Meat Chronicles 19–Halfpipe in the Park, Full Pipe Up the Ass

I first see them leaving the skate park and almost give them a pass; after all, if they were leaving the park, they were probably on their way home, right?  And they look like typical teenaged wigger punks; home is probably a nice suburban neighborhood with lots of security cameras.

 

Fuckin’ cameras ruin a good hunt.

 

But these boys…there’s something about them, something about the cocky arrogance of their young faces and the lustful wantonness of their hormone-filled bodies.  I turn around and pull over, giving them plenty of headway; they’re riding their boards and I don’t want to overtake them until I can figure out their destination.

 

It turna out to be an improvised skate park in the parking lot of an abandoned warehouse some two miles east.  The low buildings of rusted metal are gaunt and desolate in the late afternoon sun.  There isn’t anyone for miles, not even any other skaters.  I pull quietly to the curb and watch the boys practice their moves, away from prying eyes—so they thought.

 

I can’t tell if they’re related.  They took a smoke break a few minutes back, the dark-haired one offering the ginger punk a Camel.  Willing to bet Camel boy is older than eighteen—the legal age for buying cigarettes in this state.  It’s just a guess, though; if he is over eighteen, it isn’t by much.

 

The redhead’s freckled face, squinting in the sunlight, looks younger than that of his companion, but I’m estimating him at seventeen, largely by his outfit.  He’s rigged out in full skater punk gear, from the ped socks and Etnies Fader 2 kicks to the shiny black and blue polyester ball shorts and black tank top with the Adidas logo in white, all kinda generic.  But like a true douchebag, he’s wearing a flat-brimmed ball cap with the sales tag still dangling from it.  It’s dark green with white piping and a white logo; I’m too far away to make out the logo, but I don’t need to.  Those colors are the colors of a high school not far from my home.  And that big squarish glint of gold on his finger is obviously a class ring.

 

So gingerboy is a high school senior and his douchebuddy is probably a recent graduate—jobless punk, just fuckin’ around.

 

Nobody’ll miss him.  Nobody’ll miss either of them.

 

I decide on a tried and true lure.  Quietly starting my van, I circle the block away from them. I light up a joint and quickly take a couple of deep hits, making sure that the cab reeks of weed.  I then whip a corner and come upon them suddenly, as if I didn’t know they were already there.

 

“Yo!  Dude!” I call out.  The older one is closer; he eyes me warily but comes towards me.

 

“Whatcha need, bro?” he asks cautiously.

 

His face is smooth except for a very faint haze of new hair growth on his cheeks and chin, and across his upper lip.  He’s wearing a gray knit cap pulled down over the tips of his ears, but his black hair is long enough to stick out underneath.  I like it.  I’ll let him keep his cap on as he dies.

 

He’s wearing a thin, tight tank top, gray on the front with the words “U Mad Bro?” in black.  Below a pair of faded red chino skater shorts, he’s got on a pair of Osiris NYC 83 hightops in brick red.  Little fuck thinks he’s stylin’…

 

“Hey, man,” I call out, an easy grin on my masculine face.  Nothing wrong here, motherfucker.  “I been drivin’ round for half an hour—where’s the fukkin’ highway?”

 

“It’s, uh, it’s that way,” the kid mutters, pointing to the left.

 

“Yeah, well, what I really wanna know is, where can I get some beer?”

 

Skaterboi becomes a little more enthusiastic about helping a stranger in need.

 

“Well, yeah, there’s this place…it’s kinda hard to find, though…”

 

He’s giving me an opening and I take it.

 

“Wanna show me the way?” I ask.  “I’ll getcha high on the way.”

 

He lights up, his youthful face glowing with pleasure; just looking at him makes my dick hard.  But then his expression clouds over and he looks anxiously back at gingercunt.

 

“Hey, it’s ok,” I grin, “I got enough room—and enough weed for him too.  Here, lemme pull into the lot and open up the back.  We’ll get good an’ fucked up before we pick up some brewskis.”

 

Now the kid’s all kinda cheerful and helpful.  “Hey, Steve!” he calls out, gesticulating at the redheaded punk, “Getcher ass over here!”

 

“Whassup?” Steve the ginger says, popping up his board into his hand and heading over.

 

“We gotta real bro here, man—he’s gonna get us high an’ then I’m gonna show ‘im how to get over to Wegel’s so we can get some brews!”

 

Gingerfuck lights up, too.  Goddam, this is like shootin’ fish in a barrel.  Stupid little asswipes actin’ like they’re big, swinging dicks in the world—lessee how big their dicks are when they’re ridin’ mine.

 

Having pulled into a space in the lot, I shut the engine off.  This neighborhood is as good as any, nice and isolated, but a few random vehicles parked here and there so my van doesn’t stand out.  I get out of the driver seat, my big black leather harness boots hitting the asphalt with a loud thump.  I make sure the huge bulge of my manhood is visible in the crotch of my skintight but worn jeans.  These little cocksuckers are gonna see they’re dealin’ with a real man.

 

They don’t notice at first, as I slide open the door to the rear of the van; that’s ok.  I can wait.  They’ll have plenty of opportunity to notice my cock when it’s buried in their asses.  “C’mon inside, dudes,” I say jovially; both boys show their eagerness by hustling their lithe, smooth bodies with alacrity.  So young, so hot, so stupid—goddam, I can’t wait to off these little fucks.

 

“Hey, uh—” I call out to gingerfuck.

 

“Steve,” he hastens to remind me, “And he’s Jeff.”  Like I give a shit.

 

“Here ya go, Steve,” I say, tossing him a hard Marlboro box.  “Gotta couple of jays already rolled in there.  Y’all help yerselves; I got enough to roll one for me up here.”  And with that, I settle into the driver seat, waiting for the Xanax-laced joints to start taking effect.  While I wait, I quietly slip a pair of handcuffs out of the center console and into my pocket.

 

It doesn’t take more than five minutes before the sounds of muttering and giggling fade out in the back.  I step back into a thick haze of sweet blue smoke to find both boys stoned out of their fucking minds.  They managed to polish off a joint each; Steve it completely blitzed.  He’s laying back against the side of the van.  He’s grinning so hard his eyes are squinted and his tongue is out; his face is so flushed his freckles have nearly vanished.  As I watch, he lolls his head back, knocking off his cap and revealing the short, spiked orange hair on his head.

 

Jeff is on the other side; his face is heavy and vacant, but he’s still conscious and somewhat lucid.  He hasn’t completely finished his joint yet.

 

“Hey, wanna see something really hot?” I leer at him.

 

“Yeah, what?” he asks, grinning dopily.

 

“Here, lemme start with this.”  I whip out the handcuffs.  Before Jeff has a chance to react, I cinch one cuff around his left wrist and the other through a pair of holes drilled in the van’s body ribbing.  Now the punk can’t move more than a few inches from that position.

 

“Wha?” he grunts, looking foggily at the cuffs.

 

“Over here,” I say, snapping my fingers and approaching the other punk.  “I’m gonna take yer buddy here—”

 

“Brotha…” Jeff mutters, “He’s m’half brotha…”

 

“He’s fuckmeat, asshole,” I snap.  “I’m gonna stick my dick in him and unload in his ass as he dies and yer gonna watch.”

 

Jeff stares at me, gape-jawed.  It’s difficult to tell how much of his impassivity is due to shock or fear and how much to being drugged, but it doesn’t matter.  The drugs will have worn off long before I’m done with the first piece of boymeat.  By the time I get to little Jeffie over there, he’ll be plenty awake enough to know what’s going on.

 

And that’s good.  I want him awake and suffering by the time I fuck him.  I want to feel his agonized screams as they reverberate in his strong smooth body and vibrate the root of my cock…

 

First things first, though.  Gingerfuck needs a little lesson on his proper place in the world first, just as a little foreplay.  Something to get Jeff and me both into the right mood, to get the juices flowing, so to speak.

 

And where is red-headed skaterboi Steve’s proper place in the world?  It’s taking a dirt nap with my manseed coating his guts.  Just thinking about it’s already got me hard.  Fuck it, I’m goin’ in—need to get those punk threads cut off the fucker.

 

Time to start the fun.  Crouching in the center of the van—I’m too tall to stand up in here—I unzip my fly and let my huge, throbbing hog flop out.

 

Both pieces of fuckmeat stare groggily at my engorged rod, but only Jeff has retained enough motor control to speak coherently.  Well, kinda.

 

“Wha…” he mumbles, “Why…whyyerfuckin…dickout…” His dark, heavy-lidded eyes focus on my manhood.

 

Little redheaded Stevie just giggles.  I turn and grin at Jeff.  “It’s out cause I’m gonna stick in ya, cunt.  But first, I’m gonna stick it in yer brother.  Oh, and this, too,” I add, holding up a specialty tool I’ve made by grinding down the head of an eight-inch long screwdriver, leaving a pointed tip on a nearly half-inch diameter steel shaft.

 

Jeff is inarticulate; he shakes his head wildly, but is unable to speak.  I note, in passing, that his knit cap stays in place no matter how vigorous his movements.  Wonder if he had an idea he’d die wearing it when he slipped it on today…

 

I turn to Steve.  He’s still lying limply against the far side of the van from his brother, too high to move.  I know he heard my words, and I’m fairly certain he understood them, but it doesn’t matter.  If he didn’t understand them, he soon will.  I bend down and yank of his ball shorts, tugging them down his legs and over his Etnies kicks.

