Tag: drugged

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

On By m3mayhemIn Meat Chronicles2 Comments

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…

Beach Party   By: Gay Slavemeat   Gsmeat2@gmail.com

On By m3mayhemIn Reader Stories1 Comment

 

I enjoy writing and reading gay snuff stories, and I like to imagine an awesome world run by Alpha Males, where torture and snuff of guys like me would be routine.  In that world environmental issues are addressed, nations are at peace, prosperity is the norm, and there is a positive, stable social order.  That’s because a select group of Alpha Males achieve total dominance, with a large beta class of citizens who live productive, fulfilling, but somewhat controlled lives.  Supporting both groups would be a vast, disposable class of male slaves.  We would be naked animals assigned dangerous and degrading tasks to support the needs and desires of our Alpha and beta class owners. Our bodies would be tortured, used sexually, and destroyed at the whims of our masters, with zero limits on what is done to us or what we are ordered to do.  Gladiatorial contests among us are far more brutal and fatal than ancient Rome, providing entertainment and releasing tensions that otherwise might lead to conflict among citizens.  Medicine would advance rapidly with us as experimental lab animals that would be plentiful and totally disposable.  Our pathetic lives would comprise only pain and humiliation and would mean nothing; our bodies ultimately would be food, turned to shit in the bellies of our masters as befits our status.  We would be bred and trained to understand that this is what we deserve.

 

But this would not all happen at once, and this story is about a time prior to creation of the Alpha Utopia, when they are organizing outside public view. Sadly, it’s all fiction, including names of characters.

 

1

The Beach Drive

 

Matt was a sex slave, and today was the last day of his life.  His owner rand master, Jim Fletcher, had decided to destroy and dispose of one of his possessions and expected Matt to cooperate fully in the process.  That was not a problem for Matt.  He understood his status as property and his purpose as a sex toy, and he was completely on board with whatever his owner desired.  He knew torturing, humiliating, and snuffing him would be fun for Jim and the other participants, since Matt was remarkably good looking – a 23-year-old specimen of prime man meat that was shaped perfectly and in perfect shape. He had a surfer’s build, with a trim waist and nicely formed pecks that highlighted his smooth, hairless chest. He had small, hard nipples that stood out nicely and were always tempting targets for inflicting pain when he was being used sexually. His abs were rock-hard, showing off a clearly defined six-pack of carefully maintained muscle.  Matt was very strong, with obvious definition in his arms and legs that reflected his strenuous daily workout routines and a wholesome diet of high protein dog food mixed in his dog dish with some of his master’s urine and crap toe remind him of his status.  These enabled him to endure exceptionally harsh S&M sessions.   He had a short, conservative haircut and no body hair at all, even around his crotch, which added not only to his sex appeal but to his appearance of complete nakedness and availability. It had been years since Matt had worn any clothes, and his body was evenly tanned from exposure to the warm sun on the estate where he was kept.  Yet perhaps it was his handsome, eager face and easy, willing smile that ultimately made him so appealing. Matt aimed to please, and it showed.  There was literally nothing he wouldn’t do to please Jim.  So he was excited and eager for this day, when he would add slightly to Jim’s pleasure by losing his disposable life.

 

As a sex slave, Matt’s most useful physical traits were his long, thick cock, his inviting bubble-butt, his insatiable gay sex drive, and his utter masochism. Matt had a bit over 11 inches of hard, reliable man muscle, and he was always ready to have it used to please another guy, especially if it meant masturbating for the other guy’s entertainment while the other guy’s cock rammed Matt’s ass.  Matt was expert at timing his orgasm to match the timing of the cock he felt inside him, realizing it was the other guy’s orgasm that mattered and watching Matt shoot a load simultaneously made that more pleasurable.    Matt’s own pleasure was irrelevant, and if he was denied the chance for his own orgasm he understood that was what he deserved.  His entire existence was focused on sex and using his body to please Jim and any other guys Jim invited to use Jim’s formerly-human sex toy.

 

Today Matt was truly enjoying himself. He was riding in the passenger seat of Jim’s Lamborghini convertible, racing over 120 miles per hour down a beautiful beach-front highway. The day was warm, about 75 degrees with a slight breeze. The view was spectacular, with vistas of mountains on one side and a wide sandy beach on the other. Jim was a very competent driver, so Matt didn’t worry about the excessive speeds down the narrow, winding road. The speed added to the thrill.

 

Matt was naked, of course. It would be inappropriate for him to wear clothes, other than a slave collar and a cock ring he usually wore in public to clarify his status. (They were each electrified, with a phone app Jim could use to zap Matt to enhance his humiliation and add a little entertaining pain for everyone to enjoy.)  On this occasion Jim had instructed him to refrain from putting on a seat belt, since it impeded a tiny bit of his view of Matt’s body. His master’s slightest pleasure was far more important than Matt’s safety, after all, so that made perfect sense. If Matt were thrown from the car and killed, it was hardly a big deal other than inconveniencing Jim somewhat as he secured a replacement slave for the day’s fun. In fact, as Jim had pointed out, he didn’t want that to happen.  Jim had tested whether it would be entertaining on another slave whose sexual performance Jim found boring.  Jim had instructed the slave to jump out of the car and kill himself.  The slave apologized for his poor performance and did as instructed.  Watching the body in the rear-view mirror as it bounced onto the road, cracking its spine and breaking arms and legs, wasn’t as entertaining as Jim had hoped.  Even when he watched the satellite video later he didn’t get much of a turn-on from the scene.  (For Jim’s protection his car was always in view when he drove out of the family estate.)  But he backed up to where the body stopped and positioned the dying slave on the hood of the car, boring its flesh and exposing its ass for Jim to fuck.  Jim did enjoy that part, reaching orgasm as the animal convulsed and died, its ass nicely tightening around Jim’s cock in the process.  But Jim had decided the experiment wasn’t all that successful and hadn’t thrown any slaves out since then – glad he had wasted only a few minutes of his time and a useless slave on the effort.  Besides, Matt knew Jim had other plans for him, although he didn’t know any details.

 

Jim was also naked. But that was by choice – he liked being naked and spent most of his time that way. Since Jim’s family owned the beaches they were driving by, and the mountains, he could do what he wanted. In fact, they were on a huge private island they owned that was not far from Hawaii, and there were no rules except what Jim and his dad decided. The island was not part of any country, or shown on any maps, so their decisions were the law – the only law.  Matt understood that too, realizing it was the way things should be.

