocko’s denim-clad knee shooting up towards his face.

This impact straightened the boy back up, sending him reeling backwards into the dresser; if the no-name flatscreen TV hadn’t been bolted to its surface, it would have been knocked off.  As it was, Robbie hit it hard enough to crack the screen.

The adolescent slut fell to his knees, still gasping.  He kept trying to inhale as he watched the hulking killer grin and unzip his jeans, extracting his massive, pulsating shaft like he was pulling a rope out of a well.  Rocko slowly approached, his grin broadening, until he stood in front of the kid, looming over him. 

Robbie didn’t look up; he didn’t dare.  Whatever Rocko had done to him before was nothing to what was about to happen; he knew that already.  And as much as he liked rough sex, he didn’t want to actually be hurt.  He began to beg, weeping openly.

“P-pl-please don’t,” he wailed, “Oh god, please, don’t hurt me, Rocko, I’ll do anything, please don’t no no NO NO NO—”

Rocko put an end to the pathetic babbling with a swift, vicious kick to the solar plexus.  Leaving the whore wheezing and gurgling on the floor in a fetal position, Rocko finished the beer he was still holding, then tossed it at the writhing, moaning fuckmeat.

“You stay right there, faggot, ya hear me?” the fugitive killer jeered, “I gotta take a leak.  Don’t you go nowhere, fucker; the real fun ain’t startin’ till I get back.  Haw!”

Still struggling to breathe, Robbie heard Rocko’s words.  He also heard the killer’s boots on the bathroom tiles and the loud steady pounding of the stud’s urine hitting the bowl.  It seemed to take forever.

It seemed to take forever to Rocko, too.  He knew he’d drunk a lot, but he was surprised at the volume his bladder seemed to hold.  After a while, the stream died to a trickle, and as it did, he realized he could hear noises from the bedroom.  The meat was up and moving.

Rocko dashed from the bathroom to find Robbie fumbling with the chain lock.  The kid turned and gave him one wild-eyed look and scrambled frenetically at the lock, sobbing loudly.  He managed to get the chain lock free, despite his hands trembling in terror—but then Rocko was on him, and it was too late.

Even as Rocko grabbed him by the right wrist and yanked him around, Robbie pissed himself in terror, the acrid urine darkening the red briefs and running down his smooth thighs.  The kid was bawling like a baby but his voice rose to a loud, shrill bleat of agony as the powerful killer casually jerked the punk’s arm up and back, snapping the bones of the forearm just below the wrist as well as breaking the wrist itself.  The sound of many small bones being broken at once was like popcorn, but it was barely audible over Robbie’s cries of pain.

That pissed Rocko off.  He liked to hear the meat being hurt.

“Shut the fuck up, you worthless sack of shit,” he snarled.  Pinning Robbie to the door, he drove his fist into the kid’s face in four rapid, powerful punches like the blows of an industrial piston.

The motel was old and not well kept up, but the management had—many years ago—provided a concession towards safety; the doors might have been hollow-core, but they were metal, and a relatively thick metal at that.  They didn’t remain on a number of the rooms, but it had taken SWAT team battering rams to remove them.  This room, though, still had one.

Rocko hit Robbie so hard it left a dent in the door.

He dropped the kid, leaving him coughing up blood and teeth, a huddled pile of meat on the floor, as he headed back to the fridge for another beer.  It took opening the door and seeing nothing behind it to remind him there were no more—but that was all it took to restoke his murderous rage.

He turned back to the helpless, crying teen boy, his black cold heart full of lust and rage.  The little cunt hadn’t suffered enough.  Oh fuck no—not nearly enough.

That was gonna change.  Now.

Robbie managed to roll over onto his back, his face smeared with blood, as Rocko strode back him.  Looking up through tear-blurred eyes at the towering alpha, Robbie could see the huge pulsing shaft already dripping with precum.  Somewhere deep inside his cowering faggot mentality, the teen punk realized that Rocko wasn’t gonna be satisfied with just beating him to a pulp.

His fears were confirmed almost immediately.  The hulking killer bent down, his huge furry pecs coming into view—a reminder of his overwhelming physical power, which he promptly demonstrated by hoisting Robbie by the neck single-handedly again, this time from a prone position on the floor. 

If the homo hadn’t been in such pain and terror, he might have admired the sheer strength required for such a feat—or perhaps not, as it was clear that all that power was about to be used to make him suffer.  But Robbie was too busy gagging and choking, blood splattering from his mangled mouth, to have an objective viewpoint.  His left hand dug futilely at Rocko’s vise-like grip; his right hand jerked and twitched uselessly, every movement painfully jarring broken bones together.

Rocko had lifted barbells heavier than Robbie with ease in prison; this was nothing for him.  He held the choking faggot straight out at arm’s length, grinning, as he carried him across to the door.  The boy’s white ankle socks flailed uselessly inches above the floor as Rocko slowly and patiently re-engaged the chain lock.

“Ain’t no one gonna disturb us now, boy,” Rocko chuckled, leering into the kid’s swollen, blackening face as he started back across the room towards the bed.  “You gotta lesson to learn, motherfucker, and I’m gonna make damn sure you learn it good.  You get me, cocksucker?  Yeah?  You ready to gain some knowledge, asswipe?  Fuck yeah!  Here’s lesson number one!”

Robbie was on the verge of passing out, and he was grateful.  He’d heard Rocko’s words and knew he should feel fear, but everything seemed to be fading…  Then Rocko drove his muscular arm downward with a violent lunge, striking the shabby bedside table with a blow powerful enough to collapse it—except Rocko hadn’t hit it with his fist.  He hit it using Robbie’s head.

“Lesson one—no pain, no gain.  You gain any knowledge yet, cunt?  No?  Figures, stupid fuckin’ faggot.  Guess I’m gonna hafta beat some sense into ya, then.”

Things had happened too fast for the adolescent slut; he could breathe again, but was too dazed to think; he could only lie among the pieces of the table and the now-broken telephone and clock.  Unfortunately, he was unable to control an involuntary jerk of fear. 

Even worse, Rocko saw it and interpreted it as a nascent attempt at escape. 

His movement were calm and controlled though.  Standing over the shuddering punk, he slowly raised one leg, his skin-tight jeans clinging to his powerful ass as one cheek dimpled with the flexing of his powerful thigh.  Robbie saw it and knew something bad was about to happen, but he had no idea what.

He had a very clear idea what a second later when the thick treaded sole of Rocko’s Carolina logging boot came crashing down on his kneecap, shattering the patella like a cheap china cup.  Rocko ground his boot into the wreckage of the meat’s knee as Robbie squealed and bleated like a dying lamb.

“Maybe that’ll tighten up yer loose faggot fuckhole,” the sadistic alpha grunted as he reached down and grabbed the mewling homo by the upper arm and tossed him onto the unmade bed like he was just another pillow.  “Lesson two—you don’t get nothin’ for nothin’.  I been supportin’ yer useless pansy ass for weeks, and you ain’t done nothin’ for me.  You ain’t even a good cumdump.  Time to pay up, motherfucker.”

He bent down and clutched Robbie’s jaw in an agonizingly tight grip, forcing the whore to look at him directly.  He spat in the boy face and snarled, “Here’s some more knowledge for ya, bitch.  Wanna know how to make a fag’s fuckhole nice and tight?”

He bent down till his hyper-masculine face, lit up with insane hate and lust, filled the terrified teenager’s field of vision.  “Pain, motherfucker.  Make it hurt.  The more the fag suffers, the better it works yer shaft.  Don’t believe me, yeah?  Fuck you, cocksucker—I’m gonna prove it to ya!  Saddle up, fuckmeat, you got some hot, hard learnin’ to do!”

With a single violent jerk, Rocko snatched Robbie’s briefs off, shedding the fabric like it was paper, leaving the kid’s thick seven-inch boycock lolling atop his large, spunk-filled balls on a bed of dark wiry pubes.  The towering sadist leered down at the agonized youth; he was already familiar with the lithe teen body, but the way it glistened now under the overhead bulb—the only light remaining in the room—filled him with the uncontrollable urge to fuck it into pieces, to utterly destroy the little cunt.

With a snarl of hate-stoked lust, Rocko mounted the bed, brandishing his enormous oozing cock like a deadly weapon.  Forcing the catatonic teen’s legs apart, the hulking convict aimed his massive shaft at the kid’s fuckhole and drove it in balls-deep like he was drilling for oil.

In the past, Robbie had always insisted that Rocko use lube and penetrate him slowly; otherwise, the alpha’s rod of manmeat was far too huge to take.  Now, the little homo slut was being forced to take it raw, and the glassy, knifelike agony of his sphincter being torn in three separate places was enough to bring Robbie out of his dazed state.  Blood flew from his badly-damaged mouth as his voice spiraled in monstrous agony till it cracked and became a useless wheeze—but at the same time, his own thick cock, helpless in response to the relentless grinding on his prostate, inexorably began stiffening despite the pain and terror.

Rocko felt the teen’s dick pressing against his rock-hard abs and sneered.  “Shit, I beat the fuck outta ya, and you get hard.  Fuckin’ sick-ass pervert—ya like it, dontcha?”

If Robbie had been in a position to speak, he might have protested—although he probably would have been too busy begging Rocko not to hurt him—but even in his agony, the teen was aware of his own erection.  At the moment, it was a minor distraction in a world of pain and once Rocko spoke again, it faded even farther into the background.

“Fuck cunt, if ya get off on pain, yer gonna blow your load when I waste yer worthless ass.  Yeah?  Yer gonna die on my cock like a bitch.  Sound good, motherfucker?    Hell, bet yer fag ass has been dreamin’ of the day I finally end yer worthless pansy life, har!”

The muscled killer laughed maliciously, then spit again in the kid’s face.  After screaming his voice out, Robbie had become strangely inert; his twisted face, streaming with tears, evidenced his extreme agony, but he barely moved once Rocko’s massive tool was shoved into his guts.  The firm globes of the older man’s ass tautened into rock-hard masses with each vicious thrust of his hips, driving his long, stallion-like shaft deep into the adolescent’s innards, but the boy barely seemed to notice.  The sweat forced from him by sheer physical agony kept his skin smooth and slick; he slid against Rocko’s furry, muscled form as if he’d been lubed, his breathing was labored and he emitted a faint whining sound, but his resistance had ceased.  It was as if his psyche had completely collapsed.

Rocko had seen this before.  That teen cunt he’d raped and snuffed, the one that got him put in jail, had done this.  Stupid little fag had gone into shock while Rocko was busy laying pipe up its ass.  He’d learned something useful at the time—the best way to snap a bitch out of it was cutting off its oxygen. 

The huge, hardbodied killer grinned, wrapped his massive hands around the punk’s throat and began to squeeze.

Rocko had been correct; Robbie’s eyes instantly popped wide open.  His lean, slick body writhed under Rocko’s weight as his left hand dug frantically at the convict’s fingers.  Even his right arm beat against the stud’s flank, the hand flopping uselessly and agonizingly—the slut was in too much fear to notice the pain.

The kid had known that this was gonna be a bad scene, and he knew he had no way out.  He was a useless little faggot bitch with no coping skills; his only option was withdrawal into his oh-so-shallow mind until it passed.  It worked well; he heard Rocko’s announcement of his impending death but it utterly failed to register. 

That all changed the moment he found himself unable to inhale.  There’d been no warning, nothing to allow him to draw in a lungful of air to help hold on. The need for oxygen was immediate and so urgent that his mental refuge became a luxury he could no longer afford.

Robbie started to fight for air—really fight, for the first time in his short, wasted life.  The danger had been always been implicit, but the teen slut was finally realizing that he might not get out of the situation alive.  As usual, he his estimate was ill-informed; there was no “might” about it, and Rocko drove that point home.

By driving his fist into Robbie’s face.

The first blow had been one of annoyance; sick of the cunt’s pathetic attempts to fend him off, Rocko clutched his throat with one powerful hand, continuing the relentless pressure on his windpipe, while balling up the other fist and slamming it into the boy’s damaged mouth.  The sadist had hoped to teach the little fag to shut up and take what he had coming—but the impact made the fucker briefly go rigid.  All of him.  Including his torn asshole.

The way the teen’s silky colon gripped the engorged head of the alpha’s cock was unbelievable; it was like the asswipe was deliberately trying to jack him off.  “Fuckin’ asshole,” the heaving, thrusting muscleman grunted as he cornholed the adolescent’s fuckhole, “Gotta waste yer worthless ass to finally get ya to work my shaft right, so suffer and die, motherfucker.  I wanna get at least one decent fuck outta yer homo ass ‘fore I split this scene.”   

Robbie managed to get one of his swollen, blackened eyes cracked open just wide enough to see Rocko’s inked bicep swell with power as his fist surged forward like a runaway train, pulping the teen’s nose with a thick, meaty crunch.  After that, though, progressive asphyxia forced the unlucky teenager’s eyes to bulge from their sockets; while he could no longer close his lids, Robbie was unable to focus properly.

And anyway, the huge black blooms of petechial hemorrhaging were beginning to cover his vision.  Despite his desperate attempts to escape it, death was starting to overtake Robbie.  His lean, youthful body was sweating and shuddering, his firm smooth thighs locked tightly around Rocko’s waist as if he was a virgin fag getting its hole drilled for the first time—and the teen’s cock was just as hard on the day he was losing his life as on the day he’d lost his virginity.

It was so hard it hurt.  Robbie had on been vaguely aware of his hard-on—the beating, the broken bones, the vicious, raw rape had made it seem a minor matter.  But brutal prostate stimulation and lack of oxygen had both combined to force an erection of such rock-hard rigidity that the teen cunt couldn’t help but feel agony every time Rocko’s wiry belly fur abraded the hypersensitive skin of his shaft like steel wool.

The vicious serial killer could feel the boy’s dick pressed against him; experience had taught him what it meant, even if the punk’s blackened, drooling face didn’t paint an even clearer picture of Robbie’s imminent death.  The adolescent’s struggles were slowing; his feet were still flailing and kicking in mid-air, but somehow one of his socks had slipped off and fallen to the bed like a dead leaf, leaving the teen’s foot bare, toes curling in mortal agony.  His right arm twitched and jerked, while his left hand, which had been clawing at his closed-off throat, was now almost caressing Rocko’s hard pecs, the fingers trailing limply through the thick chest hair.

As the teen’s lithe, lean body convulsed under him, Rocko looked into the kid’s face, watching the drool foam around the black, protruding tongue.  The experienced killer stared into the faggot’s bloodshot eyes, hoping to catch the exact moment the light of life faded from them, but the wild frenetic look to be seen there told of nothing but the boy’s suffering and nightmarish terror as his brain began to shut down.

The last lucid piece of Robbie’s cockpig soul screamed silently in unimaginable agony inside his pounding, pressurized skull.  As it started to flicker out, it was aware that its ass was being shredded by a vicious, thrusting shaft.  Too much of the brain had shut down for the whys and hows to be remembered; the hormone-ridden adolescent body was on the verge of becoming a true meat puppet, its swollen boycock pulsating mindlessly, controlled by brutal internal stimulation and misfiring nerve endings.

Then it reached the tipping point.  The last sensation Robbie experienced in his short and utterly useless existence was an orgasm so intense that it sapped the last bit of force from his fading mind.

The teen punk died as his load spurted over Rocko’s chest and belly.  The body was convulsing so violently, it continued to ejaculate s steady stream of boyspunk for a good fifteen seconds after the faggot was dead.  But it was the convulsions Rocko had been waiting for; the whore’s ass collapsed around his massive, engorged rod like shrink-wrap, a unique combination of smooth massage and intense suction that the colon was unable to perform in the course of normal functioning. 

“Aw, fuck!” the muscled killer grunted, his hard, powerful body hunching over and his hips bucking as he fired thick potent wads of hot, potent alpha seed deep into the dead boy’s guts, coating the fucker’s innards and marking the kid as his property, his prey—his kill. 

It seemed to go on forever.  Part of Rocko’s mind was amazed at how long it was taking to empty his balls—but then his hands tightened involuntarily, there was a distinct gristly cracking sound, and Rocko pulverized the cunt’s windpipe as easily as if he’d squeezed a foam cup.  The sound and sensation trigged another round of body- and soul-shaking orgasms; the hardbodied stud felt he was pumping so much semen into the corpse that it had to overflow at some point.

Eventually the flow of sperm stopped.  Gasping and sweating, Rocko collapsed onto the dead slut’s quivering body.  Drunk and with his rage and lust abated, Rocko felt a heavy drowsiness coming on, and he didn’t fight.

Three minutes later, the buff killer was sound asleep, still balls-deep in the teen’s corpse.


He awoke sometime before dawn.  He was stiff and sore, and his erection had faded, withdrawing from the fuckmeat of its own accord.  That was a good thing; for a brief moment, Rocko considered going another round with the dead kid, but rigor mortis was setting in and the corpse was getting too stiff to have much fun with.

Besides, he needed to get a move on.

It took twenty minutes to strip and shower.  After cleaning the dried glaze of Robbie’s cum out of his fur, Rocko spent little time dressing and even less packing.  Prison—and escaping from it—had taught him the virtue of traveling light.

It had also taught him the virtue of traveling swiftly, but his nap had delayed his departure more than he liked.  As he unbolted the door, he scanned the room one last time to make sure he’d left nothing that he’d need.

It was hard to tell for certain; the room was a shambles.  The centerpiece, of course, was Robbie’s splayed corpse, legs still spread so wide that the shredded and mangled asshole was visible from the door.  The dead cunt’s face was unrecognizably grotesque; the lividity had drained back and the face was a ghastly white with bright blue lips, tongue, and circles around the eyes.  The cast of the right arm and the left leg showed the violence the teen had endured prior to death—as did the destruction of most of the room.  There were small but telling smears of blood on the walls at various places, as well as on the door.

Rocko grinned.  He’d fucking slaughtered the faggot bitch, just like it deserved.  Opening the door and glancing out first to make sure he wasn’t observed, Rocko strode quickly to his big car, his Carolina loggers crunching on the gravel lot.  He tossed his single bag into the passenger seat, back the car out of the space, and headed for the main road.

His timing was immaculate.  The motel manager had arrived fifteen minutes earlier, and after some routine duties in the office, headed out to deal with those deadbeats in room 17 as soon as the clock signaled eight.  He noted that a car was leaving the lot, but it meant nothing to him, and he noticed none of the details.

The door had locked automatically, but he had a passkey, of course.  The manager opened the door, took a step inside, and almost lost his breakfast.

Half an hour later, the man stood shaking and pale, giving all the info he had to a uniformed cop and a detective.  “Yeah, there were two of ‘em, but the one lyin’ dead in there is the only one I ever seen.”

“What about the maids?  Would they have gotten a look at the other one?” the detective asked.

“Maid, not maids,” the manager replied grimly, “Can only afford one.  I asked her already; she says no.”

“Billiston, you go question her when you’re done here,” the tec told the patrol cop before turning back to the manager.  “You notice anything else?  Anything out here, not in the room?  Any evidence will help.”

“Not really.  This gonna be hard for y’all to wind up, ain’t it?

The detective sighed.  “Yes and no.  Fairly certain we know who did this, but we have no way of tracking him, so any little clue helps.

“Yeah?” the manager asked, his eagerness for rumor stimulated, “You know who did it?  Who?”

“Sorry, can’t give that out yet,” the detective replied, “But he only seems to go after faggots.  If you ain’t one, you’ll be fine.”

At that moment, the county coroner’s van pulled into the lot.  “Jesus,” the manage gawped, “Get them to hurry up, wouldja?  That kinda thing is gonna kill business.”

“He ain’t the one killing your business, ha!” the tec chuckled.  The manager grimaced at the misplaced witticism and headed back to the office.  He was halfway there when the cop called out to him.

“Hey, I just remembered—the dead cocksucker in there only had one sock on.  We haven’t located the other.  Let us know if you find it, yeah?

“Uh, sure,” the manager said, “Is it important?”

“Might be,” the detective answered.  Never can tell—and like I said, we’ll need all the evidence we can to track down this sick bastard.”  The manager nodded in compliance and entered the office.

Once inside, he quickly went into the private rear office and locked the door.  Drawing the blinds, he peered out the slits between them for a moment, making sure no one was approaching.

Then, with trembling hands, he dug the missing sock from his pocket where he’d stuffed it prior to calling the policy.  He held it to his nose, deeply inhaling the aroma before unzipping his fly, pulling out his throbbing erection.  As Robbie’s stiff corpse was being zipped into a body bag, the motel manager sat in his darkened office, using the dead boy’s sock to masturbate furiously…

Transitions

By Gay Slavemeat

Gsmeat2@gmail.com

The Premise

I imagine an awesome world run by sadistic Alpha males, where there is a positive, stable social order for them and for the citizens they rule.  A select group, the Alpha Male Aristocracy, achieve total dominance, with a large class of worthy but less dominant citizens who live productive, fulfilling lives under the benevolent but firm rule of the Alpha class.  To support both groups, there would be a vast, disposable slave class.  We would be naked sub-human animals assigned dangerous and degrading tasks to support the needs and desires (especially sexual desires) of the Alphas and the regular citizens who own us.  Our bodies would be tortured, used sexually, and brutally destroyed at their whims while they laugh at our pathetic (but deserved) fate.  There would be zero limits on what is done to us or what we are required to do.  Exciting fatal gladiatorial contests among us would provide entertainment and release tensions that otherwise might lead to conflict among citizens.  Medicine would advance rapidly, and new drugs would be quickly developed with us as experimental lab animals that are plentiful and totally disposable. For example, new drugs would enable intense, satisfying orgasms as often as desired, complete with impressive loads of thick cum.  We would seek and express appreciation for pain and punishment, especially when it is time for us to be killed.  We would replace methane-emitting cattle as the prime source of meat, reducing global warming and giving citizens a fulfilling sense of power as they butcher and eat our live slave flesh, enjoying our expressions of appreciation for the honor of being part of their meal.  Our pathetic lives would comprise only pain and humiliation and would mean nothing. 

There would be two sources of slaves.  The vast majority would be cloned, their DNA altered to make them docile and anxious to serve, and to cause their orgasms to be events of great pain, not pleasure.  But there would also be a group of willing slaves, who are not cloned or predetermined, but who recognize that slavery and the pain and humiliation that comprise it are what we desire and deserve.  We would be born into regular families, even Alpha class families, but as we grow up we recognize our purpose, our highest and best use and greatest source of personal and sexual fulfillment, is to serve an Alpha as property.  While we become subhuman objects like any other slave, our willingness to serve, suffer, and die for his pleasure generates a mutual satisfaction and relationship beyond just that of owner and property.  We would be the ultimate, voluntary, submissive – property by choice.

Like many of my stories, this one takes place in that glorious utopia.  It is a “cum-ing” of age story that explores owner/slave relationships. Sadly, it’s all fantasy, including names of characters.

I appreciate any feedback, good or bad.  And let me know if there is a story you’d like told where guys get tortured and snuffed.

1

Graduation

Grant was awakened as usual by a jolt of electricity administered through a chip implanted in his balls.  But he was already mostly awake, having been too excited to sleep much the night before.  The dungeon was still dark, and the stench of piss and sweat was intense as always.  Grant couldn’t move much in his cage, but he could hear one of the handlers approaching, confirming that Grant’s big day was about to start.

“Get out, shit slave,” commanded the handler, as he opened the door to the cage so Grant could crawl out.  As Grant did so the handler kicked Grant in the balls with his steel-tipped boots, and then kicked him in the belly when Grant rolled over in response to the first blow.  It was how his days always started since he arrived at the training center, and it caused his cock to get erect as he thought of how much pain and humiliation he would receive and how much he desired and deserved it. 