 

Of course the punk-ass faggot is commando, letting his thick teenaged dick swing free between his legs; it lies, limp but long and veined, against the boy’s smooth inner thigh.  His shirt is easier to dispose of; I shove the toe of one boot into an armhole, bend down, and tug.  It takes no more than a moment to rip the thin tank top off and leave the meat lying nude but for his sneakers and socks.

 

“Steve,” Jeff calls out hoarsely, his voice scratchy with effort, “C’mon…gotta wake-wake up…dude’s gon-gonna rape yer ass…”

 

“Yours too, cocksucker,” I grin at him, “Don’t forget.”

 

“No…” the ginger youth moans as I force his firm legs apart and knelt between them, my massive tool fully erect and oozing in anticipation of his taut young fuckhole.  “Whaddaya mean, no?” I jeered, “Fuck yeah is whatcha mean.  Feel this shit, bro.”  Leaning over his slim, muscled frame, helpless on the floor of the van, I pressed the pulsing head of my cock against his quivering sphincter and applied pressure.  Not a lot—just enough to let him know I was there.

 

“Ah—ah—no, p-please…” he whimpered, his cocky face twisted with fear.  So fuckin’ erotic—but not enough.  It needs to be twisted in pain, too.

 

“Fuck you, skatefag,” I whisper and thrust my hips forward, spearing the punk’s colon with my enormous shaft—dry.  I can feel some resistance on the head of my dick, then there’s a parting sensation as something in gingerfuck’s asshole tears open.  The meat squeals like a stuck pig and my rod slides home, buried so far deep into the teen skateboi’s guts that my wiry pubes are grinding his smooth buttcheeks.

 

“Aw, shaddup, cunt!” I snarl and pound my balled-up fist into his face.  My blow lands on his chin; his jaws slam shut, driving his teeth through his tongue.

 

“You goddam asshole!” Jeff sobs, his voice stricken with anguish as he looks on at his brother’s abuse and torment.  “Don’t get jealous,” I tell him, grinning.  “It’ll be yer turn to enjoy my cock soon enough, bro; let the kid here enjoy it first.”  Then I punch Steve again.  Fuck, that feels good—I can feel his entire body stiffen and clench my dick in reaction to the impact.

 

“Goddam, you really are a sick little queerfuck, aintcha?” I jeer into Steve’s swelling, tear-streaked face, “Yer really handlin’ my dick good—yer jest fuckin’ lovin’ it when I hit ya, too, huh?  Ok, ya perverted little piece a’ shit; ya like the pain—I can sure as fuck deliver.  Buckle up, motherfucker, cause I’m gonna hurt you so fuckin’ bad, you’ll cum in sheer joy!”

 

It gets kinda loud in the van for a couple of minutes, between Steve’s cries of pain, Jeff’s helpless invective and the meaty sound of flesh striking flesh.  By the time it gets quiet again, gingerfuck is barely conscious and his brother is hanging limply at the side of the van, weeping quietly.  It’s warm in here; I take a moment to slip out of my shirt—there.  Damn, I’ve been sweating enough to mat down my chest hair…

 

I leer down into the dazed teen’s face—so young, so beautiful, so punchable—and run my hands down his firm, lithe torso, feeling his smooth skin slick with a film of cold sweat forced out of him by his suffering.  His dick is semi-soft and getting stiffer by the second; it’s a reaction to the vigorous prostate massage he’s enjoying.

 

Unfortunately, he’s going loose on my shaft.  I need to fix that.  I don’t think he’s going to be enjoying his assrape for much longer—but I’ll give him a chance, first.

 

“Hey, buttfuck,” I smirk, “You’re failin’, dude.  Only reason I’m keepin’ ya around is to get off, an’ here you are, going slack on my hog.  Here, I’ll give ya—” here I set the timer on my watch— “thirty seconds to start workin’ my dick good, or I’m gonna make ya work it.”

 

And I spend the next thirty seconds counting down and plowing his rectum remorselessly.  His ass doesn’t get any tighter—I didn’t expect it to—but the increasing panic in his bewildered face is intoxicating.

 

“…three…two…one!  Ok, fuckwad, now it’s my turn.”  I show him my pointed steel shank.  “See this, bro?  This is gonna tighten yer ass up real good.”

 

I’d been so busy fucking with little Stevie that I’d almost forgotten the second course.  A gasp and moan from the side reminds me that I’ve got more meat to tenderize.  I hold up the screwdriver so Jeff can admire it too.

 

“Hey, dude, yer little faggot bro here likes to get fucked, yeah?  He likes a good skullfuck?  Cool, man—I’m gonna fuck his skull with this.”

 

I don’t think he’s following me.  I know Steve isn’t, but that’s ok.  I’ll manage to get it into his head somehow—heh heh heh.

 

By now the teen fucker I’m rammin’ is panicking.  He knows something bad is about to happen, so he’s pawing at my chest.  I’m laying across him, feeling that young, strong body writhe in terror beneath me—his legs are wrapped around my waist.  His Etnies are drumming on my firm asscheeks; a minor distraction at most.  And for all this activity and exertion, the stupid little sack of shit still can’t tighten his sphincter.

 

“Awright, enough of this shit,” I snarl, “You really are a lousy lay, fuckhead.”

 

I force his head to the side and plant one of my big hands on it, splayed out and taking all my weight, pinning it to the floor.  Then I take the screwdriver and start shoving into Steve’s ear.

 

Gingerfuck’s howls of pain take on a more intense quality as the sharpened steel punctures his eardrum and starts tearing its way through the delicate structures of the middle and inner ear.  Suddenly the skateboi isn’t fighting me any more—he’s clinging to me tightly, desperately, afraid to move, as if remaining completely still will lessen the torture being inflicted on him.

 

It won’t.  Stupid little shit.  He’s holding me like a lover, and I’m about to ream his cockpig brain with a homemade shank.  His head is still twisted to the side, of course, but when I look down, I can see the wide, shocked edges of his eyes as he tries to peer at me.

 

“Shh, shh,” I whisper, grinning, and apply more pressure to the screwdriver, “Enjoy the pain asswipe; you’ll be dead in minutes.”  There’s a faint moist crunching sound as the sharpened steel shiv punches through Steve’s inner ear and begins tunneling into his cerebellum.

 

The punk vomits; I’ve destroyed the mechanism that provides his sense of balance and he’s experiencing profound vertigo. He hasn’t stopped holding me, though; as the screwdriver sinks deeper into his skull, Steve clutches me ever more tightly.

 

I look up at Jeff.  “Hey, man,” I call out softly.  He turns and looks at me unwillingly, his large dark eyes reflecting his horror and despair.  “Watch it, man.  Watch me fuckin’ cum up inside yer bro as he dies on my cock.  Watch me fuck his brain into hamburger, motherfucker—it’s so goddam hot.”  I give him my best shark-like grin.  “But don’t worry, dude—I’ll have plenty of spunk left over to hose down yer corpse, too.”

 

The older skateboi moans softly, like he’s not really paying attention.  That pisses me off.  In a couple of minutes, I’ll make goddam sure the fuckin’ faggot is payin’ attention.  He’ll be hangin’ on my every word like it’s life or fuckin’ death—but all it’s gonna be is fuckin’ death, heh.

 

In the meantime, I’ve got the screwdriver halfway into little Stevie’s head.  I’m amazed the high school punkboy is still functional; he’s gotta be suffering some pretty serious brain trauma by this point, but he’s still squirming deliberately, which means someone’s still home.

 

Time for a fuckin’ eviction.  My toes curl, digging the soles of my big black boots into the floor of the van as I brace myself and shove the steel shank in up to the hilt.

 

There’s no resistance; it’s like poking a knife into a mass of scrambled eggs.  And scrambled is the right word; as massive brain trauma makes the little bitch’s colon wrap around my thick, pounding shaft like fuckin’ velvet, I slowly start to churn the metal shaft inside Steve’s skull.

 

I make sure to catch Jeff’s eyes.  Huge as they are, they’re easy to catch; huge and round with shock.  He stares at the horrific scene unfolding in front of him.  Teenaged fear and despair wash off him in waves, his adolescent pheromones filling the heavy, lust-soaked atmosphere in the back of my van—it’s makin’ my cock throb so fuckin’ bad…

 

“Look at ‘im,” I hiss at Jeff, “I done banged yer little bro so hard I fucked ‘im into a retard, an’ he still ain’t made me cum yet.  Worthless fuckin’ faggot—you better get me off, you sack a’ shit, or the pain I put you in will make this look like an owie for mommy to kiss.”

 

I pull out and stand up, my massive manshaft still glistening with Steve’s ass juices.  The young ginger is lying on the floor of the van, his smooth, sweat-lubes body stiff, rigid and trembling.  His teeth are clenched, his eyes rolled back in his head—and his cock his hard and dripping.  He’s not dead yet; his heart is still beating and he’s still breathing, independently if irregularly.

 

But I’ve left the screwdriver buried in his head, the orange-and-blue plastic handle protruding incongruously from his ear.

 

I cross over to Jeff and uncuff him; the hardbodied skateboi sinks blubbering to his knees.  As he curls up, I bend down and rip off his shirt, then jerk him up and yank off his shorts.  He falls back to the floor as I toss them aside.

