Fantasy Scenario 15

On June 28, 2015May 1, 2016 By m3mayhemIn Fantasy Scenario SeriesLeave a comment

Y’know, there are some times when I have no interest in hunting. I can be distracted just as much as anyone. I can have other things on my mind.

But when fresh meat falls in your lap, what are you supposed to do? Say no? Fuck that.

This one happened because of a red light camera. There’s a new one installed at an intersection near one of my hunting grounds. I go out of my way to avoid going through that intersection now, just in case.

Sometimes, though, I do need to go that way. This time, I took a shortcut; an alleyway behind a run-down strip center on the corner. It was late, but there was still some traffic. I turned out my headlights as I swung behind the building; no sense in letting anyone see me.

The boy was about two-thirds of the way down the alley. He was locking the back door of one of the businesses—a head shop, I think—when I caught sight of him.

I had a clear view; he was standing under the only working light in the alley. No older than twenty-five, if that. Baseball cap on his short, spiked red-gold hair. Tight skinny jeans and a dark red t-shirt, white hightops with untied blue laces. His left arm was a tattooed sleeve.

I stopped and shut off my van. He hadn’t heard me and I had been in the shadows with no lights on—he didn’t know I was there. He fired up a joint the moment the door was locked and got busy getting high.

I switched the interior light off before opening the door. I was able to approach the kid in such a way that a trash bin was between us for much of the time. I within a yard of him before he realized he wasn’t alone. He’d finished the jay and was about to go; he already had one foot on his board.

I came at him from behind. He must have heard something because he started to turn but I was on him so fast he never saw me coming. I put out his lights with a quick right to the jaw and he dropped like a sack of potatoes.

I dragged him back to my van and piled him into the back. There was no need to move; no one could see me between the building and the back wall without coming down the alley. And there was no reason for anyone to come down the alley. The few occupied spaces were all closed for the day.

I cut the skate punk’s jeans off with a utility knife. There was a tattoo that rose on his right calf and blossomed into curlicues. I cut his shirt off, too, running my hands over his smooth, firm chest and belly and twisting his nipples viciously. Little shit was going commando. His thick hog ran limply along his thigh.

He moans and his eyelids flutter—he’s starting to regain consciousness. Good. I want him awake; I want him to know, to experience everything that’s going to happen to him. But first…

I’ve already gotten undressed myself. I could fuck him with my clothes on, of course, but that can leave trace evidence—to say nothing of the mess itself—so I choose not to.

His moaning becomes louder as I prop his shoes on my shoulders and stuff the thick mushroom head of my cock into his tight hole. He’s not fully awake but he’s starting to resist. That’s ok; I expect him to resist. It’s part of the fun. He’ll come to accept his role in time. I just need to teach him to submit.

I have a tool for that. It’s a very simple loop of wire with the ends attached to a thick length of sawed-off wooden dowel. A garrote, but not like my usual ones—this one, the wire, has some bite. This is gonna hurt wicked bad.

The thought gets me so horny I slam myself full-length into the fuckmeat. He opens his eyes wide—they’re green, I hadn’t seen them before—and gasps. I don’t give him the chance to scream, though. I’m already tightening the wire down.

I don’t choke him off, though, not yet. He glares at me, rage masking pain and fear. His breathing is constricted and labored but not interrupted. He plants his left hand on my chin and pushes hard while his right claws at the wire. He jerks and twists under me, trying to get free from the penetrating pain in his rectum.

“Fuck yeah,” I moan, “that’s it, fuckmeat. Keep fighting it, keep working my dick. Goddam, bitch, you ain’t never let anyone up inside you before. You wanted to, though. You’re gonna love this, you worthless little fuck. I’m gonna show you what a real man does with a useless fuckhole like you.”

I hold him down with one hand placed in the center of his chest. I’m holding the handle of the garrote in the other hand. I don’t twist it often—I want him to strangle slowly. My cock spears his ass to the floor. The last thing he’s gonna see as he dies (besides my face snarling at him) will be the roof of my van.

I don’t twist the wire often, but I do twist it. He becomes more frantic with each revolution of the handle. He flails his hands and grabs at my face briefly, but I’m both bigger and stronger than he is. He’s completely helpless. Panic will set in once he realizes this fact.

His eyes, bloodshot from the weed, stared into mine with mute pleading, the look in them conveying the confusion common with dying fuckmeat. Experience has taught me patience. He will not accept his purpose as a receptacle for my semen until a certain proportion of his brain has died. Only then will things become clear to him. But I must tell him, educate him on this point.

“My purpose now is to guide you,” I whisper to him, “to the point of brain death, to your fulfillment, to the highest and best use of your body. I’m gonna manipulate you physically so that your death throes make me cum—so I can properly anoint you with my seed as you achieve your reason for being and so leave this world.”

One more twist of the handle and his air is gone for good. His eyes bulge frantically and he claws furiously at my face. I tighten down harder on his neck and the wire breaks the skin. He grabs at his throat, smearing the blood. His chest heaves in a desperate attempt to breathe, the effort making his ass rock up and down on my dick.

Slowly but inevitably, I feel something press into my abdomen. The meat is getting hard. This is a good sign, but it doesn’t mean acceptance. This is a physiological effect from the lack of oxygen; the only thing unusual is how quickly it’s happened. Normally the meat is much closer to death before he gets hard.

This one must want it bad. I grin as I slam my cock into his writhing colon. I’ll make sure he gets it bad. I’ll make it as bad for him as I can.

I loosen the wire for a moment. For one breath; that’s it. I want to string this out for as long as I can.

“Still with me, punk? Good. Let’s play a game. Let’s see how long I can keep you dancing on my dick. At some point, we’ll cross a line and your brain will be irreparably damaged. You’ll convulse uncontrollably and that’s when I’ll reward you with my load. But I wanna see how long I can keep you going before we get there.”

I twist the wire a couple more times. More blood flows from the thin slit encircling the skater’s neck. His face darkens as he paws at his throat, his fingers slipping in the blood. He slides around under me on a cold, slick sweat that has spontaneously oozed out of him, coating his hard, smooth body and darkening his hair.

I loosen the garrote to allow him another gasp and then close him down again. His lips swell and part as his engorged tongue protrudes. Streamers of drool run from the corners or his mouth. I lean over him to watch blood vessels hemorrhage in his beautiful green eyes with the long dark lashes.

“Fuck yeah, asshole; you know how to die good. I’m so fucking glad I found you. You’ve wanted this so much, haven’t you? You’ve wanted a real man to come along and choke you out, to spurt a burning wad of cum up your ass as you gag and spasm and shoot and die. Only thing you’re any fuckin’ good for, faggot, ain’t it? You’re gonna rot like the fucking garbage you are, motherfucker, with my load inside ya.”

He’s in full crisis mode now. I’ve seen this before. I think the oxygen in the meat’s bloodstream drops below a certain level or something. His feet are hammering at my ass, his hightops scraping at my legs and back. His arms are straight out and rigid, his hands clutching my cheeks, fingers digging painfully just below my eyes. I’m looking directly into his face. I can see the light start to fade from his eyes. I loosen the wire. The meat inhales raggedly.

“Not yet, fuckwad. You ain’t gettin’ out of it yet. You haven’t earned my load yet. You gotta work my dick better than that, motherfucker. You want the pain to end? Make me cum, bitch, that’s your only way out. This agony will only end with your death and you don’t deserve to die till you make me cum.”

I clamp down on his neck again. I kneel on the floor of the van and pull him up so that I can look him in the face. His eyes have hemorrhaged so severely that’s there’s no white left. They bulge grotesquely, showing the inescapable horror of his last moments alive. His face is back and almost unrecognizable, his purple tongue protruding obscenely.

This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. His brain is dying; he’s unable to reason, only to feel. He can feel his purpose now. His cock is as swollen and purple as his tongue. His face is slick and shiny with snot and tears and frothy drool; the head of his dick is slick and shiny with precum.

The punk’s hands no longer snatch at my face. The frenetic pace has slowed and now he caresses me. I can feel the gratitude in each stroke; I have made him aware of his place in the universe. All he needs to complete his existence is my seed. He’s nearly there; he just needs some encouragement.

“Die, you fucking useless punk. Let go and let your body take over. Thrash and die on my cock, you little fucking faggot. C’mon, bitch, I wanna feel you die. That’s it, fuckwad, ride my cock to your grave.”

He’s jerking spasmodically, the bicep on his left arm twitching under the colorful tattoo. His legs tighten at my neck, the heels of his loose hightops digging into the back of my neck as I bend the dying meat double.

I can feel the muscles of his colon ripple as he loses control of his bowels. The velvety feel of his rectal lining flowing against the sensitive head of my cock is addictive. This is how I know what I’m doing is right; how could something as intense as this not be a religious experience?

That’s when it happens. The meat reaches epiphany. He jerks and spasms, head thrown back and eyes rolled back to show nothing but blood-streaked white. Foam bubbles from the corners of the thick blue lips. There’s a massive twitch and a stream of semen erupts convulsively from the meat’s straining purple rod. It splatters on my chest and my chin, then jets up to fall in thick creamy gobs on his black congested face.

This is what I’ve been waiting for. He’s reached the critical point; his brain is so damaged that he could never again be functional. This is why I jumped the skate punk as he left the head shop; I wanted to feel his sphincter tighten around the base of my dick like a cockring as he succumbs to brain death. He never had a chance to escape. I chose him at random to receive my seed and my revelation of his purpose.

“This is it, fuckmeat. This is why you’re here. Take my load, you fucking death pig. You want it. If there’s enough of your left to be able to understand me, you want my cum burning in your guts before you go. I know that because you’ve already blown your own wad like the fucking choke whore I knew you were. I’m gonna fuckin’—fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

I shoot a stream of semen into the meat’s guts, hosing his intestines with my cum. He gives me one last embrace, clenching me in a final dying spasm that tightens his sphincter around my cock again, forcing another load of seed to discharge convulsively from the corpse’s dick as I shoot my last load uncontrollably deep into his intestines.

I hold him for a while and tell him how much I love him and how grateful I am that I was chosen to show him his proper place in the scheme of things. I kiss him, thrusting my tongue into his mouth, forcing my way past his own swollen tongue. I stoke the flaccid muscles in his tattooed arm; I lower his legs to my side and run my hands down his firm thighs.

Later, I dress myself. I start my van and move it slowly forward. I park at the trash bin long enough to drag the meat out and throw it in. I make sure to go back and grab the punk’s cap and skateboard, both outside the head shop where I’d found him. I throw them in as well. Truck should be around in the morning; it should be several days before anyone notices this worthless little shit was missing.

Like I said, I wasn’t hunting—but when there’s a nice piece of meat right in front of me, I’m not gonna ignore it. I mean, I’m no saint.

Fantasy Scenario 14

On June 28, 2015May 1, 2016 By m3mayhemIn Fantasy Scenario Series2 Comments

Y’know, some of the kids running around out there these days are pretty stupid. And good thing, too, or I’d never be able to lure them in. The two I got fucked up on the couch are a good case in point.

The older one is named David. But “older” is relative; he’s only about twenty. His friend Brian is eighteen. They wanted to buy weed and thought I’d be able to help them out.

I’ll help them out, all right.

I really hadn’t expected to be approached at the mall. I don’t hunt there; there are too many cameras. But these two skate punks had come up to me at my van, which I’d parked at the far end of the lot. I’m not sure what made them single me out, but I was far enough away from the entrance to have no worries about being seen. I invited the boys into the back of my van and told them my stash was at my place. They came along willingly.

Like I said, stupid. I’m gonna have fun fucking them to death.

David was clearly the alpha dog of the two. He was also drunk, which was also likely why he had no qualms about asking a stranger for drugs–or about coming home with me once I said yes. Brian was quiet, more of a follower type. He was high, but not as drunk as David.

I like the quiet ones. They usually turn out to be screamers. That gets me hard.

David is dark, with a Latino look. Short black hair, black eyes, a nice firm body. He’s wearing tight jeans and brown suede sneakers. His Metallica t-shirt clings to his chest. His black eyes are bloodshot and he slurs a bit as he speaks, but he’s a grinning, happy drunk.