The handler placed a dish of slave-food in front of Grant, but Grant knew he was not to approach it until instructed.  The food was extremely healthy, designed to keep slaves lean and fit.  But it was also disgusting, containing intestines and other entrails unfit for consumption by actual humans. The handler unzipped his fly and let loose a large gusher of piss to “flavor” the gross concoction.  Once that was suitably drenched the rest of the piss was aimed down Grant’s throat, where it was gratefully consumed.  The handler watched and laughed as Grant consumed his daily nourishment doggie style, also lapping up the pool of piss in the dish.  He ate quickly, as he knew he only had permission to eat while the handler administered 50 lashes to Grant’s back and ass.  The gruel wasn’t enough to satisfy Grant’s hunger but it was enough to supply his physical requirement for food.  And he would get lots more liquids – cum, spit, and piss – as the day proceeded.  Being hungry at all times was part of the training.

Grant was naked, of course.  The handler enjoyed the sight of the wonderfully sexy body as he attached a collar with a leash, which he used to guide Grant to a nearby toilet where Grant was permitted to piss and shit, again knowing this would be his only opportunity for the day.  The daily routine continued with the handler permitting Grant to soap his body, after which the handler hosed him down with an intense blast of ice-cold water.  Dripping wet and shivering form the cold water and air, but now ready for the day, Grant was next led into a large, well-lit room that was elegantly appointed with a combination of comfortable furniture and a large variety of torture equipment.  There were several dozen Alphas milling about, dressed in elegant tuxedos, and enjoying an exquisite breakfast served by gorgeous naked male slaves.  The handler removed the leash form Grant and instructed him to stand. The handler then used a marker to draw the number “15” on Grant’s back in large numerals, and onto his upper left chest in small numerals.  Grant knew he was to respond to that number throughout the day.   No one would care what his name had been.  His cock hardened even more as he saw the powerful Alphas and considered the day ahead of him.

Grant had been in the training center for six months, and he had performed well.  Most of the time was spent conditioning him to remove any lingering sense of self-worth and training him on how best to serve Alpha males, especially sexually.  He had chosen to be there, but now understood more deeply how correct that choice had been.  He was now certain that his only purpose was serving an Alpha male, and offering his master/owner Grant’s full loyalty, obedience, affection, and even love.  It would not matter if any of that was returned, and of course the Alpha would use Grant as he wished, administering tortures, humiliation, and a painful but hopefully entertaining death.  Grant would then become meat to be consumed, a status often begun while the slave was still alive. The extent to which the Alpha gained pleasure from using and consuming Grant was the sole measure of Grant’s otherwise worthless existence.

In addition to the psychological conditioning, Grant experienced an extensive variety of tortures, the handlers taking notes on which ones seemed to be most painful and degrading to Grant, and how Grant reacted to each type sexually.  This information would enable the Alpha who purchased Grant to maximize Grant’s suffering at all levels.  Since Grant was already an extreme masochist, maximizing Grant’s pain and humiliation, would maximize his sexual response.  That made him far more entertaining for the Alpha.  Of course, none of these torture sessions would cause any scaring or permanent injury.  That would come later once the Alpha took possession of his new property.  The center was expert at administering massive pain without harming the value of the merchandise.

Another major part of Grant’s day was physical exercise, to make sure Grant was in peak condition.  This included long days working in agricultural fields with herds of other slaves.  Grant was in a separate category, far more valuable, because he had chosen to become a slave.  But a major aspect of his training was understanding that he was otherwise no different than the slaves produced in massive cloning tanks.  They were produced as slaves, knew nothing else, and were conditioned to accept their fate.  Being part of the herd, his naked body conditioned by the intense physical labor and perfectly tanned by exposure to the sun, was an important part of his conditioning.  He and all the herd were just property, subhuman animals kept alive for a time to provide service – whatever service its owner desired and commanded.  Months of intense hard labor among other worthless slaves ensured that understanding and Grant totally embraced it as he dutifully stood among the wealthy Alphas assembled to bid on the “submissive” slaves being put up for auction – the slaves who had chosen to be there.  It would be an expensive purchase as such slaves were not common, but Grant understood that these Alphas likely had no constraints on what they could afford. They were Alphas, and that’s what they deserved.  Grant was a slave, and this was what he deserved.  Both groups were aware and highly satisfied with their status.

It was not long before an Alpha signaled for Grant to approach him so that he could inspect the young slave.  Grant did so immediately, standing respectfully with his hands by his side and his head bowed.  The Alpha felt Grant’s smooth skin and fingered his ass to see how firm and tight it was. He measured the cock and squeezed the balls to get a good understanding of their size.  He then lifted the chin, telling Grant to open his mouth, and inspected the teeth.  The Alpha took a set of brass knuckles from his pocket and administered a solid blow to the gut, causing Grant to bend over with the pain.  But Grant immediately returned to his original stance and position, thanking the Alpha for the blow.

“Not a bad specimen,” commented the Alpha, Nathan, to Kurt, one of his buddies who was also interested in Grant and watching the inspection.  He then entered the number 15 into the auction app on his phone, and a readout from the chip inserted in Grant’s body confirmed that all vital signs were excellent.

“Indeed.  I was thinking of bidding on this one myself.  I hope we don’t bid against each other so that it becomes too expensive,” laughed Kurt.  “I am awfully familiar with this one and I can tell you it’s an incredibly fun piece of meat to fuck.  I did so a lot when it was still human.”

As Grant heard the voice, he realized that the second Alpha did indeed know him well.  Before Grant realized his calling was to be a voluntary, submissive slave, he had been Kurt’s classmate in school. Kurt had dominated and fucked Grant many times and was one of the cruelest Alphas Grant had known.  Grant’s sexual arousal from that was a significant aspect of his ultimate self-awareness.

“I remember talking to its dad about its decision to become a submissive. It had been a gradual realization, but the dad encouraged it.  After all, these slaves can fetch a great price and its dad was short on funds.  He’s a great guy and encouraged me to attend today and help drive up the bidding.  If I wind up owning it, that would be fine by me.  I doubt I’d keep it alive long given how much I know I’d enjoy the kill.” 

“Well, to my taste it’s the most attractive one in the lot being auctioned today.  It’s got a great build, nice and trim but with good muscle tone.  I always like how slaves look once the vets have removed all the body hear on the torso, limbs, and crotch, and treat the skin so it doesn’t grow back.  That makes the skin wonderfully smooth.  Since the money’s going to a good guy, I think I’ll see if I can buy it.  I’ve certainly got lots of money, and I think I can outbid you.  Of course, there’s always the risk of one of the Fletcher clan making a preemptive bid.  I’m not in their league and I think one of their buyers is here today.”

“Yeah,” responded Kurt.  “Me neither.  And in any event, we sure don’t want to piss them off.”

There was no acknowledgement by Kurt to Grant, and of course Grant kept his head bowed as was appropriate.  But he was pleased to hear that his sale would benefit his dad so much. The family’s financial needs were among the reasons he had begun to view his best use as a submissive slave instead of as a regular citizen.  And as he had become sexually active, he had realized his arousal was triggered by being dominated, in part from his experiences at school with Kurt and his buddies.  Grant knew being snuffed by Kurt would be an exceptionally painful and humiliating death, and that Kurt would indeed enjoy it a lot.  That turned him on even more.  And Grant remembered how relived his dad had been when told of Grant’s decision, Grant was pleased how well things were working out and his cock got just a bit harder.

The balance of the morning was spent with demonstrations for the Alphas who had arrived to bid on the lot of 15 submissive slaves being auctioned off.  The Alpha bidders removed their own clothing so they could enjoy the candidates and test how they responded sexually when tortured and fucked.  It soon became a terrific S&M orgy, with each masochistic submissive as aroused as their sadistic future owners.  Both Nathan and Kurt fucked Grant, and then, being sexual buddies as well, decided to join in double-fucking his ass.  The treatments the vets provided to the slaves kept the assholes tight, so double-dicking and large dildos did not cause damage that might reduce the market value of the live meat.

By the time all the Alphas had finished their “inspections,” it was time for lunch, and the Alphas went into a nearby dining room where another fantastic meal was served.  It featured live slaves who were butchered table-side as the Alphas chose the cuts they wanted.  Some chose to eat the meat as “slave-tar-tar” and others had the chef cook it to their specifications on a portable Hibachi.  Side dishes and exceptional red wines completed the meal.  Watching the butchering and enjoying the screams as the slaves felt their bodies being cut and their flesh being removed provided the entertainment.  Large screen monitors made it easy for all the Alphas to enjoy the show and there was much laughter as the slaves were cut open.

After lunch was the auction.  The slaves were hung upside down on display as is done with meat in a butcher shop.  They were, after all, just meat that was still alive and they were auctioned as such. 

One by one, in order, the auctioneer directed a handler to activate a track that carried the meat to the center of a stage next to the auctioneer.  Rather than a price on the slave itself, the bids were made on a per-pound basis, with a screen above the auctioneer displaying the resulting cost by multiplying the bid by the slave’s weight.  The goal was to dehumanize the property being auctioned, and it was quite successful.  NO one, least of all the slaves, remembered that these had once been humans.

The Alphas all had bid cards with their names on them (numbers were for slaves), and the bidding was fierce and competitive, lubricated by many glasses of wine and reflecting the fact the herd being auctioned was of particularly good quality.  Grant was indeed the most valuable and was auctioned off last. As he hung on display he heard the auctioneer reminding the bidders of his vitals:  height, weight, bodyfat percentage, cock size when erect, average fluid ounces of sperm produced when masturbated, and so forth.  The auctioneer also pointed out that for his weight Grant would provide an above average amount of choice meat when butchered since his bone structure was somewhat slight.  This also meant his bones were easier to break, which could add to the fun.  It was all in the bid book, but having it announced helped the emphasis on Grant as property – as meat.  The auctioneer also pointed out key features, such as how tight Cant’s nipples got when aroused (which he was) and how sexually attractive Grant was when he masturbated.  (For that the auctioneer jerked him off, getting a nice load of cum that dribbled down the belly and chest.)  Grant had no problem achieving orgasm as the whole process was a total turn-on for him.  This is the status he’d dreamed of, and now it was all coming true. 

Nathan and Kurt were sitting next to each other, and they had started the bidding. It quickly intensified and the bids were soon higher than what the other slaves had sold for.  The Alphas were willing and able to pay top dollar for top quality. But then everything changed.  A bidder in front held up his card, which read “Fletcher.”  At that point, the bidding stopped and without seeking any other bids the auctioneer halted the process and declared that auction item #15 was sold.  No one objected, as the Alphas were realistic.  It would not be wise to bid against the household of George Fletcher.  Grant’s

 graduation ceremony was over.  He was now the property of the Supreme Leader of the Alpha Council, astonished at the honor of being allowed to serve the most powerful Alpha in the world.

2

Succession Planning

It was one am Saturday morning when Kyle entered his older brother’s bedroom.  He closed and locked the door behind him and then quietly pulled the covers off the bed.  Kyle looked at his naked sibling, sleeping next to the sex toy selected for that night, a beautiful male slave named Chris who turned Kyle on sexually.  Chris was one of the issues Kyle planned to settle, since the slave had the smooth twink body type and extreme masochist personality Kyle most enjoyed.  Chris belonged to a specially prepared category of slaves who were carefully cloned for their sex appeal, spending their first years after emerging from the cloning tanks as agricultural workers whose bodies became exceptionally fit and perfectly tanned working naked in the fields.  They were the equivalent of age 17 and the work was profitable for their owners while the slaves learned to serve masters and achieved sexual prime.  Every day they worked 13 hours in the fields developing their smooth muscles, plus two hours of indoctrination on their role and duties as a slave.  They came to understand they were sub-human and deserving of the humiliation, tortures, and death that awaited them.  They were naturally gay and trained to serve other males sexually, duties added to their daily chores.   They were taught to endure sexually oriented pain and humiliation, to welcome it and be grateful that they could provide these services.  In due course they began to look forward to being tortured and snuffed – perfectly conditioned and trained masochists.  But the slaves in Chris’ DNA category were especially smooth and eager.  They still had virgin assholes so the Alpha Males who bought then to use and destroy could be the first to rape them.  Chris was a particularly attractive specimen of this group, a slim twink with gorgeous smooth skin devoid of body har.  He was an example of Kyle’s favorites for his own fun.

His brother, Everett, preferred more muscular, hairy macho types for his sex play, who would pretend to resist and thereby give Everett a sense of power from overwhelming and viciously killing them.  Everett had a hairy, linebacker’s build and liked slaves with similar appearances, in contrast to Kyle’s preferences, which reflected his own smooth, hairless swimmer’s build.  Everett had asserted his status as the elder son to pick Chris from among the day’s crop of sex slaves delivered for the family’s use – and he did it just to piss Kyle off.   Kyle doubted he had done anything beyond fucking the slave, who appeared to be unharmed and was also asleep, his naked body getting Kyle even more turned on and angry.  As Kyle stared at Chris the thought of the torture and snuff scene that might have been massively turned on Kyle.  He wanted to hear Chris beg to be tortured and raped, thanking Kyle as he did so.  Chris was wasted on Everett.

Kyle gently moved his brother’s wrists so Kyle could attach a set of handcuffs, then his feet for a set of ankle restraints.  Kyle awakened his target by lashing his back with a whip.  Everett looked up, totally startled and confused.

“Hey, bro, sorry to disturb you.  But I wanted to fuck and snuff Chris and to talk to you about this succession thing – you know, this bit about you getting officially appointed next week as heir apparent and a member of the Alpha Council  Is this a convenient time to chat?”

Everett was now wide awake and angry.  “What the fuck’s going on asshole?  It’s the middle of the fucking night.  And what the fuck have you done.  Release me at once or I’ll have you skinned alive.”

“Well, bro, that’s sort of the point.  Once you’re on the Council you actually could do that.  Dad’s Supreme Leader and he holds total power over everyone, but Council members have the authority to inflict any punishment they want on anyone except the Supreme Leader or other Council members, whether Alpha male or not and for any reason or none at all.  And that scene doesn’t work for me.  So, I came up with a better idea.  How about if I just fuck you to death and become the anointed successor instead since I’m next in line?  And then I could torture your slave Chris here, who should have been my slave Chris.  He’s my type, not yours.  It was my lust to destroy his ass and the fact you pulled rank on me again that gave me the idea to do this tonight.  Since you’re my beloved older brother I’ll make your death reasonably quick, although you will get to suffer some of what you deserve.  But the torture will be mostly because I hate your guts even more than you hate mine.  Then Chris is going to endure a long and very painful snuff session as part of my reward.  After all, that’s what that piece of slave shit wants and deserves and it doesn’t look like you did much of anything, except maybe deprive me of the pleasure of being the first to butt-fuck him.  How does that plan sound to you as an alternative to you being able to have me skinned alive?”

Everett had a serious hangover and was slow on the uptake even at his best.  “Are you fucking crazy?  That is not permitted.  I’m the older brother and the heir.  The punishment for assassinating a member of the Council is extreme.  Dad would never let you get away with this.  Let me go.  NOW.”

“I don’t think you’ve thought this through very well, bro, which isn’t surprising since you’re an idiot as well as an ass.  So let me help.  To start with, the heir is the oldest living son. You’re about to be disqualified on the grounds of being dead.  And it’s not technically an assassination of a member of the Alpha Council until you’re designated as heir and officially become a member, which further explains my timing.”  As Kyle spoke, the pleasure of the scene got him excited, and he got an erection.  It was an obvious one since he was also naked and it was rock hard, pointing straight up.  Kyle raised the whip he brought with him and began flogging Everett.  He wanted to soften up his brother and to inflict maximum pain and humiliation, so the blows were intense and rapid.  The whipping would make sure Everett would not be able to resist much when Kyle started fucking him.  Everett was not able to block the blows and Kyle further intensified the flogging while he continued to explain things.  Everett had rolled over onto his back, and after about two dozen blows to the chest and belly Kyle turned Everett over so he could attack the back and ass.  “First, I’ve always wanted to whip and butt-fuck you since you did it to me before I got to be stronger than you are.  You’re a lot bigger – fat mostly – so you don’t have much sex appeal to me, but I have consistently proven I can take you in a fight, as you no doubt recall from when you tried to beat me up last weekend but I beat the shit out of you instead.  Some of your bruises still haven’t healed, I see.  That was a lot of fun and I think I can sustain my hard-on long enough to send a load of cum up your ugly hairy ass.  Being an Alpha I’ll still be able to enjoy Chris and have a few orgasms fucking him while I vivisect his awesome body.  So three’s a revenge aspect beyond you taking Chris for your entertainment.  Second, you are amazingly stupid – you left your door unlocked and almost invited me in.  I didn’t even have to use the copy of your key I made after borrowing yours while you were too drunk to notice.  Don’t get your hopes up, however.  I stationed my slave buddy Cory at the door as a guard.  We’ve had some great sex thinking about how this is going to play out, followed by me practicing my whipping skills on Cory.  I didn’t do any damage to him, of course, like I’m doing to you.  I have other plans for him, in due course and I’ll probably miss him after I snuff him.  You, however, won’t be rescued or missed by anyone.  And the whip is already causing your skin to bleed nicely.  I’m guessing that hurts a lot, or at least I hope so.  If not, let me know and I’ll try harder.”

Everett was still trying to recover his senses after a night of drinking far too much, and figured the alcohol was why he’d forgotten to lock the door.  That was a normal precaution for Alpha males of their high status since assassinations were fairly common and, if successful, socially acceptable as a way to advance.  As he tried to think of ways out of his predicament, he threatened Kyle with retribution from Everett’s friends and staff.

“You don’t have any friends, and I’ll deal with your staff immediately so no one will be alive to avenge you, although I don’t think your staff likes you either.  Everyone thinks you’re an incompetent stupid jerk, which you are.  And third and most important, dad likes decisive action.  You spend too much time waffling and not enough time acting.  I don’t think you’re even a proper Alpha male, and you certainly never think about what’s best for all of the Alpha Aristocracy, just focusing on yourself.  Dad and the Council have to rule and protect the whole system and its members have great responsibilities.  Our whole system is built on merit with everyone using their skills to keep making the system better.  Fuck, you’re drunk so much you hardly think at all. I’ll be a much better ruler, and dad knows that.  He won’t object.  In fact, I think he’ll be relieved to know his successor is competent to rule when he retires.”  Kyle was now enjoying himself immensely.  Everett’s back was now a mass of welts.  He rolled Everett over again and targeted the blows to include his genitals.  He could tell Everett was weakening.  He would not get any effective resistance once he started the real fun.  Everett kept protesting but was now in obvious pain and soon started begging.  That made Kyle even more aroused and he intensified his attack, drawing a fair amount of blood from the welts now appearing on the chest and belly, and scoring a serious cut into Everett’s cock.  As his own eager cock dripped pre-cum Kyle also noticed how aroused Chris was as he awakened and obediently watched the show.  Kyle aimed a few lashes his way and assured Chris this was nothing compared to what he was going to do to Chris once Everett was dead. That made the masochist slave even more aroused and grateful.  He knew his highest and best use was to be viciously tortured to death and Kyle was clearly going to immensely enjoy doing that.  Chris desperately wanted to perform the duties he was bred and trained to perform.  His hard, dripping cock showed how much he yearned to receive the pain he deserved.

Kyle next addressed Chris.  “Don’t worry.  I have intense plans for you, and you’re going to die a pretty horrible death for my pleasure.  The only pity’s that bozo here got the fun of being the first to plug your hole, but we’ll just have to live with that, or in your case die with it.  I’m going to have Cory help me and he and I will at least be the first to have two dicks up your ass.”

“Please, sir,” responded Chris eagerly.  “Master Everett didn’t butt-fuck me.  He was too drunk and couldn’t get it up.  He said he’d deal with me in the morning.  So that pleasure will be for you, and I hope you enjoy raping me as well as torturing and killing me however you feel like doing it.  You can count on my cooperation and appreciation.”

Kyle was delighted; Everett was humiliated.  “What a pathetic fuck,” Kyle taunted his sibling.  “You’re too fat, drunk, and impotent to even fuck a slave.  I was being too lenient on you.   You should be tortured more than just this whipping.”

Kyle was in no hurry and after a little consideration added other torments.  He had a lot to choose from since Everett’s room contained a wide variety of S&M toys, and Kyle spent an enjoyable hour or so as enjoying using a cattle prod on full strength to the balls and nipples.  It was fun to watch the scars and burn marks appear on his brother’s skin, and to listen as the threats turned into pleas for mercy and the pleas turned into screams of pain.  Everett offered to go into exile, which caused Kyle to burst out laughing.  But in due course it was time for part two, and Kyle released Everett from the restraints and positioned him on his back with his legs in the air so Kyle cold see the pain and fear as he rammed his cock up Everett’s ass.  This was turning out to be even more fun than Kyle had anticipated, especially as Everett begged him not to rape his virgin ass.  Kyle hadn’t realized his brother hadn’t had anal sex before – on the receiving end – and was thrilled to be the first to do so, and to do it as a true rape with an unwilling victim.  He started pumping in and out of the virgin asshole, aware he must control himself to be sure he didn’t shoot too early.  “I’m going to be a nice guy and just strangle you to death while I fuck you.  You’ll probably get a final orgasm as you die, and I want our loads to be simultaneous.  After all, we’re family. Of course, any pleasure you might feel will be overwhelmed by the pain of being strangled to death, and as you die your ass will tighten nicely to enhance my orgasm.  Does that sound OK to you?”  Everett was far too weak from the whipping and the other tortures to resist, as Kyle had planned, and just kept saying that Kyle had it all wrong and must stop and let Everett go free.

“Actually, Kyle has analyzed things pretty well,” a third voice calmly commented, startling the two youths.  It was George Fletcher, the boys’ father, and the Supreme Leader of the Alpha Aristocracy.  Kyle turned in wonder as he saw him standing at the foot of the bed but kept pumping Everett’s ass.  “Don’t be quite so smug Kyle,” George laughed.  “As Supreme Leader I can override any lock, and Cory knows better than to resist me.  I sensed you needed a little more time to bond with your brother, so I waited for a while outside the door and enjoyed myself fucking Cory.  He’s a great fuck, as you know, and grateful for the honor of being used.  There is a video system that includes every room, and I’ve also been enjoying your show.  But keep going on your task.  Frankly, I was starting to worry you might not make a move, and I’d have to kill Everett myself.  I could not let him become my successor.  You’re right.  He’s too indecisive, selfish, lazy, weak, and just plain stupid.  The fact that slave lying next to him is still alive and unharmed is an embarrassment to the family.  And when I have assigned him tasks to gain experience, he has been a dismal failure.  You will do far better and have always been my favorite and first choice.  You just had to prove yourself, and I think you’re just an orgasm and a kill away from doing that right now.  There’s no hurry – take your time strangling Everett.  It’s fun to watch, although he deserves a worse death than just being whipped, fucked, and strangled. 

“I’m glad to hear you’re going to time his strangulation to match your orgasm, which is amazingly satisfying for you and even more fun for me to watch.  Once you shoot, I’ll want to fuck Everett’s body while it’s still finishing its death spasms.  As you know, it’s one of my favorite ways to cum.  Then we can double-dick Chris before you officially start his dismemberment.  I know I will still want more sex even after we each fuck Everett, or what’s left of him, and then do Chris.  So maybe we can double-fuck Cory.  I enjoy it when we fuck slaves together.”  George stared at Everett, who was silent in stunned horror and shame.  “What a disappointing piece of shit you turned out to be,” George told his elder offspring.  He then returned to addressing Kyle, who was now totally into fucking Everett and starting to wrap his hands round the throat.