 

“Get up, pansy-ass,” I snarl and give the fucker a swift kick.  The impact of my steel-toed boot on his flank elicits a grunt and then—amazingly; I thought the asshole was too scared to speak—a reply.

 

“I—we ain’t no faggots” Jeff manages to gasp between broken sobs, tears accumulating on his long dark eyelashes.  Fuck, that’s so sexy.  He needs to cry more.  He deserves it, the fuckwad.

 

“Yeah?  Sez who, you?” I chuckle.  “Dude, yer gonna be suckin’ yer bro’s dick here in a second.”

 

“Fuck you!” Jeff yells in an access of fury, spitting at me.  A nice sharp backhand gets a yelp from the skatepunk and puts a stop to his pussy little rebellion.  “No, no—fuck you,” I reply calmly, “But first, wrap yer fuckin’ lips around your brother’s dick, cocksucker, or I’ll fuckin’ kill yer ass right now.”

 

There’s a knife I keep stashed in the back, a long, serrated hunting knife that just holding gives me an erection.  It’s one of my favorites, although I’m not using it today.  Jeff doesn’t know that, though, so when I brandish it, he gets quiet and pale.

 

“Down on yer knees, fairyboy,” I command and he does it.  Stupid fuckin’ asswipe.  He’s looking right at his brother’s tool—it’s standing straight up, more than six inches of vein-wreathed cockmeat, pulsing and oozing precum.  Still holding the knife, I circle around and kneel down by Steve’s head.

 

“Now put it in yer mouth, cocksucker,” I demand coldly, “Open wide and gulp it down.  I wanna see you chokin’ on yer brain-dead bro’s dick.”

 

Jeff blanches and gags, then swallows heavily.  “Get that fuckin’ dick down yer throat now!” I yell and the teen punk holds his breath and deepthroats his half-brother.

 

I lean forward and shove Jeff’s head down with one hand.  With the other, I grab the handle of the screwdriver and start churning Steve’s brain matter into pudding again—only this time, I’m aiming for the mass of cells that control the pleasure center of the brain.  It takes seconds to mince that section, shorting out the dying kid’s nervous system and inducing a hyper-extended orgasm that wouldn’t have been physically possible in the course of normal sexual function.

 

The red-haired skateboi literally floods his brother’s mouth with hot teen spunk.  Jeff’s on his knees, between Steve’s smooth, firm, still-twitching thighs, looking right at me as his bro unloads down his throat.  As he pulls his head up, gagging and choking, a thick wad of jizz slipping out of his mouth, the brain-dead meat just keeps spewing into the open air.  Damn, I’ve triggered a geyser.

 

I feel like I wanna do the same myself.  “Time to saddle up, Jeff, my balls need drainin’ too,” I mutter, rising to my feet, knowing the dark-eyed skaterboi with the knit cap can’t hear me—he’s too busy retching up his brother’s semen.  Steve jerks violently as a brief rain of semen falls in the van, then goes quiet–but not quite still.

 

But I have the other cunt to deal with.  Let’s see, what do I wanna use to off this fucker?  Lessee—oh yeah.  This’ll fuckin’ work.

 

As Jeff leans forward and, still gagging, gets on his hands and knees to rise, I jump forward and mount him doggie-style, plugging my big thick tube of manmeat up his tight little boyhole before he has a chance to resist.  I punch past his sphincter like a jackhammer and am buried balls-deep in his ass, my massive jizz-filled sack slapping against his scrote, before it even registers that he’s been violated.

 

When it does, he shrieks, and for a moment I devote myself to pure physical pleasure.  I wrap my hands around Jeff’s torso from behind, fondling his pecs and nipples, feeling his firm, boyish chest heave in anguish and his smooth skin grow slick with cold sweat squeezed from his youthful frame by pain.

 

Then I wrap the bungee cord I picked up around his neck and pull it tight, garroting the skatepunk from behind as I fuck him like a bitch.

 

In his sudden confusion and panic, Jeff collapses.  The sudden cessation of air can cause intense focus as a rational man plots his defense.  Dumbass faggots like Jeff, though, just kick and die.

 

And that’s just what the dumbass faggot is doin’ right now, with my cock wedged up his ass.

 

“That’s it, motherfucker, keep fightin’ it,” I whisper encouragingly into the teen’s ear, “The harder you fight, the better you work my cock.”

 

Jeff struggles beneath me, his strong, wiry body thrashing violently.  It’s more than the usual panic—oh yeah; he’s just realized he’s gettin’ assraped on top of his brother’s corpse.  If the little cunt is dead yet, that is.  Fucker’s still twitchin’.

 

I don’t care why; it just feels good.  “That’s it—ya like that, huh?  Ya like the thought of a real man takin’ yer worthless punk ass out, huh?  Fuck, you goddam sack a’ garbage, keep milkin’ my shaft!”  The elastic cord stretches in my hands, but from the corners of my eyes, I can see how the tats on my bulging biceps seem to swell as I cinch the cord even tighter around the young boy’s neck.  It’s sunk so deep into his flesh it’s barely visible.

 

He’s trying to talk, the motherfucker.  “Gh! Ng! Ng! NG!!” he grunts thickly, clawing at his throat, like that’s gonna do any good.  “You stupid fuck,” I laugh at him, ramming my pulsating shaft into his ravaged colon, “Keep tryin’ to pull it away, dipshit, it’ll keep ya busy as ya die.”

 

He reaches behind himself with one hand, awkwardly trying to reach me; it’s an utter failure, of course.  He’s twisting his head violently from side to side like it’s somehow gonna magically give him air; in the process, he dislodges his knit cap, revealing near shoulder-length russet hair, stringy and matted with desperate sweat.

 

Again, my boots are planted wide for traction.  Between them, skatemeat’s Osiris hightops are drumming frantically at the floor of the van.  He’s not just twisting his head now, he’s thrashing it, flinging foamy streamers of drool as he kicks and flails  and slowly strangles to death.

 

Just like his worthless brother, Jeff’s brain is dying.  I can feel his firm young body become less controlled in its movements at it struggles beneath my hard, muscular form, the teen’s slick, sweat-lubed skin sliding easily against my own furry flesh as the cunt dies with my cock inside him.

 

“Jeez, ya fuckin’ useless piece a’ meat, ya didn’t get me off either,” I mutter, tightening the cord—and then there’s a loud crunch, and the cord gives way as I crush Jeff’s esophagus into a wad of bleeding gristle.

 

The reaction is immediate; Jeff’s ass grabs my dick and begins to jack me off like that was its original design.  Under me, the docile, brain-damaged skaterboi suddenly erupts into a physical frenzy—motherfucker convulses violently, his young, strong body suffering extended death throes.

 

It feels so fuckin’ good, the way his dying, oxygen-deprived brain makes his body jerk and flail, as if the whole point of his death is to earn my load.  And it is, really.  So I give it to him, grunting and beating on his smooth, bare back, as I pump what feels like quart after quart of searing hot manseed into the teenaged faggot’s guts.

 

I spend a few moments on top of the fagmeat pile, my cock still sunk in Jeff’s ass as Jeff’s corpse drools out onto Steve’s still-trembling form.  I need to catch my breath, and it’s warm and moist and cozy up here.

 

After a bit, I get back up, tuck my still-pulsing manshaft back down the leg of my jeans, and slip my shirt back on.  Heading up to the front of the van, I do a quick recon and make sure the coast is clear before dumping the meat.

 

I dunno if these two fuckers built this place or if they had help, but there ain’t no one else around, and that’s perfect.  I open up the back and drag Jeff out.

 

There’s a halfpipe in the center of the park. I seat him on the ground leaning back against it, his head tilted back into the bottom of the pipe.  Then I drag Steve over.

 

It was seeing all that cum of Steve’s glazing Jeff’s face that gave me the idea.  I drape Steve into the pipe facedown and plug his dick in Jeff’s mouth.  Retreating five yards, I examine the tableau for effect.

 

Two teen boys, nude except for their skate shoes—one seated on the ground, legs spread, the other leaning over him into the halfpipe, getting a BJ.  It’s perfect.  You need to get real close to see that they’re dead.  If they are; gingerfuck still seems to be quivering. I thought he’d be goin’ stiff by now.

 

I’ll toss their clothes and boards into that canal I passed.  Think there was enough water and a  fast enough flow to confuse things whenever they’re found.  I gotta go, but I’m gonna be paying close attention to the news.  I love it when they linger on the artistic touches I give to a kill.  I not a butcher, for fuck’s sake; I take pride in my work.

 


 

News item, dated next day:

Two teenaged youths, half-brothers from the same household, found attacked and sexually assaulted on abandoned property used as skate park by local youths.  Jeff Lansing, age nineteen, was reported dead on arrival at Montgomery County Hospital.  Steven Lansing, age eighteen, was reported in grave condition upon arrival.  Sources report the surviving victim has suffered such severe brain damage that he has been placed on full life support and is not expected to recover.

Immediate response from the authorities has been to demolish the unapproved skate park.  A representative from the sheriff’s department told this reporter that…

A Thanksgiving Family Tradition By Gay Slavemeat Gsmeat2@gmail.com

 

This site features wonderful stories of alpha males torturing to death worthless male scum, and a few about those of us who realize our pathetic status cooperating in the events. 