 

Both Matt and Jim had erect penises, but Jim’s was simply aroused while Matt’s was positively throbbing. The excitement from the time and attention he was getting today was more than he could imagine.

 

The ride was a nostalgic return to old times in many ways.  Jim and Matt had known each other since they were in high school together.  Their bodies intensely turned each other on sexually and always had.  It was hardly unusual for them both to have a hard-on when they were together.  But today was special.  Matt wanted Jim to have a great day that Jim would remember, and Matt was determined to do his best to help make it happen. It was Jim’s 25th birthday and Jim’s dad was throwing Jim a big beach party not only to celebrate the birthday but also to celebrate Jim’s officially announced role as his dad’s heir and successor in the family business.  The fact Jim had chosen to have just the two of them drive to the party meant everything to Matt.

 

“Are you excited for the beach party?” Jim asked. Another part of Matt’s joy came from Jim telling him they could converse during the ride as if they were friends – as they had been in high school, rather than Matt being required to speak only when asked a question, as befit his status as Jim’s property.

 

“Extremely – can’t you tell?” teased Matt, pointing at his pulsating cock.  “I just hope it’s all you want it to be. I want you to have a wonderful birthday party.  And I’ll do everything I can to help make it so.”

 

“Yes, you will. You’ve been well trained, so I think you’ll perform OK. After all, you’ve had five years to prepare., since you officially became my piece-of-shit slave.  And a lot of conditioning before that.”

 

“Is there anything special you want me to do?”

 

“Not really.  I always enjoy hearing you scream with pain, so feel free to do so until you lose your voice.  I have arranged everything so you’ll not have any opportunity to fuck up.  I want to maximize the fun and entertainment, and that has implications on what will be done to you.  I set limits for others of no permanent damage for sex sessions in the past, but there won’t be any this time other than me directing or performing the actual kill.  Before then I suspect these will get ripped off and I will probably want to eat those while they’re still attached to you.  But that’ll be fairly minor pain compared to some of the ideas I’ve got in mind.”  As he spoke, Jim had reached over and twisted Matt’s hard left nipple and then crunched his balls.  Matt grimaced with the pain but got the point.

 

“Of course.  I hope you really crank up the pain and humiliation, so I can provide a lot of fun for you and your friends.  I especially hope you’ll take your time if you decide to eat me alive.  That looks like an extremely painful way to die and I know how much you enjoy cutting fresh meat from a live slave to eat raw.”

 

“Not to worry.  I’ve always thought you’d make an especially tasty meal, and I plan to keep you alive while I enjoy it.  Carving up a guy and eating him while he watches is an amazing turn-on no matter how often I do it.  I’ve even increased your body-fat ratio a little so you’ll be a bit more flavorful.  You may have noticed your dog dish has had fruit juice rather than the usual piss for the last few weeks, which also should add to the flavor.  Your replacement will get the usual dog food mixed with piss and shit tomorrow, but the shit will be the last remnant of you – in your most appropriate form. I think that will be kind of a nice way to introduce your replacement to his ultimate fate.”

 

“That’s really nice.  Thanks.  I like the idea of me being useful even after your belly turns me into crap.  I figured I’d just be hamburger and fertilizer like the usual disposal of slave circuses.  And I did notice the change in diet and guessed that was the reason.  I also noticed the solid portion wasn’t flavored with the usual human shit.  I know I deserve to drink piss and eat shit, but I can imagine that would adversely affect the flavor of my meat, so I’m glad you have planned ahead as usual.  Besides, I still got to drink a lot of your piss during the day.  Being a live urinal is such an appropriate use for me, and quite an honor.  After all, drinking piss was the first training you gave me, even before I became your slave.”  Remembering their early years got both young men trading stories, and Matt started to reminisce.

 

“In addition to my early training, I also recall the first time we jerked off together and how pissed you were when you realized my cock was longer than yours,” teased Matt.

 

Jim smiled and touched an app on his cell phone.  Matt jerked and screamed as a massive amount of pain ran through his body from an electrified dildo Jim had rammed up his ass before they got in the car   Mat was caught totally by surprise and lurched upward so much he almost fell out of the seat.

 

“Anything else you want to brag about?” Jim asked, laughing at the scene and enjoying Matt’s pain. “I bet if I left my little toy on very long you’d bounce around enough to actually fall out of the car.  You’re lucky I find that boring and anyway you don’t deserve to get off’d that easy.”  With that Jim again touched the app and the pain stopped.

 

“I guess not,” responded Matt, also laughing and pleased Jim was enjoying himself at Matt’s expense.  “That’s quite the little toy you’ve got there. You should be able to have a lot of fun with it.”

 

“I plan to.  I have several of them, so a bunch of you slaves will be bouncing around as my guests play with them.

 

“And, for the record, it’s not your cock any more.  When I acquired you as my property I got everything, including the accessories.  I just let you use the cock since I enjoy watching you jerk off.   I might just have to slice it into pieces today to train you in humility.”

 

“Of course it’s yours,” said Matt, quite sincerely but quickly returning to teasing mode.  “I’m your property and you can do whatever you want with me.  For example, if you wanted a little more length in your personal manhood, you could cut it off and use it to replace the little one currently attached to you.  When you own several cocks, you get to choose the one that’s the biggest.    Maybe that way at least part of me could still be of service after you snuff me.”

 

The teasing earned Matt another, somewhat longer, jolt of electricity but it was worth it.  Jim smiled at Matt and once again laughed at his gyrations but didn’t respond.  He enjoyed the banter, which reminded him of their high school days, when they compared cock sizes like high school males are prone to do.  Matt’s mind also wandered, thinking back to when he first met Jim.

 

2

Fond Memories

Matt was a freshman in high school when he was approached by Jim. Matt was unusually good looking, and Jim, a sophomore, had taken an interest in him, allowing Matt to tag along with Jim and his friends.   In due course, Jim became captain of the football team, being a quarterback of exceptional drive and talent. Matt, meanwhile, turned out to be a great wide receiver.  Both boys were top students and stunningly handsome and fit.  But Matt was an extreme introvert and a nerd, with zero self-esteem, while Jim was extremely popular and outgoing, with tons of friends and an exceptionally dominant personality.  Part of the popularity was because Jim was so wealthy – clearly the wealthiest guy in school, although no one knew how much he had or even what his family did. They just knew other kids didn’t get picked up on a regular basis in a stretch limo after school, and they weren’t rumored to own an island estate in addition to a mansion in town.  That was a total contrast to Matt, who was an orphaned foster kid – no family, no money, and no one who gave a shit about him.