“Tomorrow we can adjust the arrangements for the ceremony to match the new reality with you as official her.  I guess this is a good learning experience for Everett on being more careful and decisive – he should have killed you by now to protect himself – although maybe the learning experience will be a little late.”  Mr. Fletcher and Kyle chuckled at the joke, while Everett just lay in shock at what was happening, reality having finally sunk in.

Everett didn’t resist much as Kyle reached out and slowly began to tighten his grip on his brother’s throat, gradually cutting off his ability to breathe as Kyle got closer and closer to orgasm.  Kyle and his dad both enjoyed viewing the effects of Kyle’s strong grip as Everett struggled to stay alive and enjoyed even more the fact Everett was now sporting his own erection generated by the effects of the fucking and strangulation.  This was far from Kyle’s first snuff fuck and he had gotten good at the timing.  As he saw the life fade form Everett’s eyes Kyle increased his own pumping and brought himself to the edge of climax.  Life finished ebbing form Everett, the final involuntary orgasm began from the dying body, and Kyle shot a fantastically satisfying load up the near-dead ass as its spasms added pleasure by tightening on Kyle’s cock.  As soon as he was done, he withdrew so that his dad, now naked and erect, could insert his own dick to enjoy the final convulsions of the nice warm corpse of his worthless son.  As he reached his orgasm George used a knife to slowly cut off Everett’s cock, which was now coated in the cum it had emitted.  George was pleased to observe that a tiny flicker of life meant Everett still felt pain from the emasculation, which had been the goal.  He tossed the cock onto the floor nearby, like a bit of table scraps tossed to a dog, and nodded to Chris.  Knowing what was expected Chris scrambled on all fours out of the bed and across the floor to where the cock had landed.  He picked it up with his teeth, doggie style, and when Mr. Fletcher nodded at him Chris chewed and swallowed the cock, some of the cum dripping down his chin.  Chris then sat back on his haunches and raised his arms in front of him, mimicking the response of a grateful puppy.  Father and son laughed at the slave but were pleased at this sign of good training.  It was a wonderful family bonding moment, bringing Kyle and his father remarkably close and eliminating an awkward family problem. 

As George had expected, they were still quite horny and summoned Cory to join them.  In one sense Cory Stewart was Kyle’s classmate, best friend, and lover, and although not of as high a rank as the Fletchers (no one was) he was from a prominent family.  His father, Gordon Stewart, was one of the five members of the Alpha Council serving under the leadership of George Fletcher and was George’s top advisor and best friend on the Council.  Kyle and Cory had grown up together and become friends early on.  But as they grew up Cory realized his best use lay in a different role, and he was now one of Kyle’s slaves.  As a willing submissive, his service gave Kyle especially intense pleasure.

As Cory joined them Kyle suggested Cory fuck Everett’s corpse while he and his father double-fucked Chris.  Kyle knew that would give George the greatest pleasure, and Kyle was touched by the family bonding and wanted to show his appreciation.  They had a great joint orgasm as they felt each other’s’ cocks inside Chris’ no-longer-virgin ass.  Then they did the same with Cory as the target while Chris provided the entertainment of fucking what was left of Everett.  Kyle had planned a protracted session with Cory helping him torture Chris and also receive pain from Kyle in the process.  Now Kyle and George would both inflict pain on Chris and Cory, which would sexually excite both Alphas and both slaves, given the interaction of extreme sadism and extreme masochism.  This meant everyone was massively turned on.  It was not yet Cory’s time to die, but it was always his time to suffer.  After several hours of George and Kyle enjoying themselves at the expense of the slaves, the session ended when Chris finally died, having been burned, gutted, and emasculated as the father and son expertly applied their skills and shared their fun.  Chris’ skin was cut open and most of his bones were broken; they had especially enjoyed running high voltages through various parts of his body – especially his balls.  His final act was to shoot a plentiful load of cum as Kyle slowly cut off his cock.  Being a slave produced in a cloning tank, the orgasm itself was almost as painful as the final step in his emasculation.  Drugs enabled all males to have essentially continuous, massive orgasm; altered DNA caused cloned slaves to feel excruciating pain when they did so.  Cory had received a plentiful round of whipping, beating, and electricity, but had no scars or permanent damage.  That would happen later, when decided to snuff his submissive property.  The session finished with George and Kyle again double fucking Chris’ body.  By that point Chris was just another warm fresh corpse finishing its death throws. although Kyle and his dad got to enjoy the pressure on their cocks from the gyrations this generated, pleasure they both greatly enjoyed as they had with Everett. 

As they left the room to clean up, they enjoyed the view of the two dead bodies lying side by side, each showing expressions that reflected the pain they had suffered.  But Chris’ expression also showed contentment, while Everett’s was shock and humiliation.  Mr. Fletcher commented on the irony of having more respect for a dead clone than for the dead member of his own family.  Chris had fulfilled his purpose; Everett had failed miserably.

3

Party Time

Kyle and Cory returned to Kyle’s room to clean up and get some rest before the weekend.  They engaged in their usual Friday night routine, although it was by now early Saturday morning.  They showered together with Cory lovingly cleaning Kyle’s awesome body. Then Kyle fucked Cory and watched as Cory jerked off for Kyle’s amusement.  Kyle was quite pleased with Cory and allowed him to sleep nest to Kyle instead of in the cage next to Kyle’s bed. They slept late, had another sex session when they woke up, and then took another joint shower before heading to breakfast.  (The ability to have nearly continuous orgasms was ideal for 19-year-old males.) 

As Cory soaped Kyle in the shower right after they returned from snuffing Everett, Kyle had been nearly overwhelmed with how attracted he was to Cory sexually, watching Cory get sexual pleasure from Kyle torturing and fucking him, which gave Kyle even more massive pleasure.  Having a youth from a high-ranking Alpha family volunteer to become a slave and donate his body and life for Kyle’s use and enjoyment was the ultimate power trip.  Kyle realized how grateful he was for Cory’s loyal support and submission, and how much he enjoyed being with him, whether it was using him sexually, inflicting pain and humiliation, or palling around and just having fun as if they were still classmates, best friends, and lovers. Indeed, they still were best friends and lovers, Kyle thought of the great, loving relationship his father had with his own willing, submissive lover, Keith, who had also once been part of a prestigious Alpha family.  Keith had served Kyle’s dad for many years, and although Keith, like Cory, was now a slave and in theory no different than the slave Chris that had just been snuffed, Kyle almost viewed Keith, who was in his early thirties, as the older brother Kyle never had in Everett.  Kyle wanted a relationship with Cory like his father and Keith had achieved, and Kyle knew Cory did as well.  But Kyle also knew he would get a huge thrill when he tortured Cory to death and he wanted that as well.  It was a dilemma Kyle would need to resolve, but not one he had to deal with right away.  Indeed, it was a frequent topic in his conversations with Cory, as was which methods Kyle would choose for Cory’s snuff session.  The conversations turned them both on and always ended with intense sex and a large deposit of Kyle’s cum inside Cory..

After the lovers showered they headed down for an extremely late breakfast, consisting of eggs, potatoes, and fresh slavemeat steaks carved from Chris’ beautiful flesh. It was delicious, and they planned their day as they ate.  Kyle had decided to stay naked, like Cory, so they could better enjoy each other’s bodies on what was now a bright, warm, sunny day, a day they were eagerly looking forward to.  And while Kyle had one task to complete, they realized they could simply enjoy the day.  Cory attended college with Kyle and they were both excellent students who worked hard and did exceptionally well.  But there was only one more day of class and they had no more assignments.  The plan quickly became one of lying by the large pool, working on their full-body tans, and enjoying the sun.  Obviously, a lot of sex would be part of the plan and a few more slaves would wind up fucked, tortured, and snuffed.  Well, maybe more than a few.  After all, Alphas had learned that engaging in multiple daily kills provided not only great sex but reinforced the Alpha characteristics like sadism that were so important for them.  Today Kyle wanted Cory to join him in that fun as if Cory were still an Alpha male.  This was going to be a wonderful, relaxing day off.  They had worked hard all term and deserved it.

Even Kyle’s task was fun.  He read a text he’d just received from his father and announced to Cory: “I am officially the heir apparent, as dad just singed the formal paperwork this morning. That also means I’m the second ranking member of the Alpha Council.  The formal ceremonies will take place next week, but the reality is effective now.  He says I should enjoy this weekend as I’ll begin new duties right after school ends.  But he wants me to assume what few responsibilities Everette had and dispose of his staff.  That should be simple since Everette actually wasn’t doing anything and I’ve already ordered the staff, both slaves and citizens, shackled and put in cages until I decide how to kill them.  Since I’m a member of the Council I can dispose of the citizens as well as the slaves.  It’s sort of a pity, as the staff are probably delighted not to have to work with Everett anymore, but we can’t take chances.  And the slaves are disposable anyway and not my types.  Any ideas on how his staff should die?”

Cory thought for a minute and then had a brainstorm.  “Wolfpack 1-2-3?  As I recall his slaves and staff are all pseudo-macho types so it would be a great show.”

Kyle laughed.  “Brilliant!  I sure like how you think. I’ll have them conditioned and schedule them for the next show.  Well, thanks to your great idea I think we’re done with work for the day.  Let’s go take a swim and then we can do some more fucking in the sun.”

Wkolfpack1-2-3 was a hit show on the most popular Alpha Network.  The idea was simple:  A group of specially bred and trained canines would stalk, attack, kill, and eat 3 defenseless prisoners.  The canines were part wolf and part pit bull, so they could be effectively trained to attack the prisoners, which they did in pairs of two, always starting by biting and eating the genitals.  Then they would continue to rip apart the bodies as they ate, but slowly so the prisoners did not die too soon.  The show was incredibly popular not only for the amusing and entertaining deaths but also because it afforded great opportunities for gambling.  The best return was to bet on the order in which the prisoners would be killed, and by which set of canines.  With six animals attacking, and three animals being killed, there were lots of combos possible.  Previews would allow the audience to watch both prisoner and canine participants perform various physical tasks so they could handicap likely results.  (Since all events were fatal for the prisoners there were no prior episodes to judge by, but some of the canines developed large followings from show to show.)  Viewers could wager on just the order of deaths, or place quinella or trifecta bets as in traditional horse racing.  The trifecta “1-2-3” bet on the order of the deaths was the most popular and paid a hefty return for viewers who picked the right sequence.  To enhance the entertainment, the prisoners were conditioned prior to the show for about a week to become fully terrified by the canines, watching prior episodes after being injected with drugs that would alter their psyches.  They were conditioned to resist but also to show their fear.  Watching their terror was a big part of the amusement.  Also, the arena was a walled-in forested area where the prisoners could try to hide or climb a tree.  The fun in this part (which they would not see in the episodes they previewed) was that these were not real trees but artificial ones that would become electrified, giving the prisoner time to climb up before the electricity was activated and shocked him into falling to the ground where the canines waited.  Their training made them aware what would happen, and it was hilarious to see the shock on the horrified faces of the doomed victims as the canines bit into their cocks and balls. 

One thing that made the show a little different was that the victims were typically citizens, not slaves.  The rule of law under the Alpha Aristocracy for citizens was extremely draconian, and any form of crime was not tolerated.  So having Everett’s staff be killed on the show would not be out of the ordinary, although they of course had not done anything wrong.  But even that would have a positive impact, reminding viewers that the power of the Alpha Council was indeed total, and they were not bound by any constraints of fairness or justice. Obedience to them was the only option, and their pleasure was the only ultimate goal.   Citizens were superior to the slaves and entitled to use and snuff slaves they owned, but citizens were subject to the Alpha males, especially the Alpha Council, who could do whatever they felt like doing with absolute power.  Snuffing willing slaves was very satisfying, but snuffing unwilling victims was also a major rush for the sadistic Alphas.  Cory had made a great suggestion and he and Kyle looked forward to enjoying the episode.  It would be especially fun as Everett had 5 staff assigned to him, which would mean a longer show with even more betting options. 

The young men spent a very relaxing day enjoying each other and the wonderful warm weather.  It was 5 years ago when Cory officially became Kyle’s property, relinquishing his citizenship and presenting his naked body as a slave for Kyle’s use.  Kyle turned a bit nostalgic and reminded Cory of how he’d abandoned his status as part of an Alpha family to become Kyle’s slave.  Indeed, Cory’s dad was a member of the Alpha Council and Kyle and Cory had grown up together, classmates and especially close friends.  As they reached puberty they realized they were both gay, and their relationship got even closer.  Then, as they finished high school, Cory realized he wasn’t really an Alpha.  He liked it with Kyle in charge and did as Kyle requested.  It wasn’t just that Kyle’s family was higher in the Alpha pecking order.  It was that Cory enjoyed being dominated and directed.  By the time they started college Cory realized he especially liked being fucked, ideally by Kyle but also by others.  It wasn’t long before this included being whipped and beaten, which turned him on intensely. 

“What was it like when you decided to tell your dad you were better suited to be a slave?” asked Kyle.

“I was scared shitless.  I had no idea how he would react.  My guess was that he’d kill me on the spot, which would have been a reasonable reaction.  But I also knew my younger brother Nate would be a great Alpha member of the Council, so he would have a successor.  If he killed me it would be what I deserved.  Fuck, a big part of realizing I should be a slave is realizing I deserve a horrible death that brings pleasure to an Alpha male.  My only regret in that case would be not having the chance to be your slave and have you be the one who tortures and snuffs me when you felt like it.”

“What did he say?”

“I was amazed.  He said he’d already figured it out and concluded that this was my highest and best use.  He had considered turning me over to Nate for Nate’s use.  He had also figured out that Nate was the one to join the Council someday.  But since he is so devoted to you and your father, he said he had positioned things so I would become your property and the paperwork was already done.  He had just been waiting for me to reach the same conclusion so my status would be entirely voluntary.  That’s when transitions from Alpha to slave work best, as there’s no need for any pressure or conditioning.  I was grateful and thrilled.”

“How did Nate react?”

“He was also delighted.  He planned to be dad’s successor and said the only downside was that this meant he wouldn’t get to kill me to achieve his ambition.  He had been looking forward to that, but now he didn’t want to deprive you of that fun – or piss you off.  But he did take the occasion to fuck me, whip me, and beat the crap out of me before I was turned over to you.  It turned us both on a lot and since our dad watched and eventually joined in it was a great family bonding moment before I ceased being part of the family and became property.  Incidentally, that was nice of you to let him do it again last week as his 18th birthday present.  He was especially vicious, as I deserve.”

“He’s a good guy, and I enjoyed watching and then adding my own tortures.  That was a great party.  It made me think how much fun I’ll have when I decide it’s time for you to die.  But I still can’t decide how I want to do it.  Nothing that is really personal, like strangling you, seems quite painful enough or sufficiently prolonged.  And the options that carry the most pain and longest suffering, like crucifixion, don’t seem personal enough.  I want to feel your die from my actions torturing you.  But don’t worry, I’ll figure out something truly terrible that gives me “hands on” fun.”

“I’m sure you will, and it’s fun to consider options as we do from time to time.  But I agree that nothing we’ve talked about seems horrible enough to provide sufficient, sustained pain and give you enough pleasure.  We should keep talking about it, and I’ll see if I can dream something up that you’ll enjoy. Of course you’ll have my full cooperation.  It’s all up to you, but I know both Nate and dad would enjoy watching or even joining in.”

The conversation had aroused Kyle’s Alpha sadism, as it usually did, and he decided he’d have a little fun with Cory.

“There’s one thing I’ve been thinking of in the meantime.  We’re doing lots of celebration of my graduation, but we aren’t celebrating yours at all.  After all, you also did great in college and it seems there should be some event to commemorate that.  It should be something that’s painful and humiliating, of course.  I think I’ve come up with the perfect idea.  I’ve decided to brand you as my slave and I want to do that now.  I’m feeling particularly horny and branding’s always a great start to sex and torture sessions.”

“That’s a great idea!  It will make sure anyone who sees my naked body knows that it’s not a real person, just slavemeat that hasn’t been harvested yet.  Want me to get the branding iron and heat up the coals?”

“No need.  I already ordered everything, and it will be here in a few minutes.  While we wait I’ll tie you to the St. Andrew’s cross over by the bar and start whipping you.  But first I need to piss, so kneel down in front of me.”

Cory did exactly as instructed, his cock having gotten hard from the sexual excitement for what was about to happen to him.  He gratefully drank Kyle’s piss and then positioned himself so Kyle could attach him to the X-shaped cross.  By then a young slave had delivered the hot coals and branding iron, conveniently placing them by the cross for Kyle’s use.  The slave then stood at attention while Kyle tested the branding iron on the slave’s chest.  It was not quite hot enough and Kyle severely beat the slave for failure to do its job perfectly.  He coals he enjoyed himself lashing Cory on the chest, belly, and cock while the coals got the iron red hot.  After a fun session, another test on the attending slave demonstrated that it was indeed hot enough, as the slave screamed loudly and the sweet smell of burning slave flesh filled the air.  The slave thanked Kyle for using it and again apologized for its failure.  Kyle amused himself by using the iron to burn off the slave’s manhood, laughing as the slave convulsed in response to the intense pain.  Then, thoroughly aroused, he burned the slave a few more times and instructed the slave to go to a nearby T-cross where two other slaves mounted it for crucifixion.  Kyle could enjoy the scene as the slave died in agony from the combo of being emasculated, burned, and crucified.  Failure, no matter how small, was not tolerated and this would be both entertaining and a good lesson for other slaves.

Kyle turned his attention to Cory.  The beating had left some welts on Cory’s belly but Kyle had been careful not to lash his upper chest, where the skin was especially smooth.  Kyle carefully pressed the branding iron into Cory’s left breast, enjoying once more the smell of burning flesh.  But Cory did not scream.  He thanked Kyle for the honor of being labeled as Kyle’s property.  Kyle held up a mirror for Cory to see that this was indeed his public status, showing the brand of “Property of Kyle Fletcher.”  Both Kyle and Cory were pleased, and Kyle released Cory from the cross so Cory could bend over while Kyle once again fucked him.  It was a great interlude that reflected both Cory’s status and their symbiotic relationship.

The two young males lay in the sun for a bit.  Kyle admired his handiwork in branding Cory as Cory jerked off for Kyle’s further entertainment, and they then decided to enjoy a few hours of hunting.  Kyle’s sadistic lust as to Cory had been satiated for a bit and he shifted their roles back toward being classmates and buddies.  But his sadistic lust was always present.  Hunting would satisfy that.

The estate had a 10-acre walled off forest that was stocked with fit young slaves trained to be hunted.  They were good at evading the Alpha Males, which made the hunting much more challenging and enjoyable.  Kyle and Cory preferred using bows and arrows, which offered even more challenge compared to rifles or shotguns.  And they hunted naked, cocks hard in anticipation of the fun they were about to have, feeling like hunters of olden days.  They carried quivers slung over their shoulders which were filled with poison-tipped arrows. 

When they came to the gate to the game reserve they selected 2 slaves to hunt, using a kiosk that showed live shots of the slaves currently in the herd, and the slaves that were selected dutifully presented themselves for inspection, eager to please Kyle with an exciting hunt that culminated with the trivial contribution of their worthless lives.  Kyle instructed them to stay together as they tried to evade the hunters, so Kyle and Cory could hunt together and would each have a target to kill when they tracked them down.  Kyle was feeling generous toward Cory and wanted him to also enjoy a kill.  Indeed, they would compete to see who shot the first arrow into one of the slaves and who had the best shot.  Both were talented archers, although Cory was slightly better – a fact he enjoyed teasing Kyle about when permitted to do so.

The hunters gave the slaves a head start, and then the chase was on.  In due course Cory spotted them and he and Kyle outran the targets, quickly getting into range.  Kyle got off a great shot that was perfectly aimed and right on target into the back of a fleeing slave, right behind its heart.  As it fell to the ground Cory shot an arrow that went straight into the butthole of the other slave.  The poison not only assured that the slaves would die from any successful shot, but also generated extraordinary pain, causing them to suffer painful and entertaining deaths.  These were climaxed by orgasms as the bodies convulsed and, after about 10 minutes of agony, died. The one Kyle shot had the poison released in its heart, so it died more quickly than usual.  But Kyle doubled over in laughter as he watched the slave with an arrow up its butt thrash wildly as the poison slowly disbursed throughout its body and it finally died.  The arrow feathers protruding from the slave’s asshole were especially amusing as the slave gyrated on the ground.  Cory bragged about having fucked the animal with the arrow as he used his foot to push the slave onto its back so they could enjoy the final orgasm.  The arrow didn’t break, but was pushed further into the slave, causing the tip to burst through the lower belly, adding even more amusement.   As they watched and laughed the hunters expressed their contempt for the “game” by jerking off and then pissing on the dying slaves.  Kyle’s sexual satisfaction derived from his sadistic Alpha nature; Cory’s was from imagining himself as one of the slaves that had been fatally humiliated. He knew his time would come someday and that excited him even more as he trusted that his death would be far longer and more painful when it occurred.

The two rivals argued about who had the better shot, as they always did.  This was part of their ritual.  They decided to settle the issue by hunting a second pair.  For that kill they maneuvered so they were in front of where that duo was running in its futile effort to escape.  That way the hunters were able to get their shots into the chests or genitals.  There were rules on which shot was considered better.  Penetrating the chest was measured by how close the tip was to the heart.  For the genitals it was whether the arrow hit the penis, which was worth more points but obviously harder to do.  Kyle aimed for the chest and got a great shot into one of the slaves that penetrated the heart itself..  Cory saw that the other slave’s cock was so hard it was pointing upwards albeit bouncing a lot as the slave ran.  Cory aimed for the genitals, getting an awesome shot that penetrated the penis just under the glans and continued on into the belly, pinning the cock in place. 

“Nailed it,” joked Cory as the slave collapsed onto the ground for another delightfully entertaining show.  The hunters laughed once again, and even Kyle had to admit Cory’s shot was outstanding.  He had indeed literally nailed the cock to the belly with his arrow and the target’s final orgasm was a humiliating combo of blood, piss, and cum.

Kyle and Cory returned to poolside for another refreshing swim followed by more great sex and sun. 

They also talked about Kyle’s new role.  The Alpha Council consisted of five members, four of whom reported to the Supreme Leader, Kyle’s father, who was also the chairman.   While the members had authority over the rest of the citizens (and of course all slaves) it was the Supreme Leader who held absolute power, including appointing the Council and deciding its role.   At this time there had been only four members – George Fletcher, Gordon Stewart, Adam Schultz, and Arthur Chen.  The fifth member had recently retired, after long and highly competent service, which generated the opening for one of George’s sons.  That was part of the motive for the retirement.  Gordon Stewart, Cory’s father, was George’s main advisor and closest confidant on the Council.  All four had agreed that Kyle was ready, and he would become vice-chair and heir apparent.  Cory and Kyle had fun speculating what actual roles Kyle would play.    As the designated #2 on the Council, the only sure part was that Kyle would succeed his father when George retired.  But that likely a long ways off, and it would be thrilling to learn this week what his father had in mind for his present duties.  Kyle knew he had a lot to learn, and part of the thrill would also be working with Cory’s dad, whom Kyle liked and admired and who tended to have outstanding and creative ideas.  The other two members lived in and ruled, respectively, Europe and Asia, and the retired member had ruled the Americas.  Kyle’s hope was that he could assume that role, mentored as always by his father and Gordon.  Gordon lived in a spacious suite within the Supreme Leader’s Palace where he was close at hand for advising George on all issues and regions..  Gordon’s remaining son Nate (after Cory’s decision to cease being a human) also lived in the compound, and he and Kyle often teamed up to torture and fuck Cory.   Nate was also gay and would be starting college in the fall.  He and Kyle were becoming fast friends, a wonderful setup that worked well for everyone.  The two families shared deep, loving friendships, and Kyle looked forward to ruling with Nate when their dads retired.

