Mankiller–Finale (?)

Tony leaned back on the bed, his breath ragged with anticipation.

Nick was finally gonna fuck him.

He’d fantasized about this since the first time he’d seen Nick online, his balls drawing up and dick getting hard at the thought of the hard alpha dude fucking him brutally and mercilessly. It was why his videos were so popular; he knew the perfect angles to catch Nick’s angry domination of his victims.

Tony was something of a coward. He wanted to be dominated like the rest of Nick’s victims, but he didn’t want to die. He’d been afraid to let Nick fuck him, afraid that Nick would take it too far.

Now, though, Tony had the control. He was the producer and distributor of the snuff videos; he was Nick’s meal ticket.

Tony felt confident. He could just lay back and enjoy every moment of Nick’s erotic anger, safe in the knowledge that Nick wasn’t stupid enough to derail the gravy train.

Right here, right now. It was finally gonna happen, and it was gonna happen on film. There was no problem there; both of them wanted it recorded. At any rate, Tony had insisted—he’d wanted it for his own private viewing, but Nick had agreed unhesitatingly.

So here Tony was, nude except for his white tube socks and black Nike hightops with red laces. He turned his head and grinned at the camera on the tripod, giving it a big thumbs-up just before Nick walked into the room, also nude, his thick construction boots clumping loudly on the metal floor.

Nick’s huge, well-developed muscles were already shining with sweat; he’d come straight from the gym, without showering once he’d gotten Tony’s text that everything was ready. Looked like he was just as horny as Tony was.

Nick stood by the bed, breathing heavily, looking down at Tony’s slim, smooth body, his thin but long cock standing straight up like a weathervane. Nick caught the gleam of triumph, of arrogance in Tony’s eyes.

He didn’t say anything; there really wasn’t anything to say.

He reached down, his strong, massive paw grasping Tony’s dick firmly. As he began to tug on it, feeling it swell and throb in his hand, Tony reached out and grabbed Nick’s shaft—just as long as his own but considerably thicker; a truly fearsome weapon.

Tony groaned in pleasure and arced his body in response to Nick’s jacking. Closing his eyes, he gripped Nick’s swollen, vein-wreathed penis. “I want it in me,” he moaned, writhing on the bed, “I want your fucking huge tool shoved into my ass, dude!”

Nick smiled down at Tony as he climbed onto the bed and spread the smaller man’s legs, parting the firm, smooth thighs with his muscle-bound arms, pulling them up so that Tony’s new Nike kicks were hanging in the air over his face; Tony’d get to watch them flex as his toes curled while he got fucked…

Tony moaned again as he felt Nick’s weight settle on top of him. Then the pain started.

The pressure against his sphincter, yes, he expected that. But it just kept going. It was bigger than anything Tony’d had shoved up his ass before, and he wasn’t prepared. He began whimpering before the huge, dripping, purple head was completely inserted.

He opened his eyes wide and gasped, Nick was grinning evilly down in him; he’d known that Nick would enjoy hurting him, but he hadn’t realized that just the fuck itself would hurt this bad. “Oh please,” he squealed, “it fucking hurts, slow down, dude, for fuck’s sake slow down, you’re tearing me open, fuck, ya shoulda used some lube!”

Nick chuckled down at Tony, slowly withdrawing his shaft until just the head remained buried within Tony’s quivering asshole. “Ya want some lube? No prob, dude!”

Nick gave a deep snort and spat into his hand. He wiped the spittle on his swollen, ridged dong—then slammed himself back down on top of Tony, shoving it in so far his pubic hairs tangled with Tony’s ass fur.

Tony’s yell of pain vibrated throughout the metal structure and out into the factory basement, echoing off the masonry walls. It also vibrated along his colon, causing the silky smooth rectal lining to flutter over the sensitive head of Nick’s dick.

Nick bent down, laying his hard body, rippled with muscles, over top of Tony’s smaller, smoother form, letting Tony feel the way Nick’s body thrust and contorted as his muscles worked away, pumping his cock up Tony’s stretched-out fuckhole.

This close, Nick’s scent was overpowering; the hot erotic manreek of sweat and testosterone flooded Tony’s nostrils, reinforcing the masculinity of the alpha dude spearing his ass and triggering a deep-seated fuckpig response in Tony’s already willing body.

He bent backwards, thrusting his pelvis forward and up to accommodate even more of Nick’s tool up his ass, feeling his buttcheeks planted firmly against Nick’s straining groin, loving the erotically agonizing pain of having his tender rectum reamed out by Nick’s massive, merciless dick.

As he bent back, he turned to the camera. Remembering that his performance was being recorded, Tony began to writhe and moan, making sure that the camera had a good view of the pleasure reflected in his face.

As his back bent, his cock, already straining, erect, and oozing a thin trickle of transparent precum, began bobbing and pulsing. Nick looked down at it, grinned again, and grasping it firmly, began jacking it again, warmly and wetly pulsating.

“Fuck, dude, I’m gonna cum,” Tony grunted, his face contracting as orgasm approached.

“Oh no, you’re not,” snapped Nick, “I ain’t anywhere near ready to blow my load. You gotta work harder than that to get my spunk, bitch.” And leaning forward, he wrapped one huge, strong hand around Tony’s throat and began to squeeze.

“What—“ Tony managed to gasp before his air was cut off. Clawing frantically, he managed to get both hands wrapped around Nick’s fingers and was able to relieve just enough pressure to be able to speak.

“What—“ gasp, grunt, “What the fuck are ya doin—“ cough, gasp, “Dude, you can’t—“

Then his fingers slipped and the crushing, vise-like grip closed off his windpipe again.

The next few minutes were some of the most terrifying in Tony’s life–and some of the last.

Nick leaned down, smiling tenderly in Tony’s face. He let go of the smaller dude’s dick, bringing his hand up to stroke Tony’s face and smooth his tousled hair. With the same gentle, loving expression, Nick began kissing Tony’s face—delicate touches on his cheeks and his brow, while carefully and caringly stroking Tony’s face.

Tony’s swelling, blackening face.

As Tony’s eyes, already wide with panic and befuddlement, locked onto Nick’s, the alpha top started speaking. “Gotta thank ya, Tony, your films were a serious springboard. I couldn’ta made such a big splash without ‘em. But ya see, I got an offer. Foreign, but lotsa money behind it.”

Nick closed in on Tony. His face filled the punk’s field of vision, his sweat and pheromones filling the atmosphere, emphasizing Tony’s utter helplessness in the situation he’d thought he controlled.

Now he realized, he’d never had control—he’d been under Nick’s complete control from the beginning of the fuck. Nick, however, made certain to drive the point home along with his cock.

“Ya get it, Tony, ya worthless fuckin’ cunt? I don’t need ya anymore. Yeah, thanks for getting’ me started, but hey—whaddaya done for me lately, know what I mean? Anyway, my new distributor says this snuff will make me even more money through his network. So you’re gonna die on my dick to help make me rich. Hope ya enjoy the ride, bitch—but I could really give a shit, as long as ya die and make me cum…”

Tony couldn’t tell if the tears streaming down his face were from the betrayal or the physical trauma. Nick’s hand was clamped like a bear trap around his esophagus. He couldn’t afford the luxury of wallowing in self-pity; he was dying and needed to fight. But the deep sense of shock undermined his efforts; part of him simply couldn’t believe that he’d die like so many of the useless whores he’d filmed.

And Nick was treating him just like one of them. Tony’s frantic reaction, triggered by the instinctive will to survive, was amplified by his anger—not a whore! Not a whore!

But it didn’t matter. The dominating muscle top had Tony under complete physical control and was working his body as a sex toy, using him to masturbate with.

As Tony sank back into the mattress, trying to retreat as far as possible from the crushing agony in his throat, his groin thrust up. As Nick leaned over him, his grip on Tony’s neck never slacking in the least, the alpha top’s other hand grasped the thrashing boy’s still-erect dick, pulling and tugging it with a grip as strong as that crushing his throat. Even as Tony struggled violently—and futilely—to escape, he was aware of the swollen pleasure of his shaft. Despite the fear and the anger, the pain and the betrayal, Tony could still feel sperm boiling up in his scrotum.

And that was the biggest betrayal of all. He was being murdered, and it was making him cum. His own death was cause for his own orgasm. Somewhere deep inside his cringing pig soul, this was what he’d always wanted. It was why he’d enjoyed filming it; he’d been subconsciously putting himself in the place of the victim.

But he hadn’t known the fear. He hadn’t known the pain. The pain, oh fuck the pain…

It was an all-encompassing sense of pressure, burning inexorable pressure. It centered in his chest and head, different than the grinding pain caused by Nick’s iron grip on his neck. But the pressure was spreading; there was an unaccountable pressure in his balls too—faint, but growing.