 

But it’s Thanksgiving, and time to stop and consider all the wonderful families, and family traditions, that are so positive.  This is a story of a wonderful family, a community that appreciates them, and an inspiring young male who is given a chance to give back.  I hope you enjoy it – and always welcome and appreciate ay feedback.

 

 

 

It was the day before Thanksgiving, and Matt was excited as he approached the door of the Wilkins mansion.  It was a huge estate, and it had taken him ten minutes just to walk from the main gate to the front door, after being admitted by one of the guards.  Nervous and anxious about whether he was good enough to deserve the honor that awaited him, he hardly noticed the wonderful holiday decorations that lined the path to celebrate the start of the holiday season, from outdoor tree lights to decorated statues of reindeer pulling sleighs.  Snow covered the yard, creating a beautiful winter wonderland, as befits a home that thoroughly enjoys the holidays and has the means to do so.  Ordinarily, Matt would have reveled in the surroundings, since this was also his favorite time of year, but he was just too excited.  Nervously, he rang the bell as he had been instructed to do.

 

The Wilkins family was by far the wealthiest in the small Southern town where Matt lived, and in fact they pretty much ran the place, owning most of it, as they had done for many generations.  It was a large family, and everyone respected them not only for their wealth and power, but also for what wonderful people they all appeared to be and the generosity they always showed others.  Matt attended the local high school with one of the boys, Jim, before graduating and getting a job in one of their factories.  Despite their vast difference in prestige and wealth, Jim had treated Matt as a real friend, never belittling him or any of the other kids or taking advantage.  Indeed, Matt had been to the mansion before for Jim’s birthday parties and other events, which took advantage of their huge, manicured grassy yard for a vigorous football game and their Olympic sized pool in which they played water polo and had a really fun water fight.  Those parties were among Matt’s favorite memories of high school.

 

Matt’s own situation wasn’t all that great, as he’d been thrown out by his step-father and forced to live on his own since he was 15.  That’s because Matt let it leak out that he was gay, and that was unacceptable. Fortunately, a Wilkins family trust had set up a shelter for homeless teens, and he was able to live there until he could finish high school and support himself.  The fact he was gay didn’t bother them at all, and he and Jim had “experimented” many times to see if Jim liked gay sex.  He did, and it helped make them even closer friends, although not really lovers.  Jim wanted to keep his options open, which Matt fully understood.  That didn’t stop him from being allowed to suck Jim’s cock or let Jim shove it into Matt’s very tight and willing asshole.  Matt thought Jim’s sperm tasted particularly good when Jim shot his load into Matt’s mouth, and was very willing to clean off the cock after the load went up Matt’s ass.

 

Matt had been one of about 50 local male teens who had applied to join the Wilkins’ family as their guest for Thanksgiving.  He was surprised and thrilled when he learned he’d been chosen.  It was a tradition the Wilkins’ enjoyed that was a bit unusual, but everyone in town agreed that it was appropriate given all that the family did for the town.  So, lots of young guys applied and it was a real honor to be selected, even including a feature in the local newspaper.

 

After Matt rang the bell, it did not take long for him to hear someone approaching the door, and he was pleased that it was Jim who answered.

 

“Welcome,” Jim greeted him sincerely.  “You’re right on time.  And, if I may say so, I’m delighted to see you’re happy to be here. That’s kind of impressive given the snow.”

 

Matt appreciated the warmth of the welcome, and they both laughed at Jim’s reference.  Part of Matt’s instructions had been to show up naked, and the thrill of being featured at the Wilkins’ Holiday tradition had gotten him sexually excited.  He was sporting a very enthusiastic erection despite the wintry weather.

 

“Well, being inside will help keep it that way, and of course it’s available to entertain you if you’d like,” Matt responded.  While Jim’s favorite activity was butt-fucking Matt when they were together, Jim also enjoyed watching Matt jerk off for Jim’s entertainment.

 

“Come right in — and I have no doubt you’ll cum again,” Jim continued the joke.  “I probably will make some use of your eager little cock, since dad says you can spend the night in my room.  But that’s later, and probably only after you’ve entertained everyone else first.  Many of the guys who join us get all nervous and can’t keep their pricks hard, which isn’t as much fun.  In fact, last year we picked Dan Young – remember him from football?  But Dan was a total dud in that respect and never did manage to shoot a load, although he was a nice kid nonetheless and we had a good Thanksgiving.  I’m sure you’ll get a chance to show off.

 

“Meanwhile, the rest of the family is here and they want to get going with planning for tomorrow.  So how about if you sort of hold the thought — or maybe hold the cock?  Do keep it hard, as they’ll like that.  Last year’s experience with Dan made things a little less fun.  That’s part of the reason we all wanted to try inviting a gay guy this year, and I know you’ve shot some great loads while all of us watched during my parties here.”

 

“No problem.  The event turns me on, so I’ll just not try to hide it.  Being hard and staying that way is, after all, my great skill.”  The two friends laughed loudly at their exchange, both very turned on by the conversation.

 

Matt stoked his cock to assure it stayed firm and Jim led him into the main family room, where everyone had gathered.  Jim was wearing shorts, sneakers, and a very tight T-shirt that featured his impressive physique.  Matt was quite content to walk behind him and admire Jim’s backside.  The thought of spending the night with Jim assured Matt’s continued arousal.

 

“See, I told you he’d arrive right on time.  And look, he’s even happy to see us.”  Jim pointed at Matt’s cock as he made his introduction, and everyone chuckled.

 

“That’s a nice muscle you have there, son,” Mr. Wilkins observed.

“Jim says it spurts nicely too, and that you also have a nice, tight butthole.  He says you’re gay and that you two have been enjoying some fairly intense guy time.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Matt replied, surprised how open Jim was with his father, and how it was obviously no big deal at all.  “But I must acknowledge that Jim’s is a little bigger, and he has been expanding my backside a bit from time to time.”  Matt wanted to complement his friend, given how gracious Jim had always been to him, and his suspicion that Jim had been the one who assured Matt’s selection.

 

“Yeah, so I’ve noticed when we have family orgies.  Jim and his brothers usually put on a pretty good show for the rest of us before they submit to the demands of their sisters and cousins. I think it’s sort of a Wilkins tradition to go both ways, and it sure makes for great parties.  We’re planning one tonight as part of our Thanksgiving preparations, as you may be aware, so I hope you’ll feel free to join in however you’d like.  In fact, guests should be arriving about now, so how about if we all get naked?”

 

With that, Mr. Wilkins began to strip, and the rest of the family followed suit.  Once Jim was out of his clothes, Matt could see that he was indeed interested, showing off his own impressive manhood at full attention.  What surprised Matt was the size of Mr. Wilkins’s penis, as it too was quickly erect.  Jim had two brothers, twin teenagers who were just a little younger than Jim. They were also eager participants in the display of manhood.  Jim’s mother and sisters were also there, but they did not immediately get undressed.  Instead, they made rude comments on the males as they compared and rated the male equipment on display.

 

The guests did indeed show up shortly after the males stripped, and Matt recognized many of them.  There were about 10 others, and the newly arrived males quickly got naked as Mr. Wilkins offered everyone drinks and a waiter arrived with elegant appetizers. The waiter was a wonderfully handsome and well built black male of about 18, with light-colored skin that suggested a mixed heritage.  He was dressed only in a formal bow tie, and had the largest cock in the room.  Mr. Wilkins introduced him to Matt as one of his illegitimate sons, noting that the stud’s mother and her husband would be joining them shortly as soon as she finished her chores.

 

“We’ve long ago gotten over our silly prejudices, and all of us like to have sex together.  I’m pretty sure I’m Tom’s father, but not absolutely so.  It might be one of my cousins, or even his legal father.  But he seems a little light-skinned for that.  It doesn’t matter of course, His legal father has certainly had lots of fun with my wife and the rest of our family — both men and women.  Heck, we’re not really sure if Bill there is my kid or if he was conceived when his older cousin got a little carried away with his mother.  But who cares?”

 

Once the food was served, the beautiful young black waiter was invited to join the party.  Matt hoped he’d be able to show that he too had no prejudices by offering the gorgeous young black male Matt’s eager white body as a sex toy.

 

While the food and drink were appealing, the real appeal was the collection of sexually attractive naked male bodies, and Matt quickly understood the rules on how the orgy would begin.  The women were in charge, and the guys had to suck and fuck each other exactly as instructed.  The women had removed their outer garments, revealing stunning outfits that showed their roles as dominatrix’s.  Mr. Wilkins had made a quick announcement once everyone arrived, before everyone got into the orgy:

 

“Welcome everyone.  This is my favorite holiday, which is why we’ve made it a two-day event.  And as always, we’re starting with an orgy among our very favorite friends and relatives.  But first let me introduce Matt here, who has been selected as our guest of honor.  I should let you know he’s gay, so he’ll probably prefer fucking with the guys, but obviously that’s up to the women, since they’re in charge for our first round of fun.  I do know that Jim thinks pretty highly of his rather cute behind.”

 

Matt had never participated in a real orgy, although it had always been a fantasy of his, and it turned out to be a lot more exciting than he had even imagined. Like the rest of the males, he was turned on by the fact of being directed by the women, who were polite and confined the use of his body to male sex only.  Under their direction, all the guys took turns having sex with him, since it turned out that one of the characteristics of the Wilkins family was that everyone was bi-sexual.  They chose their friends the same way.  Matt was fucked and sucked, and he had lots of fun sucking off the eager cocks that were presented for him to service.  Matt was particularly turned on when one of Jim’s sisters ordered Matt to butt-fuck Jim, which Matt had not done before even though Jim frequently plugged Matt’s hole.  She made it particularly exciting by tying Jim face down on a fuck-horse that had been brought into the middle of the room for that sort of use.