Brian’s hair is blond and slightly longer. His black jeans are just as tight as David’s. He’s wearing expensive Nike hightops the same shade of gray as his shirt. His blue eyes are bloodshot as well, but he doesn’t seem quite as incapacitated as his friend.

I give them a little something to smoke on the ride back to my place. There’s a mild sedative in it; I don’t want them unconscious, just docile. It’s not till we’re back at my killing pit that I realize David is more fucked up than I thought. He passes out on my sofa right away.

Ok, he’ll keep. I turn my attention to Brian–sitting next to him and offering another joint. He doesn’t say much as he smokes; he just keeps giving me a goofy good-natured grin as he gets high.

The grin falters as I start fondling him. He starts to shift away from me.

“What ya doin’, dude? Get your hands off me, I ain’t no faggot. Hey, Dave, wake up, man. This dude’s gettin’–”

I finish his sentence for him with a right across the jaw. He slumps back in the corner of the couch–not unconscious, but stunned and limp. He stares at me in fear, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth where his lip is cut.

“Get up, motherfucker,” I snarl at him. He gets up–hesitantly, but he obeys. Tears run down his cheeks and he starts to snivel. He knows that things have taken a bad turn. He has no idea how bad, though.

I drag him into the bedroom and force him into a folding chair placed at the head of the bed. He looks around as I bind him to the chair with nylon rope. As he takes in the metal posts at the head of the bed and the sheets of painters plastic spread over most of the surfaces in the room, he starts to realize that what’s about to happen will be worse than anything he’d imagined.

He starts sobbing in a moment. It’s at this point that I slip the ball gag on him. By the time I’m done, he’s trussed to the chair with his hands behind his back and his feet bound to the chair legs. He’s completely immobile. I sit on the bed so I’m at the same level he is. I run my hands through his silky hair as I speak.

“Ok, bitch, this is what’s gonna happen here. I’m gonna fuck both of you punk bitches, starting with your friend in there. You’re gonna get to watch. I want you to pay close attention so you’ll know what’s gonna happen when it’s your turn.”

He struggles and snuffles but isn’t able to move or make a sound loud enough to worry about. Time go get David to join the party.

David is slowly waking up, but he’s still too befuddled to offer any resistance when I strip off his shirt. His jeans and shorts I cut off with scissors, tossing the rags into the corner after I rifle through his wallet and pocket the couple of bucks I find there–he damn sure ain’t gonna need the money.

He twists in my arms as I drag him into the bedroom, but I’ve got his arms strapped to the posts at the head of the bed before he can muster up the strength to break free. I lay him down face up with his hands bound to the posts above his head. He’s still groggy and incoherent; I don’t think he knows where he is or even remembers meeting me. I turn to the fuckmeat strapped to the chair.

“Hey, Brian, watch me stick my dick up yer buddy’s ass. You’ll wanna watch this, cause I’m gonna do the same thing to you. Eventually. Oh, don’t worry–you’ll know when it’s coming. I’ll make sure of that.”

David’s moan spirals up into a scream as I stuff my thick cock into his smooth brown ass. I’ve spread his legs wide and his sneakers flail in the air as I rape the punk fucker. His hole is tight, really tight. God, there’s nothing like popping a nice virgin hole.

“Oh God, stop! For fuck’s sake, stop, you’re killing me!” he shouts.

I lean down and look into his wide, frantic eyes. “Not yet, motherfucker. You’re gonna die, all right, and soon. You think this hurts? Just wait, fuckmeat. You don’t know the meaning of pain yet. But you will, bitch. You’re gonna die in agony with my dick jammed in your hole. And your friend gets to watch.”

Brian emits faint mewling sounds as he struggles futilely to free himself. David is struggling as well, forcing me to amp up my thrusting to keep him in control. He isn’t able to move much while I’m actively plowing his ass.

I need to calm him down a bit. A show of power usually works. I punch him in the face twice; two quick, powerful blows that rock his head back and shut him up good. He lies back, sobbing softly.

“Shut the fuck up, meat. Just lay there and take my tool. Be a good little fuckhole and maybe I won’t hurt you too bad. I mean, when I kill you.”

David starts bawling openly, big snotty tears smearing his face. I turn and grin at Brian.

“Havin’ a good time, buddy? Is it getting’ ya hard? No, not yet? I know what’ll do it. Watch this.”

I’ve got a small length of rope left over, about a foot long. Sitting up on my knees, I keep David’s legs apart with my elbows as I tie the rope around David’s balls. I loop it around the base of his dick a couple of times and then back around his scrotum. His cock is swelling and turning purple before I finish the knot.

“See, that’s what I like about you stupid little fucks; even at the point of death you stay hard. I had one kid shooting four minutes after he’d died. Let’s see if y’all can do better.”

Now comes the big reveal. I make sure they both get a good view of my knife. It’s a Ka-bar seven-inch utility knife and it’s my favorite for this kinda thing because it’s so obviously designed to inflict physical damage. It looks like it’s gonna hurt—and it does.

“Oh god oh no please no fuck please please please.—“ David gasps.

I lay full length on top of his firm, smooth body and press the knife against his throat. His pleas sink into an incoherent babble. I turn and grin at Brian. “Now watch this, fuckmeat,” I whisper as I slash open David’s throat. The boy starts screaming as I saw into his neck, applying more and more force until I’ve carved open the esophagus and shredded the larynx.

David’s high-pitched scream instantly sinks to a gasping hiss. I hold the thrashing meat firmly to the bed with my hands on its shoulders. I don’t need to thrust; I just hang on while David bleeds out. I keep eye contact with Brian the entire time. I also make sure to keep him informed.

“Didja see that, punk? Wonder how that feels, having your throat torn open while a dick is shoved up your ass. I know how it feels to me; it’s fucking great. See, the pain induces instant shock and the body goes rigid. His asshole has tightened up on me and it’s so fucking hot.”

I turn back to David. His black eyes are wide in terror and agony. He knows he’s dying, but he’s fighting against it as hard as he can. His open mouth continues to scream, but the only sound he can make is a wheezing gurgle that bubbles out as pink foam.

“That’s it, bitch,” I tell him. “Gargle your own blood for a bit. Gonna take you a while to go, I hope. The longer it takes, the longer you work my dick. And you’re good fuckmeat, son. Your ass is handling my rod like it knows what it’s doing. This is what you were meant for, meat. You and your buddy are only here for me to snuff and throw out like a used cumrag.”

I sit up on my knees. David still thrashes and jerks, but he’s growing weaker.

“Hey, Brian,” I call, “lookee here. Your buddy’s a real death pig. See how hard his cock is? He’s already oozing pre-cum. Happens all the time. You little fucks don’t ever realize it till it happens, but you all want a strong hard man to fill you with his hot seed and take you down. You want to die choking and screaming on the end of my cock.”

David’s breathing has become irregular, a long congested intake followed by a brief foamy bubbling. His body shudders. I turn back to Brian.

“Oh fuck, dude he’s nearly dead. As his brain shuts down, his rectum massages the head of my cock. Jesus, it feels fantastic. Damn, bitch, I hope you work my dick this good when you die.”

Suddenly, the meat gave a loud gasp and quick, sharp jerk. “Oh fuck, yeah, that’s it! Die, you fucking punk-ass bitch, take my cum and fucking die!!” I blew my load into the kid’s guts as his body clamped down on me and his suede sneakers gouged at my back. At the same time, a spurt of semen erupted from the meat’s bound tool, leaping up and splattering on his gaping, vacant face.

I pull my thick engorged cock out of the corpse and climb up on the bed, kneeling over the body. I turn to Brian. It takes a moment to catch his eyes, dull with shock.

“Hey, fuckmeat, wanna see something cool?”

I don’t claim to have an enormous dick, but it’s big enough for this display. I turn David’s head toward Brian, making sure the mouth is open. I straddle the throat and slowly insert my cock into the massive wound. I push it up until the head of my dick, still oozing cum, protrudes from the corpse’s mouth.

Brian’s eyes roll back as he passes out. A stench fills the room; he’s pissed and shit himself in terror.

I’ll deal with him later. Frankly, I need a nap. I curl up with my fresh meat and fall asleep.

When I wake up, the meat isn’t so fresh anymore; in fact, it’s downright stiff. I shove it off to one side on the large stained mattress.

The first thing I do when I get up is check on Brian. He’s lolling in the chair, unconscious, still held in place by the rope. I go and clean myself up before I return to him.

I untie him and cut off his clothes, leaving his shoes on the way I usually do. I then spend a few minutes cleaning him up with a washcloth. He’s a real mess since he lost control of his bowels. I know that’s a turn-on for some guys, but I’m not into bodily waste.

Brian gets strapped to the bed in the same position I’d had David in. I want him awake before I start fucking him. He’s already starting to groan and stir.

I can’t wait to stick my cock up his tight hole. After watching his buddy bleed out like a pig and being strapped to a chair for hours, he should be nicely tenderized.

He’s becoming more awake with each passing second. I think it’s time to get started. I lay full length on top of him and start fondling his hard, smooth body. His blue eyes open wide and he stares at me.

“Time to wake up, fuckmeat. It’s your turn. Hope you’re ready to die on my dick, cause I sure the fuck am.”

I force his head to the left–he’s looking directly into David’s face now.

“Look at your buddy there. Ain’t that hot as fuck? Look at his mangled throat and his face, covered in his own death wad. And his eyes, see how they’ve gone white and filmy? Makes me want to fuck him all over again. Probably will, once he starts to go soft again. You too, bitch. Sometimes I like my meat cold.”

The boy is in a state of deep psychological shock, but he’s still able to react. He makes a low keening sound as tears stream down his face. “No, please, no…” he whispers.

His dick is huge, even though it’s limp. I snatch up a section of the rope I’d cut off him and wrap it around his cock and sack, the way I’d done David. His thick tube of meat swells in no time.

“Look at that fuckin’ boner. You’re gonna love this, fuckmeat, I can tell. You’re gonna love gettin’ fucked and you’re gonna love gettin’ offed even more. You’ll end up shooting the biggest load of your short useless life when you die. And you’ll want to die before I’m done with you. See, the more pain you’re in, the better you work my dick. You saw how good your buddy did it; now let’s see if you can do better.”

He closes his eyes and gulps. I take the opportunity to pick up a couple of things to show him. The first is my handy garrote. It’s a five-inch section of broom handle with a hole drilled through it near each end. A fourteen-inch loop of nylon cord is run through the holes and knotted. Once it’s around his neck, I can use it with one hand.

“See this? I’m gonna strangle you with it. You get to feel it tighten around your throat as it cuts off your air. You’ll jerk and struggle to free yourself as your brain dies. At some point, you’ll cum uncontrollably, but you probably won’t feel it. And I want you to feel something, which is why I have this.”

I show him the knife again.

“See, this other piece of shit died too soon. He was gone in a minute and a half. It’ll take you at least twice as long to die, but that’s still not long enough. So I’m gonna hurt you first. A lot. The more pain you’re in, the more fun I have.”

The meat trembles and sobs beneath me. It’s making me hard. I don’t need to wait any longer–I stuff my engorged tool into the kid’s soft, tender ass. He screams and starts sobbing again.

“Fuck, yeah, take it all, you fucking pig. This is all you’re good for, meat–screaming and dying like a dog just so you can work my cock.”

I slam the knife into the meat’s right side in an area where I won’t hit any major blood vessels. He screams in pain and his ass clenches my cock like a fist–perfect.

I want to enjoy this a good long time so I have to be careful not to let the fuckmeat lose too much blood. I’ll enjoy fucking him later when he’s still and cold, but right now I want to savor his agony and terror–I can’t let him bleed out to the point he loses consciousness.

Of course, that doesn’t mean I can’t make sure he’s in mind-bending agony. I twist the knife in the wound, slashing at his guts. The kid screams again and again, each shrill shriek trailing off into loud sobs.