But right now, Tony wasn’t thinking about that. He wasn’t thinking at all; his brain was a white-hot flame of panic. This wasn’t happening. If the pain had not been so overwhelming, he’d have done his best to deny it existed at all; the mind is capable of remarkable feats when it finds reality too terrifying to deal with.

Tony had expected this to be the best night of his life, not the last.

His head was full of silent screaming and pitch-black light; a hot, numbing iciness flooded his body, percolating along his tight muscles. Turning to the camera, Tony made one last attempt to cling to life. He reached desperately, pleadingly towards the camera, as if hoping that those who saw the film would somehow be able to help him—but then he remembered being on the other side of the camera.

No one was going to help him. The guys who watched this would see him struggling—and it would make them cum.

No one was going to help him. Everyone wanted to see him die. They’d shoot a wad watching him die. There was no help.

Nick sneered down into Tony’s horror-filled eyes and began whispering. “You know what’s happening, don’t ya? You’ve cum to this kinda scene before, so you know the drill, Tony. You’re dying like a little cunt on my cock. Your face is already black. Fuck, man, I can see the tip of your tongue peekin’ out. Dude, you are totally fucked and it’s totally hot…”

Tony clawed frantically at Nick’s face, his manicured nails digging into the alpha’s cheeks. Without breaking the rhythm of his pumping, the muscled stud let go of his victim’s dick just long enough to deliver a roundhouse blow to the punk’s face. The force of his muscle-bound arms was enormous; Tony’s jaw snapped like a strand of spaghetti.

The boy’s slim, lithe body rocked back on the mattress, his face contorted out of all recognition in his agony. His swollen, bulging eyes, swimming in tears, stared mutely into the face of his assailant, begging for release.

Tony had had his epiphany. The deathpig part of his twisted little soul had finally bubbled to the top under the needed stimulus of pain—as Nick knew it would. Tony was ready. He wouldn’t fight his fate any longer. He was ready to give up his life and his seed so that he could receive the dominant bull male’s spunk.

“Fuck yeah, ‘bout goddam time you realized what a fuckin’ favor I’m doin’ ya, you worthless faggot. Every one of them bitches I wasted I imagined was you. Ya like that, slut? Ya like knowin’ that I been plannin’ to kill ya from the day we met?”

Tony strove to remain conscious, to hear Nick’s words. But he was losing the battle; as his eyes bulged grotesquely from his twisted deathmask of a face, he could no longer see Nick’s hard cold eyes leering down at him. Horrible icy pain wracked his limbs; his nervous system was compromised to the point that he couldn’t feel his legs kicking and jerking involuntarily or his arms thrashing about uselessly one the bed, no longer a threat to Nick.

He couldn’t feel it; he could only feel the pain. And his vision was horribly distorted—but enough remained for him to see a large white circle in front of him—Nick’s face—and two small dark irregular shapes shuddering and bobbing next to the circle.

His new Nike kicks. He was gonna watch his toes curl as he got fucked. Now he was getting to watch them convulse as he died…

He could still feel on the inside, though. Despite the pain and pressure, despite the loud buzzing sound that drowned out all other noise, despite the icy numbness in his extremities, Tony could still feel Nick’s cock relentlessly thrusting deep into his guts. Indeed, his ass seemed to have gotten more sensitive as his body shut down; Nick massive rod seemed to fill Tony’s abdomen and torso. For a brief moment, Tony’s oxygen-starved brain had an image of him hollowed out, nothing more than a receptacle for Nick’s sperm.

He knew that was what he wanted. It was what he was meant to be. He’d never had another purpose. He accepted it, finally letting the excruciating agony of death wash over him, flooding his body and flowing out through his cock.

As Nick bent over Tony’s thrashing, convulsing body, he spit in the slut’s face. He was about to taunt Tony again—arrogant little motherfucker needed to know his place—when he saw the light fade from Tony’s bulging eyes. As foam bubbled up from Tony’s swollen, purple lips, his body went rigid. Feeling the fucker stiffen under him, Nick realized that Tony has sustained too much brain damage to understand his words.

That was ok. While there might not be any Tony left, there was still a hot, firm, thrashing, tight, moist hole working Nick’s dick. And Nick was so close to blowing his wad…

He threw himself into overdrive, his hips thrusting so fast, they almost blurred on camera. As he took advantage of the way brain trauma tightened Tony’s anus, he bent down over the black, spittle-covered face of his victim and, spitting on him one last time, clenched his killing hand as hard as he could.

The crunching sound of Tony’s esophagus collapsing was louder than Nick’s grunting; it reverberated audibly off the metal wall. As it did, Nick felt the body’s sphincter cinch up tightly around the base of his dick, functioning like a cock ring.

Nick gave a loud, strangled cry as he unloaded his genetic material into Tony’s rectum. The others had been fun, but this—this was something else. He’d fucking hated Tony. Bitch had tried to take advantage of him.

“Fucking cunt!” he screamed. “Take it, bitch, take my spunk, you worthless whore!”

Despite all his experience, Nick was wrong about one thing. Tony’s brain was past the point of recovery, but there was still some consciousness left. He heard Nick’s words and responded in the only way he had left.

As Nick’s huge, developed body shuddered in erotic ecstasy on top of the dying youth, he became aware of a hot, sticky, fluid sensation on his abdomen. Looking down at his furry belly, rippled with muscles, Nick could see that it was covered in cum. Tony’s cock was erupting like a geyser, spewing his spunk in solid pearly jets. Nick took one look and came so hard his entire body convulsed. “FUCK YEAH! FUCK YEAH! FUCK YEAH!”

Nick collapsed on top of Tony. The smaller kid was dead, nothing now but a quivering corpse. Nick lay gasping on top of him, enjoying the feeling of Tony’s smooth body twitching involuntarily.

After a while, Nick gave a deep sigh of satisfaction. He slowly withdrew his cock, still massively erect, from the corpse’s ass. He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment to catch his breath before getting up and walking to his gym bag, where he grabbed a towel and wiped himself down.

Tony’s body remained quivering on the bed, spread-eagled, violated, covered in semen, with a gruesome swollen black face streaked with saliva—his own, and that of his killer.

After Nick cleaned himself up and dressed, he approached the video camera. He was already familiar with this model; it was no trouble to remove the memory card.

As he walked out of the metal structure, he slipped the card into the pocket of his tight jeans. He walked up the stairs and out into the light, the sound of his thick-soled construction boots echoing rhythmically above the sound of his whistling.

He had an appointment later today with his new distributor. He had no doubt that his latest feature would improve his bargaining position; it was sure to be popular.

Behind him, Tony’s body continued to twitch as it cooled and stiffened. At some point, the gas for the generator ran out. Tony was left to rot in darkness.

Mankiller–Snuff Movie 2

The percentages had been worked out. The video, carefully and skillfully edited, was a huge hit online and it became obvious that Nick’s cut was going to be considerably more than fifteen hundred per movie.

Nick and Tony were both pleased with the deal. Within days of Ricky’s debut, they met again in the studio. Each was eager to get started on the next video. And each brought something new to the table.

Tony brought a new bitch. “Name’s Joey. I met him a coupla weeks ago; finally got him in here for a photo shoot. Here, lemme pull the slideshow up—tell me what ya think.”

Nick sat in a chair, a large bag from a hardware store by his side. He’d brought it in with him but hadn’t said anything about it yet. And at the moment, he was too busy looking at the pics of Joey to pay much attention to anything else.

Joey was similar to Ricky, Nick’s last victim, in that he had a slender (but not scrawny) swimmer’s build and black hair cut fairly short. The resemblance ended there. Joey was taller, close to six feet—nowhere near as tall a Nick but several inches taller than Ricky had been. His slim, smooth body had a fine dusting of black hair on the calves and forearms—and large black tangles in the pits and groin—but was otherwise smooth and glistening.

The face was what set him apart. Joey was in his early twenties and had the face of a model. Sky-blue eyes framed by long black lashes gleamed seductively out of a perfectly-formed face with a strong, straight nose, a chiseled chin and lush, full lips. His short hair looked like a spill of black silk threads, perfectly sculpted without any obvious product. His skin was clear and smooth, except for what appeared to be the faintest shadow of stubble along the jaw and on the upper lip.

Nick turned to Tony. “Dude, he looks like a model. What’s his deal?”

Tony, whose eyes were drifting over Nick’s muscled body with a dreamy, faraway look, snapped back to himself. “New in town. He wants to get into movies. Sucking dicks back in Podunk wasn’t good enough; he wants to do it on camera.”

Nick turned back to the slideshow. “Fuck, he’s a hot little bitch. He’ll be very popular.”

Tony chuckled. “Yeah, but not in the way he thinks—not after we get him. But we need to move fast. With those looks, someone will grab him quick. I’m already blocking it out in my mind; he thinks it’s normal porn—we’ll use the bedroom. Question is, how are ya gonna off him? I wanna shake it up a little.”

Nick stood up and grinned. “Man, I got it covered. Here, lemme show ya somethin’.”