 

“It’s about time Jim developed a little humility,” his sister said.  “He’s been far too proud of that cock of his, and he hasn’t been on the receiving end near enough.”  With that, she ordered all the males to fuck Jim once Matt was done, and even strapped on a dildo herself to add to the fun. The other women liked that idea, so Jim got fucked by literally everyone at the orgy.  Matt was pleased that he had been allowed to go first, and Jim was a very good sport about the fun at his expense.  His hard cock stayed that way as he was fucked, so it was clear he wasn’t too unhappy.

 

It didn’t take too long before the orgy changed from its dominatrix theme to just an all-American fuck fest.  Couples coupled at will, and there were clearly no limits on what was permitted.  A few of them started an S&M theme, and Matt found himself getting a thorough whipping on his back by one of the twins while the other twin sucked his cock.  He found that surprisingly enjoyable, albeit painful.  Matt also got a bit bold, and inquired of the young black dude who had so turned him on if there was any way Matt could please him sexually.  It was no time at all after that when Matt felt the pleasure of a huge black cock up his ass, culminating in a spasm of cum filling Matt’s hole that sent Matt’s own cock into orgasm yet again.

 

The party lasted for hours, moving from an orgy to a drinking festival, with lots of friendly conversations.  Everyone was extremely nice to Matt, and he felt this was the best night of his life.  It had never occurred to him that the Wilkins family would include him the way they had done.  He had assumed he’d just show up for the Thanksgiving dinner.

 

After everyone was exhausted and sexually spent, Mr. Wilkins suggested they all gather around on the sofas to figure out the events for the next day.

 

“Well, that was a fun start,” he began.  But keep in mind we don’t need to end the fun.  Feel free to pick and swap sex partners for the rest of the evening and throughout the night.  There are lots of bedrooms, and no need to confine ourselves to just one — or even two or three!”  The family and guests clapped and cheered, and it was obvious that people were lining up possibilities for their next sessions.

 

“Matt, we like to plan in some detail for our feast, so I wonder if you’d mind standing in the middle, here on this coffee table.  If you could get hard again that would be great, but given how many times I noticed you cum I will understand if you’re tapped out.”

 

Matt was more than happy to oblige and put himself on display.  Matt got a nice round of applause and a cheer when his penis achieved its full size.  He was quite pleased with himself, and not the least self-conscious as he stood naked and hard in the middle of the room with everyone staring at his young, firm body.

 

“Great.  Well done, Matt.  I think you may be our best feature yet.

 

“So, how much do you weigh?”

 

“145 pounds, sir.”

 

“Great.  It looks like there’s not much fat, so that probably means 8 hours cooking time with our special oven, after we remove some of the internal organs that don’t cook well and drain the fluids.  What time do people want to eat tomorrow?”

 

There was a consensus, after minimal conversations that dinner at around 5 pm would work well.

 

“OK, that means the meat will need to go in the oven at 9 am.  It usually takes me about an hour to prepare the carcass and get all the seasonings and stuffing in place, so that means we need to have the beheading promptly at 8.  Is that too early for anyone?”

 

The group enthusiastically assured Mr. Wilkins that they would be up and ready in plenty of time.

 

“And how about our “turkey”?  Is being processed starting about 7 am and snuffed at 8 convenient for you?”

 

Matt was once again impressed with the courtesy of the family, and assured Mr. Wilkins that this timing would be fine.  While he hadn’t known the details, he had been fully aware that the invitation to the dinner was, in fact, an invitation to be killed, gutted, stuffed and cooked as the main entree for the meal.  Letting the Wilkins family butcher and eat a handsome teen volunteer as their Thanksgiving feast (and again at Christmas) was a trivial way in which the town expressed its appreciation for the great patrons.  Indeed, Matt recalled reading that in a prior year the mayor himself had donated his oldest son in appreciation for help the family had given the city after a hurricane caused major damage.  The Wilkins had included the mayor’s entire family at the feast in response, and while he was very nervous at the start of the orgy when he was asked to masturbate with his family watching and Jim fucking his virgin ass, the son had eventually provided some great sex and had cooked up well.  As usual, everyone had a wonderful time.

 

“That’s good,” Mr. Wilkins continued.  “Now, one other thing.  We have found it’s a lot more fun if we prolong the butchering of the boy we’re going to cook for our meal.  It gets everyone in a good mood and the follow-on sex orgy while we can smell the meat cooking is intense. Is it OK if we use you that way?  It involves trying to keep you alive as long as possible while we get you ready for the oven.  For example, we will need to cut off your cock and balls to get into some of the cavities where the stuffing will go.  We could of course behead you first — which is a quick way to go — and then do the prep for the stuffing once you’re dead, but it’s more entertaining for us if we start by cutting off your genitals — very slowly, cutting off the penis and each testicle separately — while we watch you suffer and listen to you scream.  You’ll also probably be alive while we take out your intestines, and maybe even some of the internal organs.  Guys don’t last the full hour of prep, but maybe you’ll be the first, and actually die by beheading.  Either way, we do like to let the guy have one last orgasm, which is also fun to watch.  If you’re OK with providing the entertainment, we’ll cut off your prick very carefully just as you start to shoot.”

 

Matt had no hesitation in agreeing to the torture/snuff session.  In fact, it turned him on to think how much entertainment his final processing would provide for such a wonderful group of people.  He wanted to represent the town well in expressing their gratitude, and what better way than to let them add the fun of a torture session to their festivities?

 

The last part of the ceremony was for guests to identify parts of Matt’s body that they’d like to have carved as their individual entree when it came time to serve the meat.  Mr. Wilkins took notes as the guests prodded and poked Matt’s displayed flesh to determine what part they’d most enjoy.  Several asked Matt’s suggestions and he was fully engaged in the conversations about which parts of him would taste best.  The twins wanted matching cuts of meat, originally focusing on his pecks.  But they were worried there wouldn’t be enough meat for them given how hungry they would be, and after talking with Matt they decided to enjoy his butt meat, one taking the right buttock and the other choosing the left.  Mr. and Mrs. Wilkins then selected the pecks.  Matt was especially pleased to learn that his genitals would be sown back on after the stuffing was inserted, and that Jim had been selected to include them as part of his meal.

 

“I doubt they taste very good, but it just seems like fun to eat another guy’s manhood, especially when you’ve enjoyed it sexually,” Jim explained.  Matt offered the hope that Jim would enjoy the delicacy.  Mr. Wilkins suggested perhaps Jim would want to consume the testicles raw, which he could do while Matt was still alive and able to watch.  He said that in his experience young human testicles tasted better fresh and raw.  Both Jim and Matt really liked that idea, so Mr. Wilkins made a note about a slight change in his usual procedures.

 

The guests soon turned back to drinking and fucking, and the evening went on well into the night and beyond — since they traded partners frequently even after supposedly heading to their nightly rest.  Matt spent his final night in Jim’s room as promised, but they had lots of visitors.  Jim joked that the main task for his dad the next day would be draining all the cum from Matt’s belly.  They both found that pretty amusing, and the next day there was in fact a fair residue of the evening’s fun.

 

When everyone had gathered for breakfast, Mr. Wilkins placed Matt face up on a huge, man-shaped platter.  The carving worked well, starting with Matt entertaining the group with a vigorous masturbation.  As he shot his load, Mr. Wilkins reached to the base of his penis and slowly cut it off, lingering long enough for Matt’s sperm to spew all over his belly.  Once the penis was removed, Mr. Wilkins spread the cum across the belly, pointing out that it helped flavor the skin nicely.  Matt’s scrotum was removed next, exposing his testicles for their individual removal.  Jim did the honors there, as agreed, and made sure Matt could watch as he carefully consumed each of Matt’s man-seeds.  Matt could remain conscious for the event, grateful for the chance to see himself being used so appropriately.  Jim, in turn, decided his dad was right and realized he had found a new delicacy to enjoy.  Then the expert chef went through the process of removing Matt’s internal organs.

 

While Matt didn’t last all the way to the ceremonial beheading that climaxed the preparations, he lasted a long time and provided lots of enjoyment for the deserving family and their guests with his obvious suffering and constant screams of pain.  Although it wasn’t Jim’s turn this year, the family agreed that he could do the actual beheading given their relationship, and he did an excellent job wielding the axe, getting a nice clean cut.  There were the usual cheers as the head rolled off the platter, and several of the male guests took advantage of it by using the mouth for one last chance to fuck their guest — with Jim getting the final shot.  Mr. Wilkins then added Matt’s head to the cabinet where he kept his annual souvenirs, noting that

Matt was clearly the most fun to use and prepare.

 

Best of all, Matt proved a delicious main course, providing fresh, willing meat to culminate a quant family tradition.  There were hardly any leftovers, and it was one of their best Thanksgiving feasts.

Family Matter

Vinnie Simonini and his young brother Frankie strolled casually and coolly down lower Fourth Street. It was obvious they were brothers, just by looking at them. They both had a knockoff “Jersey boy” look with their spiked black hair, black sleeveless muscle tees and shiny track pants; they’d even managed to score identical Air Jordans.