I plant the knife in the center of his firm, flat belly and slowly push it in. And I do mean slowly; it takes nearly a full minute for it to sink in up to the hilt. The meat wails the entire time, writhing on the bed in a futile attempt to escape the pain overwhelming his rational thought process. With each jerk, his silky rectal lining rubs the swollen head of my cock. It’s fantastic and it gets better as I twist the knife inside him again.

I know I’m a sick fuck, but I love making the worthless little punk suffer. The blade of the knife is deeply serrated; I make heavy use of it, especially while pulling it out of the wound. I’m able to make my fuckpig squeal.

The knife goes in again, this time towards the left side of his abdomen. His other wounds are bleeding, but not heavily. A sticky trickle of blood has run down into the meat’s groin, soaking his rope cockring before seeping onto my cock.

I draw the knife back out of the gash in the boy’s side, slowly sawing my way back out with the serrated edge. The meat keeps trying to scream, but he’s gone hoarse. His face is contorted into a mask of pain, his wiry young body responding to each loving slice by gripping my dick more firmly.

The blade goes in once again, this time just above the navel. I leave it there for a moment while I loop the garrote around his neck and start turning the handle. A couple of twists and it’s up against his skin; now I only need one hand.

I pull the knife out and plunge it into the meat just up under the rib cage on the left side. The blade slashes through his liver and the punk goes rigid in shock. I twist the garrote and see the cord sink into the fucker’s vulnerable throat.

The kid arcs backwards—even in the overpowering grip of physical pain and shock, he still tries to gasp for air, to extend the long scream of agony that his wasted life has become. But the physical will not be denied; no matter the pain, the terror, the desperation, the body has its reflexes. The rope around the fucktoy’s cock remained as tight as ever and his dick was a thick cylinder of meat that pressed like a red-hot bar of iron into my belly as I lay on the boy.

I ream the knife in the boy’s side, fucking his guts with my blade as I fuck his ass with my cock—and fuck out his life with my garrote.

His face darkens and his tear-filled eyes dilate as blood vessels rupture deep within them. He thrashes violently, forcing the blade to tear deep into his guts, oblivious in his panic.

He’s pinned onto the mattress by my dick and my knife; as he twists his head, he finds himself looking directly into David’s dull dead eyes. I start whispering to him.

“You’re dying, you little fuck. I’m killing you just so I can drain my dick. That’s why your friend died, too—I needed a cumsack and it’s your lucky day. Ya like it, bitch? Ya like getting’ fucked to death? I guess you do, you’ve got a huge hard-on. Just like your buddy, you’re already leaking some pre-cum. I can feel it on my belly. Damn, ya fuckin’ pig, it’s burning hot—you must want this bad. Ain’t that right, boy? You ain’t nothing but fuckmeat and you know it.”

The cord has sunk so deeply into the kid’s neck that it puckers the skin. My knife is still as far up inside the boy’s body as my cock is; his liver is in shreds now and the pain from that must be phenomenal. But I can’t see it on his face because it’s far too distorted—his eyes are bulging, the whites shot through with pinpoint hemorrhages; his protruding tongue as purple as the dripping head of his cock. His whole face is swollen and blackened.

There’s a loud crunching sound as the fucker’s hyoid bond shatters and his esophagus collapses. The cord is so tight around his neck, it’s almost against the spine. In extremis, the kid goes rigid, clamping me in a grip tighter than any vice. I can feel his hightop sneakers pressing on my ass, forcing me deeper inside him. His entire rectum ripples along my shaft in his death agony. Foam drools from the side of his mouth, running down his dark, smooth cheek. His eyes have rolled back, showing only the bloody whites.

I scream aloud as liquid fire erupts from my dick; I’m plunging the knife into the punk’s chest over and over again, piercing his lungs and puncturing his heart like a balloon. At the same time, a massive flood of sperm flows from the meat’s cock, smearing between our chests as his body convulses against mine.

Dying brain cells, firing at random, cause the dead meat to quiver on my dick for several minutes. I’m so turned on, each twitch makes me shoot again. The corpse continues to pump out semen for a while, too. But the punk is dead, nothing but meat.

I’m exhausted again. I pass out right where I am, my dick still up the meat’s ass, one hand on the knife and the other on the garrote.

When I wake up I’m horny again.

I start with David. The rigor has passed and I can play with him. So young, so beautiful, so unable to resist…

I start by throatfucking him. Literally; I’m ramming my dick down his throat through the hole I’ve cut in it. I’m on top of him, facing his feet in those brown sneakers. My balls slap against his chin. His flat belly, jerking with each of my thrusts, has a slight greenish tint. But as I feel the head of my cock scraping the sides of his airway, I can’t help looking over at Brian. Even more helpless and alone…

It isn’t long before I’ve moved over and forced my dick into Brian’s mouth, moaning as his dry, swollen tongue raspes against the underside of my cock. Every time I pump my thick head into Brian’s throat, I can feel it rub against the crushed walls of his mangled esophagus. I can’t hold it back—as I cum and cum, I look over at David. I love them both so much right now.

I’ve unloaded so much seed I’ve overflowed Brian’s closed-off throat. Semen has spilled out over his face and pooled in his half-open eyes. I wish I could keep them with me longer, but they won’t be fit to fuck soon.

Oh, well. There’ll be others.

Fantasy Scenario 13

On June 28, 2015April 30, 2016 By m3mayhemIn Fantasy Scenario SeriesLeave a comment

I can hear the whore moan. That’s good; I’d thought I’d killed him for a moment there.

Of course, I plan on killing him later–but not till I’m ready. I really want to enjoy this.

He’s about eighteen or nineteen, but looks a little older. He’s clearly been living hard for some time, probably on the streets. His darting eyes and nervous hand movements betray a drug addiction. He wants this over but needs the money for his next bump.

He’s beautiful. Long dark silky hair with blond highlights. Pale blue eyes with long lashes. He’s wearing tight skinny jeans and a dark red t-shirt with black and white leather hightops.

I’d take him away from this, from the life of want and necessity, but he wouldn’t come. This will only end one way for him. Down inside, it’s what he truly wants, even if he doesn’t realize it yet. He will, though. Before I’m done, before the heart stops beating and the semen stops flowing, he’ll understand the gift I’m giving him.

He’s jonesing badly, so it only takes an offer of twenty bucks to get him in my car. He starts babbling about the different things he’ll do for me for various amounts of money. That’s when I slug him in the jaw. As he stares at me in stunned silence, I grab his long hair and slam him face-first into the dashboard.

He goes limp, bleeding from his nose. There’s also some blood leaking from his mouth; his lip is cut. But he’s out good–so good, I was worried that I might have wasted him before I got to have any fun with him. It’s good to hear him moan. It makes my dick hard.

When I get the fuckboy back to the shitty apartment I use as my killing pit, I take my time stripping his clothes off, fondling his hard, smooth, helpless body. He can’t resist; he’s still out. I slowly cut off his shirt and jeans. He won’t need those again. Ever.

As usual, I leave his shoes on.

There’s nothing else I need to remove. He’s gone commando under his jeans, most likely so he can take it up the ass in some dark alley quickly, without trouble.

So now he’s moaning quietly and starting to move. He’s ready. But I’m not, not quite. I need to do something first.

And that something is to zip-tie his hands behind his back and lay him in the bathtub.

He’s on his back. Before he can fully awaken, I’ve inserted myself into him. It works better this way; I don’t have to fight him in order to fuck him. He’ll be fighting for his life in a moment but by then, my engorged cock will be planted firmly inside the bitch.

He’s awake now. Awake and very unhappy. He starts swearing and threatening me, trying to get free.

“Get off me, motherfucker! What, you got me in a fuckin’ tub? What the fuck? Get off me before I fuck you up, bitch!”

I ram my dick into him. He cries out and starts cursing again.

“Goddammit, get fucking off, you weirdo! I’m gonna hurt you bad when I get outta here, fucker!”

I smile benignantly and whisper in his ear, “And what makes you think you’re getting out of here?”

He goes quiet, staring up at me, his lovely blue eyes round with fear and his long hair disheveled by his struggles.

“Wh-what are you talkin’ about, dude?”

I smile gently again, lean down over him, and turn the water on. Slowly.

It falls from the spout to the right of his head. He looks at me in silence for a couple of seconds while his drug-addled brain tries to sort out what this means.

When it hits him, it’s like an explosion. There’s instant panic as he starts thrashing violently. He slams his head into the side of the tub and flails uselessly with his legs, trying to work them under me so he can leverage me off him. But I’m gripping one of his legs with each of my arms, holding them apart as I continue to plow his ass. And with his hands bound underneath him, he can’t move.

He starts screaming for help. Most of the units in this run-down dump are empty and I don’t have any near neighbors, but there’s no sense in taking chances. I let go of one leg long enough to pop him on the jaw again. The blow makes him grunt, but his cries subside to a terrified whimper.

I keep fucking him as the water gets deeper. He’s been reamed out real good in his career as a rentboy, but the fear and the physical abuse tighten him up some. Not enough, but the water will take care of the rest.

The water has reached the level of his face. It feels warm on my thighs and makes an odd sucking sound as it’s pumped into the fuckmeat’s ass with each thrust of my dick.

Whoreboy has to lift his head out of the water now in order to keep breathing. It’s a strain on his neck and he won’t be able to keep it up long. He knows it, too, as he begs for his life.

“P-please, dude, don’t do this. Don’t kill me. Oh god, please don’t. You can do whatever you want, you can fuck me for a week, just please don’t kill me…”

“Shut up, fuckmeat,” I snarl at him. “The sooner you die, the sooner I cum. That’s what you’re here for, to die on my cock. You’re going to drown soon, but it’ll take a few minutes. You’re gonna struggle and convulse during those few minutes. Your body is gonna thrash and jerk as is tries to find more oxygen and that’s gonna feel great against my dick. I’m gonna cum so fuckin’ hard as you die, motherfucker.”

He can’t beg anymore; the water’s too high. Even holding his head up, it’s still above his mouth. He can only stare at me pleadingly as his tear-stained face turns to mine.

“Oh yeah, you punk faggot, that’s it. You have no idea how erotic your fear and despair are. You’re about to die, motherfucker, and that’s so fucking hot. Even if I wasn’t boning you, I’d still get off just watching you get whacked. Now just lay back and let go, whore and it’ll be over soon. Shhh. Just accept it. Take my cock and die, fucker.”

His head begins to shudder; the strain of holding it up is too much. And pointless, really, by now. The water has risen to the level of his nose and he can’t lift himself any higher, even by pushing back with his arms. He collapses back into the water.

I turn the tap off after a few seconds and let the surface of the water grow still. I’m not pumping him anymore; I’m just lying on top of him, my rod plugging his rectum. He’s very still himself, staring up at me. A small bubble rises from his right nostril.

I’m looking straight down at him, my hands pressing down on his shoulders, his legs wrapped tightly around my waist. He’d kicked and struggled well enough earlier; I’ll have bruises on my ass for days from the heels of his hightops.

He starts trembling underneath me. Fuckmeat has been holding his breath for a long time now and it’s starting to tell. As I look into his face, I can see a blood vessel rupture in the white of his right eye—then two in his left.

His trembling becomes more violent. Suddenly, a froth of bubbles erupts from his face. He’s let out the air he’d been holding. But he’d already exhausted all the oxygen in it; his body needs to take another breath immediately.

Now the only thing to inhale is water. I grip the whore’s shoulders and prepare for a ride.

The moment the water hit his lungs he bucks like a bronco under me. The reaction is extreme and involuntary; his body’s thrashing out in every way possible to reach air. As I clamp myself to the writhing meat, his rectum massages my cock with an almost fluid motion.

My fucktoy thrashes and wriggles like an eel. It takes a great deal of force to hold him down onto my dick. He’s young—and despite abusing his body for a couple of years, he’s still strong. It takes him some time to die, and he fights it as long as he can.

As the brain dies, there’s a progression of physical movement from voluntary to involuntary. I can feel the boy twisting under me as he fights to remain conscious, knowing that once everything fades away, it won’t be coming back. As he loses the battle, his deliberate efforts to save himself falter and become weak. Soon, they cease altogether and are replaced with the convulsions of irreversible brain damage—the involuntary movements.