That evening George hosted a celebratory family meal for Kyle.  Cory was included, as were George’s long-time submissive slave, Keith.  They were also joined by Gordon and Nate.  Everett was not left out, being included as the main course.  He had been beheaded just above the neck and drained of fluids.  Internal organs were replaced with a flavorful stuffing mix of croutons, celery, sage, and sausage; the skin had been coated with barbecue sauce and Everett had been slowly spit-roasted with a metal skewer inserted in his ass that came out the neck.  The chef had laughed at the unusually large amount of cum that drained from the asshole when the meat was cleaned.  When it was expertly cooked the body looked and smelled particularly appetizing laid out on a large serving cart next to the dining table.  The chef had made sure to highlight the lacerations and especially the choke marks on Everett’s throat,  The cock having been severed as it shot its terminal load, the chef had fashioned a cock-shaped specialty of fresh crab that stood straight up where the cock would have been, topped by a parsley sprig stuck in the fake piss slit – which the diners found highly amusing.  Kyle couldn’t help but comment that he thought the replacement cock was much bigger and probably more functional than the original.  (Sibling rivalry survives mere death.)  The scrotum was removed but the balls were still attached, nicely barbecued, and featured in little silver shells on either side of the penis-shaped crab concoction. 

The scene was festive, especially the positioning of Everett’s decapitated head, which had been impaled on a pike and placed at the dinner table where Everett usually sat during family meals. 

They started the meal with George and Kyle each picking up one of Everett’s testicles to eat.  But the Stewarts were not deprived, as there was a bowl of 8 fresh steamed testicles on the table for them to choose from, harvested from the 4 game animals Kyle and Cory had killed in the hunt.  Even Cory and Keith were not ignored, and Kyle tossed a testicle to each of them as they knelt by the table to serve their masters and perhaps get treated to some table scraps.  (While Kyle tended to treat Cory as if he were a buddy as well as a slave when it was just the two of them, in public he made sure Cory was just another sex toy.)  As each of the four Alphas consumed a man-seed they also raised their wine glasses.  Kyle offered a toast to the chef for finally getting some value out of Everett, and George offered one to Kyle for his successful intervention and his new status.  Nate couldn’t resist also making a toast, which was to the obvious superiority of younger siblings as Alpha leaders.  Cory joined in the laughter, totally content with his status.  He hardly reacted when Nate kicked him in the balls under the table, using his steel-tipped leather boots.  Cory just thanked him and welcomed the deserved pain.  Slaves always deserved pain.

George did the carving, as head of the household, but generously gave Kyle the first slice of the delicious barbecue that was once his brother.  It was recognition of Kyle’s and Everett’s new respective status, with Kyle as George’s official heir and Everett as a piece of meat. 

The conversation turned to the events of the next week, and George outlined some of his thoughts on Kyle’s new position, which was to serve as ruler of the Americas as Kyle had hoped.  This meant Kyle could continue to reside in the Palace and be mentored by Gordon.  It was a wonderful occasion they would all remember fondly, and part of a wonderful, relaxing weekend.

4

Class Time

The following Monday was the last day of classes and Cory’s and Kyle’s last day of college.  (Kyle had decided it would be fun for Cory to continue as a student even after becoming a slave, as he enjoyed studying together with him and he figured it would make Cory more useful after Kyle graduated..)  Friday would be graduation, which was now being combined with Kyle’s ceremonial induction as heir apparent and vice-chair of the Alpha Council.  His father had made an official announcement on live TV Sunday, and Kyle was beginning to enjoy the perks of his new status.  But George had also insisted Kyle finish his classes. 

Despite Kyle’s excitement about all that was going on, the day had not started off well. The school had been named “Everett Fletcher College,” and that obviously needed to be changed.  Kyle was angry that the dean had not already done this and replaced the sign in front of the building once he heard the official announcement the prior evening.  He could have commissioned slaves to work all night and get it done.  If a few of them fell off ladders and were killed in the process of doing the work in the dark, that was hardly a reason to wait.  Kyle got angrier still when he was told all the changes in signage could not be done in time for the graduation ceremony.  That was ridiculous and meant the disgraced old name would still be in place during the graduation and induction ceremony.  This was unacceptable. 

If Kyle had a flaw it was his hair-trigger temper, and he totally unloaded on the dean, who was rightfully afraid and promised to remedy the problem immediately.  It didn’t help that Kyle was aware the dean preferred the dead brother over Kyle even though Everett was lazy and not a good student.  And now Kyle was enduring a boring class – the last lecture of his college career – in a worthless course entitled “Recent World History.”  It covered how the Alpha Aristocracy had assumed complete worldwide power and focused on how regular citizens had abandoned aspects of their freedom in return for controlled world order.  Kyle, of course, knew all about these events, since it was his great-great-great grandfather who had led the final revolution and his family had ruled ever since.  Not only was the teacher boring, but a focus on giving up liberty was all wrong.  The result was world peace, prosperity, and great strides on issues like medicine, quality of jobs, and the environment.  This was the natural order of things, with Alpha Males ruling as they did throughout nature, and especially with creation of the slave class that not only supported the Alpha Aristocracy but also supported regular citizens.  The quality of life for citizens was vastly improved.  Just that morning Kyle had read how citizens caught in a nuclear plant disaster were rescued by the Red Cross, whose services included needed blood supplies obtained by draining the blood form donor slaves.  There was, of course, no limit on how much blood could be taken, so they used all of it, and the dead slave was then used as emergency food for the desperate citizens.  Meanwhile other slaves toiled at cleaning up the radioactive fuel leak that was part of the disaster, undeterred by the fact the radiation would cause deadly burns on their exposed flesh.  It would be silly to waste HazMat protective gear to prevent the fatal radiation sickness.  Indeed, cameras on drones filmed the clean-up for the entertainment of citizens as they watched the burns start to appear on the naked bodies.  Robot drones could have done the clean-up as well, but, after all, radiation burns caused a pretty gruesome death that was fun to watch.    It all made for a rapid clean-up with great TV news footage.  This kind of efficiency would be impossible without the excellent organization and discipline provided by the Alpha Aristocracy and the plentiful supply of expendable slaves.  Kyle nearly exploded in anger when the teacher commented on the events and expressed some sympathy for the slaves who had been given the honor of painfully donating their worthless lives to benefit and entertain deserving citizens.  What the teacher was spewing was treason and could not be tolerated.  As his anger grew, Kyle realized he could now do something about it. 

“You’re fired,” Kyle screamed at the teacher.  “And this heretical lecture is over.  In fact, as initial punishment for your treasonous statements you are to strip naked, bend over the desk, and let everyone in the class fuck your ass.”

The teacher was shocked and horrified.  He had planned to get to the great benefits of the New Order and started to explain that to Kyle.  But that just made Kyle angrier.  As the teacher saw the rising anger, he realized his peril and promptly complied, desperate to avoid further punishment.  All of Kyle’s classmates cheered and were more than willing to help administer the punishment.   Kyle calmed down a bit as he sat back to enjoy the show.  He waved to Cory, who was sitting next to him, and pointed at his dick.  Cory got the hint and moved over to unzip Kyle’s designer jeans, take out the hardening dick, and start giving Kyle a blow job.  There were about 20 students in the class so it would be a good show.  Since they were all males at their sexual peak, Kyle correctly predicted that some would want to get in line twice.  And a lot of them also stripped naked to better enjoy the fucking, which also improved the view for Kyle.  He had some very sexy classmates.

Since the teacher was about 27, fit, and good looking, Kyle knew his classmates would enjoy themselves and it was, after all, also their last day of school.  They deserved a little relief and sexual relief was always best.  Kyle got even more turned on as he watched the gang rape and took his time fucking Cory’s face before shooting his load down Cory’s very willing throat.  Part of the fun was that everyone knew how homophobic the teacher was and how much he would especially hate using his tongue to clean off the guys’ cocks and then drink their piss, as Kyle also ordered.

Being a son of the highest-ranking Alpha Aristocrat had already made attending his all-boys college a lot of fun.  But being the son and heir apparent and a member of the Alpha Council was far better.  Kyle could do whatever he wanted with absolute impunity, and George encouraged him to take advantage of his authority with controlled anger as a way of learning how to rule others. 

Kyle and Cory were openly gay but being gay was no issue.  It was both accepted and encouraged by the Alpha Aristocracy, reflecting the fact most of the leaders (including Kyle’s dad and his mentor Gordon Stewart) were themselves gay.  The other guys in the school, whether gay or straight, knew better than to object if Kyle wanted them to perform gay sex for his pleasure, as he’d done with the teacher.  And since Kyle was a 22-year old male, he wanted sex pretty much all the time.  Cooperating could help their careers; not cooperating was extremely dangerous, especially given Kyle’s temper. 

Kyle’s father also encouraged the temper.  He coached Kyle that fear of an arbitrary, horribly painful death at Kyle’s whim was an especially important part of Kyle’s power and should be a skill he honed and practiced frequently.  The key was to control and direct the anger, not to let it control Kyle.  The teacher being gang fucked by his class would be just the latest example, and Kyle had always been in control.

Kyle walked out of the class after enjoying the blow job, the gang rape scene, and adding his own load of piss down the teacher’s throat.  (To save himself the need to stop by the bathroom between classes, Kyle always used a human urinal, typically Cory or another slave but not always.)  As he and Cory walked down the hall together, laughing at the teacher’s fate, Kyle got horny all over again looking at Cory’s amazing body. Cory had beautiful smooth skin, was the most handsome person he’d ever known, and their sex was constant and intense, aided for both of them by the S&M play that was usually part of it.  Being naked assured Cory was immediately available whether Kyle decided to fuck him in the ass or have Cory suck him off.  Besides, Cory knew his body was amazing and liked to show it off.  His cock hardened as he observed Kyle staring at him lustily.

As much as Kyle was enthusiastically looking forward to the lunch ceremonies and to his final class, he followed his father’s coaching and focused on the teacher’s infractions and what else Kyle should do about it. Kyle had demonstrated his anger and instilled fear.  Now he needed to reinforce it.  He allowed his anger to build as he considered various options and reached some decisions.

Kyle sent a text message to the dean informing him of Kyle’s actions so far and instructing him to have the teacher displayed naked and publicly tortured between now and the graduation ceremony.  Since the teacher was not gay and was homophobic the tortures were to include lots of gay rape and especially lots of fisting and fucking with large electrified dildos so the ass would be completely ruined. At the assembly, the teacher was to be executed by the senior class rifle team as part of the celebration.  A highlights film of the most extreme tortures was to be shown prior to the firing squad as a further humiliation and warning to other teachers.

 Kyle also informed the dean that he was disappointed such a bad teacher with treasonous beliefs had been hired.  As a result, the dean was to hire his own replacement prior to the assembly, and he, too, would be executed after introducing and welcoming the new dean.  Kyle told the dean via the text message that the quality of the new hire, whom Kyle would interview after his last class today since the school was now named for Kyle, would determine if the dean’s execution would be slow or quick.  (Kyle had already decided it would be slow, probably by being emasculated and whipped to death, since that would be more fun for Kyle and more entertaining for his fellow students.  But, as his father had taught him, he knew the dean would do a better job hiring if he held out a little hope of beheading or one more round from the firing squad.)  The dean understood that there was no point negotiating with Kyle and responded that he understood and would, of course, do as instructed.  He added a genuinely nice apology, thanking Kyle for using the failures of the dean and the teacher to help students understand the requirement of accountability that leaders like Kyle’s father had instituted.  The dean also assured Kyle the signage issue would be remedied by the end of the day.  “FO” was Kyle’s succinct reply.  The dean was trying to get a quick death, and that pissed off Kyle even more.  The dean was definitely going to suffer a slow, painful death starting right after Kyle approved his replacement, which would be far worse if the replacement didn’t pass muster with Kyle.  Kyle was pleased with his plans and looked forward to telling his father about the events later that day at dinner.

5

Break Time

Kyle had free time before lunch and his final class, which was a lab session he was excited about, and he headed to the “break room” with Cory and a few buddies.  The room was a lounge area where seniors could hang out when they weren’t in class, and it featured some entertaining activities as well as snacks and drinks.   As they entered, they enjoyed the sight of three gorgeous classmates who were being crucified naked on the “punishment wall,” their impressive young cocks hard despite the fact their bodies appeared near death.   Cory got beers for Kyle and himself and they joined a few other students who were enjoying watching the final stage of the punishment.  The crucified students had been doing poorly academically and would not be allowed to graduate.  The elite college had a 100% graduation rate, so flunking them was not acceptable.  Nor would the school lower its high standards.  The obvious solution was to execute students who might fail, which also served as an incentive for students to study and do well in addition to a chance for some entertainment watching the losers suffer and die.  Kyle was pleased at how obvious their pain was and could tell from their incredible difficulty breathing that death was near.  They had chips implanted in their bodies that sent medical readings to an app on his iPhone, which confirmed his observation.  Kyle also was pleased to see the history teacher tied to a fuck bench with a line of students waiting to rape him.  The line included the baseball team, which was enjoying “bating” practice.  Inserting baseball bats up the teacher’s ass was thoroughly destroying it and a lot of fun for the team.  Kyle knew the humiliation was almost even more painful for the homophobic traitor.  This would be a key highlight of the video Kyle had ordered for the graduation ceremony.    Kyle was a little worried the teacher might die prior to then but felt the fun his classmates were having was worth the risk.  These were his buddies, and they could always just use the dead body as a target, maybe alongside the dean.   He hadn’t yet decided how the dean would be tortured and planned to chat with Cory as to ideas.  Cory was always highly creative, as he’d been with the Wolfpack 1-2-3 idea.  Indeed, he was counting on Cory to help him decide the optimum snuff scene for Cory when Kyle decided that time had come.  They talked about it a lot and those were fun conversations for both of them.

Kyle sipped his beer and focused again on the punishment wall, which was quite sophisticated.  The crosses themselves could be raised and lowered electronically to permit easy access to attach or remove the bodies.  Preset screw holes made it easy to drill holes in the hands and feet and insert the screws to fasten them securely.  This assured the bodies would stay in place.  It also invited jokes about being “totally screwed” that Kyle and his friends never got tired of using. There was a system of video cameras to monitor the fun as victims struggled to breathe, their agony broadcast on a TV channel that was extremely popular.  The medical readouts included a projected time of death so viewers could be sure to tune in for the fun finale. 

The most sophisticated features, however, were dildos positioned midway on the vertical beams that were huge and fully inserted into the assholes of the victims. These had multiple functions.  Besides the usual purpose of savagely tearing the vulnerable flesh of the victims, the dildos provided a variable flow of electricity to assure ongoing pain to supplement the gradual strangulation as the victims tired and were unable to lift themselves enough to breathe. The current could be increased or decreased through an iPhone app that Kyle, Cory, and two of their buddies (Tim and Tony) had designed as a class project.  The dildos also provided a little support so the victims could lift themselves enough to breathe, albeit still quite painfully and, after a much longer time, eventually not enough assistance to keep them alive.  The suffering was prolonged even further because the dildos pumped sufficient nutrients into the bodies to avoid starvation or dehydration.  The amount of time victims were tortured by crucifixion could be anything from only a day to several weeks depending on the settings.  Finally, the dildos stimulated the prostate and injected drugs to assure the exposed cocks maintained an erection the entire time and shot a load as the student finally died in agony.  Kyle and his buddies were justifiably proud of the system and had scheduled the current set of losers to die on the last day of class a bit before noon.  The medical readouts Kyle saw on the App indicated they were right on schedule.  This would be fun, and he and Cory used their beers to toast their success, joined by Tim and Tony.  The four friends had assembled to enjoy the show they had helped design.  Indeed, everyone in the room enjoyed the arousing and amusing sight of the three young males in terminal agony from the difficulty of breathing and from the electricity pumped into their bodies.  Kyle got everyone’s attention and then used the App to set the current on high, increasing the entertainment value as the youths screamed and their bodies gyrated.  Given how close they were to dying the screams were, unfortunately, not very loud.  So, after enjoying that for a while Kyle initiated a fatal jolt of electricity.  The creams nicely increased in volume and the bodies convulsed massively, all to the laughter and cheers of the assembled students enjoying the show.   All three males shot large loads of cum one last time as they were finally permitted to die, followed by a humiliating stream of piss as their bladders emptied.  They were not the only ones in the room to reach orgasm as the seniors enjoyed themselves. Some of them also released loads of piss, which with Kyle’s permission went down Cory’s eager throat.

But that wasn’t the final humiliation.  Nearby slaves quickly took down the bodies and laid them on fuck benches.  As Kyle inserted his cock into the fresh corpse he found most sexy, he chuckled as he saw Cory taking particular pleasure inserting his hard cock into a former classmate who had been a real asshole to Cory as Cory transitioned from Alpha Male to submissive slave.   Cory was enjoying some well-deserved vengeance.  “That piece of shit loser was actually doing OK academically,” Kyle intoned.  “But I had dad include him because he was such a jerk to you way back when as you transitioned.  I don’t like other guys abusing you without my permission.  I made sure he knew that was the reason for his torture.  I know you enjoyed fucking him as he was screwed to the cross, but now’s your chance to enjoy fucking his dead ass.”  Cory, moved by how thoughtful Kyle always was, thanked him and enjoyed the fuck even more.  The tight warm holes felt great.  When they were done, they were still horny and double-fucked the remaining victim, enjoying the feel of their cocks rubbing against each other as they achieved simultaneous orgasms.  They were loudly cheered by the onlookers, several of whom, including Tim and Tony, followed their example.  The bodies were then delivered to the cafeteria to become part of the “Senior Day” lunch menu.

As Cory was using his tongue to clean Kyle’s cock, Kyle received a text that was disturbing.  He was informed that the dean had left a note apologizing for his hiring mistake and asking for mercy for his sons.  He had then committed suicide by drinking fast-acting poison and was dead before anyone discovered the body.  That totally infuriated Kyle, who had the right to decide punishment and was now deprived of his prerogative.  Kyle ordered the body stripped and brought to him immediately.  He also alerted Tim and Tony, who were twins, close friends, and the dean’s sons. explaining to them what had happened.  Both boys were hard-working, excellent students and role models, totally committed to the system created by the Alpha Aristocracy of which they were a part.  They were horrified at what their father had dared to do.

“This is terrible, Kyle.  I can’t believe our father would be such a disloyal coward.  We are ashamed to be related to him.  As his offspring we of course understand the implications, and you can count on our full cooperation.”  As Tim spoke, he was removing his clothes, as was Tony.  When their father’s body arrived, they spat on it with disgust.   

“Yeah, this is really a bummer.  I think you are both great guys and I had planned to promote you after we all graduate.  But I can’t tolerate this sort of insubordination, as you know, so I will need to make an example and follow the law.  Especially as I take on my new role, I can’t make exceptions.

“The irony was that I was going to let him off with a lesser punishment since we’re friends,” Kyle lied, “My plan had been to have him executed by the senior rifle team as an opening event for the graduation ceremony.  I’d have instructed the rest of the squad to aim for his cock and balls, so the bullets from the two of you, as co-captains of the team, would hit his chest and be the ones that killed him.  You were entitled to punish him for his failures, and everyone would have had fun watching his naked body get emasculated and ripped apart by the hail of bullets hitting his cock and balls.  His failure was not huge, so I was going to allow a quick death that could be a family event.  I didn’t want to embarrass either of you more than necessary.”

“That’s generous of you Kyle – as usual.  You take great care of your friends.  Given what’s happened, however, I assume you’ve decided to have us replace our traitorous parent at the ceremony in front of the firing squad?  The two sub-captains can take over leading the unit from us since we’ll be on the wrong end of the rifles.   Did I guess right?”

“You did.  The lesson must be clear, so between now and then I’m thinking of having you hang form the crosses here until the ceremony.  I’m sorry, but if someone disobeys me, he needs to understand that his family will be held responsible even if he manages to escape punishment by dying.  Blood libel is an ancient principle of law, and it’s especially essential under the Alpha system.

“My challenge is to be sure this is perceived as fair and not arbitrary.  It ordinarily wouldn’t matter – dad’s openly arbitrary a lot of the time and it just illustrates his power.  But I’m a new player and I want to start off with a positive example, one that even shows a modicum of compassion but also illustrates firmness and swift administration of the law.  So I’m thinking of low voltage on the crosses while you wait for the ceremony.  It will make the point with the two of you being crucified, but it won’t be as bad for you as the usual levels of pain.  What do you think?”

Tim chimed in.  “Not a good idea.  Compassion is nice but even as high-ranking Alpha Males our lives and how we die don’t matter at all compared to assuring your power and showing you’re prepared to use it.  You should use our bodies tor particularly painful deaths as an example.  You can’t allow anyone to think they could get off easily, especially as you assume your new role.  The good news is that there’s three days before the ceremony, and if you turn up the juice on the crosses you can cause us unbelievable agony between now and then.  The medical readouts will confirm how you set the levels and the PR folk can stress that.   That will make your power and willingness to use it quite clear, and I think that’s the key here.”

Tony piled on.  “Tim’s right.  But I also think you need some demonstration beyond even the electricity levels.  I recall that viewers especially like it when victims are whipped as they hang, with the highest ratings for when that generates lots of lacerations and bleeding.  We’re young and fit and there is little risk it would kill us too soon, so you’ll still have the ceremony as a culmination.  And you should turn on the cameras as you start and fuck us.  That sets the scene for power trips.”

“You’re right, and I appreciate the advice.  I think you prevented me from making a big mistake.  Thank you.  But I still think some gesture would be good if it doesn’t undercut the core message

Cory had been considering the options and offered a typically creative solution.  “What’s missing here is a little humor to show that you’re both OK with what’s happening to you and understand that this is the law and the law is correct.  So I think there’s an option during the ceremony.  Instead of executing you at the start as was going to happen with the dean, why not wait until after you get your diplomas?  It would be amusing to see two guys who are naked except for the graduation caps walking in the line.  And when you get the diplomas you could even do the ceremony where you move the tassel form the right side to the left to show that you’ve graduated.  Then you could stand at attention and the firing squad could riddle your bodies with bullets, using ammo that is particularly destructive.  I think everyone would get a good laugh, and it would show that you’re on board with everything and Kyle is creative.” 

The fact it was Cory’s idea and not Kyle’s was of course irrelevant – no one would know that. – and everyone loved the idea.  Kyle again appreciated Cory’s remarkable creativity but said nothing.

Kyle stood in front of the video system, which was turned on while he explained what had happened and the punishments he had selected.  He did not mention the diploma idea, saving that for a surprise to enhance the fun at the ceremony.   Then the twins bent over nearby fuck tables so Kyle fucked each in turn.  After that, as Cory again cleaned his cock, the twins laid on the ground and held out their arms so they could be screwed in place.  Once they were positioned Kyle pushed their bodies down hard so the dildos were rammed inside them quite painfully.  They didn’t scream but the pain showed on their faces as their assholes were torn and the electricity flowed through their bodies.  The cameras caught some of the blood that was seeping out, which of course made the effect of the electricity greater.  Nonetheless, as the crosses were electronically lifted into place, Tim and Toni each managed to loudly thank Kyle for being such a decisive leader, to condemn their father, and to express the hope their torture and deaths would be an effective lesson for others and entertaining for Kyle.  Their statements were picked up by the TV news, as they knew would happen, and reinforced the image of Kyle’s use of massive punishment when he was angered.  By then the dildos had caused massive erections, and Kyle paused to enjoy the sight, which turned him on a lot.  These were extremely handsome young bodies and they were wonderfully writhing in extreme pain with their hard cocks bouncing in front of them.  He was tempted to stay a while and jerk off as many of his classmates were doing, or maybe fuck Cory again.  All this had made him exceptionally horn.   But now he had other duties and it was time for lunch.