Vinnie was about twenty-one and clearly spent a lot of time in the gym. His body was hard and thickly muscled and he stood just short of six feet. Frankie was eighteen and a little shorter, about five-nine. He wasn’t quite as developed as his brother, but he was getting close.

They were cocky to the point of arrogance—the kind of arrogance that comes with stupidity. They were about to make a terrible mistake, and they were going to pay dearly for it.

Their mistake was entering Sal’s Pool Hall. Sal Pistoli, the owner, saw them and knew what was coming. He didn’t know the Simonini brothers but he had anticipated their purpose. Sal was in his seventies and had owned the pool hall for nearly forty years. He’d come to learn early on that lower Fourth Street was a boundary line between two of the many families that ran the city. Since the boundary was arbitrary, it wasn’t always steady. Sometimes, he paid his protection money to one gang, sometimes to the other.

For the past few years, lower Fourth had been the turf of the Dei Rossi family. Rumor on the street, though, was that Angelo Dei Rossi was getting old and weak. Sal had figured that sooner or later someone from the Giancotta family would show up and demand that the money be paid to them instead. Sal was concerned; if old Angelo wasn’t as weak as everyone thought, he’d be in serious trouble. Having the pool hall torn up would be the least of his concerns. He wasn’t going to let that happen.

Sal’s reasoning was correct in all but one detail. Vinnie and Frankie were indeed there to demand the payoff for the Giancotta family—but the family was completely unaware of the fact. The brothers were looking to get themselves in good with the Giancotta by performing a little free-lance enforcing.

Vinnie had been hanging around the Giancotta since he was sixteen. Frankie was fourteen when Vinnie drew him in; not a lot of persuasion was needed, since Frankie idolized his older brother. Together, they’d performed a number of commissions for the family, but it had all been low-level work—delivering cash or drugs for the most part; occasionally roughing up someone who’d incurred the displeasure of the Giancotta in a minor way. The Simonini brothers were anxious to move up in the ranks and they thought their experience with beating up helpless old men would enable them to tangle with the Dei Rossi.

They were about to find out otherwise.

Sal approached them. “You’re Giancotta? I been expectin’ ya. I’ll meet you in the basement soon as I get someone to cover the bar. I don’t do this kinda business in public. The stairs are through that door. When you get down there, go to the room on the left. And don’t fuck with the door on the right; that’s where I store the booze and I got an alarm on it.”

The boys slouched nonchalantly to the door Sal had indicated. As they left, Sal shook his head at their naivety. The stupid little fucks were actually following his directions. There was no cure for that kind of dumb. Oh well, not his problem anymore.

Vinnie made his way cautiously down the dimly-lit stairs with Frankie trailing him. At the bottom was a small space lit by a single 40-watt overhead bulb. There were doors on the left and right and a brick wall in front of them. They obediently turned to the left and Vinnie’s hand had just grasped the doorknob when the door behind them suddenly opened. Vinnie had no time to turn before there was a blast of pain at the back of his head. He crumpled unconscious to the floor, unaware that Frankie’s lights had been put out as well.

Vinnie came to slowly, in a haze of pain and confusion. He didn’t remember getting clocked; the last thing he could remember was starting down the stairs. He became aware of his situation gradually. He was sitting in a folding chair, his hands tied behind his back. His legs had been tied to the front legs of the chair; he was completely immobilized. He was also completely nude. His rank socks had been balled up and shoved in his mouth and were kept in place by a strip of duct tape.

Vinnie slowly lifted his head. He was in a circle of light cast by another overhead bulb. The rest of the room was so dark he couldn’t have seen anything if he tried. But he didn’t try. His attention was focused on Frankie, who was bound to a chair and gagged in the same manner. Frankie was facing him; fear shone in his wide eyes.

Two figures stepped out of the dark. Vinnie recognized them as Dei Rossi mooks, both mid-level enforcers. They were wearing dark blue jumpsuits and work boots. The significance of the clothing didn’t escape Vinnie; it’s hard to see blood on dark blue fabric. These were cold hard men who’d killed before.

Vinnie knew that he and his brother were fucked.

The goon on the left spoke. “Ok, punk, lissen up. We’re gonna ask you just one question and you’re gonna answer it or else. And we’re gonna use your buddy here to show you what we mean by ‘else’.”

Frankie’s eyes darted frantically. He struggled violently in the chair but was too well bound than to do more than to jerk it a few inches around on the floor. He tried to beg, but the reeking socks in his mouth muffled the cries. He stared desperately at Vinnie, pleading silently for help. His fear grew stronger when he saw that Vinnie was crying. Vinnie knew he was going to watch his kid brother die and he couldn’t do anything about it. He could only hope to save his own life by giving these men the information they wanted.

The man on the right pulled a glittering object from the pocket of his jumpsuit. It took Vinnie a moment to realize that it was a staple gun. He stared in horror as the enforcer pressed the gun against Frankie’s smooth hairless pec and squeezed the handle. Frankie jerked in pain as the long sharp staple pierced his flesh and penetrated his muscle. His scream was audible despite the gag. It didn’t seem to bother the goons. No one could hear it down here.

The session with the staple gun went on for a while. Stapled were embedded in his arms and legs, in his belly and on his face. Each one left tiny trickles of blood; each one made Frankie jerk and scream. He was already sobbing uncontrollably when his torturer moved the gun to his scrotum and shot staples into his balls and the head of his dick.

Snot clogged Frankie’s nose and he began to turn blue. The man with the staple gun noticed. “Ok, party’s over. Time to say goodnight.” He stepped back as the other enforcer moved back into the light. He held a long knife with a viciously serrated blade. “Hold his head up. Make him watch,” he said to the torturer, jerking his head at Vinnie. The he spoke directly to Vinnie, a cold grin on his face. “Looks like your pal is havin’ a little trouble breathin’. What say we open up his airway a little?”

Vinnie’s head was clamped in a vise-like grip and pointed straight ahead. He had no choice but to watch the executioner stand behind Frankie and jerk his head back by the hair. He stared Vinnie right in the eyes as he started sawing Frankie’s throat open.

Frankie’s piercing scream ended in a gurgle. Blood gushed from the gaping throat wound, spurting over Vinnie. A drawn-out spluttering, like someone blowing out a mouthful of water, came from the terrible gash—Frankie was trying to cough up the blood he was aspirating.

Frankie’s short, wasted life came to an agonizing and brutal end. The fountain of blood became a sluggish stream before it ceased altogether. His struggles slowed to a stop and the smell of piss and shit from bowels gone loose in death filled the room. The only sound was Vinnie’s gagged attempt to call his brother’s name.

“All right, punk, tell me one thing and we’ll let you go. You can tell those Giancotta bitches what’ll happen to ‘em if come into Dei Rossi territory. Capice?”

Vinnie nodded. The hitman snatched the tape off Vinnie’s face, ripping out his light facial hair by the roots and pulled the balled up socks out of his mouth. “All I want is the name of the motherfucker who sent you here. He’s gonna learn a lesson about keeping his hands off our property.”

Vinnie exhaled in a shuddering sob, “No one sent us, it was my idea, oh fuck please don’t kill me. I won’t tell anyone anything and I’ll tell the Giancotta to stay away, please, just don’t fuckin’ kill me!”

“Aw shit, ya little bitch, are we gonna play this game? We ain’t got time for this. Tell me his name or I’m gonna whack ya and leave the both of ya’s stretched out in the middle of the street for the Giancotta to find.”

Vinnie started sobbing and babbling hysterically. He knew he was about to suffer horribly and die through his own stupidity. He really had thought it up on his own; there was no name to give. These guys were on a high enough level to know the names of their counterparts in the other family. Vinnie, on the other hand, wasn’t. He hadn’t even been a foot soldier, just an errand boy. They’d know he was lying if made something up and they wouldn’t believe the truth.

There was no hope. He was going to die in agony in this basement and no one would care. The Giancotta would spit on hearing his name when they realized he’d started a turf war; they’d drag the bodies off the street because it would look bad but he and Frankie would end up rotting in an unmarked shallow grave out in the swamps. Vinnie pissed himself in terror.

“All right, you stupid punk, I warned ya.” The killer grabbed Vinnie scrotum and thick cock and began slicing them off—slowly.

The pain was so intense that Vinnie couldn’t breathe. He sat bolt upright, eyes dazed and mouth gaping as his junk was sawn off. When the enforcer stepped back, Vinnie took a deep, shuddering gasp. It was the opening the killer was looking for. With a single swift motion, he jammed the bleeding mass of flesh into Vinnie’s mouth. As he gagged on his own dick, Vinnie was peripherally aware that the goon had a massive erection tenting his jumpsuit. This wasn’t just a job for him; he was getting off on it.

The killer suddenly drove the knife into the right side of Vinnie’s chest, slicing through the pectoral muscle and puncturing the right lung. A quick twist and the knife was yanked back out. Vinnie trembled in shock and the knife was plunged into the left side of his chest. It missed the heart but penetrated his other lung. This time the executioner caught the knife on a rib while twisting it and had to rip it out of Vinnie’s body violently. The goon moaned and shuddered while grinding the knife in the wound. The sadistic bastard had shot his wad in his shorts.