This is when the meat starts to milk the cum out of my cock. Each seizure creates a suction effect in his rectum. It’s also at this point the whore shoots his first load; a cloudy jet muddying the water over his chest and face.

I wonder how far gone he is; I wonder if he can feel my hot wad burning inside his guts. I don’t really care, though; he’s just here to get me off as he dies. His dick, rock-hard and swollen purple in the warm water, sends spray after milky spray into the tub.

I can still see his face, though. His dull eyes are half-lidded; his hair floats around his head, the blond highlights glinting like lightning in a thundercloud. A thin trail of bloody foam flows from the meat’s open mouth.

Suddenly he clenches up on me in his final spasm, grinding his ass onto my cock as a vast white cloud erupts from his straining dick. I shudder and gasp as my balls drain into the dead whore’s ass—and by the time I finish unloading into his hole, he really is dead.

It takes me a few minutes to get my strength back. I pull the plug on the tub, climb out and sit, nude, on the bath rug, panting. While I rest, I look up at the pulley I’d hung over the tub and wondered if the fuckmeat had noticed it before he died. What’s that, fucker? What’s the pulley for? Silly faggot, that’s to drain your corpse.

Once I get my breath back, I get a ten-foot length of rope I’d bought some days earlier—longer than needed, but I figured better too much than too little, in this case. I feed it through the pulley and loop it about the meat’s ankles. I then hoist the meat up and tie the rope off on the faucet. I leave the meat there, hanging by the ankles, fingertips scraping the bottom of the tub.

After all, I don’t want him leaking water if I want to play with him again.

Fantasy Scenario 12

On June 28, 2015April 30, 2016 By m3mayhemIn Fantasy Scenario Series1 Comment

The kid is young, no older than twenty. Short, but muscular; he’s been working out. No surprise there; he’s a whore, so he needs to maintain his moneymaker.

It’s cold out and sleet is starting to fall. That’s probably why he’s still available—there’s no traffic now. Everyone is home and safe and warm. Except this kid; he’s still out selling his body. He must be desperate. Wonder what kinda habit he’s supporting.

Well, after tonight, it won’t matter. Surest way to get a monkey off your back is to get dead.

He’s relieved when I pull up. I don’t give him much time; I’ve got my tire iron in the back seat and I go upside his head with it before he can speak. He slumps against his door, snoring slightly as I drive back to the apartment I’ve rented.

It’s dark when I get there. Power’s out in the whole neighborhood. This place I’ve rented is older and has a fireplace. I’d laid in a supply of wood when I saw the forecast.

This whore is gonna die in front of the fire.

I’ve positioned an upright pole in front of the fireplace. I place the kid on his back and pull his hands up over his head, tying them to the pole. After I start a fire—and get enough light to see what I’m doing—I start removing his clothes. I cut off his jeans, leaving his shiny black Doc Martens in place. I cut off his t-shirt and the denim vest he’s wearing, too. He must have been cold.

He’s nude now, except for his socks and boots. He’s well-built and pretty well hung for his size. There’s a tribal armband tattoo around his bulging right bicep. His hair is black and curly and worn long in the back, kinda like a mullet. A trickle of blood has run down his right temple from the spot where I’d popped him. It’s dry now.

Rentboy is starting to wake up. In a flash, I’ve got a ball gag in his mouth. With the power out, it’s really quiet around here. This piggy’s gonna squeal some before I’m done; I need to muffle him before I get started.

I pry his smooth thighs apart and shove the head of my cock into his well-used hole. He gives a slight groan, but this is clearly nothing new for him. He’s pretty loose, but I know how to fix that.

I always like showing off my knife before I use it. The fuckmeat works my tool longer and more intensely when the pain is combined with fear. And my Ka-bar utility knife with its seven inch serrated carbon-steel blade is something to be afraid of.

The kid’s large, dark eyes finally open. He looks around in dazed confusion, trying to move. His hands are bound above his head with zip ties and he can’t do anything with them. He can kick his legs but I’m pinning him to the floor with my dick, so he can’t do much else.

I lie full-length on top of him and grab his throat. With my other hand, I hold the knife in front of his eyes, letting it reflect the orange flames back into his panicked face.

“See this, ya little fuck? I’m gonna stick this in ya. I’m gonna fuck your ass with my cock and your body with my blade. Don’t worry, punk, I ain’t gonna kill ya. Yet. But you whored yourself out too much, bitch, so I’m gonna tighten ya up a little. Ready for it, fuckmeat? Here we go!”

I slowly insert the knife into his left side, under the rib cage. The whore quivers in agony as the sharpened steel slides through his flesh and tears open muscle. His screams are muffled by the gag, but his face shows how much pain he’s in. He shakes his head; eyes squeezed shut with tears streaming out. The resistance on my blade changes abruptly; I’ve hit the spleen.

Suddenly the punk jerks, his eyes opened wide and dilated. Organ trauma usually induces a basic level of shock. His muscles tightened reflexively and his ass clamped down on my dick, as I’d planned.

I slowly pull the blade out. I don’t want to do too much damage yet. I’m gonna bleed him out like a stuck pig, but that’s for later. It’s difficult to keep ‘em going like this sometimes. Getting the right physical reaction requires precision placement of the blade and usually involves trauma to some organ or another. But too much organ damage can lead to death by hemorrhage (before I’m ready) or an irreversible deep state of shock that elicits no reaction at all. This latter state is useful if you need a quick stealth kill.

I like to enjoy my kills a little more. I ease the blade into the punk’s hard, flat belly. It slips in smoothly, almost gliding in like a hot knife through butter. The bitch’s scream is tempered to a long, low moan by the gag.

“Shut up, you fuckin’ bitch. This is what you been wantin’, ain’t it? You’ve just been waiting for some guy to come along and stick something long and hard into ya. Now you got two at the same time, fucker. And you love it, don’t ya, faggot? You tighten your ass up like a good little piggy every time I stick ya. You keep that up and you’ll get my load, bitch. You’re gonna love what happens then. You really are gonna die squealing like a pig when I give you my load. Best happy ending ever!”

I smile beatifically into his face as I tell him about his death. I don’t miss a stroke in my thrusting, though. I only miss a beat while I press the tip of the knife into his right pectoral muscle. There’s immediate resistance—I must have hit a rib—and I have to lean on the haft of the blade. There’s a snapping sound and the knife sinks in up to the hilt. The kid is developed, but small—the blade has completely penetrated him, with the tip coming out of his back.

He stiffens in pain, moaning loudly. He starts writhing, trying to free himself from the iron grip of agony. But he’s pinned in place by my rod and my blade, the latter impaling him to the floor. His rectum cycles through a swift rippling motion up and down the shaft of my cock.

His eyes stare frantically into mine. He still doesn’t quite get it. I know he will, before he dies. He’ll realize that I’m only giving him what he’s wanted all along. He just needs to know he’s really dying. His left lung has been penetrated twice and is collapsing, but he still doesn’t know, beyond any doubt, that he’s dying…

I can fix that.

I lie full-length on him again, feeling his hard body jerking underneath my, sliding around on the blood that’s leaked from his chest wound. There’s really not that much blood since I haven’t pulled the knife out of the wound yet. His dark eyes look pleadingly into mine. His breathing it swift and deep; he’s starting to cough up blood from his damaged lung. He’s gonna die soon enough—I’m just making sure he knows it.

“Ok, you punk fuck, time to make you meat. This is gonna hurt like fuck. I’m gonna cut your throat and let you bleed out while you’re riding my dick. You’re gonna love it, faggot; you’re gonna get butchered like a good pig. Just accept it; this is what you want. This is why you’re out on the streets every night. You wanted a man to come along and cut you like the meat you are. You wanted to die with a dick up your ass. Here ya go, ya fuckin’ death pig, die on my fucking cock, you worthless punk shit!”

I yank the knife brutally out of his chest and saw open his throat, using the serrated edge of the blade to cut into the rubbery trachea. The moment I slice open his windpipe, the fuckmeat shoots his load up my belly and chest. His legs tighten around me. I can feel the smooth leather of his boots as his heels rake my ass in pain—and in pleasure.

His eyes—I can’t really describe the expression. There’s the terror of his imminent death, but there’s also a gratitude for the satisfaction of a desire he’d never known he’d had.

He lays his head back, gasping and gurgling as blood flows down his shredded esophagus into his lungs. Each agonized exhale covers the gash in the meat’s throat with pink foam. Each inhalation is a gargle, the desperate reflex of fuckmeat drowning in its own blood.

As he gags and the foam boils from his bisected neck, he continues to shoot. He finally gets it. Things are getting dim for him. His blood pressure is dropping rapidly, so his extremities are going limp and numb. His vision is fading from the outside in. But he can still feel my tool buried deep in his ass. And since there’s still enough life left in him for his ass to massage my dick, he gets to feel my load, too, before the darkness claims him.

As I cum, holding the dying meat down, two more streams of semen erupt from his swollen cock, splattering his face and smearing into the blood oozing from his throat. The kid milks the last few drops out of my cock with a final death spasm, then goes still. His dick contracts, leaving a glistening trail behind.

I clean myself up and wait for the whoremeat to stop leaking. When it does, I pick it up and carry it to the bedroom.

Without power, it’s cold in there. And it’ll keep longer, away from the fire. I don’t think I’m quite done with it yet.

Fantasy Scenario 11

On June 28, 2015April 30, 2016 By m3mayhemIn Fantasy Scenario SeriesLeave a comment

Young, dumb, and full of cum. It’s my favorite combination. Catch ‘em in their late teens or early twenties after all the hormones are functioning and they shoot huge wads of semen when you put ‘em down. It’s as if it were hard-wired into them, physiologically.

This one fits the bill. He looks about nineteen or so. I can see him on a bench on the other side of the empty playground. He’s had a lot of traffic, but he hasn’t left the bench. From where I’m sitting, I can only see his head, but unless he’s been giving handies, he’s not a whore. And if he is into handjobs, he’s had bad luck; no one’s been next to him for more than thirty seconds or so.

So if he ain’t selling his body, what is he selling? Drugs, most likely. He’d had a backpack when he came in. Can’t tell if he’s still wearing it, but it doesn’t really matter anyway.

I’m just curious how much money he has. He won’t need it when I’m done with him, but I might find it handy…

He’s been looking in my direction, off and on, for a while now. It doesn’t take long before he gets up and moves towards me.

Short red-gold hair; his face is broad and his nose is large. It makes me think Eastern Europe for some reason. His complexion is pale with a scattering of freckles.

He’s wearing a grey hoodie, jeans, and Converse red canvas hightops. The backpack is slung over his shoulder as he strolls nonchalantly by me. He stares in my face the entire time. As he walks away, I get up and follow him fifty yards further down the park path, into the greenbelt. He’s waiting.

He goes through his spiel, trying to get me to buy one of the bags of cheap skunk weed he was selling before progressing to pills and coke. But he’s not trying too hard—and his eyes keep coming back to the bulge in my crotch.

I flat out solicit him. I’ll pay him fifty bucks and get him high—my own stash, not his—if he’ll let me suck his dick. His eyes light up but I can’t tell if it’s from lust or greed. Again, doesn’t matter, as long as I get to watch that light fade as he dies.

He doesn’t mind hauling his dick out in the back of my van right there in the parking lot of the rec center. I want someplace a little more private, though, so I hand him a joint to smoke while I head towards an empty industrial park just on the other side of the highway.

By the time I get there, the special mixture in my joint has done its job. The kid lies limply in the seat, awake, but barely able to move. His speech is little more than an inarticulate mumble. He’s drooling slightly—there’s something about the combination of the drugs that induces a very slight paralysis. I think it has something to do with the hallucinogen, but I’m no chemist. But his breathing is shallow and rapid; panic is starting to set in.

He’s just realized that’s he’s completely helpless. He also knows what it means—something very bad is going to happen to him.

Tears ooze from his fear-widened eyes as I drag him out of his seat into the back. I show him a sharp knife just to terrorize him; I’m not planning to use it on him directly. It’s here so I can cut his clothes off, which I do very quickly. It doesn’t take long to slash apart his hoodie, jeans, and boxers. As usual; I leave his shoes on; I like it when they kick.