As Kyle headed to the cafeteria for the lunch celebration of “Senior Day” he focused his attention on his lover, slave, and best friend Cory, as he so often did.  Cory was an extremely attractive young male, in Kyle’s view the best-looking guy in the school, and Kyle trusted him totally. Other than Tim and Tony, only Cory knew Kyle had initially considered moderating their punishment and Kyle had no worry of anyone else learning that.  Cory was his slave, but they studied together and prepared Kyle well for his career.   Cory was a safe friend with whom Kyle could share his concerns and challenges, one reason he excelled in the college experience.  Cory also studied hard, focusing on areas where he might be of use to Kyle as Kyle assumed his designated role.  Being an exhibitionist who got turned on by showing off his great body, Cory loved being naked all the time, especially now that he was branded to show his masochistic dream of being Kyle’s property.  It was a fantastic, loving, mutually positive relationship and worked remarkably well for both.  Kyle was comforted to have Cory already in place as he assumed his new duties.  Cory was aware Kyle was staring at him, which caused Cory to achieve and exhibit an erection, his cock bouncing in front of him and dripping a little pre-cum as he and Kyle walked to the lunch.  Cory figured he’d get permission to jerk off for Kyle after the lunch.

The lunch ceremony was a lot of fun and included the usual awarding of honors. Kyle won all of them, of course.  But there were a few gag awards, such as Cory wining “sexiest urinal” and “best tan” while Kyle was voted “best tasting cum” and “most plentiful piss.”  The loudest laughter was for Tim and Tony winning “most entertaining not-yet-dead classmates,” which was added at the last minute and featured the TV channel showing their writhing bodies causing their hard cocks to bounce around as Kyle used the App they had mutually designed to turn the electricity to its highest non-lethal setting.  His Alpha nature had come through and he had gotten over his trepidation over cruelty torturing two good friends.  As he was aware, snuffing other males multiple times each day enhanced the important Alpha traits that were the key to the social order.  It reinforced his power and status as well as being sexually fulfilling.  As the class watched and laughed, many of them jerked off, and Cory got permission to achieve the orgasm he was anxious to enjoy.  Kyle’s orgasm was at the same time, but he sent his cum up Cory’s ass per usual.  Everyone had a wonderful time, and the classmates removed from the punishment wall were well prepared and quite tasty.

5

Lab Time

Kyle had one more event before he ended his final day of college.  It was Kyle’s favorite class and favorite teacher.  The class, “Slave Torture and Disposal,” was taught by Gordon Stewart, the same Gordon Stewart who had been Cory’s father when Cory was a human and who was George Fletcher’s top advisor on the Council and Kyle’s longtime mentor.  Dr. Stewart taught it as sort of a hobby, but also as a favor to George and Kyle.  Each class was a lab organized around a different method of fatal torture, with each student practicing on and snuffing a willing slave.  Cory also attended the class, assisting Kyle in the activities, and Dr. Stewart often offered suggestions on how Kyle could torture Cory to maximize Kyle’s fun and sexual stimulation, along with Cory’s pain and humiliation. when Kyle decided it was time to snuff Cory.  Both young men appreciated his creativity and Kyle learned a lot on how to maximize his skills as a sadist.  It wasn’t that Gordon had any animus toward his former son, and in fact he highly approved of Cory’s choice to become a submissive slave.  His comments were intended to improve the implementation of that choice.  After class Kyle and Cory would review the activities and any suggestions, which always resulted in a great S&M session where Kyle used some of what he’d learned on Cory.  It wasn’t fatal yet, but it was lots of fun, nonetheless.  At dinner the prior Saturday evening, Gordon wouldn’t tell Kyle what the class would feature but promised it would be a great ending to the year.  Kyle could hardly wait. 

Kyle paused briefly at the lockers inside the classroom doorway, and quickly shed his clothing.  Dr. Stewart insisted his students attend his class naked, so he could better gage their sexual arousal from snuffing slaves.  Torturing slaves should be a major sexual turn-on, and one plus of an all-male class is that cocks are a reliable measure of how much they are turned on.  But the real reason was that Gordon Stewart was a fervent gay sadist and enjoyed looking at these awesome young males destroying and raping the gorgeous male slaves, literally ripping their bodies to pieces.   Kyle casually handed his clothes to Cory, who had helped him strip and who carefully hung them in Kyle’s locker. 

Kyle’s cock was throbbing with excitement by the time he stepped into the actual classroom, and he was not alone in his reaction.  Nearly all the students in the college were from Alpha families of extremely high status, and all owned and snuffed multiple slaves with a supply for their sexual use that was replenished daily.  The sadistic joy of snuffing another male had a strong sexual component whether the Alpha male was gay or straight.  Torturing and snuffing victims were frequent and favorite activities and a source of family bonding as they explored together new ways to maximize the slaves’ agony and therefore their own pleasure. 

Am Alpha who wasn’t also a sadist was not, in Dr. Stewart’s view, a proper Alpha and would require training.  So the sexual arousal of each student was an important data point.  “Homework” from Gordon’s class was quite popular. 

As Kyle headed toward his “workstation” to start the lesson, he noticed that Andrew Brown was in the class.  Andrew’s father was overly ambitious for someone of a lower social status than most of the college families and had maneuvered to get Andrew into the school.  Andrew’s father figured he could advance his career via his extremely attractive son given Kyle’s gay orientation and desire to dominate other males.  If Kyle took an interest in Andrew it could go well for Andrew’s father.  And even if it weren’t Kyle, there were lots of other gay students whose fathers could be useful.  He ordered Andrew to attend school naked, hang around Kyle, and make himself available to Kyle as a sex toy.  Andrew had not been in this particular class and Kyle wondered if his dad bribed someone to get Andrew included for the final session.  Kyle admired the ambition but he might have to address the use of bribes at some point. He would include Andrew in any punishment even if he were innocent and it was all his father’s doing.  Although Andrew was indeed very sexy, neither Kyle nor Cory liked him.  Andrew was a jerk and a sycophant who wasn’t good at it.

 Andrew’s core problem was that he wasn’t gay, and it had taken a lot of pressure from his father to get him to volunteer as an object of Kyle’s insatiable, sadistic, gay sex desires.  While Cory got turned on by being naked and getting fucked and beaten in public, it was extremely uncomfortable for Andrew and he sometimes had problems getting an erection.  He just wasn’t turned on by guys.  That, of course, made if more fun for Kyle and the rest of the class to fuck him.  Much to his horror, Andrew found himself being used sexually by pretty much the whole senior class, even Cory – a sex object that was in constant use, fucked, pissed in, kicked. and laughed at by everyone.  His dad’s plan was a disaster, and once Andrew’s dad realized the plan was actually hurting his career, he gave Andrew permission to start wearing clothes again.  But that also backfired.  On the first day he did so a group of seniors stripped him naked, beat him nearly to the point of losing consciousness, and gang-raped him when he revived – telling him he was the class bitch and had to stay naked and be available for everyone to use however they wanted to use him.  Among the flaws in the plan for Andrew was the fact Alpha Males especially enjoy sadistic acts against unwilling victims.  Cloned slaves, or even a submissive slaves like Cory, welcomed the pain.  But there was an element of fun missing, which was there when the target tried to resist and was clearly not a willing subject.  Alphas especially like the idea of raping and inflicting pain and domination on another Alpha male.

In fact, studying those traits was why Gordon Stewart was “Doctor” Stewart.  His doctoral dissertation, completed many years earlier, was on the importance of providing especially aggressive Alpha males with the chance to snuff unwilling victims.  It had been presented to and enthusiastically accepted by the Alpha Council.  Indeed, it is what earned him a seat on the Council, joining just after George Fletcher succeeded to the leadership when George’s father retired.  Having scientific research to support an activity the Alphas already enjoyed was quite popular.  Gordon had become a bit of a celebrity and soon became George’s top advisor and closest friend.  They started a tradition of beginning each Council meeting by fucking and torturing to death a handsome young Alpha who had failed to perform his duties to their satisfaction. It was a satisfying start of the meetings and a good lesson for other Alphas.

Kyle looked around the class as he entered and was surprised to see the selection of young males displayed at the front of the class to choose from were in cages.  Dr. Stewart instructed the class to choose a target but not to release it yet.  After Kyle made his selection, the other members of the class each picked a slave to snuff. 

Once the slaves were selected Gordon got the attention of the class and had Andrew come up to the front. 

“This is my favorite lesson for two reasons, and I have saved it for our last session together.  First, as you know, the primary use of dead slaves is for meat and fertilizer, although they’re fun to fuck while the carcass is still warm.  Our classes have focused on all the creative ways to torture and snuff a slave to maximize its pain and humiliation before it is eaten.  For example, last week we focused on boiling slaves alive, a wonderfully slow and painful death if done properly, fun to watch, and resulting in slavemeat that is cooked and ready to eat.  We learned how to make the meat more flavorful by adding spices to the water and by feeding the slave fruit juices and other ingredients that will internally marinate the meat in the days prior to its final use.  Even if that isn’t done, the level of pain the slave suffers makes it a great show.  I think everyone had fun with that last week and some of the resulting entrées were exquisite.    Today we will focus on another great show that results in a different use of the slave’s body.  We’ll be tearing off the skin to be turned into leather used to make clothing, to cover furniture, or even to create art to display.  It will reinforce your understanding that slaves are just objects, barely even subhuman.  For example, the leather chair at my desk was made from a slave I skinned alive at this same class last year, and I plan to replace it with fresh leather form today’s lesson.  The goal today is to skin your slave and then keep the exposed, skinless animal alive for a few days until it dies in agony from the effects of being skinned.  It will suffer the unimaginable pain caused by having its skin carefully ripped off.  I think it’s one of the most enjoyable and entertaining ways to torture and kill a slave, and you get the benefit of large sections of skin that are the raw material for all kinds of leather goods.  It will be especially memorable for you as these slaves will be used to make your leather Letterman jackets.  However, you need to be incredibly careful and do it right, or you risk having the slave die before you’re done or very shortly after that. That’s a missed opportunity and lets the slave off far too easily.  “Right” means it feels intense pain throughout the process, surviving and continuing to suffer, conscious and in intense pain, for at least a couple of days.  Slaves deserve to die as horrible a death as possible, as you all know, and this is one of the worst.  It’s about maximizing our pleasure by maximizing their pain.

“The other reason this is my favorite lesson is that it allows us to enjoy the special thrill of snuffing a slave that is not willing to die for our enjoyment.  As you all know, I proved many years ago how important that is as part of the fulfillment for true Alphas like us, and as a reward for all your hard work (by which I mean all the work you did in class while your cocks were hard), I’ve assembled snuff targets that will resist their appropriate use.  That’s why they are in cages, and you’ll need to be careful as you restrain them.  And, by way of example, that brings me to Andrew, who has joined our class today as my “guest.”  I’m aware all of you have enjoyed his presence in school and gotten to know him in rather personal ways, as have I.”  This generated sustained laughter and catcalls, and Andrew blushed, his entire naked body showing his shame.  His cock was erect, which was unusual for him in public and added to the shame.  “So I figured you’d want to see what happens to him after graduation.  And he’s ready to entertain us, as you can see from his cock, although it’s hard because of some drugs injected into it so he’d be even more humiliated.  He’s not much of an Alpha and also kind of stupid, as we’ve all discovered.  Given that, I thought we would all enjoy having him as the model for my demonstration today, following which you are each to carefully skin the slave you’ve selected.  I’ll have Andrew’s skin turned into leather to replace what’s on my chair.  This will be my last class of the year too, and I plan to keep the chair as a reminder of how much I’ve enjoyed teaching all of you.  After everyone is done with skinning their slave, we can all further enjoy Andrew as meat snacks for my traditional end-of-year party.”

Andrew was horrified and terrified.  He finally showed the anger that had been built throughout his college experience, lashing out at Dr. Stewart.  “I’m a member of the Alpha class!  You can’t do that to me.  I’m not a slave.”  He reached out to strike Dr. Stewart but was quickly subdued by Kyle and Cory, who couldn’t resist laughing as they did so.  Indeed, the whole class doubled over in laughter, especially Dr. Stewart. 

Gordon enjoyed correcting the pathetic youth.  “Well, first, none of these animals were either.  They’re just losers I picked out because I thought they’d make a fun kill.  As a member of the Alpha Council I can do anything I want.  Since we’re all proud of Kyle’s new status as not only a member of the council but as heir apparent, I also thought a useful lesson would be for everyone to realize just how powerful the Council is.  We don’t just make the laws; we are the law.  So be a good lad and climb into this tub of boiling water. The first step in the process is to tenderize you so your skin is easier to tear from the layer of flesh underneath it.  And feel free to scream.  It’s more fun for me if you do.  You’ve already added to my enjoyment by trying to resist.”

Andrew stared at the tub next to him and was now too shocked to move. But it didn’t matter since Kyle and Cory, (still laughing) obligingly lifted Andrew by his shoulders and ankles and dropped him into the boiling water. 

The tubs were specially designed for boiling live slavemeat.  They had a large oval circumference like a bathtub but were much longer and only about two feet deep.  There were shackles similar to a rack so the wrists and ankles could be restrained, which Kyle and Cory quickly completed.  Andrew was nicely displayed on his back, arousing Gordon with his remarkable good looks and smooth young skin.  A spigot of boiling water flowed into the tub as the same amount of cooled water flowed into a drain.  This kept the slavemeat boiling at all times, and if it was cut for whatever reason to add to the entertainment or to try a piece to see if it were adequately cooked, the flow kept the water clear so the animal was always fully displayed.  That wasn’t the plan for Andrew, but it had been useful the prior week for the lesson on cooking slaves by boiling them alive.

Andrew had again tried to resist but it didn’t help, and he made a splash like an oversized lobster and uttered an amusingly loud scream as he was secured in place.  Cory placed a stone “pillow” under his head so it would be above the water line and Andrew could breathe.  They knew Dr. Stewart did not want him to drown, and they had learned the techniques to secure slaves from the prior week’s lessons.  The difference this week was that Andrew would only be in long enough for tenderizing, not boiled until his meat was fully cooked.

Gordon paused to enjoy the sight and made a quiet side comment to Kyle that Andrew could not hear.  “I think this is going really well.  Since he tried to hit me he’s of course subject to a death sentence just for that.  But since he’s already going to die I plan to apply it to his overambitious father.  It’s the converse of your punishment of Tim and Tony for their father’s actions.  One of the initiatives George and I are pushing on the Council is greater reliance on the principles of blood libel to hold families accountable for the actions of members who fuck up. We don’t want society getting lax.  But I also don’t want Andrew to know since it would give him some satisfaction.  I’m thinking of just having the parent publicly fucked, flogged, and crucified – using the fancy crosses and dildos you guys designed for the Punishment Wall here at the college.  What do you think?”

Kyle was totally on board, thanking Gordon for yet another helpful lesson.  Gordon then resumed his normal volume, thanked his helpers, and continued the lecture.  Andrew’s thrashing in the boiling water and his periodic screams of pain and despair provided a great background show.

“It makes a big difference if the skin is tenderized and somewhat loosened from the muscle layer underneath, which happens when it is very warm.  There are two good ways to accomplish that.  One is to boil the animal for a while – about 20 minutes usually does the trick – and the other is to hang it in the hot sun for about 5 hours.  In either method it is important not to overdo the tenderizing, as it breaks down the nerves that are critical to transmitting pain and the skin can blister, which detracts from the quality of the leather.  You’ll notice your slaves are all a bit sunburned, but with no blisters, and that is because they were hung in today’s warm sun all morning after their bodies were shaved to get rid of any hair on the skin that will be removed.  But they can use a bit more tenderizing, so please take control of your slave and secure it in the tubs as was done with Andrew.  There are other cloned slaves available to help if you need it, especially securing the limbs in the boiling water, but I assume none of you Alpha males will require help subjugating the target animals.  I wanted you to see how the sun-warming worked as well as the boiling.  Obviously, this isn’t a case of starting the water just warm and then heating it, as in the example of a frog staying in the water while it’s being boiled because it doesn’t realize its peril until too late due to the slow increase in temperature.  In this case we start with the water boiling so the slave immediately suffers pain.  It’s quicker and more fun.

“Let me explain the process while we wait for Andrew to get ready for his big moment.  That way the slaves will know what is going to happen to them, which increases their terror and makes their death even worse for them.

“You’ll notice that our workstations are set up so the body can be hung from the ceiling by its ankles.  All you have to do is connect the cable to the ankle restraints in the tub, which can be removed with the ankles still attached.  Then release the wrists and use the winch to lift the body.  This positioning is important for several reasons.  First, it makes access to all the skin easy.  The winches will raise and lower it for our convenience in cutting into various areas.  It creates a nice effect to have the arms hang down, reminding the animal it’s just a slab of meat like any other slab hanging in a butcher shop.  Also, this is a very bloody, messy process and if the body were in any other position there would be a risk of not enough blood reaching the brain as the body is drained.  That would be disastrous as it is essential to have the brain functional so it can receive the pain signals form the nerve endings as they are severed.

“Nociceptors are the key here.  Those are nerve endings that are in the skin and other parts of our bodies, and they provide our sense of feel.  As we rip off the skin, these are torn one by one and they send panic-level pain messages to the brain as this happens.  They are what makes this form of torture so unimaginably, wonderfully painful.  We need to be sure the brain is still receiving the messages, which requires it receiving plenty of blood flow.

“That said, we also need to be sure the brain doesn’t interfere with our fun.  When it is overwhelmed with pain it produces endorphins, which partially counteract it.  So we administer shots to our victims before we start harvesting their flesh that neutralize that ability.  We don’t want to deprive our targets of feeling the full experience, after all.

“Exsanguination is the next important concept.  That refers to draining blood from a body.  This isn’t our purpose, but it is a byproduct of ripping off the skin.  As the skin is removed there is almost a gusher of blood that will be released.  That’s why you’ll notice an exceptionally large drain under the suspended animals and a shower at each station for your use in washing it off.  Also notice how being hung upside down means they have to watch their blood gushing down before their own eyes.  Our research verifies that this is extraordinarily terrifying, another fun aspect for us to enjoy watching. 

“A slave can survive for a time, maybe even a week, with blood loss up to about 40%.  So while having them bleed profusely is part of the entertainment and a major aspect of their psychological and physical terror, it needs to be kept in check.  That is one of the reasons it’s important to do the cutting just at the first layer of skin.  The deeper you cut, the more blood loss your cause.  Worse still, you will be cutting into the myelin layer, which means the nerves will be destroyed instead of just being torn, and the body will go numb and maybe even into shock. At that point you will have failed, and the target will not have suffered the full agony and terror of being skinned alive.  DO NOT LET THAT HAPPEN.  CUT ONLY SKIN DEEP AND THAT MEANS THE OUTERMOST LAYER OF SKIN.  Don’t worry.  That first layer is enough to make great leather.

“I stress this because it is mostly the combination of fear and blood loss that generate large drops in blood pressure and the risk of shock and unconsciousness.  The more skin we harvest the more it is a battle between us generating pain and collecting our reward and the slave’s brain trying to shut the body down.  If we are careful and to the right kinds of cuts in the right sequence and depth, we will always win, and the slave will suffer as it was meant to suffer.”

Dr. Stewart continued for a bit longer, explaining how the skinless animals would become highly susceptible to infection and hypothermia.  The skin plays a critical role in preventing each of these, and without it a slave will quickly die of a combination of both.  If these are controlled, the slave’s suffering can be extended for several days, which is what Dr. Stewart planned.  “In the next day or so you can come watch them die, which I highly recommend because they are so pathetic and in so much agony.  Or you can just cut out some of their meat and eat it in front of them for fun.  We all know how enjoyable it is to have a slave watch us consume it’s live meat as we cut it off.  This will kill them quite quickly given the infection risk, so it’s a case of choosing how you want it to die.  Either way it’s great fun and one of the best power trips you’ll ever have.  That’s what being an Alpha is all about, after all.  And while it’s a bit messy, remember that they still have assholes that are quite fuckable whether alive or dead..”

By now the slaves and Andrew were nicely tenderized, and they were fished out of the boiling tubs by attaching cables to the shackles securing their ankles.  The restraints on their wrists were removed and the bodies were moved by the ceiling tracks over the appropriate workstation.    All the animals were now hoisted upside down and positioned for harvesting, their beautiful smooth skin glistening in the bright lights of the lab.  A few even had a little resistance left.  Their useless struggles added to the show.  Dr. Stewart told the class to pause a moment, knowing the nature of his class and himself.  The sight of the gorgeous males hanging like slabs of meat and the eager Alphas ready to enjoy their deaths was thrilling, a testament to the awesome Alpha world and a huge sexual turn-on.  He had a slave winch Andrew so his butthole was level with Gordon’s hard cock.  As Gordon thrust his cock into the unwilling asshole, he let the class know that the victims were all high school seniors who were flunking their courses, and they were all straight.  Like Andrew their hard cocks were a function of drug injections that would keep them erect until it was time to cut them off.  So being fucked would be an added source of shame and humiliation, not to mention pain, as they were all virgin assholes that had never felt the pain of a large cock being inserted (except for Andrew. Of course).  The class got the idea and within a couple of minutes all the Alphas, had their cocks inside the loser victims and enjoyed fucking each one.  Gordon commented how delightfully pliable Andrew’s partially boiled asshole was, although that might have been partially because it was so well used.  This got a good laugh form the class, all of whom had of course fucked Andrew numerous times.  Andrew was now docile, having succumbed to despair.  Dr. Stewart was pleased to see that, pointing out to the class that this would make the experience even worse for Andrew, which was of course the goal.  Once the Alphas had shot their loads into their targets, the victims were hoisted fully into the air so the cutting and tearing could begin.

“It’s important to start with the skin that is lowest, since the blood will be flowing downward and make a mess of whatever’s below.  We cut the lowest parts first.  In this instance that’s the arms, and the idea here is to score the skin at the shoulders so you can get a clean tear.  A shallow cut from each shoulder down to the hands works well, along with a cut around the armpit.  Starting with this section also lets you practice keeping the cut shallow and ripping the layer of skin with a section that isn’t as critical as the torso or legs.”  Dr. Stewart demonstrated as he gave his explanation, and Andrew screamed and whimpered on cue as the nerves in his arms were severed as the skin was torn off.  The description of the blood flow was not exaggerated, but in short order Gordon had two sections of fresh skin to display to the applauding class.  They had all paid close attention and proceeded to do the same with their targets.  There were a few mishaps, but everyone got the skin off eventually, and Gordon was pleased.

“Now for the most important, challenging, and enjoyable section.  Having the target hang by its ankles allows us to tear the entire torso in one giant section.  That allows the most options for seamless leather, which is more appealing.  And this is extraordinarily painful since it is such a large area with thousands of nerve endings being ripped.  It might get a little loud with all the screaming, but that’s a pleasant sign of our success.   Start with a cut at the base of the cock that goes downward to just under the neck,” Gordon explained as he also demonstrated.  “Once you’ve made the first major incision, cut sideways across the top of the shoulders, and then under the armpits.  Then cut sideways just above the base of the cock and all around the waist.  You’ll then have scored the entire slab of skin and can tear it off in one piece.  Go slowly, and only use the knife to cut the skin free when you absolutely have to.  It’s more fun and more painful if you tear it rather than cut it, and the longer you take the more pain you inflict.”  At this point Gordon expertly cut into Andrew as he had described, his actions accompanied by Andrew’s pathetic but amusing screams of pain, now much more intense than when his arms were skinned.  As the students copied his actions, the cacophony of desperate screams was deafening but delightful.  As the large sections were successfully removed, other slaves helped the students manage them and wash off as much of the gusher of blood and other bodily liquids as they could.  But the victims were losing blood at a very rapid rate.