 

Jim was Matt’s only friend, and he invited Matt to hang out after school with Jim and his buddies. The other guys were also older than Matt, so they ignored him. However, Jim was nice to him. That got Matt’s loyalty, but he had no idea why Jim would have any interest in him. Why would a guy like Jim be nice to a guy like Matt – a sophomore to a freshman, a rich kid to a poor kid, a popular kid to a nobody?

 

Most of the time was spent with Jim’s buddies playing sports on the beach near their school. The Southern California weather was always perfect, and the guys would go surfing, swimming, or play volleyball or football.

 

Everyone took off most of their clothes and Matt could look at the other guys’ handsome bodies.  Matt was gay and this turned him on, but he was afraid to reveal that fact. He enjoyed the contact with nearly naked young male flesh and had fun playing sports at the same time. Being proud, fit young males, and since one of the beaches was “clothing optional,” the guys often stripped naked, starting with Jim.  What Jim did tended to be what everyone did.  These were the days Matt enjoyed best. He was good at sports, better than most of the other guys (except Jim) even though he was slightly younger.  But it didn’t matter whether Matt was talented or not, since Jim insisted that Matt be allowed to play.  Jim was always in charge.

 

After the games and fun, the other guys typically went on their way to their fancy homes, and Matt made the long walk to the house where he lived with his foster father, who usually wasn’t home.  The house itself was very nice, but Matt was confined to an unfinished room in the basement that was tiny, damp, and smelly.  Often there wasn’t even enough food, sine Matt was only permitted to eat leftovers, and when his “dad” was home he would berate Matt no matter what he did, telling him what a worthless person he was and that he didn’t deserve even the poor conditions he lived in.  It didn’t matter Matt was a top student and athlete, overcoming all the odds against him.  Nothing could please this foster parent.  It was only the great times with Jim and his buddies that made the rest of his life tolerable.

 

One afternoon, near the end of Mat’s freshman year, Jim had approached Matt as the group was breaking up, after a vigorous game of naked beach volleyball on an especially hot day.

 

“Would you like to head to my place? You could shower up there and we could watch a movie or something.  My dad’s out of town and I know where he keeps the beer.”

 

Matt was thrilled. He wanted to spend as much time with Jim as possible. Not only had Jim befriended him, but Jim was the best-looking guy of the bunch.  Matt was glad they had gone to the nude beach that day, but realized his cock was getting a little hard at the mere prospect of being with Jim.  After all, by this time Matt was just 17 and that’s what happens to 17-year old cocks.

 

“Sure. That would be great!”

 

“Good. Our house is right up the road from here, just a short walk.  Since we’re so sweaty, and it’s a private path, I suggest we just stay naked until after we’ve cleaned up.”

 

“Super,” was all Matt could say, now seriously worried about his growing cock and utterly turned on at the prospect.  He walked slightly behind Jim, so the growing erection wouldn’t be so apparent.  But seeing Jim’s gorgeous backside wasn’t helping.

 

Matt had heard about the mansion but didn’t realize it was on the beach. He was once again impressed, but not in the least jealous.  Jim clearly deserved everything he had.  And Matt’s foster parent had made it clear to Matt that he deserved the poverty and deprivation he endured.

 

Matt always remembered how wonderful that first evening had turned out to be. They had each showered, with Jim letting Matt go first. As he heard Matt turn off the water, Jim walked in.  Jim was still naked, and Matt was once again transfixed by Jim’s exceptional body. Matt hoped Jim didn’t see the major erection that Matt got as a result, but Jim could hardly miss it.

 

“I gather you enjoyed the shower,” Jim laughed, pointing at Matt’s cock. “That’s not a bad piece of meat you’ve got sticking out there.”

 

Matt was embarrassed, but somehow also even more excited. He hadn’t been naked like this in front of another guy – it wasn’t the same as gym class and that sort of thing, or even the nude sports on the beach.  Worse yet, his cock was dripping a little pre-cum.

 

“I’m sorry.  I got to thinking about some of the girls at the beach, and I couldn’t help myself,” Matt lied.

 

“Sure. Don’t worry. That happens to me a lot too.  It’s how guys in high school are supposed to react to scantily clad girls watching us play sports nude, right?  And my cock’s not exactly all shriveled up.”  Jim didn’t have an erection, but his nice long cock hung down a fair way between his legs.

 

“I guess so.” Matt was relieved. He didn’t think it would be a good idea to let on that he was gay, and especially not to let on that Jim was getting him sexually excited.

 

“Well, let me take my shower, and then let’s grab some beers, some food, and see what we’ve got to watch. Do you still feel like doing a movie?”

 

“Yeah. I think that would be fun.”

 

“Great. You can look through the collection and see what you’d like.  I’ve got some great beach movies, if you want to keep enjoying pretty girls with not much on.

 

“Incidentally, I noticed your clothes were pretty dirty, since you tossed them into some mud when you stripped, which was kind of stupid.  I gave them to one of the servants to wash. They’ll be ready in a couple of hours. You can either put on something from my closet, or just stay naked. Either way is OK by me.”

 

“I don’t want to mess up your stuff,” Matt replied, liking the idea of being naked around Jim. “I’ll just wait. And thanks for getting my stuff washed.  My foster dad won’t let me use the clothes washer, so I go to the laundromat and pay for it with money I earn.  He says it will build my worthless character.  I don’t have enough money to do that at the moment, so I really appreciate you getting them cleaned.  I didn’t realize I’d tossed them in mud, and he’d yell at me a lot for that.”

 

“My pleasure.  So you won’t be uncomfortable, I’ll stay naked too.” Then Jim went into the shower, with Matt still watching him. Matt realized he might be staring, and quickly left the bathroom.

 

The two boys spent the rest of the afternoon and the evening sharing a great dinner prepared by the house staff, enjoying a few beers, and watching a movie, never bothering to get dressed.  It was an old beach film about teens in love with lots of surfing scenes and pretty much everyone in bathing suits all the time.  Matt loved it, since the girls provided an excuse for him still having a hard on as they watched.  Sitting next to Jim with both of their bodies fully revealed was an amazing turn-on and the real reason for the consistent erection.  And, as Jim had noted earlier, it wasn’t like Jim’s cock was all shriveled up.