He bent over, reaching into the large shopping bag. He grinned ever wider to himself as he flexed his thick thighs and muscular ass at Tony. He knew that there was an attraction there. That was a good thing. That was a thing he could use in the future, maybe.

His bicep swelled as he lifted his purchase out of the bag; it apparently weighed several pounds. Tony’s attention slipped from Nick’s body to his hand; he couldn’t identify the device. It looked kinda like a cordless drill, but it was large and had a long, thin metal frame running down at an angle from the “bit” to beneath the grip.

“What the fuck is that?” he asked.

Nick’s grin grew yet even more shark-like. “It’s called a framing nailer. Cordless. Holds up to sixty three-and-a-half inch nails.”

“I don’t get it. What’s that—“ Tony paused, thought, and went pale.

But Nick couldn’t help noticing the bulge in Tony’s crotch.

“Dude,” Tony whispered, “that’s so fucking sick. It’s brilliant. I’ll get the motherfucker over here right away. This is gonna make us so fucking much money…”

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The image is too blurry to make anything out; the camera is moving too much. There’s a couple of violent shakes, a “goddammit” muttered off-screen, and the frame steadies down.

It focuses on a young man’s face, classically formed, with bright blue eyes and a shy grin. He glances nervously to one side, then back at the camera. “Ya really think you can get me somethin’ with this? I wanna do more. I heard you can make a grand per movie, maybe more. Dude, that’d be sweet.”

The voice behind the camera comes back, “Joey, I’m givin’ ya that much for just one scene.”

The kid’s grin develops a slightly harder edge. “Yeah, but it’s only once. I wanna fuckin’ contract.”

“We talked about that, too. Let’s see what kinda response we get from this. You have no idea what the future holds. But I promise you one thing—just lie there and let Nick have his way with ya and you’ll be an instant star. You won’t even know what hit ya. I got another line of coke laid out if ya want it before we get started.”

The kid nods and gets up; the image blurs momentarily as the camera is repositioned. Now it’s aimed directly at the bed; the head is to the left and the foot to the right. The sheets are clean—at any rate, they have been cleaned; they’re yellowed and stained but not filthy. Over them is a brown fleece blanket and a couple of flattish pillows.

The punk walks back into the frame and sits on the bed, facing the camera, sniffling and wiping white powder from his nose. His slim, smooth body gleams under the overhead lighting. He’s nude except for his ankle socks and skate shoes. A long tube of flesh dangles between his firm thighs. He’s coked up and twitchy; his blown pupils changing his eyes from sky to midnight blue.

He almost jumps out of his skin when the large, muscular man enters from the right, nude but for his construction boots, his hard body gleaming in the light, his huge dick jutting straight out in front. The man laughs in a deep bass rumble as he reaches out and grabs the boy. “Slow down there, Tiger,” he chuckles, “I ain’t even gotten started yet.”

There’s a laugh—almost a giggle—from behind the camera. “Looks like he’s already anticipatin’ that hard fuckin’ shaft stickin’ in his ass,” the off-screen voice says. “Me too. Look here, Joey—I’m gonna be beatin’ off while I film. If you’re that good a fuck, I should be able to cum just by watching. See? Make me cum, boy, show us you’re worth the money.”

Joey looks wide-eyed at the man towering over him and then dead-on at the camera. He jerks abruptly as if he’s trying to bolt from the bed but the muscled alpha has his upper arm in a vice grip and yanks him back down on to the bed. “C’mon, man,” he hisses at the kid, “if ya wanna be in porn, ya gotta get fucked on film. First time is the hardest, I promise. After this one, it’ll be like doing everything else in your sleep.”

The kid seems to calm a bit, not thinking the words through. “How do ya want me?”

Nick smiled down at him. “Get on your hands and knees, bitch, I’m gonna fuck ya like a dog.”

The punk scrambles to obey, whipping his lithe body into position, his tightly-laced sneakers spread far apart on the sheets, his knees spread just as widely. The alpha top grins at the camera and, flogging his dong in one hand, spreads the boy’s asscheeks while he nods the camera in for a closer view. It closes in on the kid’s fluttering pink fuckhole, already quivering with excitement. “Dude, I can’t wait for you to get your tool inside this bitch,” the voice behind the camera mutters breathlessly.

“Yeah,” comes the basso rumble, “but I wanna fuck ‘im first.”

A thick purple head, oozing clear precum, slides into view. It looks like it’s at least twice the diameter of the slut’s hole. There’s an extreme close-up of the dark spongy mass spearing the writhing sphincter, stretching it unbearably. The sound of the punk’s yelling and bleating, off camera but very loud, attests to the pain he’s in.

“Fuck yeah,” the cameraman moans, “lookit that thick shaft tearing your asshole open. How’s that feelin’, Joey, huh? Looks like it hurts good, dude, looks like it hurts so fuckin’ good.”

The camera pans up the boy’s smooth body, heaving with the alpha’s thrusts. It focuses on the kid’s face. “Joey, man, look up here. Yeah, right at the camera, that’s it. Lemme see, fucker, lemme see in your face how much you love that cock inside ya. Yeah, I know it hurts, but you love gettin’ hurt, dontcha, cocksucker? Aw, dude, you’re gonna love what Nick’s gonna do to ya. You’re gonna cum harder than you ever have in your life, and you’re gonna do it on camera, man!”

Joey’s face fills the frame, tense and strained with the erotic agony of rough sex. His head is turned to the side, Nick’s thick hairy forearm and big muscled hand are visible, forcing the whore’s head down onto the mattress. As the top grunts and thrusts ever deeper, the kid’s eyes open wide, the pain of the assfuck shining in the huge pools of blue and black bordered with long silky lashes. He looks directly into the camera, lust and love of the pain written all over his grinning, straining countenance.

“Fuuuuuck, yeah…” Joey moans, deeply, breathily. His eyes close as he wallows in the sensation of a massive tube of flesh rammed up his rectum. He emits tiny, high-pitched squeaks in time with Nick’s deep strokes.

The camera pulls back. Both men can be seen in full on the bed.

Joey is huddled on his knees, ass in the air, head forced down onto the bed. Nick has mounted him from behind and is riding him like a bull, busting his ass like a bronco. Nick’s powerful legs, thick like the limbs of a tree, are pumping and sweating; his yellow construction boots with black leather at the ankles providing him traction on the synthetic material of the bed coverings.

The dominant alpha crouches over the slim, smooth boy, holding him down and sinking his dick into the punk’s colon with deliberate and intense brutality. He grunts again, then starts speaking, his voice rumbling in the lower registers.

“You like that cock, you fuckin’ faggot punk? Ya like feelin’ a real man inside a’ ya? C’mon, cunt, tell me ya like it. C’mon you fuckin’ faggot cocksucker, tell me how much ya love my shaft tearin’ yer guts open!”

As he’s speaking, Nick grabs Joey’s hair in his fist, pulling his head up slightly and spitting in his face. Shoving the slut’s head back down, Nick looks at the camera and winks, sticking his tongue out.

His eyes aren’t quite directly on the camera, though; they seem to be more on the cameraman.

The whore moans and groans loudly; Nick’s pace has picked up and the kid’s having trouble keeping up. He’s starting to sweat and jerk; it’s clear that the alpha top has exceeded the punk’s limits. Joey peers up as the camera is shoved obtrusively into his face; his discomfort is obvious in his strained expression.

“Man, Joey, that’s gotta feel hotter ‘n fuck, dude, that thick fuckin’ shaft reamin’ out your asshole. So many guys are gonna cum watching you get fucked, ya know that? Whaddaya think about that, man?”

Still pumping rhythmically, Nick growled, “I bet it turns the little faggot whore on, don’t it, boy?” The camera pulls out a bit to show him crouching over the kid, covering him completely with his hard muscled body, pinning the punk to the bed. Nick is still gripping his hair tightly in one hand, pulling his head to the side and whispering into Joey’s ear.

“Yeah, pretty boy, bet you just love getting’ dicked on camera, don’t ya? Show the world just what a whore you are, letting your faggot cunt get plugged fulla cock, huh? Yeah, motherfucker?”

Joey squirms and moans, looking pleadingly—and lovingly—at the camera. He’s really enjoying being dominated. As his stunning eyes focus on the camera, he licks his lips slowly and moans deeply, breathily.

A cold note creeps into the voice behind the camera. “Hey, Nick, I think Joey’s getting’ tolerant of your rod, man. Looks like he’s imitating Marilyn Monroe or something.”

Nick chuckles. “Yeah, think it’s time to change things up a bit. Set the camera down and get the thing, dude.”

The camera moves quickly, blurring the image for a couple of minutes. There are a few flashes of clarity—a shot of the floor, a brief pan of the bed—and then it stabilizes, evidently on a tripod. Again, it’s got a full-length shot from the side of the bed. Joey is still huddled on the bed, his smooth, firm ass speared by Nick’s huge, glistening shaft. The kid has buried his face in the pillow, biting it, his arms stretched above his head, hands grasping the sheets tightly. On top of him Nick pumps steadily and deeply, looking almost bored.