Once the torso was skinless, Dr. Stewart showed the class how to skin the legs and butt, leaving only Andrew’s heads, feet, and genitals untouched.  “I don’t recommend skinning the head, as I think it’s fun to enjoy the expressions of pain and despair.  And there’s not much skin on the hands or feet.  I can go either way on whether to skin the cock and balls, so that’s up to you.  I think it’s more fun to just cut them off and use them to make something like a paperweight or just enjoy the testicles as a snack.”  He held up a paperweight made from the genitals of the slave he’d skinned last year as an example.  As he described the options, Gordon slowly cut off Andrew’s cock and balls, cleaning off the fresh young man-seeds, consuming one himself and giving the other to Kyle.  That was the last part of the demo, generating another inhuman scream from Andrew and loud applause from the class.  Andrew was still very much alive, a quivering slab of fresh meat ready to be butchered and enjoyed once Gordon felt it had suffered enough.

Inspired by the amazing demo, the students focused on keeping the slaves alive and conscious while they finished skinning them.  The exposed, bleeding flesh was then cleaned and put into large incubator chambers by obedient slaves, where it could be kept warm despite the lack of skin, and also kept free from infection.  The meat would just lie in the chambers, enduring unimaginable agony.  Dr. Stewart designed this lesson, as he had the entire class, to confirm the image of slaves as what they are – sex objects appropriate for suffering.  He wanted the students to observe how much suffering was still in store for these losers as they were kept alive, conscious, and in pain.   As for Andrew, he encouraged the students to cut into what was left of him and enjoy a feast of classmate-tar-tar.  It had the disadvantage of allowing Andrew to die, but that could not be helped. In due course all the targets were successfully skinless but still alive, and Gordon Stewart declared the class an enormous success.  The skins would be sued to make leather lettermen jackets for the seniors as one more memento of their success in college and a lasting reminder of one use of slaves.

6

A Revealing Celebration

Dinner that evening was to be a special occasion to celebrate all the great things that had happened and were underway for Kyle.  It was organized by Gordon Stewart, who donned his tuxedo for the occasion, as did Kyle, his father George, and Nate, Gordon’s remaining son.  Gordon’s plan was for a formal event that began with a cocktail hour in the palace’s most elegant living room.  Cory and Keith, George’s submissive slave, were also included, naked of course. That not only reflected their status as slaves, but also would have been their preference if given a choice.  Cory and Keith were exhibitionists who got turned on when showing off their awesome bodies.  A tux would conceal their sex appeal and make them less convenient for use as sex toys.  Kyle was a little jealous, himself preferring to be naked whenever possible, but did as his mentor and teacher Gordon requested.  To rub it in, Cory casually stroked his hard cock, allowing himself to reach a very satisfying orgasm after a long period of massaging it, shooting a load that landed, as targeted, on Kyle’s tux.  Cory had a fairly good idea about Gordon’s plan for the evening and wanted to lighten it up a bit.  He knew he wasn’t supposed to have an orgasm without permission and would be punished severely by Kyle in due course.  But that was another reason he did it and he looked forward to the punishment.  Keith had been watching him masturbate and soon did the same., successfully aiming at George’s tux.    Everyone laughed, especially Gordon.  This impish play was part of the great bonds between submissive slaves and their owners, leading to intense S&M sex that brought out the differing desires of the sadistic owners and the masochistic submissive property.  George was as horny as Kyle, who had instructed Cory to give him a blow job, and George soon had his cock freed from his pants for Keith to suck.  Gordon could see that his plan for a refined, serious conversation was totally undermined by Cory.  

“OK, I give up.  I thought we could class this group up a little and do some serious planning, but obviously that didn’t work.  I’ll trust Kyle to make sure Cory learns better manners.  That should be fun for both of them, and I do have to admit Cory did an effective job undermining my plan.  Now I’m pretty horny too, so let’s all get naked.  George and Kyle can start punishing Keith and Cory, and Nate and I can start torturing the evening’s snuff slaves.  I’ve arranged for rather a lot of them, of extremely high quality. I didn’t plan for the whole evening to be devoid of fun, after all.  While we fuck we can enjoy our drinks and appetizers.  So much for getting Kyle and Cory to take their minds off sex!  Not that Keith and George are setting a good example.”  The two show-offs were quite pleased with themselves and by the time Gordon finished talking Kyle was also naked and moved from receiving a blow job to flogging Cory, and Keith was helping George finish stripping in prep for Keith’s own punishment.  Nate and Gordon weren’t far behind, and everyone was in a festive mood. 

Gordon continued his concession.  “We can have dinner served in here for us to enjoy as we feel like it.  And we can take advantage of the playroom next door and all its great sex toys as we celebrate.”  By that point George was punishing Keith and Nate had grabbed a nearby snuff slave to start his fun.  Gordon caught up with the group very quickly, and the party was in full swing.  Cory and Keith weren’t scheduled to die that evening, but there were no constraints on any of the other slaves and Nate and Gordon took full advantage of that fact.  When George and Kyle finished punishing their submissive slaves, they would as well.  There were lots of snuff slaves available, and as Gordon promised they were of extremely high quality and eager to fulfill their purpose.  All the cocks in the room were massively hard.

“I think you’re right, Gordon,” laughed George, looking at the collection of snuff slaves that had already been selected for use plus those who were obediently waiting nearby to replace the initial group as it snuffed.  “You’ve assembled an especially appealing collection of sex objects for the evening.  And we can work in all the planning you wanted to talk about as we drink, fuck, torture, and snuff.  I have to admit I like Cory’s plan for the evening better, which of course doesn’t mean he shouldn’t suffer a severe flogging and have his ass plugged with cocks and dildos.”

The slaves who waited on them wore tuxedo ties but nothing else, which showed off their hard cocks and sexy young bodies and helped the sexual energy of the revised celebration.  The ties came off once Gordon’s tuxedo theme was abandoned so their vulnerable bodies were completely unadorned.  They were just meat ready to be slaughtered.  The slaves would all be tortured and killed that evening for the sexual fun of the Alphas, as they were aware, so this was their last opportunity to serve.  They were eager to make the most of it, knowing it was their sole purpose.  The Alpha males enjoyed chatting with the slaves and with each other about how best to maximize each slave’s pain and humiliation.  The slaves presented themselves to be stroked, poked, and prodded.  They posed, bent over so their butt-holes could be inspected and fingered.  They made creative suggestions on how to increase the pain they would endure and prolong their suffering,.  And they listened carefully so they could make sure the necessary implements for their upcoming destruction would be convenient when the time came.  As they did so they served drinks and snacks for the deserving Alphas.  The expressed deep and sincere gratitude for the honor of being able to participate in the conversations about how best to offer their worthless bodies and lives to entertain such high-ranking Alphas. 

The conversation and the sight of such great bodies got Nate especially horny and his Alpha nature needed an outlet.  He was focused on a slave with an unusually large cock who looked a lot like Cory.  After all, he had been deprived of the chance to vent his sadistic Alpha desires on his one-time older brother, and this slave had rekindled those intense desires.  The slave’s cock was especially hard, totally aroused as the slave contemplated its imminent tortures and death, sensing the sadistic lust with which Nate viewed it. 

“Kyle has hogged Cory for himself, as usual, so I don’t get to snuff him like I’d like to.  So much for family bonding opportunities!  But I’m totally OK with that since it’s Kyle and I know he’ll do a vicious snuff job on my one-time sibling in due course..  And I think this slave looks enough like Cory that I can have my fun after all.”  He had gotten the attention of the group and they settled in to see what he had in mind, the Alpha cocks comfortable pumping slave butt-holes, pausing for a bit from whipping and tormenting the eager slaves. 

The slave Nate had selected also had an especially youthful appearance and eager demeaner, and Nate had it fetch a pair of pliers, sounding needles, a cattle prod, a set of brass knuckles, and a Seppuku ceremonial gutting knife.  As instructed, the slave hustled off to the adjoining playroom on all fours, doggie style, quickly returning with the tools in a cloth bag held between its teeth.  It got on its haunches and presented the bag to Nate, much like a dog that had fetched a stick for its master.  Guessing some of what might now happen, the slave was more eager and sexually excited than ever. It realized Nate had in mind using it to put on a show for the rest of the deserving group of high-ranking Alphas.  What an honor!

Nate suspended the slave by its wrists from the ceiling, its cock leaking pre-cum and pointing straight up.  Nate was no less excited as he fondled the tools he would use, caressing the slave’s skin and kissing the slave deeply, enjoying the mutual sexual energy as he thrust his tongue down the slave’s throat.  As the group watched, Nate then rammed his hard cock into the slave’s ass, quickly reaching an orgasm so he wouldn’t delay the show too much.  That began in earnest when Nate used the pliers to twist off the slave’s hard nipples, which was very satisfying, especially when Nate had the slave eat them. The slave did so gratefully.  Nate selected a sounding needle that was fairly think and inserted it into the piss-slit of the hard cock, generating a satisfying level of pain that intensified when Nate used the needle to masturbate the slave from inside its cock, generating the intense pain that resulted when cloned slaves had an orgasm..  But the real fun with the needle was when Nate turned the cattle prod to full power and touched it to the metal tip the protruded from the piss slit. A huge pulse of electricity ran through the needle and burned the inside of the penis.  Nate had just discovered this option while torturing another slave earlier in the day, and it was now one of his favorite ways to use the sub-human sex toys.  The smell of the meat being cooked was quite satisfying and the intensity of the pain was obvious.  Other needles went into the balls and the flesh where the nipples had been, and each of these was also subjected to major electricity jolts. The slave’s obvious pain was only exceeded by its gratitude, and the three fellow Alphas offered their praise for Nate’s creativity.  This was a fun sequence they would now also add to their sex play, and Kyle promised to use it on Cory when he snuffed him.  After using the pliers to crush the testicles, Nate slowly cut off the nicely ruined genitals and had the slave slowly eat them.

(Even for a sadistic Alpha, Nate enjoyed watching a slave eat freshly cut parts of itself.) 

After those preliminaries Nate was ready to begin the real damage and needed to put down the pliers and knife, which were coated with the slave’s blood and gore.  He didn’t want to risk scratching the elegant table next to the slave, so he thrust the knife into the slave’s thigh and rammed the pliers up its ass. The rest of the party was intensely focused on Nate’s show and highly aroused. They expressed their approval of his concern about the furniture, which was much more valuable than the slave.  They accelerated their fucking as the slave screamed in agony but again expressed its gratitude at being used as an object to store Nate’s tools – the ones being used to torture and kill it.  Nate now focused on the brass knuckles and used them to gut-punch the slave severely.  The beating was particularly aggressive and thorough, and the slave was now coughing up blood.  It would have collapsed but was held upright only by the shackles on its wrists attached to the ceiling.  Its internal organs were irreparably damaged and many of its ribs were cracked, so it would die from internal bleeding fairly soon.  But when he finished the beating Nate had one more fun idea while the slave could still remain conscious.  He pulled out the Seppuku knife and used it to cut a hole in the belly between the base of where the cock had been and the bleeding belly button.  Instead of finishing the slave with a traditional ceremonial gutting, Nate expanded the hole just enough to insert his rock-hard cock.  Fucking the slave’s ass had just been preliminary.  This would be the main event fuck.  Lubricated by the bleeding internal organs, Nate enjoyed his best fuck of the day so far as he thrust in and out of the dying, thankful slave, which he did for a long time as another slave held the victim still to facilitate Nate’s aggressive thrusts into its flesh.  After he finally came, Nate used the knife to finish gutting the slave, letting its internal organs fall out of the expanded opening.  This played to appreciative laughter from his Alpha friends, all of whom had cum as they watched the great demonstration of Alpha superiority.  Meanwhile, the satiated and fulfilled slave convulsed and died to cap off the entertainment, and, as instructed by Kyle, Cory used his tongue to clean off Nate’s blood-soaked cock.  But Nate and Kyle were still horny, so they double-fucked Cory’s willing ass.  As they did so, Kyle complemented Nate on his performance, and thanked him for such good ideas on how he might snuff Cory when the time came.  Cory also chimed in with praise as he serviced the two young Alphas.

After Nate and Kyle used a nearby open shower to clean off, soaped and toweled by Cory, Nate rejoined the group feeling quite satisfied, although like everyone else he soon massaged his cock into another erection.  As slaves freshened their drinks and removed the now-dead piece of meat, Gordon expressed his approval. 

“This is a good time to announce one of the things I wanted to cover this evening.  I knew for a long time that Cory’s best use would be as a submissive slave, and I’m glad he realized that.  It’s obviously been a lot of fun for Kyle and very satisfying.  But I also knew I would not be without a worthy son and heir.  I think Nate just proved that.  He’ll start next fall at Kyle Fletcher College, and he’ll do every bit as well as Cory has done, but he’ll do it as an Alpha, not a piece-of-shit slave like Cory.  And when he does, he’ll be the next in line to join the Alpha Council at the next retirement.  I know George shares my view and am fairly sure George will make sure there’s a retirement shortly after Nate graduates.”

“There will,” George agreed, smiling.  “Maybe even a voluntary one.”

Nate was caught by surprise and thrilled, as were Kyle and Corey.  Al three thanked Gordon and George and the excitement of the celebration got even higher.  This would be a long evening of great Alpha satisfaction.  That called for a plentiful supply of slaves – not a problem for the Alphas at the top of the food chain.  George texted his slave handler and ordered additional snuff slaves just to be sure.

As the group continued to play with the slaves and each other, the main thrust of the conversation was how well things were progressing for Kyle.  George was effusive in his praise of his son as Kyle and Cory described the decisions Kyle had made about the treasonous history teacher and the cowardly dean, especially congratulating him on how he handled the dean’s twin sons.  Proscribing a severe period of torture was essential, and he commented that most new leaders would have not done that given the strong friendship.  (Kyle did not mention the twins’ role in encouraging Kyle to extend their time being crucified, and Cory did not bring that up, so Kyle got all the credit.)  Gordon chimed in with praise for how well Kyle did in class at skinning the slave he’d selected.  The animal had remained alive and conscious through the process, which was not easy.  (The rest of the class had also succeeded at that, but that wasn’t mentioned since this party was to celebrate Kyle.)

Even Keith joined in the praise, taking pleasure not only in Kyle’s success but especially in how happy it made George.  Keith was exceptionally fond of Kyle, but George’s happiness was Keith’s sole purpose in life.  And as with the relationship between Kyle and Cory, George genuinely loved Keith, and there was lots of friendship in addition to lots of lust.  Keith was in his late 30s, but his youthful appearance and impish, outgoing personality made him appear much younger. He was a submissive slave like Cory, and George did enjoy torturing him and reminding Keith of their respective status while watching his body “perform” for George’s sexual gratification.  Keith had been an Alpha male himself before realizing his true nature.  Like Cory and other submissives, he was totally content and fulfilled in his proper role.  His love, loyalty, and devotion were total and had been since they first got together many years earlier.

 “I need another drink,” signaled Gordon to one of the slaves.  “Me too,” added Kyle.  “And I’m still totally horny.  I think Gordon is hot for Keith and it would be fun to watch Keith get fucked.  Meanwhile, Cory hasn’t gotten fucked or beaten enough to properly punish him for jerking off without permission.   How about if dad and I double-dick Cory while Gordon and Nate boule-fuck Keith?  I think it’s time for us Council members – current and future – to take charge!  And father-son bonding is always a good thing.

That plan was quickly approved by everyone.  The party now turned from a focus on cocktails while they praised Kyle to an orgy among the close friends.  The party moved into the adjoining playroom and everyone (including the attending slaves) knew the love and affection that underlay the orgy would soon be supplemented by the torture and snuff scenes they had discussed earlier with the snuff slaves.  The Alphas had already decided to skip s formal dinner and had summoned a cute young slave who lay on a nearby table so they could cut into it for some nourishment.  It was a Kobe slave, bred for its meat quality and maintained with a higher bodyfat content to enhance its flavor.  It also had a special diet designed to add flavor to the meat, including spices and fruit juices tied to various recipes for its preparation.  Although the friends already knew what parts of the meat were especially flavorful, they enjoyed listening to the live meat make suggestions for its vivisection.  Of course, they were careful to keep it alive as long as possible, another skill at which they were expert.  The slave thanked them for the honor of being eaten by them and masturbated for their entertainment, painfully shooting its final load all over its belly and spreading the cum as if it were dressing.  Other slaves added more cum so that the meat was nicely coated.  George emasculated the slave, feeding it its own cock and sharing the testicles with Kyle.  Side dishes and fine red wines were on a nearby table to balance out the impromptu feast, and a chef stood next to a grill for those who wanted the meat cooked.  The orgy proceeded, and the Alphas enjoyed great food between orgasms.  Even Keith and Cory were treated to table scraps they shared with George’s favorite pet Labrador Retriever.  Of course, the dog got the better choices.

Cory particularly enjoyed the evening and was extremely content, glad it had stayed light and fun.  He and Kyle had some great sex and Kyle had permitted him to jerk off for Kyle’s amusement.  They laughed at Cory’s first orgasm of the evening, onto Kyle’s tux, and Kyle admitted how clever he thought that was.  Cory thought about his exceptional good fortune to be part of Kyle’s world, being in many respects Kyle’s one genuine friend.

“Do you think this is an appropriate time to explain to Kyle one of the transitions that comes with his new status, George?” Gordon t asked.

“I think so,” replied George, who was enjoying his own lover as he and Keith also caressed and aroused each other.  The intensity of the orgy had faded a bit, and the Alphas had satiated themselves with the wonderful feast, although the Kobe slave was still alive and there were great cuts available for when they got hungry again.  And lots more snuff slaves for when they got horny again.  But this was a good time to pause.

Gordon addressed Kyle, who was obviously very curious what this was all about.

“Kyle, your father and I are extremely proud of you, and there is no doubt you will someday become yet another in the amazing line of the Fletcher family Alpha Leaders that rule our world, succeeding George.  You have learned an amazing amount and mastered critical transitions, especially in the last week or so.  But there is one more transition that you’ll need to make.”

Kyle was now totally focused on Gordon, and Cory on Kyle..  What was this about?

“You have no doubt realized your dad has had submissive lovers before Keith although you were probably too young to remember particular ones.  There is no question that he cherished, even loved, each of these possessions, and his love for Keith is real.  Nor is there any doubt Keith reciprocates it and is totally dedicated to George, as were his predecessors.  But Keith also knows his place, and his naked body is always available as an object to provide enjoyment to your dad, Keith’s nakedness being a symbol to help remind Keith of reality.  That’s the role of submissive slaves like Keith and Cory, and they are favored possessions that provide great value to their Alpha owners.  But when all is said and done they’re still just property, no longer human let alone Alphas.   

“When George joined the Alpha Council he had a different submissive, his first, with whom he was as close as you are with Cory.  Like you, as you know, he joined right after college while his own dad was Supreme Leader.  And like you, although you may not be aware of it, there were concerns if he was tough enough to fill the role.  It would be a disaster if people thought any member of the Council was weak or sentimental.  When a new member joins he needs to demonstrate that he is a true Alpha Male, dominant and not held back by any dependencies or relationships.  George demonstrated that by torturing to death his beloved submissive as part of this induction ceremony.  You need to do the same with Cory at yours.”

Kyle was stunned and started to become angry and emotional.  “But that’s not fair. Cory’s my friend as well as my slave, and he’s the one friend I can absolutely trust.”

“You just illustrated the problem,” George interjected gently.  “We’re members of the Alpha Council, and someday you’ll be Supreme Leader like I am.  We don’t get to have those kinds of friends outside the Council, let alone sub-human submissives.  Submissives can fill important emotional videos, much like a favored dog or other pet, albeit less worthy and not as well cared for.  We would never dream of hurting our pet dogs, after all.  But they cannot reach the level where we depend on them as if they were still human.  And we must demonstrate that to the public so they can trust us to be the true dominant Alphas we in fact are.”

As Kyle sat in shocked silence, working to control his frustration and anger at the situation, Cory laughed.

“Kyle, sometimes you’re a real bozo.  Of course this is necessary and I’ve been aware of it for a long time.  While you’ve been studying management and governance, I’ve been studying history.  I’ve especially focused on the history of the Council and of your family, which are of course pretty much the same.  Your dad wasn’t the first one to snuff a submissive as part of his induction.  It’s actually a family tradition that goes way back to the beginning of the Council.  I figured that was what Dr. Stewart had in mind to discuss this evening.  I was afraid it would be too serious so I upended his plan and kept the evening light and fun.  I knew you’d handle it better that way, since in fact it is no big deal.  And that’s why I’ve brought up the topic of how you could snuff me when the time came fairly frequently lately.  Your initial reactions are sometimes a little emotional, and I wanted you to think it through so you’d have some creative ideas to choose from when you learned that I need to die, and die a horrible and painful death in a public ceremony.  I knew that time was your induction.  My life is irrelevant, and I’m lucky to have had five years to serve as your submissive slave.  It’s been great and by far the best use of me there could have been.  But now my best use is to die a public and horribly painful death to assure your credibility as you ascend to the Council.  I’ve been watching your reactions as you’ve snuffed slaves during the last month or so more closely than ever to figure out what turns you on the most that is suitably terrible for the slave. For example, I know you love to choke a slave to death while you fuck it, like you did with Everett.  But that’s far too quick for the ceremony and produces not nearly enough pain for the slave.  As we discussed Saturday, crucifixion is wonderfully painful and public, but it doesn’t have the requirement of your active role in doing the kill.  The cross does all the work, and the slave is just displayed naked as it loses the strength needed to breathe as it hangs.  But I’ve never seen you so turned on as you were this afternoon while you skinned that slave in Dr. Stewart’s class.  I suspect that’s the perfect choice for torturing and killing me, and I also suspect that’s what Dr. Stewart had in mind in scheduling it as the finale’ of the class.”

Gordon also laughed and congratulated Cory on his insights, “I knew for a long time this was your proper role, Cory.  You have performed it well and I think your death will make the ceremony more entertaining and more credible.  It will also add to Kyle’s enjoyment, although he might not realize it yet.  And yes, I did schedule skinning slaves alive as the focus today in hopes Kyle would choose that.  It’s a really horrible way to die and it makes the necessary statement of Kyle’s Alpha nature without leaving any doubt.  Besides, crowds love watching and if Kyle practices on a few more slaves between now and then he’ll get quite good at it.”

George spoke next, while Kyle stared in shock at the turn of events.  “I realize this is a difficult moment for you, son,” he said.  “I remember when my own father taught me the same lesson.  I had a young submissive, a boyfriend I was totally in love with, and I felt terrible at having to kill him so horribly as part of my initiation ceremony.  I forget his name but that doesn’t matter any more than he did.  I soon realized that it was for the best.  Besides, I had a great time snuffing him with everyone watching and cheering me on.  I started by fucking him, of course, and then secured him to a rack lying on his back.  I took my time and slowly stretched him until his arms popped out of their sockets at his shoulders and then were ripped from his body.  Then I gutted him and took out a few of his organs, which is astonishingly painful but not immediately fatal if you do it right. His abs and chest were fantastic and he was immensely proud of them, so it was a natural target, and of course the nipples went next.  I jerked him off but cut off the cock, slowly of course, as it shot its final load.  I didn’t want him to feel any pleasure.  I remember how satisfying it was to admire my handiwork as I surveyed the ruined body and enjoyed munching on his fresh-cut testicles.  The screaming was almost musical.  The final kill took a while, as I used a hatchet to hack his body into bite-sized pieces.  I did a really good job on that so he lasted quite a while.  As I recall, the whole kill took nearly an hour.  And when he was dead he was flipped over on his belly and I fucked what was left of his dead ass one last time.  I still think of this as one of the best orgasms I’ve ever had, and the crowd went nuts cheering me.  Oh, and when he was butchered he made a great meal.  I made the transition to the Council and have never had any regrets.        