I throw him down flat on his back on the carpeted floor of the van and climb on top of him, laying full length. I grab a handful of his hair to hold his head still as I talk to him.

“All right, listen up, bitch. This is how this is gonna go down. I’m gonna shove my dick up your ass and while it’s up there, I’m gonna choke you to death. Nothing personal, dude, but I wanna blow a load into some dead meat. And that means someone’s gotta die. Just your lucky night, fucker. Don’t worry, though, you’ll shoot a wad, too. Dunno if enough of your brain will be left alive at the time for you to enjoy it, but I promise you—you’ll cum before you go.”

I grinned at this witticism. The kid moaned and shuddered but wasn’t capable of anything more coordinated. Even without the drugs, his fear would have incapacitated him at this point.

Perfect time for me to whip my hog out of my jeans and slam it into his hole. Fuck yeah. He was tight. Dunno if he was a virgin; I’d like to think so but I doubt it. I know it hurt; the only lube I used was my own spit and the kid was moaning even more loudly, tears welling out of his eyes and streaming down the side of his face. I propped the bitch’s hightops on my shoulders as I bent over him, still spearing his ass with my thick cock.

I held the nylon cord in front of his eyes. See, the Inquisition knew a trick or two. They made it a practice to show the prisoner the implements of torture before they were used on him. As the true horror of what was to come sank in, the prisoner was more likely to confess with needing to be tortured at all.

Not that I give a shit about confession. The more terrified the meat is, the better it milks the cum out of my cock. I want it to know what’s coming.

“See this? I’m gonna tighten it around your neck. Does dying hurt? Yeah, bitch, it’s gonna hurt. I’m gonna make it hurt because that’s what gets me off. And somewhere in all that pain, you’re gonna cum too. So are ya ready, ya little fuck? Ready to ride my cock down into your grave? Let’s saddle up!”

I grab his hair again and gently lift his head, laying the cord under his neck. I lower his head, pick up the ends of the cords and cross them at the front of his throat, just under the adam’s apple. I position myself for maximum traction; my boots are digging into the carpet with each thrust of my tool and my elbows support my upper half. I wrap the cord ends around the palms of my hands and yank as hard as I can.

It sinks in so deeply that I can barely see it. The boy’s eyes are huge now; the expression on his face is terror. His voluntary nervous system is slowed by the drugs but not the involuntary. His face starts to go red immediately as he arcs his back in a vain attempt to draw in air.

“That’s it. You can feel the pressure building in your head, can’t you? Yeah, that’s gonna get real bad, fuckmeat. But we’ve only been doing this for a few seconds. It’s gonna be three minutes before death takes you, punk. It may not sound long, but it’s gonna be three minutes of agony and I’m gonna be fucking you each second of it. By the time your thrashing, dying body works the last drop of cum outta my rod, your brain will be so damaged you won’t feel the hot seed I plant inside you.”

He’s able to move some now. There’s no strength or focus but he can bat his arms weakly against me. Perhaps his panic is allowing him to overcome some of the paralysis effect. It’s not strong enough to inconvenience me.

His face is darker and his bloodshot eyes are bulging slightly. His lips are swelling as well and have a distinct bluish tint. His involuntary movements are stronger now; he’s writhing under me, his body lubed by the thin film of cold perspiration that’s covering him.

“Whaddaya say, fuckmeat, time to take it up a notch? Yeah, bitch? Don’t think you’re hurtin’ enough yet. Fuck yeah, let’s see if we can fix that.”

I start to pull tighter on the cord. My biceps are beginning to bulge and tendons are standing out. But I keep my breathing regular, timing it with each thrust so I can speak clearly.

“You’re gonna hear a crunching sound in a moment, fuckmeat. Gonna fuckin’ feel it too. It’ll be the sound of your hyoid bone breaking and your esophagus collapsing. Once that happens, you’re dead. Even if I undo this cord, you still won’t be able to breathe. But I’m not gonna undo the cord anyway, because you’re not completely dead yet and I can tighten it even more before you die. “

I grin cheerfully into his terrified, pleading eyes. His tongue, black at the tip, has protruded beyond his puffy cyan lips. It’s moving slightly; the punk dealer is trying to speak, to beg for his life, to plead on behalf of a sick mother or younger brother or some such bullshit. All he’s actually doing is pushing out a stream of foamy drool that trickles down his cheek. The sound came, more like a twig snapping, really.

“Fuckin’-A, yeah! Die, motherfucker, die on my dick. Fuckin’ shoot your punk-ass load and die so I can fill your worthless meat with man cum before I throw it out to rot. C’mon, dude, give up your wad and it’ll all be over. Die, you pig fuck. It won’t hurt after you’re dead.”

His arms flail around my body, hands scrabbling against my sweaty back and sides. He’s completely covered in a sheet of cold sweat himself; it’s the cold sweat of serious body crisis. The canvas of his shoes scratches at my cheeks as his feet jerk with approaching death.

I’m bent down close to his face now. This is the finale; this is what I’ve been waiting for.

“Soon, fuckmeat, it’ll all be over soon. Your only purpose on earth was as a sack to hold my cum. Let go and stop fighting. You’re helpless against it anyway. Let it come and let it be.”

His face is almost black and the whites of his eyes are blood red with hemorrhages. Some part of him hears me though—hears me in the depths of massive brain damage and accepts his fate. He becomes less frantic. His arms slow, his hands caressing my back as they wrap around me.

Suddenly the punk’s grip tightens around me as his body arcs up, pressing his smooth, flat, sweaty belly against mine. His shoes press against the side of my head. But it’s his ass that tightens the most; it clamps down on my cock like it’s getting vacuum-wrapped.

His body thrashes a moment, then something flies between us. The dying boy has shot a wad; it splatters on the back of the seat, above his head. It’s the first of several; most land in his face. Soon his own cum is dripping off his thick swollen tongue and seeping into pools covering his dull, half-lidded eyes.

As he shoots, random nerves fire throughout his body, creating a rippling effect in his rectum. I cum so hard I hear myself cry out incoherently. I jerk the cord so tightly around the meat’s neck that it sinks to a circumference only a little larger than his spine. After I empty myself into the meat’s guts, I fall asleep with my cock still up his ass.

I can’t sleep too long; this is too public a place when I still had the meat in my possession. But I’m horny again when I wake up, so I decide to use the meat one more time.

I flip it over and fuck it from behind this time. I ride the meat like a bronco, using the cord that I’d left around the neck as reins. I get a little carried away when I have my second orgasm; I yank back a little too hard and snap the spine. By the time I stop shooting; the meat’s glazed, blackened face is bent over backwards and staring at me upside-down.

Oh well. This meat is fucked out anyways. Time to throw it away and find another one.

Fantasy Scenario 10

On June 28, 2015April 30, 2016 By m3mayhemIn Fantasy Scenario Series1 Comment

“Shut up, you little fucking bitch. You said you wanted some cock and now you’re getting it, so shut the fuck up.”

He had, too. Come right up to me and grabbed my junk. I’d gone to a different park this time; a place I’d heard had some good pick-ups. I’d heard right. I hadn’t been there for more than a few minutes before this one approached.

He’s about twenty, short—five foot two, if I’m generous. Stocky and well-built, though. Long sandy hair worn in a ponytail. Faint shadow of facial hair. He’s got large dark eyes with long lashes.

He’s wearing tight brown jeans with gray suede Nike hightops. His dark t-shirt clings to him, showing his muscled chest to advantage. He stands right in front of me, grinning up into my face as he tells me he wanted to get fucked.

So I say sure. He’s gonna get fucked all right. He has no idea how fucked he is.

It’s been a while. I was looking for some meat to soak up my seed.

The fuckmeat yammers away about what it likes to do as I decide the best way to off it. I’ve got several fresh layers of plastic in the back of the van. I can make a little mess…

I let him smoke the rest of the joint that I’d saved from last time. Damn, that works perfectly. He’s awake and moaning but unable to do more than bat weakly at me as I drag him out of the passenger seat and into the back.

I slip a ball gag on him; he can’t speak but he can make involuntary sounds. And he’s gonna be making a lot of them before I’m done.

Then I strip him—shoes, jeans, shorts, shirt. Shoes go back on and then I pull out a length of string for something I’ve been practicing. I loop the string tightly around the base of the kid’s dick and then again around his balls before jerking the knot closed. His cock slowly swells, purple with bulging veins.

The boy is flat on his back, arms out to his side, as I kneel between his legs. He moans loudly, incoherently as I spit on my throbbing cock and shove it into his ass. I remind him this is what he’d wanted.

What comes next, he probably won’t want.

“Your ass is kinda loose, fuckmeat. Been whorin’ it out a lot, ain’t ya? Wonder what I can do to make ya tighten it up? Huh, lessee what we got here…”

I grope around on the floor above the kid’s head. This way, I can lean over him and stare right into those beautiful dark eyes and smile benignly as I reach for the 7-inch serrated steel K-Bar knife.

I slowly caress the fuckmeat’s face with the blade, smiling and whispering.

“Feel it, punk? Do ya feel the cold, hard steel? In just a bit, I’m gonna use it to slice into your tender, quivering flesh. I’m gonna cut your throat with this. Understand me? I’m gonna saw open your neck.”

His eyes are huge, the terror in them shining through like madness. He jerks his body convulsively in a futile attempt to make a useful move towards fleeing. A babble of muffled grunts erupts from behind the ball gag.

None of it does any good; he can’t move. He has no choice but to accept what I’m doing to him.

“I’m getting’ close, fuckmeat. Gonna blow my load soon. Looks like you are, too. Damn, bitch, look at that precum drooling from the head of your dick. You’re liking this, ain’t ya?”

I lean down, stroking his face with the blade again.

“You want this, don’t ya, you little death whore? You wanted someone to breed you and off you, huh? You’re gonna get embalmed with cum, you fuckin’ punk. Gonna get my semen pumped into your ass while your blood pumps out through the hole I’m gonna rip in your throat, fucker. And your dick’s tied up so tight you’re gonna blow your load too. No matter how much you suffer, you’re gonna shoot; you won’t be able to control it.”

More inarticulate moans, rising in pitch as I close in with the knife and start slicing into the fuckmeat’s neck just below the adam’s apple. His entire body is rigid and quivering in agony; I can feel his sphincter clamp the base of my tool like a cock ring. The tempo and pitch of the boy’s cries increase as I cut through the tougher tissues of the esophageal wall.

The sound of his cries cease abruptly; now that I’ve torn a hole in his windpipe, there’s a deep gurgling gasp. The fuckmeat writhes, eyes frantically seeking my own in horror and confusion. He still doesn’t understand.

Not good enough.

“I don’t care who you are, bitch. You are fuckmeat. The more it hurts while you die, the better my orgasm will be. It’s that simple. Now suffer, you fucking piece of shit, suffer and make me cum.”

He responds by arcing his body violently upwards off the floor, accompanied by a loud high wheeze, almost a squeal. I can see what’s happening. The front of his trachea, no longer supported as a tube, is collapsing in on itself with each breath where the throat is slashed. Each tortured gasp is drawing in only the minimal amount of oxygen needed to retain consciousness.

His hands come up, flailing uselessly at his throat. By the way he’s pawing at his wound, I can tell this is a desperate effort to claw open his plugged airway. But he doesn’t have the coordination to successfully grasp the flap of flesh that’s been sucked back down his throat. And the blood, acting as lube, doesn’t help his fingers gain any traction on the mangled gash.

Now he’s fighting for air. The agony in his throat, in his ass, in his rigid, straining cock—these fill his awareness as death overwhelms the fuckmeat. His hard, muscled body begins the rhythmic convulsions that occur at the onset of brain death. I’m not sure if the fuckmeat knows I’m here; I don’t know if his brain is still functional enough to perceive more of me than the horrible tearing sensation in the rectum. But just in case…

“Bleed and die, you little fuck. The only thing I’m gonna remember about you is that you got my rocks off when you died. I probably won’t remember where I toss your rotting cum-soaked meat when I’m done fucking it. Ya like that, ya fuckin’ deathpig? Yeah, I thought so, ya worthless fuckwhore…”

He ejaculated a solid stream of cum that splattered in the pool of blood over the kid’s right shoulder. The pool had spread out around his head and his ponytail was dark with the blood. Pink foam was oozing out of the throat wound as blood flowed into the airway.