Vinnie leaned back in the chair, losing the fight to breathe as his lungs collapsed. His cheeks bulged obscenely with his severed manmeat; he could taste his own piss. He could see the man who’d had the staple gun slicing Frankie’s package off and stuffing it into his ripped-out throat, a semen stain barely visible in the crotch of his jumpsuit.

They had been such badasses; they were gonna own this place and get the recognition they deserved. Vinnie’s last conscious thought was that their mutilated corpses were going to be dumped like garbage; his last emotion one of pathetic bewilderment. Then death took him down and all that was left was twitching nerves and shredded flesh.

Fantasy Scenario 17

Like I said, I’m not doing a lot of hunting; lately the meat has been approaching me. But even I wasn’t prepared for what I found outside my front door–two hot little punks waiting for me. And one had a gun.

I’d seen them before on several occasions. I’d actually wanted to get my hands on them for a while, but they were customers of the crack house across the street. For all I knew, they could have been under surveillance, or even undercover themselves.

Well, they weren’t undercover if they were robbing me. And if they were being watched–well, maybe this wasn’t the best location to begin with. I tend to move my killing pit from time to time; this was a great big hint that I was overdue.

Ok, then. One last romp, then I’m burning the place down. Haven’t even had time to take out the trash. Tommy and Jake are still stacked up like cordwood in the bathtub, for fuck’s sake. I’ll spread ’em around. Make it look like a bunch of crackheads started a fire and were too fucked up to get out. The law won’t give a shit; they’ll likely never notice the holes in Tommy’s skull, especially if the fire gets hot enough.

In the meantime, though, I got these two fucks to deal with. I need to establish control.

“Well, well, what do we have here–two little suburban boys with their caps on wrong. Am I supposed to be scared of you, ya little shit? I get scarier things free with my breakfast cereal. Get the fuck in here!”

I reach out and grab the guy with the gun–I get him by his wrist–and jerk him quickly towards me. His hand smashes against the door jamb and he drops his weapon. I plant my large black combat boot on top of the gun; the kid trips over my foot as he comes towards me and sprawls on his face on the living room floor. His slack-jawed buddy stares at me passively as I bend down and retrieve the gun.

I’m not overly familiar with guns; they’re too dangerous for me. Seriously. It’s too easy to kill someone accidentally with a gun. My killing is intimate and very deliberate.

But at any rate, I know enough to realize I’m holding a loaded .22 revolver. I wave it at the kid on the doorstep. “You too, bitch,” I snap at him, “get your ass in here!”

The punk who’d had the gun is back on his feet, glaring, not quite understanding that I’m the alpha male now. I can’t wait to teach him.

He’s in his early twenties and has a close-trimmed beard. He’s wearing a cap with a flat brim; the khaki t-shirt in camouflage print matches his shorts and his shiny gold kicks. His short dark hair is barely visible under his cap, but the rest of his clothes are tight enough to show now well-built his is. The drugs have taken a toll; his face is hard and pock-marked.

His friend is much younger; he looks about eighteen. Clearly not the dominant one of the pair. He’s wearing a gray hoodie and tight skinny jeans. A mop of curly black hair erupts from under the backwards ball cap he’s got on. He’s soft and innocent, over his head in a rough life of drugs.

I’ll waste him first. The older one gets to watch–like any tough piece of meat, he’ll need some tenderizing. Using the gun, I direct them into the bedroom. They pause at the doorway in horror. The room’s still a mess, spattered and reeking of blood, piss and cum.

I shove them in and hand a zip tie to the older one. “Tie his hands behind him,” I tell him, nodding at his friend, “and do it right. Or else.”

Once the younger one is bound, I lock the bedroom door. The kid won’t be able to manipulate the knob with his hands behind him. Now all I have to do is secure the older punk. That’s simple enough; I bind him to a chair, arms handcuffed behind the back, hairy muscular legs tied to the legs of the chair. He’s not going anywhere. The younger one remains inert, watching me silently, fear written all over his face.

One I’ve got the older one in place I drag the younger one over and stand him in front of the chair, facing to the side. “On your knees, motherfucker,” I snarl at him. He drops just as he’s told, still fully dressed. “Now bend down and put your fucking face on the floor. Raise your ass up. Higher, bitch, I want it at the level of my dick.”

The kid starts crying. His buddy is furious, calling me a faggot, screaming about how he’s gonna fuck me up when he gets loose. I smile coldly at him. “And what the fuck makes you think you’re getting out of that chair alive?” I ask him. Actually, he will be getting out of it alive; I plan to whack him on the bed, but he doesn’t know that. He shuts up and his eyes grow wide as he considers the implications of my question.

I stand where both boys can see me clearly as I whip out both my knife and my cock. I grin down into the tear-stained face of the youth huddled on the floor. “It’s your lucky day, meat. I’m gonna fuck you with both of these.”

The boy starts bawling and pleading as I move behind him. Even the older thug is leaking some tears now. Fuck, that gets me hot. “Ready for something long and hard to be shoved up your ass, meat? No? Tough shit.” I thrust the knife into his fuckhole, slicing his sphincter open.

The little fuck rises up, screaming, his cap flying off his head. I slam his face back to the floor and stuff my cock into the hole I’ve cut in his jeans. He squirms under me, trying to escape the agony in his rectum, his blood lubing my rod as it tears its way into his guts.

“Fuck yeah, that feels good. Glad I opened your hole up, bitch, you’re fuckin’ tight. Stay down, you fuck, and take my dick. This is what happens when you try to play with the big boys, punk, you end up on your knees with manmeat plugging your ass. You think this hurts? Just wait.”

The older boy is screaming at me again, his face red with rage and fear. I don’t pay much attention, but I gather that the kid I’m fucking is bearded dude’s younger brother. I hadn’t picked up on that; they don’t look much alike. But I’m pleased.

Watching his kid brother getting offed should tenderize the meat nicely.

“Damn, think I cut this hole too wide. Little whore is goin’ loose on me. Only one way to fix a slack cockhole–I need to do some more cuttin’.”

I grab a handful of the kid’s curly hair and pull his head back until it’s almost level with mine. Without missing a stroke of my dick, I hold the blade to the fucker’s neck.

“Please don’t,” he sobs, “for god’s sake, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, please don’t, please–gaaaggghh!!!” His plea trails off into a bubbling hiss as I slit his throat like I’m carving a roast.

His brother goes silent except for one loud racking sob. My fucktoy chokes on his own blood as he pumps his ass back onto my cock in agony. His smooth, trembling cheek is next to mine as I whisper in his ear.

“How’s that taste, meat? Ya like that? That’s the taste of death in your mouth. Enjoy it while you can, you fuck, cause you’re gonna ride my cock all the way to your grave.”

The hot coppery smell of blood is momentarily overridden by a more acrid scent. Little cocksucker has pissed himself in terror. I shove his face back down into the thick puddle that’s formed on the floor and hold it there by placing my hand on the back of the meat’s head and putting all my weight on it. He’s slumped on his knees, head on the floor, ass in the air and taking my dick.

As he bleeds out, the punk starts straining for air. I lean over him, pumping his hole brutally, grinning with pleasure as his body clenches in desperate pain. Each panicked attempt to breathe is accompanied by a gurgle and the high-pitched whine of air escaping through the jagged gash in his windpipe. I turn to the thug in the chair.

“Listen to that, man. Don’t that get you hard, hearing your little bro squeal like a pig as he kicks out his last few seconds on earth? Gotta tell ya, dude, I’m lovin’ it. Every time he struggles, he clamps down on my tool like a good little faggot. Watch him die in agony with his ass full of cock and his mouth full of blood, you motherfucker, cause I’m gonna do the same thing to you. Well, not quite the same–yours will hurt more, bitch.”

The kid’s arms thrash uselessly behind his back, brushing against my chest, deep creases cut in his skin by the zip tie. I can feel his fingers scrabbling against my skin, seeking something to hold onto, to comfort him in his terror and pain. I slam his head into the ground, hard, and spit on him. Blood mats his black hair and his sneakers flail against my legs, but he’s growing weaker. The voiceless, involuntary grunts and moans that emerge from his severed trachea are becoming fainter and trail off into a despairing bleat.

As his blood pressure drops, the boy struggles to remain conscious, knowing that once he slips into the darkness, he won’t be coming back. “Let go, you little shit,” I whisper to him, “your worthless life is over. You ain’t gettin’ my load, fucker, I’m saving that for your brother. You’re dying so I can warm up my cock, pig. You’re an appetizer–and I like my meat cold. Die, motherfucker, die on my dick.”

My fucktoy trembles and goes limp. I pull out, blood dripping from the head of my cock. There’s nothing left of the kid but a huddled pile of meat, lifeless, leaking blood and shit from its ravaged asshole. His jeans and hoodie are covered with a slowly spreading maroon stain. He slumps to one side with a wet-sounding thump.

Big bro is sniveling, his face smeared with snot and tears. I stand and face him. I’m still dressed myself, my erect dick protruding from the open fly of my jeans. I cut the cords from his legs. “Get up, you piece of shit. Move your ass. Now!”

I pull him straight up so his arms come up off the back of the chair, staying cuffed behind his back. He stands, swaying slightly with a vacant expression on his face as I cut his shorts and his shirt off. I drag him to the bed–still encrusted with blood and semen from my last playtime–and push him down on his back.

He lies there, face turned away from me, chest heaving with suppressed sobs. His thick uncut cock is draped on the sheet like a python in a sweater; his balls are cradled in his pubic hair like eggs in a nest.