“By the way, the submissive didn’t resist, but, sadly, I don’t think he understood his true role.  I realized his devotion to what was best for me was under the belief he was somehow still a person, almost human.  Cory is setting a far better example.”

Keith interjected.  “I know this is the right thing for Kyle, George.  But based on his reaction this is tough on him.  I think you should help ease his emotional burden from having to lose Cory.  He’ll find he enjoys it, like you did way back when. I don’t doubt he’ll shoot satisfying loads of cum several times as Cory suffers and dies, and it’s obvious Cory will taste great, but at the start it will be difficult for Kyle.  But you could set an example.  As Kyle tortures Cory by skinning him and then makes his initial slice of Cory’s flesh to eat it, why don’t you do the same to me?  It would be a powerful father/son statement, and you’ll have a great bonding memory of the event.  I have always been particularly fond of Kyle and want to offer whatever small contribution I can.  You have been through this and can quickly find another submissive lover to take my place.  I didn’t deserve the amazing years I’ve had, let alone anymore.  And while it will be an initial sacrifice on your part, I know you’ll quickly get into it and thoroughly enjoy torturing and killing me.  True, my meat isn’t as tender as Cory’s, but I’ll be pretty tasty.  And the entertainment value of two submissives being skinned alive will be fantastic.  It’s all about Kyle having a great induction, how to make this kind of transition, and making a public statement of his Alpha nature.. As with Cory, I’m irrelevant and it’s a case of figuring out my best use to support you and Kyle.”

“That is extraordinarily insightful of you, Keith,” Gordon observed.  “You being snuffed is of course no big deal, but it is a sacrifice for George.  But if George is willing I do think your torture and death would help Kyle with his burden a little bit.” 

“It really is for the best, Kyle,” Keith continued.  “I’ve always known your dad would torture me to death someday, and it in no way reduces the love I feel for him or he feels for me.  It’s just the way things need to be for anyone in your positions.  Property gets used up.  Frankly, I’m doubly honored if my suffering and death will not only add a little pleasure to your dad during your ceremony – a perfectly sufficient reason for me to die – but also help in your transition.  That’s a great privilege for me.  I’m not at all surprised to see Cory feels the same way.  As Supreme Leader and heir apparent, you and George are the sole priorities.”

“Well,” chuckled George..  “You sure called me out on this Keith.  I hadn’t planned to snuff you for a while, but I have been thinking of replacing you with a younger submissive..  So it won’t be that big a sacrifice on my part, just a minor inconvenience while I find a replacement.  I don’t see any downside to your idea at all.  In fact, it will be fun. Let’s do it.”

Nate capped off the conversation.  “Wow, my dumb-shit worthless former older brother is finally going to be useful.”  Everyone laughed, including Cory.  And, having recovered from his surprise, including Kyle.  The logic of all this was compelling.

The six friends soon began a highly creative and positive conversation about how best to organize the public skinning as part of the ceremony. 

“One of the things Gordon stressed in class today was the importance of first tenderizing the flesh,” mused Cory.  “It seems to me boiling us alive as we did with Andrew today would interrupt the ceremony with not much going on.  We want the audience to stay entertained.  But I think you said it works to hang the meat in the sun for a few hours, preferably upside down to add to the humiliation.  I wonder if we could just be hung in public starting a few hours before the event begins.  The ceremony is outdoors, and it’s going to be very warm, so it should work fine.”

“That’s a great idea,” Keith added, “We’ll get obviously sunburned, which will be painful, so that’s good.  But I don’t think it would be long enough for our skins to blister.  People could enjoy looking at our bodies as we hang, and the cameras could pan to them if there’s a lull in the action.  We’ve both got big hard cocks and will look great hanging there, probably dripping a bit from sexual excitement at our fate.  We like to show off, since we’ll be the best-looking guys there, and we can enjoy the sun while Kyle and George are stuck wearing all that ceremonial robes crap.”  Keith (like Cory) was ever the exhibitionist. 

“Hey, you don’t get all the attention,” laughed Kyle playfully.  “It’s my show, after all.  And dad and I will get to strip while we rip the skin off your screaming bodies.  We wouldn’t want to get our nice outfits messy.”  Everyone chuckled at the exchange and quickly agreed to the idea.  Then Nate interjected:

“I call dibs on Cory’s breast meat at the feast!”

“Bullshit,” objected Kyle, laughing and now fully into the spirit of the celebratory planning.  “The meat belongs to me.  He’s my property, after all.”

“Now boys, no need to fuss.  There’s plenty of good quality meat on Cory to go around.  And I’m Supreme Leader, so I get to choose first.  I think Cory will be the better tasing choice, so you two can fight over Keith.”

“Well, that would be quite an honor for me,” Cory added, joining in the banter.  “But given where you two put your attention up until now I figured you’d want to carve up my butt.  After all, you’re both pretty experienced with that part of me.”

That got a good laugh and the group moved on to other aspects of the planning.  The goal was for Kyle to have a wonderful experience at his initiation that he would remember fondly – and to send the right message about his Alpha nature.  There was a concern about making sure the guests felt welcomed and involved, and Keith suggested that he and Cory could be gang-raped as they were hung naked in the sun. which would allow the entire group to participate in the fun.  Of course, the guests would join in the feast as the two slaves were cut up for their meat.

Gordon asked what should be done with the genitals, and Cory quickly suggested that George and Kyle eat the testicles raw but exchange them so each ate one from the other’s slave.  After Kyle and George finished enjoying the testicles, Keith and Cory could eat each other’s cocks.  Cory reminded Kyle that he’d promised Nate to insert the electrified needles into his cock as Nate had demonstrated earlier, and that quickly became part of the plan.  George would do the same to Keith.  Gordon approved of all the ideas, since these were the kinds of tortures that could inflict great pain and also demonstrate the sadistic superiority of the Fletchers.  No one could doubt they were Alpha Males unfettered by any silly emotional attachments.

It was Kyle who suggested the finishing touch for the ceremony.  He had always found Cory’s smooth, tanned young skin a massive sexual turn-on.  So he suggested that the skin be used to make Kyle a leather outfit for torture sessions as a souvenir of the ceremony.  He usually stayed naked as he snuffed slaves, but sometimes he liked wearing imposing leather fetish gear.  Cory was deeply moved by the gesture, and Gordon and George quickly approved the same use for Keith’s skin.

By now it was fairly late, and the group was exhausted from all the physical activity and mentally drained from their efforts at getting creative for the ceremony.  But George had one more surprise for Kyle.  This time it was a very pleasant one.  At his signal, the submissive slave Grant entered the room and stood naked in front of Kyle, cock hard and head bowed out of respect for his new owner.

“I mentioned how much fun I had snuffing my first submissive,” explained George.  But the real cure for my stress was his replacement, a submissive I enjoyed for many years before snuffing him.  So I figured getting you a new one would help.  This is a very well trained submissive once named Grant, although you can obviously change that if you prefer him to have another name, or just brand him with a number.  He’s now yours to do with as you wish.  I think he’s about the most natural submissive I’ve ever seen, maybe even more than Cory.  He’s my present to you on your induction.”

Kyle was grateful and thrilled.  Grant was even more handsome than Cory, a bit younger, and with skin that was even more smooth.  He was fresh young meat for Kyle to enjoy.  Kyle could have great sex exploring Grant’s limits and then greatly exceeding them.  He could learn how to inflict the most pain and cause the greatest humiliation.  As tired as he was, Kyle was massively turned on. 

“I don’t think I’m going to miss Cory at all.”

As the evening drew to a close Gordon opened a special bottle of wine that he had been saving for this occasion.  He poured 6 glasses, using new fine crystal he had ordered that was embossed with the names of each of the six friends, handing one to each of them. 

“I want to propose a toast to George and Kyle, my fellow members of the Alpha Council, and to this wonderful group of friends, even though two of us are just property that will shortly be disposed of..  This has been a fantastic evening and it portends wonderfully well for the future of the Council and the dedication to it that the two of you are demonstrating by sacrificing the pleasure you receive from Keith and Cory.  I hope the next couple of days bring you the final sexual satisfaction from them that you deserve as they transition from submissive slaves to meat and leather.  This wine is the best from my private vintage, and I brought it for this celebration, as I also had these fine crystal goblets made with each of our names.”  George and Kyle thanked him for such a thoughtful gesture and downed their glasses, as did the others.  The group finished the bottle and Gordon took the empty goblets from Cory and Keith.  He threw the crystal into a nearby fireplace, shattering each as a symbol of their impending deaths.  Everyone recognized how fitting Gordon’s ceremony was, especially Keith and Cory.  Grant, meanwhile, was overwhelmed by his extraordinary good fortune.  He stood at attention eagerly waiting for his service to begin.

Officer Bubba Makes Bennie His Bitch

His name was Antoine LeFebre, but no one ever called him that, or even thought of him by that name.  He was simply Officer Bubba.

He was easily recognizable for a number of reasons.  For one thing, he was the only black man on the Twin Lakes police force.  That alone wasn’t saying much; Twin Lakes was a small resort town about an hour away from a decent-sized city—a perfect place for white flight.  The percentage of the local population that was black was somewhere on the order of two percent.

But Officer Bubba was also noticeable—and strikingly so—for his build.  He worked out on his home gym relentlessly, and it showed.  In his early thirties, he was just under six and a half feet tall and weighed in at nearly 275 pounds, every bit of it hard, toned muscle.

His swollen chest was as smooth as his head, which he shaved daily; the only hair on his head was a mustache that covered his firm upper lip.  His physique was intimidating as fuck, and the natural scowl on his face only added to the effect.

Officer Bubba was strong and powerful—but he didn’t feel like it.  He’d been with the TLPD for seven years and was the only officer not to have gotten a promotion in that time.  His raises had been minimal.  And suddenly things had taken a turn for the worse.

It had begun with the BLM protests.  As a small, mainly upper-middle-class town, Twin Lakes had strongly come out in favor of backing the blue and repeated comments about all lives mattering.  As a cop, it should have been gratifying to Bubba, but the comments of his brother officers—and from the members of the general public with whom he interacted—the buff black stud could tell he was regarded with suspicion, if not downright contempt, merely due to his race.  Twin Lakes seemed to think he was looking for a reason to commit mayhem.

After a while, he began to think so too.

In the last six months, he’d arrested two black boys—one for underage possession of alcohol, the other for shoplifting.  In the same time period, he’d arrested ten white boys.  Four of them had been driving drunk (two of them had had BACs so high they’d needed medical treatment), one had been shoplifting, two had been dealing meth and three had been in on the armed robbery of a convenience store.

The only white kids to do any time were the meth dealers and the one who’d actually held the gun during the robbery.  And none of them got more than two years in the reform school—which was exactly what the black kid charged with underaged possession got.  The other one was over eighteen and had a prior for marijuana possession; he got eighteen months in the state pen.

As the arresting officer, Bubba was in court each time as a matter of course.  And each time, he found himself getting angrier and angrier.  And now, the huge, hulking cop had reached the boiling point.  No one knew it, not even himself.

But he was about to find out, on tonight’s patrol.

It was a hot night, and he was sweating as he slowly cruised through town, but he kept the AC off and the windows down so he’d be able to pick any sign of trouble.  He’d prepared for the heat, though; under his lightweight short-sleeved unform shirt and matching black chinos, he was wearing nothing at all except his Belleville steel-toed flight deck boots.  The boots had rubber soles that silenced his approach, an attribute for which he was soon to have a need.

He’d just driven through the intersection at Main and Warwick, turning left onto the latter street, when a flash of movement caught his eye.  It wasn’t much, but it was down an alley that ran behind the buildings fronting onto Main—businesses including a jewelry store, a drug store, and a bank. 

Bubba drove past the alley and pulled the cruiser over quietly.  He left the car, as carefully as he could, and approached the alley cautiously.  There was a flickering security light part-way down that might have been what triggered him, but he didn’t think so.  He began to inch his way in, creeping silently down the narrow, garbage-strewn passage.  He didn’t want to disturb whatever was going on, at least until he could figure out what it was.

What it was, was Bennie.

Bubba knew Bennie.  All the Twin Lakes cops knew Bennie.  And Bennie, when he looked up, knew Officer Bubba—and he wasn’t happy to see him.

Bennie was a particularly obnoxious stench in the nose of the local law; a high school dropout by the age of fifteen, he’d almost managed to reach his twentieth birthday—three weeks away—without developing a single useful talent or any useful value to society.  He did odd jobs and temped at physical labor when he had to, but most of the time he earned what little money he had by selling drugs.  He’d tried other shit, too, most of which ended in failure, like the time he tried to set up a moonshine still.  The worthless fuck had gotten off easy; he’d been gone when it exploded, but his idiotic partner Tim Edwards hadn’t been so lucky.  Tim was still in some charity hospital up north, learning how to read Braille.

Bennie was tall and broad-shouldered, with a snub nose, freckles, and red-gold hair, now mostly covered by a black ball cap worn backwards.  Despite—or perhaps because of—the heat, he was wearing a leather biker jacket over a soiled white t-shirt.  Bubba knew that trick; people would think he was sweating because of the heat, not realizing the asshole was higher than fuck on crack, which induces sweating.  Bennie’s tight jeans had seen better days and his Reebok hightops were no longer as white as they once were.  He still had the tight, firm body of an adolescent, but within a year or so, the drugs would be taking a much heavier physical toll than they had so far.

The fucker hadn’t yet realized he was being watched.  He was trying to get into rear door of one of the businesses.  Bubba peered into the darkness, trying to read the lettering on the door—the drugstore.  Of course.  Even if he couldn’t find any cash, there were plenty other things a boy like Bennie could use in there. 

Bubba had seen enough.  He stepped into the faint circle thrown by the single dim security light in the alley, and he made it obvious enough even for a waste like Bennie to realize it.  The punk whirled around and there was a pregnant pause as the two males eyes each other.  There was a brief moment of tension, as if violence were about to erupt, but Bennie wasn’t so high that he seriously thought he could take on Officer Bubba.  A petulant look formed on his arrogantly handsome face.

“Officer Bubba,” the boy sneered, “Fuckin’ figures.”

Bubba reached for the cuffs tethered to his utility belt.  “You know the drill, Bennie,” he said calmly, his deep bass voice rumbling in the confined space of the alley.  “Turn around.  Hands behind your back.”

“Aw, what the fuck,” the kid whined, “I ain’t doin’ nothin’ wrong.”  But he complied with the cop’s order.  Bubba got the steel bracelets around the perp’s wrists and shoved him towards the street.

“What the fuck is goin’ on?” the strung-out little shit demanded.  He was still complaining when Bubba opened the rear door.  “I wasn’t doin’ nothin’!” he shouted.

“You were breaking into Sorenson’s Drugs,” Bubba said as calmly and evenly as before.  Bennie started to respond, but Bubba pushed him into the back seat and slammed the door.  He walked around to the driver’s side, still able to hear the boy squawking inside.  Sighing, the muscle-bound cop lowered himself into the car, his bulk settling it on its suspension slightly.  It was gonna be a long ride to the station…

It turned out to be a lot longer than either of them had suspected at the outset—mostly due to Bennie’s mouth.

“Makes ya feel big, arrestin’ me for shit I ain’t doin’, huh?” he snarled at the smooth back of Bubba’s shaved head.

“I already told you what you’re going to be charged with,” Bubba replied wearily.

“I wasn’t doin’ a goddam thing!  You ain’t got no proof, ya asshole cop!”

“I saw you myself; I’ll be there to testify.”

“Yeah?  Who the fuck is gonna believe you?”  Bennie leaned forward, hissing in Bubba’s ear.  “Ain’t no one’s gonna take the word of a nigger over a white man in this town, even if the nigger’s a cop.”

High as he was, even Bennie could see the way Bubba’s huge, rippling muscles tightened at this remark.  The punk knew he’d scored at hit and continued the attack.

“You know my uncle Ken?” he said in a slight undertone.  Bubba didn’t reply.  Of course he knew Ken Hammond, one of the best criminal lawyers in the county.  The man didn’t often come down here; he was too busy up in the state capitol, trying to put himself forward as a possible attorney general for the state in the next election.  “He’s gonna get me off this.  You’ll see.”

“You may be kin, but Ken Hammond isn’t going to risk his political career for a piece of crap like you,” Bubba responded.  He was aware that his control over his anger was starting to slip, and it worried him.  He wasn’t sure what would happen.

“All the fuck you know about it, ya dumbass jigaboo,” Bennie spat out.  Bubba ground his teeth and gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles paled.  “Uncle Ken ain’t gonna let no fuckin’ nig-nog take down our family.  See, once he’s in office, he’s gonna make sure all you fuckin’ porch monkeys learn yer place.  He’ll not only get me off, he’ll sue yer coon ass for harassment.  Hey, Sambo, how many nappy-headed monkeys gonna be on your jury?  He’ll get you fired and take everything you got—but don’t worry, boy.  I hear Anderson’s Packing need some big dumb black bucks like you to haul—”

He never got to finish his sentence; Bubba swung the car violently to the left at the next intersection, throwing the obnoxious little asshole into the corner.

“OW!!  Goddammit, you did that deliberately, ya nigger sonovabitch!  I’m gonna have yer fuckin’ badge just for that!  I’m gonna—hey, where the fuck are you going?!?”

It was obvious that they were no longer heading for the station; in fact, they were heading out of town and Bubba was accelerating.  “Goddamit, I asked a question, ya fuckin’ spade!  Where the hell are you takin’ me?!?”

But Bubba remained a silent, looming presence in the driver’s seat.  So silent, that Bennie began to get unnerved—not that it made him any less abusive.  He was the type who overcame his own insecurities by finding someone else he could despise, and the cop was the most blatant target for his uneasy catcalls.

“Whatsa matter, ya too stupid to understand English, ya coon?”  The kid’s voice was developing a hoarse edge from anxiety; it drowned out the low sound of Bubba grinding his teeth.  But they were nearly at their destination.

Bubba had found the place three years ago during a cross-country search for a fugitive.  It was an abandoned cabin set not too far off the county road, but down a dirt path so overgrown it was almost invisible.  The place wasn’t wired for electricity, but it was still furnished—to a certain extent.  It hadn’t been used for years, though.  Since then, the cop had periodically checked up on the place—more to make sure the local kids weren’t using it for something stupid—but had never seen any signs that anyone else had been near it.

When the patrol car pulled off the road, appearing to almost be driving directly into the woods, Bennie verged on hysteria.  High as he was, he knew this was all very wrong.  The big black cop was bringing him out here to do something he couldn’t do back at the station. “What the fuck are you doin’?!?” he screamed, the crack in his voice making his fear obvious, “Are you headin’ back home, ya jungle bunny?  Goin’ back to a tree like a good monkey?”

Bubba brought the car to an abrupt stop; they had reached the cabin, but Bennie didn’t see it in the overgrown darkness.  He thought his taunts had finally gotten through to the cop.  Fucker might scream at him, but he wasn’t gonna really do anything…

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” the obnoxious teen sneered.  “Wait till I tell my uncle about this.  He won’t just have yer badge, nigger; he’s the grand-fuckin’-dragon of the county KKK and he’s gonna run all you yard apes outta here for good!”

But Bubba didn’t turn the car around, he shut it off and got out.  Bennie froze, his old fears reappearing as the cop opened the rear door and snarled, “Get out!”

Bennie did, silently for once, his hands still cuffed behind his back.  Something glinted in the faint moonlight that penetrated the tree cover—it was Bubba’s gun.  The Twin Lakes PD certainly hadn’t been defunded; the metallic gleam was that of a .357 Magnum.  Despite the punk’s fear, he simply couldn’t believe the cop was just gonna blow him away.

Unfortunately for him, he was right. 

“Well now what?” the boy demanded, his face flushing in self-directed anger; he could hear how his own voice wavered in fear and knew the cop could hear it too.  “Whaddaya want, ya moron?  You drag me out here to suck my dick?  You a faggot, nigger?  You a—UUNNHH!”

Bennie had only seen a brief flash, not enough to allow him to react, as Bubba pistol-whipped him in the head, sending his cap flying and him reeling.  Bennie fell to his knees, pressing his hands against the side of the patrol car as he struggled to maintain consciousness.

“Get up, you piece of shit,” Bubba said calmly while Bennie leaned against the cool metal panel and gingerly felt around the bleeding gash on his temple.  The boy was stunned, but his fear was dwindling, rage filling in the hole.  The cop had hit him.  The fucking nigger cop had hit him!

Bennie rose to his feet again and turned to Bubba, snarling, only to find himself looking down the intimidatingly wide barrel of the gun.  He paused, his anger in abeyance.  He couldn’t do anything yet, but the moment he could, the jigaboo better watch the fuck out.

Officer Bubba didn’t need to be told anything of what was running through Bennie’s mind; the strung-out teen was so pathetically transparent he might as well have had thought bubbles over his head.  Of course he was gonna try to make a break for it at some point.

And that was where Bubba paused.  What, exactly, was he doing out here?

He’d driven out here in a kind of blind rage; he had no specific plans.  But things had certainly gone too far for this to end well.  Bennie might have been lying about being connected to the KKK—the worthless piece of shit was a notorious liar—but he had a basis now for the threat to take Bubba’s badge.  He had, after all, assaulted a prisoner in custody.  And Bennie was exactly the type to broadcast that fact, pissing and moaning to anyone who’d listen.

There was only one answer.  The little fuck had to die.

And the moment Bubba realized that, he also realized that his huge black python of a cock was starting to swell.

A smile spread across the hulking cop’s savage face—a cold, cruel smile.  After all, if it had to be done, why not enjoy himself?  The white boy needed to learn a lesson before he died, and Bubba was just the man to teach it.

Bennie, for his part, wasn’t able to read Bubba like the cop had read him.  He could, though, see the hateful smile on the cop’s almost simian visage; the boy quailed, his bravado faltering for a moment before he remembered how often his uncle had told him that niggers can smell fear and that he needed to master himself before he could take his proper place as master of a coon.  Heeding Uncle Ken’s words, Bennie stood up straight and thrust out his jaw, the strung-out teen presenting a ludicrous caricature of courage.  His fear was palpable.

“Move it,” Bubba barked, waving the pistol towards the cabin.

“Make me, motherfucker,” Bennie sneered.

Bubba’s response was swift and decisive.  He promptly shot Bennie in the left foot, blowing off two toes.

The roar of the gun and the sudden burning pain left the arrogant punk gasping and bleating before finally finding his voice—not that he was capable of saying anything more coherent that “Ohfuckohshitfuckfuckfuck…”

“Get moving,” Bubba said in the same calm, even tone as before.  Bennie turned his tear-stained face up to the cop; for the first time, fear had overcome the obnoxious cockiness.

Bubba made another discovery:  the white boy’s fear turned him on.  The expression on the kid’s face—suddenly, Bubba was feeling the sexual arousal of establishing dominance over another male.  How far could he take this?  And was would it feel like when he finally exerted his ultimate power over the boy’s life?

He didn’t know, but he damn sure wanted to find out.  But that was for later.  First, he had a more immediate task to assert his control.  He pulled his flashlight from his utility belt, aiming the beam of light at the cabin door.  “Get moving, I said. Next shot, I’m aiming higher.”

Bennie, gulped.  His chin quivered as if he was going to make one last attempt to prove he wasn’t afraid, but he gave it up and headed for the door, limping.  Behind him, Bubba noticed the way the teen’s tight jeans cradled his boyish ass and felt his own cock stiffen even more.  He hadn’t thought much about sexuality, but it occurred to him how fucking humiliating it would be for the racist little fuck to have a huge black dick up its ass.