 

That afternoon started what became a routine whenever Jim’s schedule permitted it.  It wasn’t all that frequent at first but increased a lot during Matt’s sophomore year. After the group of Jim’s friends played sports on the beach, now almost always using the nude beach, Jim and Matt would walk to Jim’s house, clean up, get beer and food, and plop down on a sofa to be entertained from Jim’s extensive collection of DVDs. They would watch movies that featured guys who were shirtless and well built along with scantily clad girls. And after their showers the routine included Jim having servants wash Matt’s clothes.  Matt was grateful that Jim had taken pity on him for his plight of not having access to a clothes washer.  But more importantly he loved the fact they watched the movies naked.  For Matt, these were the greatest experiences of his life. Indeed, it was the only time he’d ever really had things go well for him.  It never dawned on him that Jim was subtly maneuvering him and slowly starting Matt’s training.  Jim even pretended to complain that his dad wouldn’t let him have sex with any of his girlfriends, so he needed to masturbate instead, inviting Matt to do the same if he’d like to, while they watched the pretty girls in the movies.  Jim also added a collection of straight porn flicks to reinforce the idea.  Matt had no trouble performing given the guys in the movies, and most especially given his view of Jim’s body, especially as Jim jerked off.  They never touched each other, but the routine had quickly expanded to include mutual masturbation, albeit with Matt jerking off much more often than Jim.  Matt, of course, enjoyed that the most and never considered the possibility that Jim’s explanations were made up to get Matt comfortable having orgasms while Jim watched.  (Jim, in turn, did have to admit Matt’s cock was longer than his after they measured them.  That became an ongoing joke between them.)

 

It wasn’t until Matt’s junior year, while they were celebrating Matt’s 18th birthday, when Jim moved the training beyond their low-key relationship.  Jim had invited Matt over right after school to celebrate and started by offering him a beer – another consistent part of their routine.  But since there were no nude sports beforehand, both boys were still dressed.

 

Jim then let Matt know that there was a house rule Matt needed to know about.

 

“There’s something I sort of need to let you in on, which I haven’t been up front about,” Jim said, in a confidential tone. “I haven’t said anything until now, because I like hanging out with you and I have been afraid it might turn you off.”

 

“Are you kidding?” Matt responded. “This is the greatest time ever for me. Nothing could turn me off about hanging out here with you.  You don’t know how I live otherwise. My life sucks.”

 

“Interesting choice of words,” mused Jim. “But, anyway, here goes.

 

“As you know, I live with my dad, who is incredibly rich, and a bunch of servants. You haven’t met any of them yet, because the servants stay out of the way when we have

visitors, and you haven’t met my dad since he travels a huge amount on business and he’s good about leaving me and my buddies alone.  The servants take care of things like fixing dinner and leave it where we can get it, like they do when they wash your clothes. What you don’t know is that dad is a fervent nudist. He is always naked and insists that everyone in the house also be naked.  I’ve gotten used to it, and kind of like it. That’s why I started getting the guys to strip when we play on the beach.  Dad required the city designate that beach clothing optimal when he donated it to the city.  He’s also very generous but likes to get his way. Anyway, I didn’t want to impose that on you here and was afraid you’d get spooked if you saw a bunch of nude servants.  So I came up with the excuse of needing to have your clothes washed, which is why I took the pile you tossed the first time we came here and re-tossed it into some mud when you weren’t looking.  Making it a routine was easy once you told me you don’t have access to a clothes washer at home.  However, dad told me I must deal with the issue honestly.  And he’s returned from a long trip and might show up here. If I don’t come clean about this I’d be in trouble, and I like to please him.  He’s a great guy.”

 

Matt was a little taken aback, but only from surprise.  He quickly stripped off all his clothes and stood naked in front of Jim.

 

“No problem.  I’m naked now and will stay that way any time you want and in any place you want.  I am just hoping this doesn’t mean I don’t get access to your clothes washer.  Of course, I’m more than happy to do the washing myself so your servants don’t have to.  I’ve always felt a little guilty about that.  And I’ve discovered hanging around here that I like being naked.  In fact, my foster dad requires me to act as his servant when he has people over and insists that I do it nude.  He says it reflects how worthless I am, but I also think he likes looking at me that way.  Fortunately, he doesn’t spend much time at his house and doesn’t entertain much.  But being naked on the beach and in your house is nice.”

 

“Thanks,” Jim replied, also now naked.  “You won’t lose the service, and now you can get to meet some of the servants.  They’re really great guys too.”

 

As Matt considered this development, he admired how Jim had maneuvered things.  That alone was a turn-on for Matt.  He began to realize the extent to which Jim had always been in charge, and he liked it.  He was quite content to let Jim make all the decisions.  But he did tell Jim he felt he should do the washing, since he didn’t think someone else should be burdened with serving him (reflecting his extremely low self-esteem).  Jim agreed, pleased with Matt’s perspective.  That boded well for their future.

 

Then Jim revealed another surprise to Matt.

 

“There’s something else I think we should be honest about. And I think we should cover it before you turn even older – or start to get drunk.”  Jim had handed Matt a second beer and got another one for himself as well.

 

Matt laughed. “Yeah, once you’re 18 it’s all downhill from there. After all, look at you. You’re almost 19 and practically in a nursing home.”

 

“Exactly,” responded Jim, also laughing and taking a healthy swig form his beer. “I’d hate to check in without having had some real sex first. I don’t think you should run that risk either.  And just masturbating like we’ve been doing doesn’t count.  I had a long talk with my dad a while back and it’s OK with him.”

 

That took Matt completely by surprise. He didn’t say anything, but simply stared at Jim, afraid this meant Jim was going to end their sessions to have sex with one of his girlfriends.  As he did so, he was startled to see Jim’s cock starting to get hard. That had happened before, of course, when they were masturbating and watching pretty girls in the porn flicks.  But this seemed different to Matt, and he also started to get excited.

 

“Look, Matt. I know you’re gay. I’ve known it for a long time – sure of it since we were first hanging out on the beach. I could see you staring at me and at the other guys, and I’ve noticed how you get erections all the time when the other guys are around and when we’re naked together.  I could hardly miss that giant hard-on you got when I first invited you to hang out with me and we walked naked together to the house from the beach.  It isn’t girls you’re thinking of, is it?  It’s guys, especially me.”

 

Matt was still silent. He didn’t know what to say. Would Jim throw him out?  Was he being dismissed because he was gay? But why was Jim getting hard?  Matt was scared, confused, and somehow sort of excited all at once.  He started to tear up.

 

“It’s not a problem.”  Jim realized Matt was starting to freak out.  “What I’m trying to tell you, you amazingly dense idiot, is that I’m gay too. That’s why I’m getting a hard-on right now. I’m thinking of how much fun it would be if you sucked my cock.”