Tony appears from the right side, holding a large nail gun in both hands. Except for his white tube socks and hightops, Tony is nude. His dick isn’t thick, but it is long and heavily veined, and standing fully to attention. He approaches Nick, who reaches out and grabs the tool—the nail gun, that is—with one huge, strong arm.

He swings it up lightly, seemingly admiring the heft. As strong and well-built as he is, he has no difficulty maneuvering the device. Tony retreats from view again, moving towards and behind the camera. Nick turns to him and the camera closes in on him, just as he bends down over Joey and whispers into the boy’s ear again.

“Listen up, cunt. Time to rock n’ roll, motherfucker. Time to get what ya came here for. Ya wanted to get fucked on camera? You have no idea how fucked you are, cocksucker, but I think it’s time ya found out.”

The boy’s head is turning to the side, his expression one of trepidation—he has no idea what the alpha top is talking about. Before he can twist himself around to see, the muscled arm tightens, bringing the nail gun down onto the kid’s back, under his shoulder blade.

The camera closes in as Nick pulls the trigger. The gun bucks violently as it fires, the loud report echoing in the metal-walled room. It’s immediately drowned out by Joey’s screams. He thrashes wildly in pain, but the dominant strongman overpowers his struggles, holding him down on the bed with an almost nonchalant look on his face.

He moves back a little on the bed, admiring his work, his cock slipping smoothly from the punk’s ravaged fuckhole. Suddenly, he grins up at the camera. “Lookit that, huh? That’s three and a half inches of pointed steel, bitch.” The alpha manhandles the wailing slut, rolling him so that the head of the nail can be seen. The frame zooms in on it—the head of the nail is almost flush with the kid’s smooth, heaving skin. A trickle of blood leaks out from under the small shiny disk.

The stud grabs the whore’s black hair, roughly jerking his head up and back until his ear is at the level of his tormentor’s mouth. “How’s that feelin’, cunt? Told ya you were fucked. Damn, faggot, that must be stuck in your lung, huh? Keep jerkin’ around like that, you stupid fuckin’ whore, you’re just tearing yourself open inside. Now shaddup and lemme see how many things I can stick in ya before ya die.”

He rolls the punk back onto his belly. The camera had swung down briefly to catch a shot of the alpha’s thick purple cock, swaying free after he’d posed the whore for the camera. The frame closes in and slides, slowly and lovingly, along the glistening vein-bound shaft.

The camera quickly snaps back to a wide shot. Nick is poised over the weeping boy, snarling down at him. “Quit cryin’, you fuckin’ pussy assfuck, you ain’t felt anything yet. You’re gonna love this next one, cunt, you’re gettin’ a twofer!”

Nick raises himself up, his hard body gleaming in the light as his muscles tense for the assault. In a flash, he drives his engorged rod deep into Joey’s ass in one swift, brutal thrust. At the same time, he reaches around the punk’s side and fires a nail into the boy’s sweating, heaving flank, the sharp steel shaft shattering a rib on its way in.

The young man’s reaction is instant; he tenses rigidly, almost convulsively. His breath is expelled forcefully from his lungs. The involuntary contraction of his muscles in reaction to the excruciating pain tightens his vocal cords—the escaping air is channeled into a high pitch.

“Fuck yeah, cunt, that’s what I’m talking about!” Nick cries before turning happily to Tony (and coincidentally the camera). “Ya hear that, dude? Motherfucker’s squealin’ like a pig. And damn if his reamed-out fuckhole didn’t tighten up on my dick!”

The camera moves in closer, obviously being held up to Joey’s face. As the lens focuses on the beautiful face, smeared with tears and snot, the voice behind the camera begins to speak. “Fuckin’-A, Joey, you lucky cunt, gettin’ this hot stud’s cock shoved up inside ya—told ya, you were gonna get nailed tonight, didn’t I, ha! Make sure you scream loud now, dude, lotsa guys out there wanna watch you get hurt. Fuck, bro, hundreds of guys are gonna beat their meat and blow their loads watching you shriek and squirm and bleed—don’t it just make ya fuckin’ hard?”

The camera zeros in on the boy’s strained, pleading face. He’s not looking directly into the lens; he’s looking into the cameraman’s face, his expression full of misery, fear and desperation.

The cameraman whispers, “it don’t matter if it ain’t getting’ ya hard, Joey. What you like don’t matter to anyone anymore. Just enjoy the pain, motherfucker. All kinda guys are gonna enjoy it later on, I promise ya.”

The frame suddenly goes blurry. The camera’s being moved quickly. The movement stops momentarily, the lens pointing up towards the ceiling. Tony’s handsome face is visible from below, foreshortened to the point that his dark eyes, furrowed in concentration, can be seen over his cleft chin. The camera shakes again as he mutters, “yeah, I’m repositioning it. Just keep bangin’ him, dude, it’ll just be a sec.”

The camera frame tumbles as he manipulates the tripod; the metallic clicks and clanks are underscored by Joey’s sobbing.

The frame goes black—and then comes back instantly. The caesura was brief—just long enough to remount and refocus the camera.

The boy doesn’t need to be remounted. Or refocused. He’s still locked in place, held down on the bed by the alpha top, Nick’s hand pressing against the back of the punk’s head, forcing his face into the pillow, deep—but not deep enough to suffocate him. His weeping is muffled but still audible.

The porn-star wannabe kicks his smooth taut legs violently, his purple velour skate shoes flailing at Nick’s construction boots which are planted firmly on the rough blanket for traction. His hands clench and release convulsively, in rhythm with the muscle stud’s strokes, his fingers curling tightly as the thick shaft plunges deep into his rectum, splaying out as it’s withdrawn, the massive head scouring the whore’s colon roughly on the way out.

Joey’s arms, however, aren’t moving much. One of the nails in his back has pierced his trapezius muscle, the other the dorsal. Any movement of his arms at the shoulder would clearly be agony; now that the camera is closer, the thin trails of blood oozing out from under the nail heads is much easier to see.

As the two men writhe in an embrace of lust and pain, they’re joined by a third. Tony steps in, his lithe, hard body preceded into the frame by his long thin cock, already oozing from its swollen tip. His handsome face is split by an evil grin.

“Hey, dude,” he chuckles, “he ain’t makin’ enough noise. Hey, Joey, ya wanna be a star, right? You seen how it works in porn—the bottom’s gotta scream and yell so’s the audience knows he’s gettin’ fucked good! You’re too fuckin’ quiet, brah! Here, lemme see if I can help…”

As Nick obligingly leans back, Tony bends over Joey and, grabbing his wrists, wrenches his arms up over his head, then pulls them back down behind his back.

Joey screams, a loud, high-pitched shriek of agony. The twisting alone is almost enough to dislocate his shoulders, but the movement of his muscles can be seen under his slick, sweating skin.

So can the movement of the nails as the muscles contract around them, tearing themselves open on the thin steel shanks.

Joey’s scream trails off into an agonized croak before he draws in another breath with a loud whoop. But at least one of the nails has punctured a lung; his breathing is raspy and labored. He shrieks again, just as loudly but not as long. This one subsides into prolonged sobbing.

In the meantime, Nick hasn’t mistimed a single thrust of his dick. Tony, standing by the kid’s head, is slapping him in the face with his dick as the slut screams and cries. “Ya gotta stick a few more in him,” he tells Nick, “this cunt can take a lot more pain. He ain’t even passed out yet.”

Nick looks up at Tony, then at the camera. A slow smile, dripping with lust, crosses his face. He’d put the nail gun to one side for a moment; now he picks it up; his deltoid bulging as he hefts the seven-pound weapon and swings it around so the camera catches a good view.

Then, without warning, he drops it down and fires a nail into Joey’s elbow, on the outside at the bend.

The screams are ear-splitting as the boy thrashes and flails violently, his arms and legs a blur. The rest of him is motionless, however, held in place by Nick like an iron cage. The hard alpha dom leans back, eyes closed, grinning and snarling in sexual pleasure as the tortured youth kicks and struggles on his cock.

He’s having a great time, and it’s obvious. The poor porn actor manqué is not, and it’s also obvious. Tony has stepped back out of the kid’s reach for the moment. Nick is the true star and he shows it. “Oh fuck yeah, you motherfuckin’ whore,” he growls, “that got ya goin’, huh? Guess what, cunt—I can feel your little faggot dick getting’ hard while I fuck ya. It makes your ass get extra tight. Know what else, you fuckin’ cocksucker? I can feel your ass get tight every time I stick a nail in ya, too. I guess that means your worthless homo cock gets hard every time a real man shows it what pain feels like, huh? You love it, you fuckin’ fairy whore, dontcha? Then this’ll make ya cum, bitch!”