More blood continued to leak from the massive rip in the boy’s neck. The convulsions became more frequent as the squeals from the fuckmeat’s closed-off windpipe became more desperate. Suddenly his legs clamped around me, his shoes digging into my back as a massive final convulsion held us both in its embrace and I filled the meat’s guts with my load—a last bit of warmth inside him as he bled out into a cold, cold death.
************************************************************************************************************************************************************
When I throw the meat out, I like to wrap it loosely in the plastic. That way, it traps warmth and moisture and gasses and rots faster. Just make sure it’s not wrapped too tightly. Let the bugs in; they’re your friends.

See, if I do that, I can go back to him one last time before disposal and not have to worry about evidence. And I am going back to him. He’s lying there, pale and helpless, legs spread, blood matting his hair, and I can tell by the look in his dull, glazed eyes, he still wants my cock.

Fantasy Scenario 9

On June 28, 2015August 2, 2016 By m3mayhemIn Fantasy Scenario SeriesLeave a comment

I’ve heard it said repeatedly that the anticipation of having something is better than actually having whatever it is you’re anticipating. In many cases, that’s true. In some, however, it’s not.

As much as I’m enjoying my plans to hurt the boy on the bike, I think I’m gonna like actually hurting him more.

He’s been out on his bicycle for a little while now. He caught my attention because he’s riding around without a shirt on and it’s been kinda cool for the past week or so. Not weather in which to go shirtless. I’m glad he is, though.

He looks like he’s in his late teens; I’d say no older than twenty. Slim build but his smooth skin is stretched taut over his biceps and pecs. He’s not overly developed but instead has a strong, wiry swimmer’s body.

He’s wearing a pair of tight gray jeans that just barely come up over his ass. His tightly laced white leather hightops are pumping the pedals furiously.

I have to close my eyes and breathe deeply for a moment. I’m imagining those shoes pumping futilely in the air as life ebbs from his body. Yes, there’s something to be said for anticipation, too.

He’s got a shock of curly brunette hair, but most of it is covered by what appears to be a battered gray fedora. It’s somehow both ridiculous and adorable.

I’m going to take this boy. I’m gonna get off by killing him. I’m gonna use his worthless meat to wipe up my semen. His corpse is gonna end up as nothing more than a used cumrag.

He’s been circling the parking lot for the better part of an hour by now. He pops a wheelie now and then but isn’t really doing much else. He’s been glancing at me from time to time. Clearly wondering why I’m watching him. It’s also just as clear that he doesn’t suspect my real motive, because he starts circling closer and closer, staring at me a little longer each time he passes by
.
As he gets closer, I notice the tattoo on his left shoulder. It’s a smiley face with a bullet hole in the forehead, leaking blood. I can’t help but to grin broadly at the kid; it’s too perfect.

He also starts getting a bit bolder on the bike. I’m not sure what he’s hoping for, but I think he’s trying to impress me. At any rate, he gives me my opening when he fucks up a stoppie right in front of me and falls headfirst onto the asphalt.

“Hey, dude, you ok? That was wicked!” I grin and lay it on thick.

“Shit, man, I dunno. Guess I got owned. Think I should sit down for a sec.”

“C’mon into my van and have a seat. Lemme get you a beer.”

His eyes light up—so, under twenty-one then. When I offer a joint as well, he becomes downright eager. They make it so easy. Poor little fucktoy has no idea how close he is to an agonizing death.

I open the door on the side of the van so we can get in the back, telling the punk to grab himself a beer from the cooler. Of course he’s going to ask about the layer of plastic covering the floor, so I have a story ready.

“I paint houses, man. That’s so I don’t get paint all over the place. Put a new sheet of painter’s plastic down after each job.”

Little fuck buys it and helps himself to a can of cheap beer. Slams the fucking thing, in fact; I’m impressed. I’d puke, trying to get that swill down that quick…

The joint, as usual, is pre-rolled and spiked. Not heavily; I don’t want him unconscious. This is gonna be something like GHB. He’ll be awake but unable to resist. I’ve added something new; there’s a bit of a hallucinogenic in there too. I’m hoping to make this the ultimate bad trip. The greater his terror, the more he’ll thrash about on my cock. I let him smoke it alone while we talk.

“I was watchin’ you for a while, dude. You ain’t bad,” I tell him.

He grins and blushes a bit, then turns away, embarrassed. Tries to play it tough. “Yeah, I seen ya lookin’. Thought you was a faggot or something at first. But this is some good weed, so we’re cool, dude, even if ya are.”

He stares me directly in the face with his hand on the bulge in his crotch. He’s telling me he can be had, as if I didn’t already know that. As if it mattered, anyway. His coordination is getting worse with each passing minute.

He’s limp by the time he’s smoked the joint halfway. I make sure to put it out and save it for later; this mixture might come in handy.

I pull the boy next to me and take that stupid fedora off his head. I grab the thick rod silhouetted in his groin and massage it for a moment, enjoying its thick heft. In a moment, his shoes are off and I’ve got his jeans down, running my hands down his thighs as he lies limp in my arms. He’s gone commando under the jeans—of course; ready for action at the drop of a hat (a battered fedora, perhaps).

I grab at his tool again; long and thick and yet still not hard. I cradle his balls in my palm for a moment, then bend down and slip his hightops back on.

I lean back and look in his face. As I’d hoped, he’s conscious but not able to move much. He’s moaning slightly, fear building in his eyes as he realizes his helplessness. He’s becoming aware that I can do anything I want to him and there’s nothing he could do to stop it. He can’t really even cry out right now.

I still strap a ball gag into his mouth, though. It doesn’t matter how drugged he is—the pain I’m gonna inflict on him will have him screaming. Only way drugs could help would be to put him out of his pain with an overdose. And that, of course, is no fun.

The boy is laying on his back now, legs spread. With apprehensive eyes, he watches me strip. I put my work boots back on afterwards—helps to have some traction on the plastic.

Then I jam my engorged purple cock into the punk’s tight hole.

He moans loudly, grimacing in pain. He looks at me desperately, tears leaking from the corners of his wide green eyes. He still has no control over his muscles, so I place his legs on my shoulders and hold them in place with my arms, feeling the leather of his shoes against my head. I spend the next few minutes raping him while he lies immobile on the bed, arms out to his sides.

After a while, I’ve stretched out the natural elasticity of his sphincter. I need to get his ass to tighten down on my dick again, but from now on it’ll have to be the tightening of muscle. And since his voluntary muscle system is kinda paralyzed at the moment, I need something to manipulate his reflexes.

Although I don’t use it often, the icepick is one of my favorite toys. In reality, though, I don’t like calling it a toy. It’s a weapon of accuracy and finesse. Flailing away with one, stabbing at random (as it seems to be most commonly used), is like using a Stradivarius for high school band practice.

The kid has his head back and his eyes closed and seems to have calmed down. He clearly enjoying getting fucked. I lean down over him, my belly against his firm, flat belly. I’m looking into his face as I insert the icepick into his side—slowly, smoothly.

He’s screaming now, but it only comes out as a long, emphatic moan. He’s crying, tears trickling down the side of his face. But he can’t move; he can’t twist away from the thin shaft of steel that’s slowly—oh god, so slowly—skewering its way into his left side, puncturing his abdominal cavity below the ribcage, piercing his intestines multiple times.

His muscles tighten with the agony. It makes his rectum clamp down on my cock. Once you get down the right speed, everything else happens automatically.

Let’s see if that hallucinogen has helped.

“How does that feel bitch? Ya like that? Good, cause you’re gonna get more. See, I already reamed your ass out. But every time I stick you, your ass tightens, along with most of the rest of your muscles. It’s a reflex over which you have no control. But I do, with this.” I held the icepick right in front of his face so he could see his own blood dripping off it. “I can use this to make your ass keep squeezing my dick. But only for so long, fuckmeat, only for so long.”

I’m grinning at him the entire time, not losing a single thrust in his ass while I talk. I switch the pick to my other hand and slide it into the fucker’s left side, enjoying the velvety smoothness of his rectum clenching my rod. He moans loudly.

For the next half hour, I run the icepick into in various parts of his chest and abdomen, very carefully avoiding organs and major blood vessels. Even so, internal bleeding was starting to take a toll. He was a long way from death yet, but the reflex reaction was starting to fade.

“Fuck, dude, you’re getting’ loose,” I whisper to him. “Gotta tighten ya up again. Guess I better amp it up a notch. Ready to take it to the next level, fuckmeat? Ready to get fucked up for good? The more it hurts, the better it feels. So I’m gonna make sure this hurts wicked bad, dude.”

This time, it goes into his kidney. He doesn’t scream; he tries to gasp around the bright orange ball tied into his mouth. As the fucker goes into shock, his ass muscles ripple up and down my shaft.

God, I’m so close. I get one more of these and then it’ll be time for the finale. Timing is everything; it’s what lifts this above a sordid physical interaction into a form of art.

I slam the icepick into the right side of the kid’s chest, feeling the resistance of the pectoral give way as the tip passes through and punctures the lung. The boy gives a low, despairing bleat.

I’m back over him, showing him the pick again. There’s a miniscule nick in the shaft and a tiny sliver of lung tissue is caught in it.

“Just about fucked you out, bitch. It’s been fun but I wanna shoot my load and you gotta get wasted for that to happen. Don’t worry, dude; I’m gonna make sure you drain your dick, too. Don’t know if you’ll get to enjoy it, though; you’re gonna have other things on your mind. Or in it. Same difference. All that will be left will be your highest and best use—meat to soak up my cum.”

He’s still there. He’s on his way out; it’s only a matter of time. And not much time, at that. He’s been crying continually and his nostrils are getting clogged. With that gag in his mouth, he’s gonna suffocate in a few minutes.

But the hallucinogen did what I’d hoped. He’s still there–even in a state of trauma-induced shock, he’s heard every word I’ve said. Even better, he’s understood them all. He knows why this is happening. He knows that he’s suffering this indescribable agony so I can get off. I don’t need to know his name, who he is, what his hopes were. As far as I care, his only purpose on earth is to die slowly and painfully so his death throes can jack me off.

“Ok, you little fuck; this is what’s gonna happen. I’m gonna stick this in your ear. You’ll feel it tear through you eardrum before it thrusts its way through the fragile bone structure in your inner ear. This part, I’ll do slowly, so you can enjoy it. After that, it’ll be in your brain. You don’t have any nerves there, but I have another way to have fun at that point. Time to get saddled up, fuckmeat. Gonna be up your ass and in your skull at the same time.”

I’m a man of my word. I’m laying full on top of him, watching his face the entire time, my cock up his ass as far as I can get it while I patiently, lovingly insert the icepick into his ear.

Tears flow down his face and his breathing becomes swift and irregular. I can feel his chest jerking beneath mine, his smooth, tight chest, well-greased with a desperate sweat forced out by the pain. His body, naturally oiled, squirms beneath me, but it’s his eyes I’m watching.

I can tell when I’ve reached the brain. His eyes—oh my god, his eyes, the beautiful terror in his helpless green eyes—dilate when I penetrate to a certain depth. Then I jerk down, a little jog to the left…

Suddenly there’s a red hot bar of iron pressed against my belly. Fuckmeat has a hard-on; I’ve hit the pleasure center of the brain. One little twitch to make him blow…

It takes pin-point accuracy to get that massive convulsion that causes the fuckmeat to shoot. It’s worth finding the right spot, though, because that same convulsion somehow seems to collapse the meat’s asshole around my cock and apply suction.

As the kid goes rigid with the massive brain trauma I’ve inflicted, his legs tighten around my back in a kind of embrace that forces his ass down further onto my dick. The drugs have no effect on his death spasm. His body arcs up off the floor; violently, it brings me up with it.