Plus, it would feel good.  Bubba’s grin widened.  After all, it wasn’t like he was a faggot.  If it was gonna die anyway, it would be like fucking—well, a piece of meat.  He could do that.  He could cum inside a squealing, kicking piece of meat.

By the time Bennie had forced the door open and entered the decrepit cabin, Bubba had already stopped thinking of him as human.  Bennie had become an ‘it’.

Navigating the interior of the cabin would have been impossible without the cop’s flashlight.  The front windows had broken, and debris had blown in.  The elements hadn’t been kind to the furniture.  Behind, however, was a kitchen and a bedroom, both with intact windows and in considerably better shape.  But they weren’t staying inside the cabin.  Bubba kept prodding Bennie in the back, directing him into the kitchen and out the rear door.

Behind the cabin were the collapsed remains of a tool shed and a clearing—well, an area free of trees or dense underbrush, at any rate.  The cold light of a full moon illuminated the area, giving the scene an eerie light that did little to calm Bennie’s nerves.

“Over there,” Bubba said evenly, shoving the punk in the direction of the shed.  “See that shovel?  Grab it, boy.  You’re gonna do some digging.”

The shovel was as decrepit as the cabin—rusty, its wood handle gray and full of splinters.  The teen nudged it with one of his sneakers and turned to face the cop.  The refusal he was so obviously about to utter faded from his lips as he found himself looking levelly at the barrel of the gun again.  His fear had almost made him forget the throbbing pain in his foot but having the cause of that pain jammed into his face refreshed him memory very well.  His face fell into what was a natural expression of annoying adolescent petulance, but he picked up the shovel and followed Bubba’s motions into the clearing.

“Dig me a ditch, boy,” Bubba commanded, his savage face twisted into a sneer.  “Right there.  Three feet deep, three wide, six long.  Now, motherfucker!”

Bennie jumped.  He’d never heard that word—or that tone—from Office Bubba before.  His protests died away and he leaned forward, using his weight to drive the dull tip of the shovel into the earth.

It was hard work, and after a few minutes, Bennie needed a breather.  He hadn’t looked at Bubba while he’d been digging—for several reasons, none of which he felt like examining closely—and now he turned to say he was taking a break.  But his words failed him.

As Bennie had been digging, Bubba had stripped off his shirt and his wide belt of black leather.  Bennie looked around and was confronted with a huge black powerhouse of a man, his huge nipples jutting above the massive rock-like pecs and casting a shadow in the moonlight.  Below the powerful washboard abs, the teen could see a frighteningly large bugle in the crotch, but that was far less worrying—at the moment—than the fact that the huge cop had doubled over the leather belt and was swinging it.

“Oh my god…” Bennie gasped involuntarily and was rewarded with a grin of such cruel shark-like intensity that the kid wished he’d never left home that day.

“Yeah, boy, I am your God,” Bubba snarled, his large white eyes gleaming with a sense of absolute control.  “Take off your shirt.  Now.  Take it off or I’ll hurt you.”

Bennie gaped.  This couldn’t be happening—but once Bubba raised the arm holding the belt, the boy suspended his disbelief long enough to shrug off his leather jacket and peel the t-shirt off, tossing them aside the way he always threw aside his clothes.

The teen turned back to Bubba.  He wasn’t badly built; he was lazy but not inactive and he had a strong, wiry body.  But compared to Bubba, he almost looked like a different species, and he knew it.

Without his shirt, the night breeze blew across his bare, sweat-covered chest, making him shiver.  “W-what was th-that for?” he asked the cop, his voice quavering more from the chill than fear.

“You’re gonna dig that trench, boy, and if you slack off I’m gonna beat your bare back like a slave.  You hear me, you worthless piece of white trash?  I’m gonna whip you like a fucking field hand if you give me any shit—”

“FUCK YOU, NIGGER!!” Bennie screamed, his face beet red, and Bubba waded in, swinging the belt.

Bennie saw it coming and cowered, crouching down and holding his arms over his head.  This last measure wasn’t as protective as he’d hoped; Bubba grabbed one of his arms, jerked him up, and began beating him.

For a moment, there was confusion in the clearing, black and white forms entwining, the loud lashing sound of the leather strap hitting tender flesh, and the bleating and squealing of the teenaged punk.  After five minutes, Bennie was lying on the ground, sobbing and gasping, his smooth chest and pale back stippled and swelling with angry red welts.

And standing over him was a large black man who’d suddenly come to the realization of just how fucking good it had felt to beat the boy.  It wasn’t just emotionally satisfying; it was physically stimulating.  His huge black shaft was straining the material in his crotch. 

Was it time to let it out to play?

Well, why not?  Not like this juvenile delinquent was going to be in a position to tell anyone about it; his fate was already sealed.  And besides—the little motherfucker needed it.  Racist little shit needed a ride on his big black lighting rod.  Fucker thought he was a superior race?  Let’s see how he reacts to getting pumped full of nigger sperm.

It was probably lucky for Bennie that he couldn’t see the look on Bubba’s face as these ideas sparked in the cop’s mind; the kid was already in for a bad night.  Still sobbing, the youth slowly climbed to his feet.  He’d only dug about a third of the trench, but he began to edge toward the side. 

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going, boy?” the cop rumbled.  Bennie flinched at the sound of Bubba’s voice, but couldn’t bring himself to look at the heavily muscled black man looming over him.  “You ain’t done yet.  Get back to work, motherfucker.”

Full of fear and racial hate, Bennie picked up the shovel, turned his back on the cop, and resumed digging.  It was exhausting work, and his lean, lithe body ached from the beating he’d endured, but he knew worse would be in store if he didn’t finish the task.  He didn’t know why he had to dig like this, but he refused to even look at Bubba, much less speak to him to ask.  He just kept shoveling the dirt.

After what seemed like hours—but had only been about forty minutes or so—the teen punk had completed his assigned task and was standing in trench approximately six feet long, three deep, and three wide.  He stood and wiped the sweat form his eyes with the back of his arm and tossed the shovel aside.  Just as he did so, he heard an unmistakable sound behind him.

It was the sound of a zipper being pulled.

Curiosity overcame Bennie’s hate of Bubba and he whirled around.  At that moment, Bubba happened to be bending over, picking up the belt he’d dropped.  Even from this angle, the hulking cop looked insanely powerful, his taut muscled ass visible though the tight chinos, flexing with enough force to crack nuts.

Worse was to come, though, when Bubba stood up and turned around.   The cop grinned at seeing that the punk had finished—but Bennie’s look of horror wasn’t directed at Bubba’s face, it was directed at the frighteningly huge cock that jutted out nearly a foot, thick in proportion and wreathed in pulsing veins.  The monstrous shaft had an upward bend that made inserting it into any orifice an obviously traumatic experience.

Bennie had heard all the stories about nigger dicks, but he’d never seen one. 

He went pale.  “D-dude, what the fuck…” he gasped in a breathy tone, his eyes huge, “I-I ain’t n-no faggot!”  He gulped, then quickly looked up at Bubba.  “No of-offence, man, but I, uh, I ain’t gay…”

“Neither am I, you piece of shit,” Bubba growled, “Now get your worthless ass over here and suck it.”

This time, Bennie’s fear and outrage reverberated through the woods.  It did him as little good as his previous outburst.

“I ain’t suckin’ yer dick, ya goddam coon faggot!  Stay back, you sick fuckin’ nigger!  Help!  HELP!!!”

His scram faded to nothing in the dark woods, and there was no response.  It began to dawn on Bennie that what he wanted or didn’t want was probably gonna have little bearing on what was about to actually happen.  As if to reinforce this sudden reality check, the teen heard the low, ominous chuckle of the cop behind him.

“You done, boy?  Now get over here and take this thick black tubesteak down your creamy white throat, asswipe.”

Reluctantly, Bennie glanced up at the huge, heavily-muscled man looming over him, massive dick throbbing, face twisted into an ugly leer, and decided this wasn’t happening.  That had been some seriously fucked-up crack he’d smoked, to cause this kinda trip, but it was the only possible explanation.

“I meant now, motherfucker!” Bubba snarled and slashed at Bennie with the belt, this time catching him full in the face with the buckle, leaving a vicious gash across his cheek.  The kid yelped and fell to his knees, clutching his face.  Bad trip or not, this was his reality, and it was about to get a lot fucking worse.

“You stupid piece of shit, you know where you are?” the cop demanded, jumping down into the trench, his heavy boots compacting the loose soil with a thump.  “Answer me, fuckwad, you know what this is?”

On his knees, still clutching his bleeding face, Bennie knew he had to give an answer.  “N-no,” he sniveled.

“No what, motherfucker?”

“No-no s-sir,” Bennie replied, hot snotty tears of embarrassment at calling a nigger ‘sir’ running down his face.

“You’re in your grave, asshole.  Best stroke of work you’ve ever done, you worthless excuse for a human being, digging your own grave.  You get to take a nice long dirt nap here once I’m done with you…”

As Bennie looked up at Bubba in horror, the black man—and his inhumanly huge shaft—both seemed to swell with menace.

“…but before then, I think I deserve some fun.  Scream, white boy.  Scream all you want.  I’m gonna do everything I’ve ever imagined to you, and no one’s gonna stop me.  You and your white power fucks back the blue, right?  So back your ass right up on this thick dick.  Work the shaft, you piece of cracker shit, and I might let you live.  Probably not, but it’s your only hope.”

Bennie gaped, his underdeveloped adolescent mind whirling uselessly.  Bubba saw it and smirked.

“Aw fuck yeah, I was hoping you wouldn’t cooperate.  I’ve been wanting to do this forever.”  And before Bennie could protest, Bubba waded in with his belt in one hand and his policy baton in the other.  Within seconds, Bennie began to understand the true nature of Hell.

He bleated in terror, a shrill inarticulate sound, as he ducked his head and raised his arms to ward off the blows.  The effort was just as useless as everything else in his life; the first blow of the baton snapped two fingers on his right hand.  The kid screeched and jerked his hands away, allowing Bubba to lash his smooth pecs and flat belly with the belt.

Bennie collapsed to the ground, wailing.  He instinctively curled into a fetal position to protect his wounded hand and his welt-mottled torso, but Bubba bent down, grabbed the punk by his sweat-slick hair, and mercilessly pulled him to his knees.

“Are you gonna suck my big nigger cock, motherfucker, do I have to hurt you again?” he growled.

Silently, with tears of pain, fear, and rage rolling down his cheeks, Bennie opened his mouth.

“Yeah, I thought so,” Bubba jeered, “You white pride fucks are all faggots.  Choke on it, bitch!”

Gripping Bennie’s head in an iron-like grasp, Bubba forced the entire length of his monstrous hog down the boy’s throat, burying Bennie’s nose in his ebony pubes.  The punk’s eyes were already watering, but he began to gag instantly.

“That’s it, boy.  You like having a coon use your mouth like a cunt, yeah?  Of course you do.  Shit, your little white boy dick is already hard, ain’t it?”

Bennie was desperately trying to escape this hellish nightmare.  His nostrils were saturated by the smell of rank nigger pube sweat that had gotten in before the huge horse dick plugged his esophagus so deeply the head was brushing his larynx.  He beat frantically against Bubba’s thighs; it was like beating oak trees.  He was choking to death on a spade’s dick and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

And then, suddenly, he was free.  With a might shove, Bennie propelled himself back off Bubba’s cock and tumbled over onto his back, gasping and retching as he looked up at the grinning cop. 

His face was red and puffy but as he drew in more air, it gradually resolved itself into a twisted gaze of hate.  Again, Bubba read the worthless little punk perfectly; he’d been trained for this sort of thing.  The little fuck was gonna go for the gun in the holster at his waist.

Sure enough, the boy bunched up, his lean, lithe body coiling for a leap.  But just as Bennie sprang forward, he glimpsed the cop’s huge arm, bicep bulging with strength, as it drew back to meet his rush.  Unfortunately for the young thug, his momentum was now too great to either stop or change course.  He was heading straight for Bubba’s onrushing fist.

The cop aimed for Bennie’s face, but it was a fake-out.  Even as he darted forward, the kid had time to raise his hands—but Bubba lowered his and delivered a devastating gutpunch.  Bennie’s belly was flat and firm, but it couldn’t handle the wrecking-ball impact of Bubba’s vicious sucker-punch.

“HOOG!” the teen punk inarticulately cried out as the blow forced the air from his lungs.  He was literally knocked off his feet by the force, landing on his back in the trench.  His face was congested and grimacing as he tried desperately to inhale, but Bubba was there before he had a chance to recover, towering over the punk bitch as he wallowed and gasped in the grave he’d dug himself.

The moon was behind Bubba at this point, displaying a terrifying silhouette of pure muscled power that even Bennie, dazed as he was, could perceive.  And despite the fact that he was illuminated form behind, the cop’s massive, ebon-black cock was plainly visible; in fact, it seemed to have swollen since that last time Bennie had focused on it.  But the cunt’s fear and desperation, high as they were, went to astronomic levels when that huge ominous shadow began to speak in a deep, rumbling bass.

“You’ve gotten too damn many slaps on the wrist, you white piece of trash,” Bubba sneered, “Time for you to get slapped down by a real man.  Think you’re ready for the big time, little boy?  Let’s see how big you can take it.  Spread those legs, motherfucker; I’m gonna make you my bitch before you die.” 

And even as the protests began to well up on Bennie’s lips, Bubba’s fists began to fall, splitting those lips and knocking out the teeth behind them.  The teen punk started fighting back, beating at the powerful black man, but the cop’s blow fell like hail.  The boy cowered under the onslaught until he collapsed prone onto the freshly-turned earth, stunned, bruised and bleeding.

He wasn’t so stunned that he couldn’t feel the muscle-bound nigger ripping his jeans off, yanking them down and pulling his Reeboks off with them.  Within three seconds, the teen’s smooth bare ass felt the chill of the night air.  As the massive cop roughly pried his legs apart, Bennie made one last attempt to preserve his anal virginity.  When Bubba bent over him, he swung at the cop.

What happened next was too fast for the stupid little fuck to see; he knew his punch didn’t land and that the momentum of his arm had been arrested but he had no idea that Bubba had grabbed him by the forearm until the muscle-bound stud gave it a quick, casual twist that snapped the radius and the ulna simultaneously, with the ease of breaking a breadstick.

Bennie’s high-pitched screech was that of a little girl, but the way his thick boycock spasm as the pain jolted his nervous system wasn’t.  The teen troublemaker had lifted his head from the ground, his swollen, tear-streaked face focused on the grotesque angle at which his right arm now lay; he wasn’t paying attention to his dick right now—or, for that matter, to Bubba.  With an evil simian leer, the hulking black man thrust his huge tool into Bennie’s tight, tender fuckhole, instantly ripping the boy’s sphincter apart as the coal-black shaft tore through the bitch’s colon with the force of a runaway train.

Bubba grunted with pleasure as he felt himself tear the punk’s ass open; he placed his huge hands on the kid’s smooth, firm thighs to keep the legs apart and began reaming the boy mercilessly. The sounds coming from Bennie were less indicative of pleasure—the worthless cunt was screaming like a pig being slaughtered.

“Goddamit,” the cop growled, his heavy, powerful body pinning the lean young boy to the ground, “I like my bitches to scream, but you’re giving me a headache—shut the fuck up!!”

Bubba punctuated each word with a roundhouse punch driven straight from his shoulder into Bennie’s face, four blows in rapid succession that obliterated the teen’s face, lips, and most of his front teeth.  The punk wheezed in agony and suddenly gagged and choked momentarily before coughing up three teeth that had lodged in its trachea.

The cop, on the other hand was having an epiphany.  The way the piece of shit white thug clamped down on his big black hog while being beaten was fucking phenomenal.  Nothing had ever felt so good on his dick.  Could he make the cunt do it again?

It turned out he could.  Each time he beat the motherfucker, it worked his tackle better than any pussy had done.  He drove his massive fist into the boy’s chest, belly, and face until there was little left of Bennie but a pile of bleeding, moaning hamburger that had massaged the cop’s cock into he was almost ready to cum.

Almost.  He needed more.  The bitch had to suffer more; it was obvious that was the only way to make it bring him to orgasm.  But he’d already beat it to a pulp; what else was there?

The cop’s innate bloodlust dictated the next move; it was unplanned.  Bubba himself wasn’t aware why he found his big strong hands reaching out for the white fucker’s neck; it just seemed right.  It seemed even more right when he clutched the teen’s neck in a vise-like grip and began crushing it.  The moment his finger sank into the yielding flesh, the boy came alive, working his thick, throbbing manshift as if he desperately needed the older man’s seed inside him. 

Bennie had been barely conscious after the beating; in a red haze of pain, the adolescent punk was aware of the massive gorilla cock that was shredding his colon, but little more.  That changed when his air supply was cut off, though; the teen was revitalized by panic.  His pain, his racial anger, his plans of revenge were all forgotten as the youth’s instinctive fight for survival began.

“Take it, bitch,” Bubba grunted as he felt the teen rectum squeeze his pulsating rod tightly, “Take what you fucking deserve.”  The kid’s left hand was clawing at the cop’s finger in an utterly useless attempt to pry loose the iron-like death grip.  His smooth chest heaved and jerked as he struggled to breath, his back arching with the effort and rubbing his lean, sweat-slick torso against his hulking nigger’s body.  As he did, Bubba could feel the boy’s dick pressed against his belly like a hot steel rod.

The black cop lowered his head till he could look the choking white boy directly in his bulging, bloodshot eyes.  “You’re hard as fuck with my dick up your ass,” Bubba hissed, his powerful body continuing to thrust as he spoke, “I knew you were a faggot.  Fuck, bitch, I’m gonna get a fucking promotion for terminating your perverted ass!”

Bennie heard the words.  He was having trouble with his hearing—his racing, ragged pulse was beating so hard on the inside that he thought his head was gonna explode—but he could still hear the coon’s vicious taunts.  His terror swelled to white-hot proportions, overcoming all other concerns, even pain.  He beat at Bubba’s face with both arms, not heeding the agony and futility with which his broken right arm flopped pathetically with no impact at all on the cop’s assault.

Not that his good hand had any noticeable impact, either, aside from pissing the black buck off on spurring him to greater violence.  With a roar, Bubba let go of Bennie’s throat with one hand, keeping the other in a strangling grasp as he began to beat the teen again, making sure that it knew its place. 

For a moment, it was a scene of unspeakable sexual brutality, the hulking black man raping the white twink, his powerful, muscular ass pumping and thrusting cruelly, remorselessly ripping open the boy’s guts while the thick beefy sounds of flesh striking flesh rose from the shallow grave.

It was more than Bubba had ever imagined; almost more than he could take.  The sheer sense, not just of power, but of righteous power that flooded his massive, muscle-bound frame was utterly indescribable.  Feeling and seeing the teen asswipe die on his dick was amazing and watching the way Bennie’s mangled face had darkened until it was nearly as black as his own had been incredible, but it was seeing the way the cunt started to drool like an idiot as its brain died from lack of oxygen was such a turn-on that the cop could almost literally feel his own cum boiling over in his balls.

 Bennie was nearly gone; his entire existence reduced to a long silent scream of tortured agony—and the knowledge that he was dying so a fucking coon could use him as a cumdump.  Despair, and the humiliating awareness of his own erection that somehow made its way through his misfiring nervous system added to the horror of the teen punk’s last few moments on earth.  But it was the pain that held center stage.

The toes that had been blown off were a distant memory; part of a dim past that almost didn’t seem to have happened to him.  The agonizing pressure in the youth’s head and lungs was beyond anything he’d thought possible; it felt like his brain was going to be forced out of his skull, the way his tongue already was.  Even worse was the way his esophagus was being crushed; the sharp spiking pain of cartilage being compressed beyond its ability to recover was like having a ball of glass shards jammed in his throat.

But it was the fireplug-sized cock ripping his guts to shred that the dying teen suffered from the most before the brain damage progressed to the point where he didn’t feel anything at all.  His own dick and balls were swollen and aching as if they were gonna burst at every excruciatingly deep thrust of the muscular nigger’s powerful ass.

Things were fading, though…the world was going away.  The big black explosions in his field of vision, where hemorrhages in his bulging eyes were clouding his sight, had just left him blind; the last visual image in his dying mind was the terrifying simian snarl on the cop’s face as he neared orgasm.

Bubba had never killed anyone before; he didn’t know how close the meat was to death—only how close he himself was to cumming.  As his balls contracted and an almost painful electric shock rain down the length of his massive black member, the cop’s urge to squeeze, to crush, to kill, was instinctive.

The thick crackling sound that erupted under his hands as Bennie’s trachea collapsed satisfied a deep, primal urge the huge black buck never knew he had.  It, and the way the cunt jerked and squeezed on his cock, sparked a literal geyser of semen as his engorged shaft swelled and spewed hot alpha manseed into the teen’s mangled guts.

Bennie could no longer hear or see—but he could feel the ultimate destruction of his windpipe.  There was nothing remotely resembling lucid thought in the howling tornado of pain and fear that was his last mental experience on earth, but some part of him recognized that death was imminent—and so was release.

The lithe adolescent thrashed and convulsed; as it pressed helplessly against the black man’s sweaty, muscled torso, Bennie gave up his last load of sperm.  A solid jet, thick and pearly, splattered over Bubba’s chest so hard residue spattered back into the kid’s face.

Bennie died with a nigger cock unloading his ass and his own cum smeared on his face, lying on his back in the grave that the nigger had forced him to dig.  Not quite eighty minutes ago, the teen waste had taken a final hit off his crack pipe, slipped on his hightops and his leather jacket, and headed out to see if he could get into Sorenson’s for some codeine to help when he was coming down, with no idea he’d be dead before dawn.

The corpse was still jerking when Bubba let go of it; his hands were sunk so deep into the meat’s throat that he was surprised at the effort needed to remove them.  He stayed where he was for another two minutes, though, his huge muscled frame shuddering occasionally, accompanied by sexual grunts, as the dead boy’s death throes continued to milk the last drops of semen from his still-swollen dick. 

Eventually, though, it was over.  Bubba was almost sad as he extracted his huge horsedick from the corpse’s ass; he’d never cum so hard or so thoroughly drained his balls before.  With a sigh, he climbed up out of the grave and picked up Bennie’s t-shirt which was lying nearby.  He used it to wipe as much of the dead teen’s cum off his torso as he could, before tossing it into the trench where it landed on top of the punk’s jeans and kicks.  Kicking the boy’s leather jacket into the hole as well, the cop picked up the shovel.

It took far less time to refill the trench than it had taken Bennie to dig it; of course, less material needed to go back in.  The white boy’s splayed, cum-spattered corpse was still quivering as the last few clods of earth hid it from sight.  Bubba didn’t bother to scatter the remaining dirt; no one was coming back here.

Except maybe him. 

The cop put his shirt back on and slipped into the driver’s seat of the car.  He used the rear-view mirror to make sure as little looked out of place as possible; the fact that he kept his low savage brow shaved clean helped.  He started the car and began the slow, careful process of turning around in the limited space available.  He needed to head back ASAP; he was overdue in reporting in.

But as he carefully negotiated the overgrown track back to the road, Bubba’s mind was filled with the sights, the sounds, the sensations of his adventure.  Despite the most intense orgasm he’d ever had, the mere memory had him fully erect.  And more—it felt right.  It was right.  This place was full of KKK types whose brats avoided any consequences of their crimes.

After all, all he’d done was administer justice, right?  Damn right.

The grin on the cop’s face as the patrol car reached the county road and turned towards town was blood-chillingly evil.  Twin Lakes was a corrupt town.  Some of the filth inhabiting it needed to be taught a lesson the hard way, and he was just the nigger to teach them.

From now on, the white trash in town needed to watch out when Office Bubba was on patrol.