Nick seems to lose it on camera, raping the kid in a frenzy of rage and desire, his hips nearly a blur as he reams the struggling, terrified youth. Simultaneously, he flips a switch on the nail gun—it’s not obvious at first why, but it soon becomes clear. He doesn’t have to squeeze the trigger to fire the gun anymore; he just has to bump it against his victim with enough force to trigger it.

He’s beating the boy with the nail gun. Each blow fires a thin shaft of steel more than three inches into Joey’s smooth, flailing torso. As he screams and moans raggedly, holes are punched into his back and his sides, through his kidneys and liver.

“Roll ‘im on his side!” yells Tony, “do ‘im sidesaddle!”

Nick rolls onto his side, pulling Joey on over, still impaled on his huge tool. Joey looks directly at the camera, his sky-blue eyes bloodshot and ringed with gray by shock. His long lashes flutter, fear adding to the eroticism of the moment, as if he’s flirting with the camera in the moment of his greatest agony. His dick emerges from the dark hairy shadow of his groin, erect and straining despite the boy’s obvious agony.

Except it’s not his moment of greatest agony.

“Make him cum before he dies,” hisses Tony, leaning down and spitting into Joey’s stunned face. “Can ya do that? Motherfucker’s already hard. Can’t blame the little cunt, with your hot cock inside him. Bet he’s ready to shoot. Can ya make ‘im shoot and die?”

“Hell yeah,” chortles Nick, “watch this. First one in the head don’t kill him. Betcha ain’t seen this one before, dude.”

Grabbing a hank of the boy’s hair, Nick pulls Joey’s head backwards. From the camera’s angle, not much more can be seen beyond the thick bulge of Joey’s adam’s apple, bobbing up and down in terror. The frame jerks and blurs; Tony has picked it up momentarily to aim it from a higher angle, since Nick and Joey are on their sides now.

He gets it in focus just in time to catch Nick drive a nail into the back of Joey’s skull, about an inch above the top of the neck—directly into the brain stem.

Tony backs off, showing a full-length image of Joey—who seems to be frozen, not moving at all—and Nick reaching down into Joey’s groin.

The camera is no more than a yard from the bed, so Joey’s swollen purple dick is very clear in the frame. Tony was right; despite the fear and pain, some part of the little whore had gotten off on the pain and the fear. Even now, as he quivers in the throes of massive brain trauma, he’s oozing precum from the tip of his cock.

Nick places the gun up under Joey’s scrotum. As the kid trembles on his dick, Nick applies enough force to trigger the gun, sending a nail up behind the boy’s balls, deep within the root of the unfortunate slut’s rod, impaling the tube of flesh on a shaft of steel and forcing a massive ejaculation.

Joey’s mouth opens and a deep, mindless moan comes out, the sound flowing from his lips as the semen flows from his dick. He doesn’t spunk in spurts; it’s a solid stream of white shooting out like someone stomped on a tube of toothpaste.

“Fuck!” Nick yells, his face contorted in animalistic rage and ecstasy. “Fuckin’ cunt’s so goddam tight—fuck! Gonna shoot, dude, gonna fuckin’ unload in this whore’s fuckhole! Yeah, fuck yeah!”

Tony jacks himself furiously. He licks his lips, staring down at the writhing, traumatized flesh beneath him. “Waste him, dude,” he gasps, “lemme see ya use that hard strong body, dude. Waste the fuckin’ punk, man!”

“Hell fuckin’ yeah,” Nick grunts. He swings the nail gun around and slams it up against Joey’s temple. There’s a loud crunching sound as three inches of galvanized steel punches its way through bone and brain tissue.

Joey goes rigid instantly, his smooth, hard body covered in a greasy lube of sweat, gleaming under the overhead lights as it shudders and convulses.

As the kid thrashes on his cock, Nick grunts loudly and screams. “Fuck! Fuck! Motherfuckin’ faggot cunt, take my load! Fuck, slut, take my cum, you worthless pig whore! Goddamit, cunt, take another shaft in your useless homo skull!”

Nick drives the gun down onto the top of Joey’s cranium, sending another nail deep into Joey’s cerebrum. Quickly withdrawing the heavy tool, Nick whacks it against the whore’s skull one last time, in the back, before tossing the weapon away.

The alpha stud grabs the flailing boy’s hips and pulls his ass relentlessly up along his hard shaft, grunting uncontrollably in violent orgasm as the unconscious punk jerks bonelessly in his death throes. As his beautiful, lightly stubbled face bobs, tongue protruding and eyes rolled back to expose the whites, Tony cries out and shoots a jet of spunk into Joey’s dying face, cum splashing into his eyes and his open mouth.

There’s one last sound; one last grunt from each male as Tony, Nick and Joey each signal the last spurt of seed from their overwrought cocks. Joey’s grunt is louder—he’s shooting out the last spark of life along with his last drop of spunk. Nick and Tony go very still, looking each other straight in the eyes, each trying to catch their breath after their intense orgasms.

Joey, on the other hand, doesn’t try to catch his breath. And he doesn’t remain still, either. His body kicks, jerks, and convulses harder than before; his smooth sweaty legs flailing as his purple velour skate shoes kick convulsively on the bed…

================================================== ================================================== ===

Tony leaned back against the headboard and fired up a joint. He inhaled deeply before handing it off to Nick. As he held the smoke, Tony looked down at Joey’s corpse. There were at least a dozen nails driven into the youth’s smooth, slim body, not counting the ones stuck in his skull.

Nick took a hit and passed the joint back to Tony. He planted his right foot in its thick construction boot against Joey’s side and shoved the still-quivering body off the bed. It hit the floor with a boneless sound somewhere between a thud and a splat. It was the sound of warm dead flesh hitting the floor.

Nick looked at Tony. Tony returned his gaze, looking deeply into Nick’s eyes.

“You want me to fuck ya, don’t ya?” asked Nick

“Yeah, I do. But I don’t wanna end up like him.” Tony nodded at Joey’s body, still shuddering with the random firing of neurons within his mangled brain, his purple skate shoes scraping mindlessly on the floor.

“Maybe we can work something out,” Nick replied. “Let’s see what happens.”

Mankiller–Snuff Movie 1

Tony sat bolt upright at the wheel of his car, staring directly ahead at the steps leading up to the gym’s back door. A feeling of shock, of the pleasure of the forbidden washed over him, leaving him feeling rubbery in his limbs. A man was coming down the steps into the parking lot; a man Tony recognized. It was as if he’d run into his favorite porn star—and in a way, he had. But there was a bit more to it than that.

This could be the opportunity he was looking for. It was certainly no time to be self-conscious. Brushing away any anxiety he might have, Tony left his car and approached the guy.

This gym had a huge gay clientele; being approached by another man in the parking lot was a common enough occurrence here. Especially here, in fact. The rear parking lot was small and surrounded by the back side of a strip mall. The ground sloped down from the front (where most of the parking was located), hence the need for stairs down from the back door. The lot was secluded and known as a good place for hookups.

And to the casual observer, that’s exactly what it would look like; two hot guys getting together. Tony was just under six feet tall. He had full brown hair, shoulder-length, that fanned out behind him. His face was clean and smooth, with large dark eyes that glittered with secret lust. He wasn’t heavily-muscled but there was strength in his slim build. He’d been on his way into the gym, so he was wearing a bright green t-shirt stretched over his firm chest and a pair of short black shorts that showed off his perfectly-formed legs. He wore blue Nike Airs with green laces that matched his shirt.

The guy he was approaching was much larger and more muscular. He was about six and a half feet tall, with short hair several shades darker than Tony’s. He was wearing an orange t-shirt that strained over the dude’s bulging pecs and constricted his arms, digging into the massive biceps. From beneath his white satin shorts, legs like the trunks of trees, shadowed by a haze of dark curly fur, dropped into yellow construction boots laced up over his ankles.

“I know you,” Tony said as he approached. “I’ve seen some of your stuff online.”

The larger man faced Tony. His short black hair faded into a dark stubble that shadowed his cheeks and covered his strong jaw. His eyes, ice-blue and narrow, fixed on Tony suspiciously. “I done a lot of stuff online,” he growled hesitantly.

“Yeah, I know,” Tony grinned back. “I been a fan for long time. Had no idea you were in this state, much less this city. I loved that last post—the kid with the long blond hair.”

“I fucked lotsa kids with long blond hair,” the muscular dude snapped back.

“You did more than fuck him. He had a belt made of woven metal links. I liked the way you improvised with it.”

The large man paused for a moment, eyeing Tony steadily. He was clearly debating with himself whether or not to trust Tony. “You saw that? You liked it?”

“Dude, you made me cum so hard I could barely walk afterwards. Name’s Tony. I make films—porn mostly, I got a little place set up in an old abandoned warehouse on the south side of town. I do underground films. Mostly gangbangers and hustlers shooting up and fucking each other on camera. I got a real nice distribution network, though. But I wanna do a film with you.”