He shoots his wad. A reflex from the brain damage; the boy is dead. This is a corpse, spraying semen as a reflexive attempt to preserve DNA. A fountain of cum sprays between us; he keeps pumping out thick creamy ropes. My god, his balls must have been full. It keeps flowing and flowing…

The seizure works the fuckmeat’s ass beautifully; I shoot a solid stream of cum up into the dying kid’s guts. Holy fuck, I keep spraying too. I remember collapsing on top of the quivering fuckmeat, still skullfucking the steel shaft into his brain and feeling the spasms flowing along that hot iron bar that was still pressed against my belly…

It’s dark when I wake up. My cock is still nestled in my fuckmeat’s ass. We’ve both cum so much that I’m stuck to his body by a glazed coat—a glaze that matches the look in his beautiful green eyes.

I need to get moving. Have to get out of here, have to get rid of the body—oh, but not for a while yet. I’m getting hard again. The ball gag has kept his mouth open and his eyes are tilted slightly upwards.

They’ll be looking right into mine when his lips are resting on the root of my cock.

Fantasy Scenario 8

On June 28, 2015April 30, 2016 By m3mayhemIn Fantasy Scenario SeriesLeave a comment

The process of selecting a target is never a lengthy one. What takes the time is sizing up the kill. After all, it doesn’t do to get careless. If I slip up, I stop having fun.

Which is why I’m sitting on this park bench, surreptitiously eyeing the kid. He’s about fifteen feet away and I know he’s eyeing me, too. He’s wondering if I’m good for any money and how to get it from me if so.

I know this because I’ve been watching him for a while. He’s in his late teens. He’s old enough not to have to worry about the cops picking him up as truant for being out here in the middle of the day. But he’s not old enough to buy alcohol. And I know that because I saw him come out of the trees at the top of the hill with an older man who offered him money. The kid wouldn’t take it and they both went down the other side of the hill. Thought I’d lost him then, but he showed up twenty minutes later with a six-pack.

I watched him slam the beers and realized that instead of taking cash, he’d had his trick go buy him the beer.

I grin—cheap little whore.

He’s wearing a gray knit ski cap but I can see blonde curls trying to escape beneath. Think his hair is dyed, though. There’s a very faint haze of black hairs on his upper lip. His hormones are just kicking in, turning his balls into overloaded sperm factories.

Just my type.

He leans back on his bench. He’s on the other side of the pathway, about ten feet to the south of my bench. He’s looking at me quite brazenly now. Well, he’s just downed six cans of beer in about twenty minutes. He’s trashed.

He gives me a big, goofy grin—almost a leer—and I’m instantly in love. That sweet, innocent smile, those half-lidded, compliant eyes, that not-so-innocent ass in those tight, low-slung jeans, his feet laced tightly in those white leather hightops…

I can’t wait to feel him die in my arms.

Ok, no question, he is flat-out leering at me now. He’s rubbing a bulge in his crotch and I’m impressed, not just by the size of the bulge, which is nice, but also by the fact that there’s a bulge at all, given how drunk he clearly is.

All it takes is a smile and he’s staggering over to me, still grinning. He slumps down beside me in a cloud of malt and hops. When he turns to face me, he flops in my direction so that his head is nearly resting on my shoulder. His eyes are a shade of jasper—a mix of jade green and blood red.

“Ya wanna BJ?” the kid slurs, “I’ll give ya one. Or you can put it in me if ya wanna. But you’re gonna have to pay me.”

He paused and giggled. “Or you can gemme fucked up. Want ya to get me fucked up.”

I grinned back. “How about both?” I offered, “I got some weed in my van. Let’s go get high and see if we can think of something fun I can pay you for.”

“Fuckin’-A, dude, les’ roll,” the punk agreed, somewhat unsteadily. But he got to his feel easily enough and was able to follow me without stumbling too often.

I had a blunt already rolled. I let the boy smoke it himself; I wasn’t going to hit it. I’d sprinkled a ground Valium on it as I rolled it.

It’s only a couple of hits before the fuckmeat is down. I strip him down in the back of the van, cutting his clothes off of him with a knife. As usual, I let him keep his shoes and his cap. I like it when they die with their footwear on.

I use a thick black zip tie to bind the bitch’s hands behind his back. I’m surprised at how resilient he is; he’s waking up much more quickly than he should. But’s he’s not putting up a coordinated defense—he’s still drunk and drugged.

He doesn’t put up a fight as I spit into my hand, lube my cock with it and stuff it up the kid’s ass. He does cry out, but not loudly enough that I need to worry. I do need to be careful, though. We’re still in the parking lot for the park. There’s a basketball court in use about fifty yards away.

Little fucker is a natural homo. He wraps his smooth tight legs around me and digs his hightops into my ass as I start fucking him. But he’s struggling, too, trying to get his hands free.

I think it’s time to get the show on the road.

The best thing I’ve found to use—so far—is a length of plastic clothesline. But no one uses clotheslines around here anymore so it’s hard to find. But I found some.

I loop it around my hands twice before I loop it around his neck. That way I’ve got a nice, strong grip.

Amazing how cutting off the air always seems to sober them up. Or maybe it’s just the terror. I’d like to think it is.

I lean down over my fuckmeat. He’s on his back, his hands bound painfully behind him. His legs are around me, my dick is in his ass and I have a cord tight around his neck.

The boy stares at me, wide-eyed. His mouth moves, but only a thick, grunting, gagging sound comes out.

“Yeah,” I whisper to him, “that’s it, you fucking faggot whore. Ya wanted to get paid for this fuck? Don’t worry, you bitch. You’ll get paid good. I’m gonna get off as you die on my cock. But don’t worry about missing the fun, fucker, cause I’m gonna make you die slow.”

I tighten down on his throat a little more. Creases begin to appear in his neck where the cord has sunk in. His face is darker now, his struggles more violent. His smooth muscular chest rises and falls beneath my own as the punk tries desperately to draw in some air. His eyes fill with tears as they plead silently with me, begging to be spared.

“Ya wanna live, boy? Too fuckin’ bad. You’re here so I can use you and toss you out like garbage.”

His face is nearly black. His red eyes bulge and dart frantically and I can seek pinprick hemorrhages in the skin around them.
The gagging and choking sounds stop as his tongue swells and pushes past his swollen blue lips.

“Yeah, boy, that’s it. Gimme what I want. Fight it to the end. Fight hard and make me cum. Work it, punk, work my fuckin’ cock…”

I wrap the cord around my hand one more time and clamp down on the boywhore’s neck as hard as I can. There’s a momentary resistance and then the cord sinks deeply into his neck, with a crunching sound. I’ve crushed the punk’s esophagus. He knows that terrible pain is the point of no return. No matter how hard he fights, he’s nothing but meat now.

The kid goes rigid, locking his legs around me, driving my tool deep inside him. His head rises up and begins to shake violently, his eyes roll back in his head.

The fucker’s head slams back down onto the floor of the van, his face covered with tears and snot and foamy spittle down his chin. I lean forward and feel something splash against the underside of my jaw.

Kid blew his death load all over me. I was almost too busy to notice it, the way his rectum had seized hold to my dick and was working it over. As I spew my burning semen into the the bitch’s hot thrashing colon, I’m still tightening the cord around his neck. As he convulses, blood leaks form his ears.

The boy’s death throes went on for another two minutes. I know, because I was squirting the entire time.

I need to go; I‘ve been in this parking lot too long. But I’m taking my fuckmeat with me. And later on—well, he’s just laying there, legs spread, white blank eyes staring dully into nothing. It’s nice to know he’ll be waiting for me.

Fantasy Scenario 7

On June 28, 2015April 30, 2016 By m3mayhemIn Fantasy Scenario SeriesLeave a comment

The boy leans back against the wall with his head turned down. I know he’s watching me, though; he’s been eyeing me as much as I’ve been checking him out.

Late teens, medium height and build. I can see his pecs through his tight t-shirt. He has curly hair, kinda dirty blond. There’s a faint dark down on his face that he evidently thinks is a goatee. At least, that’s how he’s shaved it—but it’s barely there.

He’s got on a purple t-shirt and tight black jeans. On his feet are tightly laced sneakers of black and white leather.

Dressed like a typical skater rat but he can be had for a suitable fee.

I grin. I’m gonna have him, all right, and fuck the fee. Money won’t do him any good by the time I’m done with him.

His face is turned down but he glances up frequently. I catch a glimpse of his brown eyes through his tangled bangs. He’s wondering if I’m gonna approach. Bet he’s trying to figure out how much to charge.

I’ll give him a moment of anticipation at first; I’ll agree to his first offer. He’ll think I’m desperate and he’ll come along willingly, thinking he won’t have to do much to keep me happy. See, he’s glancing at me again. Now he’s rubbing the bulge in his crotch. He wouldn’t be making those gestures if he really knew what it will take to keep me happy.

But he’s gonna learn real soon. Let’s see his price.

A hundred bucks to fuck him? Yeah, right. Little whore has a high opinion of himself. But I smile and leer and agree to his terms. His face lights up and he climbs into my truck eagerly.

The location of the room I’d rented was perfect; it was the last one in that wing of the cheap highway motel. Middle of the weekday, no one saw us enter.

The kid was apprehensive when he saw the sheet of plastic I’d already spread on the floor, but he bought my explanation that I wanted to rub him down with baby oil. It probably helped that I mentioned I’d pay him extra for that—and for tying his hands behind his back. He’s hesitant about the last part, but I have his arms behind him and his wrists bound by a zip tie before he can object.

I know that the surrounding rooms are vacant and the maids have already done this wing, but I still don’t want to make too much noise. The boy is starting to get wound up, so I clamp a ball gag in his mouth before it gets too loud. Then I kick the back of his leg, dropping him to his knees on the plastic sheet. I’m down on my knees behind him, pulling out my knife.

It’s a serious knife, a Ka-bar D2 with a seven inch blade. The fuckmeat will get a chance to admire it in a moment, but first, I need to cut access through the kid’s jeans. It’s easier than I’d anticipated; I only need to cut through one layer. The slut is going commando, planning for easy access himself.

I’m already hard and dripping at the thought of what’s to come. I’m resting my cock on the kid’s back so he can feel what I’m about to stick into him.

As far as he knows, that’s the only thing I’m gonna stick into him. Time to change that misconception.

I grab a hank of his hair and pull him back until his back it pressed against my chest. With my other hand I hold the knife in front of his face and I whisper into his ear.

“See this knife, bitch? I’m gonna kill you with it. I’m gonna cut your throat. See these serrations that go all up the haft? You’re gonna feel them tearing into your windpipe. This groove here is gonna channel your blood away from my hand as I slash your neck open. You’re gonna bleed, fucker. It’s gonna take a long time to die and you’re gonna be riding my dick all the way, you fucking whore. I want to feel you fight, punk. The more you struggle, the harder I cum. You’ll fight to live and it’s gonna feel so good on my cock.”

He’s struggling and crying now and I’m not even in him yet. That’s quickly changed—I force his head to the floor and jam my tool into his ass through the hole I cut in his jeans. I’m fucking him fully clothed.

The kid’s screams are muffled to a frantic moaning by the ball gag. He’s sobbing deeply, to the point that the snot leaking from his nose is interfering with his breathing. He’s suffocating, his face turning purple.

“Oh, my poor boy,” I whisper to him, stroking his face with the knife, “Guess I better help you breathe. Are you ready, fuckmeat? Ready for me to rip your throat open? Fuck yeah! Let’s get it on!”

I yank his head back, hard, and stick the Ka-bar knife into his throat, punching through from one side to the other. As I do, the teen punk’s rectum clamps down hard on my cock. It feels like its set in concrete and I can’t imagine the pressure getting any stronger—until I start slicing out of the kid’s throat.

He screams, but the only sound that emerges it a high-pitched squeal. I take my time, sawing my way out from the middle of his neck. Each sweep of my hand slices the tender flesh of his neck more. The pain must be excruciating.