He knows what’s coming. He closes his eyes and clenches his jaw as I run my hands over his muscular chest and smooth, flat belly. The low moaning sound he makes as I place his ankles on my shoulders breaks into a continual sobbing when I jam my cock into his tight hairy hole and start raping him.

“Fuck, dude, you’re a lot looser than your baby brother was. You take it up the ass a lot, punk? Fuckin’ worthless motherfucker, bet you suck cock for spare change to buy your next bump. Don’t worry, meat, I’ll make sure your next hit fucks you up good. But I gotta tighten ya up first.”

I part the bitch’s legs so I can lie flat on top of him. I smile at him as I gently stroke his bearded cheek. Then I press my hand on his forehead to pin his head down while I sink my blade into his gut and slash at his soft entrails. As he screams, I spit in his face.

“Shut the fuck up, meat. You came in here with a gun. You thought you were a man, you useless thug, a man who was capable of killing, but you’re just a weak punk. Now you gotta take the consequences. You’re gonna die like a fucking pig, wallowing in blood and spunk and pain like your little bro. You wanted a hit? You’re gonna get one, fuckwad. I’m gonna fuck your brains out. You’re gonna blow a load yourself, but you’ll be in such agony you won’t even know it. I’m gonna ream you out and throw you and your brother away like used cumrags.”

He’s still crying, his fear and trauma reflected in his face. God, it gets me horny seeing how helpless and vulnerable he is; I’m gonna hurt him so bad. He can’t do a damn thing about it but lay there and take my dick and anything else I want to stick in him.

I spit on him again, then punch him in the face, hard. He grunts in pain and surprise as his head rocks back. “Fuckin’ whore,” I snarl and punch him again, splitting his bottom lip. “Now tell me how much you love my cock. Beg for it, meat.”

“Please,” he moans, “don’t hurt me anymore, please, fuck, please…”

I slap his face, then I grab his neck and squeeze. “That’s not what I told you to say, bitch. Beg for my fucking cock, you piece of shit!”

He gasps and whispers, “I want your cock, please, just stop hurting me…”

“Yeah, faggot, you want my rod plugging up your fuckhole. I got something else long and hard for ya too, meat. Here ya go, bitch, ya like that?” I stick the knife into the kid’s side. It slides smoothly into his liver, no resistance at all. His crying stops instantly. He stares at me in horror, his face ashen, dark rings of shock circling his eyes. The pain is so overwhelming he can’t process it. This would be a fatal wound–if I leave him alive long enough to die from it. But I won’t.

“Damn, fuckmeat, you respond to pain even better than your cumpig brother did. Your asshole is fluttering up and down my shaft. I had to waste him to get this kinda action. Bet I’ll squirt a quart of jizz into your guts when I off you.”

The meat shudders as waves of searing pain envelop his body. His breathing is swift and shallow, sweat from organ trauma oozing from his pores. I can feel the muscles in his slick firm thighs quivering under the onslaught of my knife. Jesus, he feels so fucking good around my dick…

“Are ya ready, mottherfucker? Ya ready to ride my cock down to hell? I’m sure the fuck ready to inject you with cum and let it marinate in your rotting corpse. I’m gonna fuck you again after I waste ya. Your little bro, too. Gonna fuck and mutilate his body before I throw it out like garbage.”

I don’t know if he’s listening; the pain and the fear he’s experiencing are mind-warping. I’m gonna have to inflict major trauma to get his attention. Once I do that, though, he won’t be able to pay attention at all. To anything.

I’m already leaking pre-cum into his ass at the thought.

I lie full-length on top of him again, stroking his trembling, furry face. In the depths of his agony, he turns to me, sniffling, his moist eyes silently beseeching mercy and relief from his ongoing nightmare. In this moment, I love him. I’ll grant his wish to be free from this horror–once I’ve shot my load.

But before I can do that, I have to hurt him some more. I want to make sure he understands.

“Ok, you worthless piece of shit, it’s time. Your wasted life is over. You let drugs make you think you were a real man, you punk; you’re nothing but a stupid thug and you’re gonna die like a dog with my cock up your ass. You dragged your little brother to a horrific death, but the kid felt good dying on my dick. He died like a crying little bitch just to help my dick get hard enough to fuck you. You’re gonna have to work my tool even better than he did if you’re gonna get me off. Don’t worry, fucker, I’ll make sure you work it. You don’t get a choice.”

I place my hand on the top of the punk’s head. I kiss the tip of his nose while I scrape the sharp serrated edge of my blade on the stubble on the boy’s chin. “Please make it quick,” he whispers hoarsely.

“Fuck you,” I whisper back, “I’ve wanted to hurt you badly for a long time. I’m gonna have fun now.” I slide the knife under his jaw.

“Don’t hurt me anymore. Fuck me all you want, just please don’t–gurk!!” His plea is cut off–literally–when I spear his jaw with the knife, shoving the blade up through the tender flesh underneath. It comes up through the bottom of his mouth, penetrating his tongue, the tip of the blade embedding itself in his soft palate.

He gives a deep, croaking gasp of anguish. As his mouth opens, I can clearly see the blade inside, the meat’s tongue flopping around, impaled like a hooked fish. “Fuck yeah, that’s so hot. Your suffering is so fucking erotic, I don’t want it to end. I wish I could make you scream and bleed for eternity, you little fuck, but I’m close to blowing my wad. Time to say goodnight, fuckmeat.”

Clamping down on the top of the thug’s skull for leverage, I force the knife up through the roof of his mouth. It takes all my will not to cum when I hear the crunching of the blade penetrating the base of the cranial cavity; it’s a sound that never fails to get me off.

It damn near gets the meat off as well. The youth’s hard body immediately reacts to the devastating brain trauma. His legs wrap tightly around my waist, immobilizing my hips. Luckily, I don’t need to thrust anymore; the thug’s ass is flailing on my cock as he convulses. His chest and belly arc upward to press against mine, sliding around on the greasy film of sweat and blood that coats his smooth skin. I become aware of the sensation of length of hot pipe laid against my abdomen. The punk is hard.

This is my favorite part. There’s no conscious will left in the kid. I don’t want to have sex with this worthless motherfucker; I want to masturbate with a piece of meat. So I make this punk into meat, meat that I can control. As I move the knife around, carving deeply into the little shit’s cerebrum, the damage to his nervous system influences the force and frequency of his convulsions.

I can play the fuckmeat like an instrument, using his death throes to jack off.

I ream the knife into the punk’s head. I’d promised him I’d fuck his brains out and that’s exactly what I’m doing–using my blade to skullfuck the meat. Each long hard thrust of the knife into the kid’s soft brain tissue causes a massive seizure that tightens his sphincter and applies what feels like suction the head of my dick. His ass slides up and down my shaft, milking me fiercely. I can feel my cock swelling, straining, ready to explode.

I angle the knife down and slam the blade back into his head. The tip of the blade cuts through the meat’s brain stem and jams into the back of his cranium with enough force to get stuck in the bone. The kid thrashes uncontrollably; it’s like trying to ride a bronco. The meat exhales a long, involuntary moan as his ass tightens around the base of my cock. I cum so hard it hurts. I scream curses at the meat as I clamp one hand on his face and use the other to grind the knife around, gutting the inside of his skull.

As I mince the tissue that forms the pleasure center of the brain into hamburger, I trigger a phenomenally powerful orgasm in the meat. He hunches forward and his cock stands straight up. A spasm, violent enough to be clearly visible, contracts his balls and runs up the length of his shaft, making him ejaculate a solid stream of spunk for a good fifteen seconds straight. I’m still cursing and pumping wads of my own into the meat’s fuckhole when a second spasm erupts, lasting just as long. The third one lasts longer and the stream of cum becomes increasingly stained with red near the end. The meat has shot his load so hard he’s torn his vas deferens and there’s blood in his semen.

I black out. I don’t know how long I’m out but the meat is still twitching when I wake up. The knife is still in his skull, wedged deep into the brain stem again. Contact with the carbon-steel blade is providing enough of an electrical connection inside the mangled folds of his brain for the random firing of dying neurons to be transferred into muscular contractions.

Not only am I still hard, the meat’s convulsing anus is still stroking my shaft, lovingly, slowly, but very firmly.

I don’t need to move. I hold on to the punk, letting him work my dick. I gaze down into his face. His half-open eyes have rolled back, the whites pink with hemorrhages. A trickle of blood has been aspirated from his mouth, staining his lips and running down his cheek. The knife is angled too far back to be visible inside his mouth, but I can see that it cut his tongue to pieces. He’s so beautiful. I kiss him, thrusting my tongue into his mouth, exploring the shredded slices of his tongue with the tip of mine.

I french and fondle the meat for another fifteen minutes or so, letting his rectum continue to jack me. Eventually my balls, bulging with seed, demand another release. When I cum, I slam my hand down onto the hilt of the knife so hard it punches through the back of the meat’s skull and pins his head to the mattress. He quivers and goes still. His dick spasms one last time, but the only thing that oozes out is blood.

Well, I may have lied about fucking little bro again. I’d love to–poor little fuck didn’t get any of my spunk–but I don’t think there’s a single sperm cell left in my overworked sack. And I need to be outta here before I have time to refill. There’s way too much stale meat in this house for me to be comfortable.

Time for a barbecue.