 

Matt couldn’t believe what he had just heard. Could his fantasy come true?  Would this marvelous episode in his life – the only decent one – get even better? He finally responded.

 

“Wow. I had no idea. I guess I am a dense idiot – but I already knew that.  You’re right. I am gay.  And you really turn me on. The erections we laughed about were always because I’m sitting here next to you and I can see your body.  You’re the best-looking guy I’ve ever seen, and your cock is awesome, even if a little short.”  Matt couldn’t help teasing Jim, which relieved some of the tension.

 

“Thanks. And it’s long enough to go all the way down your throat.  So, have you had sex with another guy before?”

 

At this point Matt hesitated, stammered, and finally broke down crying.  He told Jim about the horrible things his foster father had done to him, sexually and otherwise, forcing him to suck cock and masturbate to entertain everyone at his parties.  He had already told Jim about having to serve them naked, but now added that he was required to do so with an erection for them to laugh at, and to wear a slave collar.  His foster father knew he was gay and used that as part of the reason he was so worthless and deserving of ridicule and deprivation.  It was all totally illegal, but Matt was too scared to say anything.  He had never mentioned any of it to anyone, and as he finished his confessions, Jim held him as he sobbed in Jim’s arms.  It was the first loving embrace Matt could remember ever receiving.  He soon recovered, however, and apologized to Jim for losing control.  He then asked Jim if this meant Jim would not want to be with him, given what Matt had done.  Like many underage victims, Matt had reacted to the experiences with a strong sense of personal guilt, in his case strongly reinforced by his foster parent.  After Jim assured Matt there was no reason for him to feel guilty, and this was no problem for Jim or their relationship, Matt asked if Jim had had any sex with other guys before.

 

“Yup. Lots and lots of times. Dad figured out that I’m gay as soon as I hit puberty, and it’s OK with him. It turns out he’s gay too. He makes sure all the servants also are young, gay, and good looking. That way our household is sort of one big male fuck party. I get to fuck any of the servants I want and have them suck my cock. But I don’t let them fuck my ass, and I’m glad that hasn’t happened to you either.  I like to do the fucking, and I haven’t slept alone for years.  If you want, and when I think you’re ready, I’ll introduce you to the joys of being butt-fucked.  Dad’s only rule is that he gets to pick first among the staff for his own fun.  They’re all both remarkably sexy and fixated on gay sex, so that’s not much of a limitation.”

 

Matt was now fully back in control of himself but completely astonished. He had never even imagined such a place could exist. This was clearly too good to be true.

 

“So,” continued Jim, who was now fully erect and smiling broadly. “About my cock . . . ”

 

Matt didn’t need another hint and he didn’t waste any time. His experiences hadn’t been good, but he knew what to do.  He gently took hold of Jim’s manhood and knelt in front of him as Jim settled into the couch, and then lovingly took the young hard cock into his mouth. Matt caressed the beautiful muscle with his tongue, focusing on the glans, licking all around the corona and especially the lower skin of the shaft just behind it. Matt knew that was where it was the most pleasurable to touch himself to masturbate, and he figured that would be a good place to lick to get Jim off.  What he didn’t tell Jim was that the best techniques for giving a blow job was the only thing his foster parent had ever bothered to teach him.  His technique would be evaluated and discussed at the parties and he would be punished if it was found wanting – which it always was.

 

Jim’s body began to sway a bit, and he let out a soft moan of pleasure.

 

“Wow. You’re really good at sucking cock. You’ve got talent, my boy.”

 

Matt kept to his task, enjoying it far more than he had ever even fantasized that he could. His own cock was now literally throbbing and leaking pre-cum from sexual excitement.  But the focus was on Jim.

 

After a while, Jim’s body began to gyrate, his breathing intensified, and his cock exploded. A massive

load of cum erupted into Matt’s mouth. Matt swallowed it all, hungrily and eagerly. He didn’t even consider having Jim withdraw and shoot outside Matt’s mouth. Matt wanted Jim’s man-juice. And he continued to lick the streaming cock as it emptied it load down his throat, intensifying Jim’s pleasure.

 

Jim finally stopped shooting his load, and his cock drooped a bit, but not much.  Jim took it out of Matt’s mouth, sighing with pleasure.

 

“That was just fucking amazing. I think that’s the best blow job I’ve ever had and the biggest load I’ve ever shot.  You really got me turned on. I like the fact you had the good manners to swallow it all, too. Thanks a lot.”

 

“You’re welcome,” was the sincere response. “I’ll do that any time you want.  Just let me know. And let me know if you want to try other stuff too, or how I can do better to please you.  Whenever you decide you want to fuck my ass, it’s yours to use as you want.”

 

“I will. But it looks like you’re about to shoot too.  Do you want to shoot a load to land on my chest? That would be fun to watch, and then you could lick it up.”

 

Matt was delighted with the offer.  He instinctively knew that it was his job to service Jim, not the other way around. That was perfectly fine, the way things should be.  He wanted to get himself off in front of his friend, if that was something Jim wanted him to do. So Matt positioned himself, kneeling on the couch over Jim while Jim lay on his back, watching the show.  It didn’t take Matt long to shoot – he was sexually excited as he had never been before. Matt shot a nice load onto Jim’s smooth chest and belly. Then, per Jim’s instructions, Matt licked up his own cum.  As he worked his way down Jim’s chest to his belly and crotch, he saw that Jim’s cock was once again fully erect.  So after a nod from Jim he again took it in his mouth and again massaged Jim to orgasm.  The second load wasn’t as huge, but it was still decent, and Matt enjoyed swallowing that too.  Jim lay back on the couch, utterly satisfied.  That’s what pleased Matt the most.

 

The boys decided to clean up, but this time they showered together. Matt washed Jim’s wonderful skin, then washed himself. Matt was once again hard, turned on by touching Jim. What Matt hadn’t realized yet was that he was also turned on by the fact he was serving Jim.  And since Jim didn’t suggest Matt jerk off again, the idea never occurred to Matt to give himself added sexual relief.  His sexual energy kept him nice and hard, more fun for Jim to look at.

 

The boys got some dinner and watched another movie.  This time dinner was brought to them by a naked stud servant – Dennis – who was himself a complete turn-on with an impressive erection.  Before they ate Jim asked Dennis to give Matt a blow job.  Jim also had Dennis position himself so Jim could fuck his ass as Dennis sucked off Matt.   Dennis eagerly obliged both requests, seriously turned on by Matt’s body and eager to host Jim’s cock.  Matt was amazed and grateful for Jim’s thoughtfulness in letting Matt get a blow job for the first time ever, especially from such a great-looking stud.  After Jim and Matt shot their loads, Matt offered to suck off Dennis, if that was OK with Jim.  Dennis soon sent a nice load down Matt’s throat.  It was a fantastic turn—on for all three of them, but especially for Matt.  He had never had a birthday party at all, let alone one like this!