The stud still didn’t look convinced, but he held out his hand. “I’m Nick. But I ain’t doin’ anything for under a thousand. You hit that point, we can talk.”

Tony gave a slight smile. “Oh, I can do that. C’mon back to my studio—yeah, I really call it that—and I’ll show ya some of my work and we can discuss payment. But yes, it’ll be at least a grand.”

Nick thought for another moment, then agreed. He placed his gym bag into his car, then got into Tony’s for the ride; he’d be brought back afterwards. He was too big and too strong to worry much about getting into cars and going to isolated locations with strange men; he could handle himself.

He’d proved that much online when he’d strangled the blonde kid with his metal mesh belt so hard the pattern of the mesh tore his victim’s skin and left his corpse oozing blood as well as semen.

The drive was long and quiet; things needed to be seen before things could be said. Even Nick, major alpha male that he was, has some misgivings about the neighborhood when they came to a stop. The street was nothing but fences and brick walls with doors in them; it was an alleyway in an old industrial area. About a third of the buildings on the block had collapsed; great piles of brick and cinderblock with weeds sprouting—and, in some cases, attaining a great height, testifying to the age and neglect of the area.

Tony pulled up to an old fence. A shiny new chain and padlock secured the rusted gate; Tony idled the car as he unlocked it and pried the gate open. Once he’d gotten back and moved the car in, he went back and locked up.

Nick looked around. He was in a small loading yard behind the grimy shell of a disused factory. The building was ancient and several stories tall. Most of the windows were gone, leaving rusting wire mesh in the frames, and huge cracks ran down the masonry. But the building still looked relative stable.

Tony unlocked another padlock—this one to a door on the loading dock—and led the way in. The air was full of mold and dry rot. Most of the space near the loading dock had been gutted; the area was filthy and uninhabitable.

Tony noticed Nick’s expression. “Yeah, it’s disgusting. And perfect. Once you see this, you don’t bother looking any further. But most of these rooms are useless. We’re going downstairs.”

If anything, the basement of the building was worse. The smell certainly was; the rancid stench from upstairs was augmented by large green pools of stagnant water. Nick was seriously doubting that anything financially useful could happen here when he saw where Tony was leading.

Somewhere on the south side of the building was a large open space. In the center of this space was a platform or foundation of concrete, three feet thick, with steps leading up. On the platform was what appeared to be a large metal room, square, some thirty feet by thirty feet.

They mounted the steps and walked around the side—there was just enough space to walk single file between the metal wall and edge of the platform—to find a door. Well, not a door so much as a hatch. It even had a wheel in the center of the exterior to lock the door into place, giving the whole thing the appearance of a huge bank vault. Nick could see florescent orange cables snaking out of the open hatch. Leaving Tony for a moment, he followed them around the next corner and saw that they connected with a gas-powered generator.

His curiosity satisfied, he returned and trailed inside behind Tony. His construction boots made a flat thumping sound on the metal floor. He was in what looked like a hallway, with doorways off each side and one at the far end. Poking his head into the nearest, he found a small room with thick metal walls covered with rows of hooks. There was a doorway from it leading into the next room; they all seemed to be interconnected.

“What the fuck is this thing?” he asked.

“Damned if I know,” chucked Tony, “I’m just glad it’s here. Watertight and if I pull the door closed just enough to let the power cables in, it’s also damn near soundproof. You sure can’t hear anything on the street. I got one work room and two set rooms, all at the far end.”

In fact, the metal structure had been a large curing oven used in a proprietary galvanizing process. It was built to contain a hellish environment and was still admirably suited to the purpose.

Tony had managed to fit out the two end rooms on the left side as a living room and bedroom. He’d hung blankets on the walls to hide the bare metal and put large area rugs on the floor, then brought in enough cheap furniture to simulate an apartment setting. Utility lights in shiny aluminum shells were clamped to the steel girders that formed the top of the structure.

Once he’d been shown the set, Nick was led into the chamber at the end of the corridor, where Tony had set up his playback and editing equipment. He had Nick sit in one of the office chairs as he pulled up some of his work on a video monitor.

It was obvious Tony liked it violent. Nick’s cock was standing at attention as he watch clips of extremely rough sex. Off camera, Tony’s voice could be heard exhorting the various tops he was filming. Nick began to realize that Tony actually had both the capability and the desire to make a snuff film.

“I dunno,” he said. “I’ve never actually killed anyone on film before.”

“Bullshit,” snapped Tony, “what about that blond kid? I saw what you did to him with that belt. He couldn’t have survived that.”

“No,” admitted Nick, “but he didn’t die on camera.”

“That’s exactly what I wanna fix,” Tony chuckled quietly.

Nick looked at him carefully, still uncertain. “You said you can make a thou?”

“Fifteen hundred. Cash. I’ll blur anything that can identify you.”

The idea of fucking someone to death on camera was too enticing. Nick knew he wouldn’t refuse, no matter who the victim was, but he wanted to maintain a show of independence. “I get final call on who I waste.”

Tony grinned, his white, even teeth glittering like a shark’s. His large dark eyes lit up with smoldering lust; he knew he’d won. He was eager and excited. “I’ve seen enough of your vids to have an idea of what you like. Young, smaller than you but well-built, race not an issue but you really like hurting whores. I got the perfect bitch.”

Tony opened up a series of jpegs on his laptop, letting Nick flip through the images. They were all of the same boy. “Name’s Ricky. Mexican or something, think it’s short for Ricardo. Claims to be straight but he loves cock. And crack. If we let him smoke a little first, he’ll be totally amped to get banged. Won’t even notice he’s getting offed till it’s too late.”

Nick started the slideshow and watched high-def pics of the nude slut swipe across the screen. He was young, all right. He looked like he was in his mid- to late teens, somewhere between fifteen and eighteen. It wasn’t until Nick found a close-up of his face that he could see the tiny lines of dissolution and self-abuse that radiated from his eyes; in another year or two, he’d start to look his real age—probably around twenty or so—and a couple of years after that, his earning potential as a whore would be finished.

Nick liked what he saw. After all, the slut wouldn’t be worth much for long, so it wasn’t as if wasting him now was cruel or anything. He’d be starving on the streets in a few years. And anyway, he was hot. The pics revealed a young, slim boy with shiny blue-black hair and eyes almost nearly as dark. In the first pic he posed on the sofa in the other room, tight white t-shirt wrapped around his firm, lithe torso. His skin-tight jeans emphasized his slim waist, his strong legs, and the thick, rounded bulge in his crotch. Light brown leather lace-up boots came half-way up his calves.

He grinned impudently at the camera, his dark, smooth skin showing a slight sheen of sweat. The grin remained on his face through most of the remaining pictures, a series taken as he stripped. In the last one, he was standing spread-legged, his smooth swimmer’s build nude but for his unlaced boots, his thick, uncut cock dangling out in front.

It was a done deal. Nick wanted to wipe the grin off the whore’s face with his cock. He could feel precum oozing out as he thought of the spic punk thrashing underneath him—in fear, or lust; it didn’t matter.

“You’ll make sure I can’t be ID’d?” Nick turned back to Tony.

“Dude, I’d be in just as much trouble as you. And I ain’t shot a snuff movie before, but some of these cunts have OD’d just before or after a shoot. I gotta place to dump the body; it’s always worked. So, whaddaya think? A grand and a half, my network, and Ricky here dyin’ on your dick—you in?”

Nick broke out in a broad grin. “Fuck yeah, I’m in. Get the bitch over here.”

=========================================================

The frame is clear, but slightly unsteady. It opens on a sofa. A boy is sitting on it, leaning back, lighting up a glass stem. The click of the lighter and the sizzle of the crack rock are audible.

The boy is nude, except for his boots—shiny, light brown leather, laced halfway up his calves. He’s slim, with smooth creamy olive-colored skin. He sits with his legs spread, the firm smooth path of his thighs pointing the way to the thick, uncut tube of meat that rises up out of his crotch.

A voice off-camera is heard.

“That’s it, dude, take a good hit. You’re amazing; most guys can’t get it up on that shit, but you’re hard as a steel spike. Here, ya need to push the straight? I’ll find something. Get as high as ya want, dude, you’ll need it. Nick’s gonna love fuckin’ the shit outta ya.”

A hand reaches in from behind the camera, handing the boy what appears to be a section of coat hanger. The punk takes it, grins almost shyly at the camera, and uses the wire to push the chunk of scouring pad to the other end of the glass tube, then back again before re-lighting it.

Suddenly there’s a noise and the camera goes all tilty. The voice is back. “Hey Nick, help me move this table outta the way; I wanna get a good view. Nah, don’t worry about the camera, I can edit it out later. By the way, Nick, this is Ricky.”

There’s a loud bang and a curse as the frame shakes out of recognition, then goes black. When it comes back on there’s been a lapse of a minute or two.