“That’s it, fuckwad,” I snarl into his ear as he writhes in agony on my cock, “Jerk and die. I want to feel you bleed out on my rod. You can feel death coming, can’t you? Everything is going gray as your blood pressure drops. Your heart is gonna fail soon and your quivering ass is gonna milk the cum right outta me as you die.”

The blond whore really doesn’t wanna die. He’s fighting it hard—it feels fantastic. He’s struggling, stretching his arms out behind him, trying to free himself from the zip tie. His flailing hands brush against my face, beating helplessly against my chest. He’s convulsing his entire body. I’m holding his head against the plastic sheet as he thrashes violently, trying in vain to escape the merciless grip of death. He attempts to scream in pain and terror, but I’ve shredded his larynx into ragged strings of meat. The only sound he can make now is a strained grunt.

With each grunt, he jerks his ass back onto my dick. As the punk bleeds out, the thrusts come farther apart but are more intense. His breathing becomes irregular as he gargles away his last few seconds, drowning in his own blood. I lose control during my orgasm and find myself stabbing the kid in the back repeatedly as I cum. I don’t know that he’s still alive to feel it as I slam my knife into his smooth hairless back with each wad I blow into his hot dying guts.

The next thing that I’m aware of is that I’m still lying on top of the fuckmeat. And inside of, for that matter; my cock is still hard and still inside the dead boy’s ass.

He’s not moving underneath me. My blond whore is meat. His eyes gaze vacantly ahead, one of them filled with blood. The corpse twitches and quivers as oxygen-deprived nerves fire randomly. Far from relaxing in death, his sphincter has actually tightened. It remains taut as I slowly withdraw from his hole—and stays that way when I push myself back in.

I fuck the dead boy again. It’s a nice, smooth feeling, since the muscle rigidity was held constant by death. His ass stayed nice and tight while I blew a second load of sperm into him, giving him more of my seed to warm his cold rectum.

Oh, my pretty brown eyed golden-curled fucktoy. You were so much fun. And you didn’t even stain the carpet.

Meat Chronicles 14–Back Alley Boys

On June 27, 2015February 8, 2017 By m3mayhemIn Meat Chronicles1 Comment

He knows I’m following him; he can’t help but know it. It might not have been obvious out on the main drag, but he glanced back once on the side street. Evidently he liked what he saw—he nodded his head and turned down an alley.

Naturally, I’m gonna follow. My dick has been tingling all day. Time to find a bitch and make some meat.

They haven’t found that last kid yet. I’m safe hitting up the bar scene again. As it so happens, I don’t need to; at least, I don’t need to go inside. Sometimes the prey strolls right into the trap.

I’m walking slowly, looking around, appraising the goods on display on the street, when a loud blare of music lets me know an exterior door of one of the dance clubs has opened. Hearing footsteps behind me, I slow to allow him to pass.

We check each other out simultaneously. I’m in a gray jersey wifebeater, showing off my chest and arms. My jeans are tight and worn and are tucked into a pair of charcoal-gray leather ropers. My thick black leather belt has metal studs that catch the light; I can see him looking.

He’s got a stamp from the club, so he’s over twenty-one, but he looks much younger. That’s why I trust the stamp; I bet they carded the shit outta him.

It’s a warm night and he’s taken his shirt off and looped it in his belt. He’s slim and smooth, with just enough musculature to hint at manhood as opposed to boyhood. He’s a peroxide blonde, his hair sculpted with massive amounts of some product. His eyebrows and the slight down of hair on his lower arms showed that his true shade was a darker color. Stupid little shit; it’s probably a beautiful golden color; why fuck it up?

He’s wearing bright red cotton shorts that end mid-thigh and are so tight he probably needed Vaseline and a shoehorn to get them on. They circle his taut firm thighs and cling to his ass—and seem to have been specially-made to include accommodation for his cock; it bulges in front like he’s got a snake in his front pocket.

His calves show the same golden haze that appears on his lower arms. He’s wearing Nike Cortez running shoes—they look like black leather ankle socks, but I can see the white socks inside. I have just a moment to note that his face is clear-featured, his eyes a bright emerald green—and he’s passed, going ahead of me. That’s when I decide to follow.

He’s ducked behind that dumpster, further up the alley. This block isn’t part of the club scene; in fact, these businesses are barely hanging on—there’s a derelict dry cleaners, an unsanitary-looking tortilla factory…

They’re all closed and empty at this hour. So either this kid is waiting to jump me, or he wants me to fuck him back here. And if it’s the former, he’d better have some help, ‘cause I can put him down with no problem.

And I will.

I unzip my fly and let my dong flop out. I step around the dumpster and there he is, assuming the position. He’s dropped his shorts and stepped out of them, standing in front of me, nude except for his shoes, hands up against the cinderblock wall, slightly stooped so that his puckered hole faces me directly.

This is the first time in quite a while that the meat has surprised me. I know by now who truly wants the sexual experience I can provide. There are signs. I knew this cunt was a deathpig the moment I laid eyes on him; he’s been aching to be put down for a long time.

But, even with as much experience as I have with this by now, I still didn’t expect him to want to die behind a dumpster. This bitch wants to go out like a cheap fucking whore in a stinking alleyway.

I don’t bother to undress any further; there’s no need. The punk is posed to receive anonymous sperm, his hole gaping, waiting for my cock. He doesn’t wait long; I mount the slut like a stallion covering a mare, shoving the full length of my engorged rod deep into the twink’s straining ass.

He exhales all at once, in sheer pain, and croaks like a frog trying to inhale as my dick sinks deeper into his rectum. He rises up on his toes, his thighs quivering in strain, his tight black sneakers scuffling at the toes on the filthy pavement.

No one is in this neighborhood at this time of night—as this piece of shit damn well knows—but I still don’t want to take a chance. I clamp one hand tightly over his mouth as I grip his waist with the other. I pace my thrusts to allow the slut some time to loosen up, reaming him deeply but slowly, letting his fuckhole stretch out.

After a while, his colon stops fighting and accepts my tool. The meat calms visibly, responding to my thrusts, his lean, smooth body slick with sweat but no longer shuddering. He starts backing his ass up on my dick in anticipation of my rhythm. It feels good.

For now. But soon it won’t be enough. That’s what this cunt is hoping for—someone for whom a quick back-alley fuck isn’t enough. Someone who’ll go all the way. Someone who’ll use him and dispose of him like the fucking faggot garbage he is.

Guess it’s lucky he found me; otherwise he coulda been looking for a long time. Maybe he needs a hint how lucky he is. I reach into my right front pocket and pull out a yard-long piece of braided nylon cord and drape it over the meat’s neck, letting the loose ends dangle in front of his chest.

“Dude, what’s this sh—“he starts.

“Shut up!” I snarl and start pumping his ass faster. He grunts, but he shuts up. He’s loving this. Worthless cunt, letting every guy he can find spunk inside him. He’s little more than a living condom—and soon he won’t even be that.

He’s moaning—not a steady sound, but the “uh-uh-uh” of repeated blows to the body, underscored by the slapping sound made as my scrotum smashes his like a billiard shot. He’s happier than a pig in shit.

Now it’s my turn. Reaching down in front of the slut, I grab the end of the cord on the right with my left hand and the one on the left with my right. Bringing my arms back and up, I loop the cord around the cunt’s neck and pull tight. As I take up the slack in the cord, I wrap it around my hands to gain traction and keep it taut.

It takes the meat a moment to realize what’s happened. Stupid little fucks never do seem to recognize the beginning of their greatest sexual experience, even when they’ve been striving for it from the moment they became sexually aware.

That’s why I’m here. I have control. I’ll put the punk down the way he wants it, no matter how hard he fights. After all, he doesn’t have my discipline. He can’t be expected to override the biological imperative to stay alive. I’m here to guide him to orgasmic death, to use him and abuse him and leave him in the gutter like the worthless used cumrag he is.

He stands up straight—he’s moving his hips forward, trying to pry himself off my cock. I throw myself forward, slamming him against the rough cinderblocks.

“Uh-uh, cunt, you ain’t gettin’ off the ride yet,” I whisper into his ear, his head pressed painfully against the alley wall. “It’s time to get what you been askin’ for. So I choke you out like you’ve always wanted and in return, when you die, you do it on my cock so I can enjoy every last second of you kicking away your useless life. Sounds like a deal, yeah? Fuckin’ works for me!”

I yank the cord brutally round the whore’s neck, sinking it in below the surface of the skin. The kid’s hands claw desperately at his throat with no effect. He’s starting to fight now. His ass slaps against my crotch as his pelvis bucks in fear.

“Enough, you fucking cocksucker!” I snarl and slam him forward into the wall, hard. He’s stunned and goes limp momentarily. He’s help upright by the cord around his neck and my dick forcing him to the wall.

Once the effects of the blow to the head wear off, the boy starts thrashing again. I’m pressing him too firmly against the rough, graffiti-scarred cinderblock for him to be able to do any more than pump his ass along my thick shaft. His hands claw and scrabble at the wall; he’s not able to reach me behind him.

“Oh fuck yeah, cunt, fight it,” I moan into his ear. “Keep kicking, bitch. It’s so tofucking hot, feelin’ ya die on my cock. The harder you fight to stay alive, the more your ass massages my dick. Oh yeah, you love it, you fucking pig—here, lemme grind your hard cock into the wall, you worthless fucking whore.”

I’m ramming my rod into his fluttering hole, slamming him brutally into the wall. I’m jerking the cord taut around his neck; as I strain, it puckers his skin and sinks in deeply. His thrashing becomes more frantic, more mindless. His tight black shoes drum heavily on the pavement as his hands beat desperately at the wall in an instinctive attempt to escape.

“Whoa, there, cunt. Just enjoy it. Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna let ya go. This is why ya wanted me, after all—you knew I’d take control of you and keep control of you all the way to the end. You got your wish, bitch. So kick and scratch as hard as much as ya want, you’re still dying on my dick. They’re gonna find your stiff cum-filled corpse behind this filthy dumpster, you worthless whore, right where you belong.”

He turns his head to the side and I can see that beautiful face distorted and swollen, his bulging eyes glaring frantically straight into nothing at all. As his hands slap lightly against the wall and slowly slide down, only to be heaved back up convulsively with another slap, a low bubbling sound emerges from his mouth, where foam oozes out past his thick black tongue. His hair is still in place but the rest of his body is covered in a slick sheen of warm sweat.

His brain is shutting down from lack of oxygen. His metabolism is crashing; that’s why he’s sweating. This is my last moment to put him in his place; at any moment, a critical part of his cerebrum may fail and he’ll be past understanding my words.

“Give it up, you fucking faggot whore,” I snarl in his ear. “Milk my fuckin’ load outta my aching shaft, cunt. You’re gonna cum and die just like ya wanted, you punk-ass bitch, now gimme what I want and work my fuckin’ cock!”

He’s been without oxygen for so long that I’m surprised—again—that he obeys. A tiny spark of life in his fuckpig soul shoots his hips backwards one last time. His legs lock up rigidly, cramps caused by his dying nervous system rippling in waves under his smooth skin—and deep into his intestines. His entire body convulses in what almost feels like a slow-motion wave, generating a suction effect in his rectum.

I try to hold off as long as I can. My arms shudder and tighten with the tension and there’s a faint cracking sound as the boy’s larynx is crushed by the cord. Just before I give a loud, growling grunt of orgasm, I hear a splattering sound as the whore’s worthless spunk splashes the wall in front of him. I shoot violently, a continual stream of semen injected into the kid’s guts at high pressure.

Gasping in relief, I unwrap the cord from the meat’s neck and shove it back in my pocket. His shirt is lying next to me on the ground—I use it as a cumrag and shove it in my pocket, zipping my dripping hog back into my tight jeans. No sense in leaving too much evidence around. Not like there isn’t plenty already, but the cops really won’t care. Just another faggot whore wasted in an alleyway by a trick. They don’t really investigate these things.

So I go, leaving the kid exactly as he’d wanted. Huddled face-down, cum-filled ass in the air, shorts around one ankle with his leather sneakers splayed. Used and discarded in a garbage-strewn alley.

Little cunt was damn sure lucky I found him