 

Then, to continue the fun, it was movie time.  Jim showed Matt another set of movie choices.

 

“We don’t have to pretend any more.   These are all gay porn flicks. The guys are naked, fucking and sucking each other. I think we’ll like these better.  Dad bought a studio so he could have very high-quality porn with scenes he likes.  It was worth every penny, and I get to make suggestions too.”

 

Matt was in complete agreement. He looked at the selection – it was huge. Best of all, it included a variety of kinds of gay movies. Some were just of guys jerking off. Some had orgies, others were gang bangs. And some showed guys being restrained, engaged in S&M scenes. Jim seemed to have a whole lot of that kind.

 

“What looks good to you,” asked Jim. “Since you did such a nice job on my cock, and it’s your birthday, I’ll let you pick our first gay porn flick that we watch together.”

 

“Well, these all look pretty exciting,” said Matt, holding up a box that showed a young dude being whipped. “But I’ve never seen any S&M stuff.  How about one of these? They look particularly interesting.”

 

“They are,” agreed Matt. “You’ve made a good choice.  It’s got scenes with that guy getting gang-fucked while he’s being whipped.”  So, aided by a few more beers courtesy of Dennis, they greatly enjoyed Matt’s first S&M gay porn film.

 

After the movie Jim commented:  “When I saw it the first time, I liked it so much I had dad track down the guy and we invited him over to the estate for a fun weekend to celebrate my own 17th birthday.  He’s the first guy I personally got to flog.  The coolest part was that he wanted to be flogged.  Some guys get into that big time, so it’s a turn-on for everyone.  We did lots of other things to him, which were also a lot of fun.  Dad told me what to try and it was quite an education for me and for our guest.  Dad had paid him a very generous fee, and he was willing to push his limits a lot.  It turned out the guy had been in trouble with the law and dad got that straightened out for him. So he was doubly grateful and eager to show it.  He did everything we wanted him to do.  On the last night of the weekend he even joined us for dinner and everyone celebrated and toasted the events.   Dad had one of the studio crews film it, so I’ve got a great move I can show you sometime.”

 

Matt asked Jim if they could watch the home movies now, but Jim said they were at the estate, so they’d have to settle for what he had at the house.  But he had a lot. Dennis fetched another round, and Jim and Matt watched a second S&M movie that was even more severe.  As they watched it, both boys once again got excited, their naked bodies finally touching as they groped and kissed each other while they rolled around on the large sofa, any inhibitions cast aside in a mixture of lust and alcohol. In due course, after Matt had kissed every part of Jim’s amazing body, Jim guided Matt’s mouth back to his cock. The third load that filled Matt’s mouth was still impressive. Matt then added to the movie entertainment by popping another load and licking it up for Jim’s viewing pleasure.

 

This time Jim had instructed him to shoot on the wooden floor.  That way Matt was down on all fours as he used his tongue to do the clean-up, which gave Jim a nice view of how Matt looked doggie-style. He wasn’t disappointed, and when he commented on Matt’s position Matt added to the laughter by barking for Jim’s amusement, then kneeling doggie style and begging for more cum.

 

“You’ve drained me completely,” Jim laughed.  “I’m all out of cum for now, but I’ll be needing to get rid of a bunch of piss with all these beers.”

 

The second movie not only had a lot of gangbang fucking and flogging, it also had some water sports, as the gang-bangers unloaded their piss down the guy’s throat and then made him lick their cocks clean.  Jim noticed Matt seemed interested in those scenes too.  Jim decided to find out a bit more about how “flexible” Matt really was.

 

“I like the scenes where a guy pisses down another guy’s throat,” Jim confided. “I know people think it’s gross, but It can be a genuine turn-on for both guys.  Some of our servants like it too, and a few, like Dennis, can take my whole load without dripping any of the piss.”

 

“Really?” asked Matt, his education continuing. “Can a guy really drink that much? Don’t they choke on all that piss?”

 

Jim was pleased with the answer. Matt wasn’t resistant or turned off.  He just wanted information.

 

“No. Some guys are talented at it, like the guy in the movie. How about if we find out if you’re one of them? I do need to pee, and could have Dennis come back in, but, after all, you’re right here.” Jim laughed, easing the tension he was afraid Matt would feel.

 

But Matt felt no tension at all. He simply got on his knees once again and opened his mouth. Jim let loose a major load of beer-flavored piss, using Matt as a human urinal. To Jim’s surprise, Matt successfully took the entire load on his first try, not spilling a drop.  Jim was pleased and impressed.  Realizing that Matt would also need to piss, Jim summoned Dennis once again, and Dennis was more than willing to service Matt.  Matt enjoyed that too, but admitted he preferred to be on the receiving end.  “I guess I’m more the submissive type.”  So Dennis obliged and drained a load into Matt’s willing mouth.  All three boys had a great time as Matt learned more and more about himself.

 

Jim asked Matt if he’d like to stay the night, and of course Matt said yes.  Jim explained that he had already chosen Dennis to sleep with and once again butt-fuck, but there was room in the bed for all three of them. He suggested that Matt could suck Dennis’ cock while Jim fucked his ass. Matt was always welcome to shoot a load any time he wanted, so long as Jim could watch him do it, including watching Matt lick up the cum.  Or, if it was OK with Dennis, Matt’s load could go down Dennis’s throat.   So that’s exactly what they did. It was the first of many nights together, with Jim selecting the third (and often the fourth) companion form among the servants.   Matt would be “available” in Jim’s bed for the servants Jim selected, and Matt quickly became quite expert at sucking cock.  Jim, in turn, enjoyed watching Matt jerk off onto the servant’s chest, or on the floor, and then lick up the cum. If Jim sucked off one of the guys and had him shoot a load on Jim’s chest, Matt licked up that cum too.  Jim would usually butt-fuck the servant, but he also liked to have Matt suck his cock, and often had Matt clean it after shooting into the servant’s asshole, usually followed by draining a load of Jim’s piss.  Matt also received great blow jobs form the servants, but mostly just did everything Jim requested, or even hinted at.  As Matt realized Jim didn’t get as much satisfaction when Matt shot down another guy’s throat rather than pumping out his load where he could then lick it up, Matt consistently did the latter.  He wanted to please Jim.