“Nah, it’s ok. Dropped it plenty of times before. Nice thick rug protects it when it hits the floor. So, yeah, like I was sayin’, when I saw what Nick can do, I thought of you and knew you’d be perfect for this scene. Dude, he’s gonna fuck you like you ain’t never been fucked. I promise it’s the hardest you’re gonna get fucked—and the hardest you’re gonna cum—in your life. Promise, dude.”

The camera pulls back into focus. The boy is sitting on the sofa, looking with trepidation at the large, heavily muscled stud standing over him, nude but for the thick gold herringbone necklace wrapped around his muscular neck, sporting a huge, glistening erection. The coffee table that had been in front of the sofa has been moved off to the left and is just barely visible in the frame; there’s nothing to block the view of the sofa.

The man reaches down and starts fondling the boy. He sits beside him, running his hands over the kid’s body. The punk grins and gulps nervously, his wide eyes looking like circles of dead black as the crack pinpoints his pupils. A hand reaches in from behind the camera again, this time proffering a small white grain.

“Here, dude, take another hit. He’s got a huge fuckin’ cock, and I want you to enjoy it. And he’s gonna play rough. You like bein’ treated like a slut? Don’t worry, Nick here knows how to choke a bitch. You’re gonna remember this fuck for the rest of your life.”

As the Latino youth coughs out a thick cloud of smoke, he turns his head to the camera and speaks in a heavily accented voice.

“Hey, vato, you’re still payin’ me dos grandes, si? And if this cholo’s gonna choke me, I wanna safe word. I say mariposa and he lets go.”

There’s a dry chuckle from behind the camera. “No problem, little butterfly. You’ll get what you deserve when—uh, after he cums. On camera. And I already showed ya the cash, didn’t I? Just relax. Enjoy getting used like a bitch. Pretend like it’s the last fuck you’re ever gonna get.”

The kid takes another hit, then tosses the glass pipe aside. Still holding his breath, he lies back on the sofa and raises his legs in the air. Gripping them behind the knees, he pulls them apart and up to his chest, his tight boots hanging in the air.

The camera begins moving. It closes in on the Mexican kid’s asshole. The high-def image clearly shows the faint black hair ringing the quivering pink sphincter as the boy wriggles in anticipation.

The frame moves out and captures Nick, moving in to mount the whore. His thick, engorged cock is already dripping, transparent beads of precum welling up on his huge mushroom-shaped head. It zooms in again to get a close-up of the dark purple mound of flesh spearing the kid’s fluttering fuckhole before rising to capture the grimace of pain on the slut’s face.

“Fuck yeah,” says the voice behind the camera, “how’s that feel, dude? Looks like it hurts. Looks like it hurts like fuck. Ya likin’ that? Does it hurt good, ya slut?”

The kid opens his eyes and moans directly into the camera. There’s something off about it, something artificial. It’s more than just being anesthetized; he’s acting. It’s clear that he’s done this before. The dude fucking him is huge, and it hurts, but obviously nowhere near as much as his mugging for the camera would make it seem.

“Hey, Nick,” comes the voice behind the camera, “I don’t think we’re getting Ricky’s best work here. Start roughing him up a little; let’s see if that gets the bitch in the mood.”

The larger man turns to the camera and grins. “Sure,” he says, “I been waitin’ to wail on his ass.”

The hardbodied stud places his hands on the whore’s shoulders, pinning them firmly to the cushion as he ramps up the pace of his pumping. He fucks the slut with long, deep strokes, ensuring that the kid feels every last inch of his cock.

And he does. It’s obvious, as the camera closes in on the punk’s strained, clenched face. The kid gives high-pitched whimpers with each thrust, his white-knuckled hands grasping and pulling his knees apart so the heavily-muscled alpha top can lay his firm thick torso between them.

The camera pulls back from the slut’s face and moves down his body. It focuses briefly on the kid’s boots, hanging in the air, thick black soles bobbing with each pump of the muscled dude’s dick. The rhythm is emphasized as the camera pans down to the action, zooming in on the hustler’s fuckhole. Well-used as it obviously is, it’s still completely plugged with the stud’s gleaming purple shaft. He looks like he’s been impaled on a vein-wreathed spear.

As the camera holds the shot, the top goes into overdrive, fucking the kid swiftly and brutally. His massive balls slap repeatedly against the boy’s ass, the slut’s squealing rising in frequency until it becomes that of a pig.

The camera pulls out to show that Nick is still pinning Ricky to the sofa by his shoulders. The whore has stopped squealing and is gasping and whimpering again, his eyes wide with pleasure/pain. The hard dude turns to the camera and grins again before speaking to his bitch.

“Ya like that, ya little cunt? Like bein’ slammed like a fucking whore? Cause you’re getting’ more of it, you spic motherfucker. Take my cock, you cumsucking slut!”

As the kid moans, “Si, si,” the stud spits in his face, then slaps him. The punk gives a deep moan of pleasure that rises into a wail of pain as the top pounds his ass violently. He moves his hands up on top of the bitch’s shoulders, grasping him around the base of his neck, to hold the fucktoy in place while the alpha stud reams out his hole.

The camera closes in on his grip. His large, muscled hands, the outer edges dusted with fine black fur, are gripping the top of the boy’s shoulders tightly. So tightly, in fact, that it’s clear they’re gonna leave bruises.

“Fuck yeah, dude,” comes the voice from behind the camera, “fuck that bitch up good. Hurt ‘im, man, show him you’re fuckin’ boss!”

The muscled stud suddenly draws his right arm back. His bulging biceps bunch up as he slams a piledriver of a punch directly to the punk’s face.

The kid grunts in pain and surprise. The top hasn’t dropped the rhythm of his fucking; the slut has to deal with the assault while his rectum is getting plugged with a huge amount of meat.

He goes out like a light. The top laughs, as does the cameraman. The latter speaks up. “Don’t stop there, man. Long as he wakes up again, you can do what ya want.”

“Aw fuck,” Nick grins at the camera, “I ain’t gonna waste him while he’s out—ain’t no fun in that. Ya want some more bruises first? No prob.”

The stud’s sense of timing is perfect; again, without breaking the rhythm of his thrusting, he manages to rise up on his knees. From that position, he delivers blow after blow to the whore’s chest and belly. The kid jerks with each smack of flesh, eventually starting to wake.

His eyes flutter open. He looks around, lost and scared. It obvious that he’s still higher than fuck and has very little capacity to understand what’s actually happening to him.

He tries to stop it. “No, no me gusto,” he gasps out raggedly. “Mariposa, señor, madre de dios, marip—“

The alpha stud grabs the whore’s throat, moving like lightning. The kid’s voice is cut off in mid-plea.

He’s not getting any air. It’s clear, on camera, that it takes a moment for the fact to register in his drug-addled brain. His expression is one of confusion as thick grunting sounds are forced out of his blocked esophagus.

“Yeah,” whispers the alpha top, leaning over the slut and looking into his face, “I bet you like that too, ya worthless fuckin’ cunt. Ready to go all the way, you cocksuckin’ faggot? Fuckin’ spic whore suckin’ off gangbangers in alleys—yeah, this is what ya been looking for. None of them cholos ever put you in your place. And your place is rotting in a dumpster with your ass fulla my cum. Enjoy it, fuckwad.”

The Latino punk opens his eyes wide, an expression of stunned unfocused disbelief on his handsome dark face—that’s getting darker by the second. He coughs and gags, his hands gripping the stud’s arms and trying to pull them off. He jerks and twists violently, trying to get out from under the top’s heavy muscled body but the dude remains perfectly still, squeezing the boy’s throat. His cock is buried in the kid’s ass, not moving, letting the youth’s struggles pump his hole around the gleaming, swollen tube of flesh.

“Hey, man! Ricky!” the voice behind the camera calls, “look over here, dude! Fuckin-A, man you’re dying! How’s that feel, bro? Gotta tell ya, it’s hot as fuck to watch!”

The brown-skinned boy turns his face directly to the camera. He continues to kick and struggle as he reaches out to the camera in desperation. His eyes, wide and frantic, are starting to protrude slightly; it gives an added air of panic to his expression. The skin of his face darkens like that of a ripening olive.

Suddenly the alpha top starts fucking him again. The camera pans out a bit to get the full-body shot; Nick thrusting himself brutally into the dying whore’s rectum. It’s unclear if the set has AC; both killer and victim are sweating profusely, their entwined bodies glistening as they slide over each other in an agony of sex and an ecstasy of death.

The slut’s brown leather boots kick uselessly at the air for a moment before he contracts his tight smooth legs and drums his heels furiously against the alpha top’s back and ass. The stud grunts and spits in the kid’s swollen purple face.

The camera frame moves. The image shakes and blurs for a brief moment. When it clears, the cameraman has moved to a point near the end of the sofa. From here, there’s a close up on the top’s thick tool spearing the hustler’s straining pink hole. The thick, purple, swollen shaft, shiny and thick with veins, is shown in great detail—then the camera moves again, closing in on the dying boy’s face.