 

Matt functioned as a cocksucker and a urinal but was not butt-fucked.  Jim said that would wait until there was a special occasion.  Matt also was not used as an object of Jim’s fun for S&M play.  Jim enjoyed whipping the guys he fucked, as well as inflicting cock and ball torture.  It was pretty tame the first evening with Dennis but grew more intense in later visits.  Matt was very turned on by this and offered his body for Jim’s use, however he wanted to use it, but again Jim deferred “for now.”

 

Also, Matt was delighted and turned on to accept Jim’s morning load of piss. That would be followed by another sex scene, and if the servant also wanted to use Matt as his morning urinal, that was OK with Matt so long as Jim approved, which he always did.  Matt had naturally understood that all decisions were to be made by Jim.

 

Matt stayed at Jim’s house whenever he could do so, which was increasingly frequent during Jim’s senior year.  Indeed, after the first evening’s introduction to sex Matt rarely spent time at his foster home. His foster parent hardly noticed. He just cared if the checks kept coming. If Matt wasn’t around, that meant he got to keep the whole check without wasting even the small amount of money he was forced to spend on Matt.

 

Their time together weren’t just sex, and the two teens shared their thoughts about everything – school, life, being gay, and what they would do after high school.  They were in a sociology class together, and they enjoyed talking about the theories the teacher explained.  He had taught that slavery was wrong in the old days because it was based on race or class rather than merit.  But he explained that there were different roles and desires among people, and some were meant to lead, and enjoyed doing that, while others were meant to follow and serve.  Jim told Matt how his dad was a natural leader and expected Jim to do the same.  Jim was eager to pursue that, and after high school he’d be getting special training that would be far more intense and useful than regular college.  Matt was intrigued and glad there were people like Jim and his dad who were able to take charge.  As for himself, he had no plans and no idea what he’d do, but his foster dad consistently told him he’d probably wind up in jail since he was so worthless.  For both boys, these exchanges were a unique chance to share their deepest feelings, and they did so.  Jim even shared the fact his family actually owned slaves, who were suited to their role and completely comfortable with it.  “Like our teacher said, it would be wrong to discriminate, but it’s right to recognize roles.  On the island where we have our estate there is a small group of leaders who work with my dad.  Then there’s a much bigger group of citizens who lead great and productive lives, not burdened by having to make the tough political choices dad and his colleagues make for them.  It’s all supported by a very large group of willing slaves who are obedient and content.  They’re doing what they were born and best suited to do.  So everyone is happy and the place is like a paradise.  I’d love to show you sometime.”  To Matt this all made sense and he eagerly encouraged Jim to do so.

 

As the school year ended and Jim approached graduation, he invited Matt to his estate, and suggested he plan to spend a week right after classes were over. Matt had been intensely curious and hopeful he might get invited someday.  He accepted at once.

 

“Do I need to bring anything?” Matt asked.

 

“Hell, no,” came the amused reply. “Just your mouth and your cock.  And, if you’re a good boy, maybe your ass for fucking and your back for whipping.  I think it’s time we took things up a notch or two.”  Matt got the point and was now even more excited.  Jim would finally fuck his ass as he did all the other guys he had sex with and use Matt for S&M sex.  Those prospects totally turned Matt on. And he assured Jim he was ready and willing.

 

3

A Whole New World

 

As Matt left the building after his last day of the spring semester, which included an assembly at which he’d received one award as the best athlete in his class and a second award as the best scholar, he was still upset from events at his foster home from the prior evening.  His foster dad had gotten what would be the final support check since Matt was aging out of the foster-care system.  He informed Matt that the “gravy train” was over and Matt was no longer welcome.  He also informed Matt that he was keeping all Matt’s possessions and told him to leave now. He didn’t want a worthless piece of shit like Matt continuing to infect his house.  Matt had already stripped naked and given his foster dad a blow job, which he was now required to do to “earn” his dinner whenever he went home.  The ritual had started a year or so earlier and usually ended with Matt drinking a load of piss to follow the cum.  Matt enjoyed that at Jim’s, but here it was a degrading punishment.  Worse, this time his “dad” followed it by pissing all over Matt’s body, then holding his face down in the toilet where had had just taken a shit, leaving him with the stench and taste of piss and crap as he was forced out the door.  Matt was in tears as he had begged for some clothes and a chance to wash off, but that was met with harsh laughter, a hard kick to his balls, and a door slammed in his face.  Matt’s spirit was broken, and he stood and wept for a long time.

 

Matt spent the night sleeping naked on the beach, washing himself in the ocean.  A cop had arrested him early the next morning since this was not the nude beach, threatening to put him in jail.  Fortunately, the cop was willing to overlook the violation in return for a blow job, telling Matt that would be good practice for when Matt was arrested again as he certainly would be given his pathetic status.  After the cop left Matt managed to bum some money for cheap shorts, sandals, and a T-shirt to wear to school in return for giving another guy on the beach a morning blow job.  Matt realized he was now nothing more than a prostitute.  It was the worst day of all the bad days in foster care.  Matt was glad that phase was over but knew he’d have to figure out something when he returned from Jim’s estate.  He figured being a prostitute was his only viable option.

 

Matt was very pleased and surprised to see the sleek, impressive limo that picked up Jim waiting on the street in front of the school.  He assumed this meant Jim was nearby, and he desperately wanted to be with his friend.  The driver was Dennis, Matt’s favorite of Jim’s servants, who was standing next to the limo.  Dennis spotted Matt and signaled for him to come over.  Matt figured this meant Jim was already in the car.  But what most caught Matt’s attention was the fact Dennis was totally naked other than a sporty chauffer’s cap.  He was stroking his cock, which was already hard. What was more amazing to Matt was that no one was hassling Dennis.  There was some giggling and pointing from students, but both students and teachers left him alone.

 

As Matt reached the car Dennis greeted him with a friendly slap on the back.

 

“Master James sent me to pick you up.  He heard what happened with your foster dad and figured you’d need a little TLC and want to clean up at the house before we head to the airport.  He also thought it would be fun to put on a little scene for your fellow students and make it a “coming out” statement by you.  He thinks it would be better if you were open about the fact you’re a submissive gay.  Besides, it might balance the swollen ego you probably have after your awards.”

 

“Ah, sure,” was Matt’s confused reply.  Matt was nervous, mostly because no one had ever picked him up before, let alone in a limo. “I’ll do whatever Jim wants, but after last night and this morning no one needs to worry about me having an inflated ego.  What does Jim have in mind?”