The purpose of the shot is obvious. The kid’s swollen face is the same shade as his killer’s swollen cock.

“Dude, you’re getting fucked good,” the cameraman laughs. “I told ya you’d remember this fuck the rest of your life, which should be about a coupla more minutes. Ain’t it cool, dude, getting fucked to death by this fuckin’ alpha stud? Bet yer lovin’ it, you cumsucking spic whore. Fuck, lookit that shit—I knew you’d like this, you worthless fuckpig!”

As raucous laughter brays from behind the camera, it closes in on the space between the two heaving, sweat-lubed bellies, one rough with hair scraping painfully across the other. Again the image shakes as the cameraman moves closer to the action, but not so badly as to lose the picture.

Ricky’s dick is rigid, pressed against Nick’s belly like a bar of iron. It’s wrapped in the dark “happy trail” line of hair marching down the stud’s ripped abdomen. After a momentary blur, the frame goes in for extreme close-up. As sweat-soaked flesh writhes and presses together, a thick dark mushroom-shaped tip can be seen oozing clear precum. It’s hard to see because of the violence of the motion. The shot isn’t held long.

The camera pulls back some and pans slightly up. The slut is flat on his back, his head bent back into the sofa cushion in a futile attempt to be free of the crushing pain in his throat. His hands clench, claw and scrabble over the alpha’s arms, scratching at his skin but otherwise having the same impact as they would on iron girders; the stud’s grip is implacable.

It’s clear that the spic is overwhelmed in panic; he’s almost literally grasping at straws. What he does grasp at, however, is the muscled dude’s gold necklace. In an instant, the kid snatches it off his neck.

“Goddam it!” roars the top. “You fucking cunt, that cost more than you’re worth, you useless fucking whore—you’re gonna regret that!”

And with that, he lets go of the kid’s neck. The boy gasps deeply, arcing his back up off the sofa to inhale as much air as he can. He lets it out in one huge moan—and then the hard dude is back on him, clamping down on the throat.

“What the–?” comes from behind the camera. But the cameraman apparently catches on right away. As the stud leans down and puts his face up against the boy’s, the camera comes in close enough to pick up the look of rage in the alpha’s face—and his whisper.

“Ya get more air, cunt? Good. You ain’t gonna die that quick. You gotta pay. You pay in pain, fucker. Got it? I’m takin’ the cost of that necklace outta your hide. And believe me, you fucking spic faggot, I’m gonna cash your ass out. Now just sit back and enjoy what ya got comin’, you fucking worthless druggie scum.”

Nick’s face is hard and cold as he leans over Ricky and spits in his face. The youth’s hands are tight around his killer’s wrists, trying desperately to wrest them from his throat.

The attack is stunning in its unexpected brutality. The alpha top clamps his left hand over the whore’s throat. He draws his right hand back and slams his huge knotted fist into the kid’s face. The slut’s body rocks with the blow, his legs kicking out.

“Oh fuckin’ hell, dude,” the cameraman moans, “you gotta hurt ‘im more than that. You hear that, Ricky? You fuckin’ crackhead whore, this stud’s gonna end your worthless life in agony on his cock. And it’s all gonna happen on camera. Dudes you don’t even know are gonna jack off watching you shoot and die with a cock up your ass like a fuckin’ cholo cunt.”

The top draws back and punches the boy again. This time, the blow lands on the youth’s firm, slim chest with a loud thunk.

The camera closes in on his face again. The alpha stud has kept up the pressure on the punk’s throat. As much pain as he’s in from the beating, it’s the strangulation that not only killing him but causing the most pain.

That much is obvious as the frame is filled with the Mexican boy’s face, swollen and distorted nearly out of all recognition. His body may jerk with each vicious blow, but the agony of death is reflected in his puffy blue lips parted by a thick, swollen tongue framed in a froth of drool that streams back along the spic’s blotched cheeks.

His eyes are bloody and bulging; staring into death with the horror of someone totally unprepared. Thick grunting sounds are forced out with the foamy bubbles that leak from his lips.

The camera pulls back, for good reason. The whore is in his death throes. As the alpha stud grunts and pants and pumps his tool up the dying slut’s fuckhole, the boy’s arms flail and his hands scrape and beat with frantic but weakening desperation.

The camera moves down the length of the jerking, interlocked bodies. The boy’s legs close instinctively, his smooth thighs slipping over the stud’s sweaty flanks. His feet no longer kick in protest at his killer’s assault; now his heels drag along the cushion of the sofa, the brown leather of his shuddering boots sliding along the top’s muscled calves.

The frame takes a perspective view from near the feet, capturing everything up to the face in the view. From this angle, the spic’s hands can be seen clawing at the alpha’s arms and shoulders; they flutter like dying birds. The kid is almost dead; he’s been without air for at least four minutes now.

There’s a blur and the camera resumes its wide, side-on view. All of Nick’s glorious body can be seen, pumping, thrusting, shining with sweat like a fierce animal—like a mankiller. Ricky is sweating and gleaming too, but his movements are becoming less coordinated as parts of his brain begin to die.

The camera zooms in for a moment—just like an earlier shot, this one shows the whore’s thick, uncut dick, standing straight up out of a black forest of pubic hair. Each jerk of his dying body, each thrust of his killer’s hips, makes Ricky’s instinctively swollen shaft stab into Nick’s tight hairy abs and smear them with the precum that’s flowing in a nearly steady stream.

The Mexican kid is losing it. There’s still some fight in him though; he makes one last attempt to break free and manages to get his thumb into the stud’s left eye.

This proves to be Ricky’s last mistake.

“Fucking cunt!” screams Nick. Without relaxing his crushing grip around the boy’s throat, the top wraps his left arm around the kid’s right—the one that’s in his face—and with a quick jerk, snaps it, tearing the elbow out of joint and shattering the humerus, the upper arm. The pain must be phenomenal, but the dying whore is already in agony.

The stud goes full bull male alpha in rage. He pulls his huge arm back and, putting his massive muscles to good use, begins piledriving his fist into the young slut’s face while screaming in such anger that foam flies from his lips. “Die, you worthless fucking spic faggot! Think you can hurt me, you stupid fucking crackhead? Take my fucking cock and die like the fucking cumslut piece of shit you are! Fuck yeah, I’m gonna unload in your worn-out fuckhole and it’s gonna be the last thing you feel, vato, comprendre? Stupid motherfucking cocksucking faggot whore, die like the useless pig fuck you are!

Suddenly Nick grabs a handful of Ricky’s short but thick black hair, near the scalp. In a split-second, he throws himself forward, putting the weight of all his muscles onto the hand he’s using to crush Ricky’s throat. At the same time, he jerks his other arm back towards himself, pulling Ricky head violently in the opposite direction from his neck

The camera pulls out just in time to catch the full-body effect. The sound is deep and vital; an erotic snapping and shattering that signals the irrevocable end of life. Ricky reacts as if to an electric shock. His whole body spasms; his arms and legs splaying wide—and then instantly contracting in a convulsion; wrapping tightly around his killer’s hard, slick body as Nick, deep in orgasm, cries out incoherently.

As the whore holds his killer in a dying embrace of severe neurological shock, the camera zooms in again on the faces. They’re next to one another; the killer’s, drawn back in the feral pleasure of filling the young cunt with his seed, the victim’s, in the final surrender to a more powerful man.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” screams Nick. He rises up onto his knees and the camera comes in for Ricky’s last close-up. A long, thick cock moves in from the bottom of the frame, a hand grasping it tightly. As Ricky drools and twitches, his brain completely disconnected from his quivering body, the cameraman beats off into the boy’s face. The frame becomes unsteady for a moment as he shoots, semen spurting into the slut’s black, distorted face and pooling into his bulging, bloodshot eyes.

The camera frame widens for one last time, showing the stud gasping for air, his cock still buried in the twitching fuckhole. He shudders for a moment, evidently draining the last drop of sperm out of his rod, judging by the deep, satisfied sigh he emits. He pulls out of the corpse’s ass, backing himself up on his knees before standing up. He steps up and spits in Ricky’s dead swollen face one last time before the video ends.

************************************************** **************************

Nick sat on the end of the sofa where his feet had been. Tony was sitting in an armchair on the other side of the small room. Both were leaning back, not moving much, semen still leaking out of the heads of their dicks. Ricky’s body had been rolled off the sofa and was lying face down, still twitching, on the rug, a thick slime of cum leaking out of his savagely torn rectum.

“Dude, you really think we can make money doin’ that?” asked Nick.

“Man, we can get rich doing that. I fuckin’ promise,” replied Tony.

“Ok, then, here’s the deal—you cut me in on the profits. We can work out the percentage later. Until we make a profit, you pay me fifteen hundred per video.”

Tony didn’t need to hesitate. “Fuck yeah, it’s a deal, dude. We’re gonna make a killing!”