 

“It’s pretty simple.  You start by stripping naked, putting on this slave collar, and stroking yourself to get an erection.  Then you carry your clothes to the Goodwill bin about a block down the street. Drop them in and walk back here.  That should get everyone’s attention.  When you return to the car he wants you to kneel and give me a blow job, swallowing me cum and a load of piss.  Then do the same for any other guys who want to be serviced.  After that you won’t have to hide your sexual orientation any more.  We’ll drive to the house where you can clean up and we can pick up Master James.”

 

“Are you sure?  What happens if I get arrested?  That’s already happened once today.  And these are the only clothes I have – my asshole foster dad took everything else.”

 

Dennis laughed heartily.  “Wow.  You really are as dense as Master James says you are.  Do you seriously think anyone would mess with a friend of his?  Do you have any idea just how powerful he and his dad really are, and how much they have given to the school and the city?  Why do you think everyone’s leaving me alone while I play with my dick naked and in public?  As for clothes, everyone is nude at the estate.  You’re going to visit a whole new world young man.”

 

Matt considered Dennis’ comments, and it all made sense.  Besides, it was what Jim wanted and that’s what mattered.  So he got naked, put on the slave collar, got hard, walked naked to the next block, dropped his clothes in the Goodwill bin, and returned to get on his knees in front of Dennis for the blow-job.  He also dropped the awards in a garbage can, thinking how pointless all his efforts at school had been.  He would leave town with absolutely nothing.

 

The blow job did get people’s attention, as expected, and a group of Jim’s buddies wandered over to enjoy the show, some of them stripping off their shirts and taking out their own cocks to join in.  Matt had no trouble getting Dennis off, and dutifully swallowed generous loads of cum and piss as the crowd laughed and cheered.  Dennis asked the assembled guys if anyone else was horny and wanted service, which of course they all did.  Matt got to suck off about 8 more guys, most of whom hadn’t used a human urinal before but didn’t hesitate to use Matt.  It was a popular stunt, and all the guys told Dennis to thank Jim for the entertainment.  (No one even considered thanking Matt.)  They told Matt he should spend his next and last year in school aiming for awards as “Best Cocksucker” and “Best Urinal,” instead of athletics or academics, laughing and mocking him, roughing him up with a few well-placed kicks to his nuts, and telling him to be sure to wear his new collar to school if he was stupid enough to come back, because they had a lot of torment to inflict now that his protector Jim would be gone.  The odd part to Matt was that he didn’t mind.  Being sexually used and degraded in front of an audience in public turned him on, and he was pretty sure he wouldn’t mind providing “service” to his classmates next year.  Maybe one of them would let him stay in his house in return.  That would still be prostitution of a sort, but at least safer.

 

After the show was over, Dennis proceeded to open the rear door for Matt, motioning him to get in.  But that made Matt uncomfortable. He couldn’t conceive of a chauffeur taking him in a limo.  “If you promise not to crash the car when you cum, how about if I ride up front and suck your cock again while we drive to the house?  I see it’s gotten hard while I was sucking off the other guys.  I’m not the type that deserves to ride in the back of a fancy limo unless it’s to service Jim.  And, by the way, how far is it to the estate.  I have no idea.  I think you said something about an airport?”

 

Dennis was in a great mood and enjoyed the banter with Matt.  He agreed to let Matt sit up front until they picked up Jim.

 

“Master James is in no hurry, and while you suck and swallow I can answer your questions about the estate.”

 

Matt didn’t hesitate and leaned over to accept Dennis’ cock as Dennis started the limo.  Matt was almost as turned on by Dennis’ body as by Jim’s, but Dennis hadn’t said anything about Matt shooting his own load so he didn’t even consider that option.  As they drove Dennis explained that the estate was on a huge island near Hawaii, and they were going to fly there.

 

“They own the whole island, which is about the size of Manhattan, and it has its own airport.  There are hundreds of thousands of people who live there, and it’s the real headquarters of the family enterprises.  We’ll take off from the commercial airport near town, where the plane is in their private hanger.  These guys are rich beyond what anyone understands.

 

“I think you’ll enjoy the plane ride.  The plane is amazing, and all decked out for sex parties.  It’s a safe bet we won’t be the only ones on board, and everyone will have the same idea.  You’ll be able to get lots of practice sucking cock and having yours sucked in prep for the long weekend.  It’ll be about a two-hour flight so there’ll be lots of time.”

 

As Dennis finished his explanation he also reached his orgasm and shot a load down Matt’s throat.  Matt was fascinated by what he’d heard but had not been distracted from his task.  Once he finished swallowing the cum, he did pause to inquire, however.

 

“I assume you’ll also want to piss, which I’m happy to drink.  But first, I think you said a two-hour flight.  Isn’t it more like four or five hours to fly to Hawaii from here?”

 

Dennis guided Matt’s mouth back to his cock by way of confirming he had a load of piss, then answered the other question simply.

 

“It takes nearly five hours if you fly commercial. But commercial jets don’t fly at supersonic speeds.  Like I said, these guys are wealthy at a whole different level.”

 

As Dennis finished pissing down Matt’s throat they drove through the security gate and into the driveway at the mansion.  Matt quickly headed inside to clean up, and when he returned to the car he moved to the back seat.  Jim was already inside, naked and erect, quickly guiding Matt’s head to his cock.  “No point waiting until we get to the airport to start enjoying ourselves, right? I figure you can suck my cock and drink a load of cum at least once by the time we get to the airport, and then we can have a lot of fun with the other guys on the flight, including Dennis.   Although I understand he might have to work up a little sex drive again given the pickup and car ride activities he just told me about.”

 

“Not to worry,” laughed Dennis.  “You and Matt are sexy enough to get me going again.  The real question is if you’ll still have enough cum left to fill my ass in due course.”

 

Both Dennis and Jim continued to enjoy their teasing as they drove to the airport.  Matt didn’t say anything, but immediately got to work on Jim’s cock. He and Jim each managed to shoot their first loads of the weekend well before the limo drove into the private airport hangar.

 

The plane was as awesome as Dennis had described and Matt was thrilled to see about 10 of Jim’s favorite sex partners waiting for them.  He learned that the household was moving to the island estate, and the mansion would be closed as a primary home since Jim was done with high school and they didn’t need a house there anymore.

 

As Dennis had promised, the plane ride turned into a fabulous sex party.  Matt had participated in lots of threesomes with Jim, but this was his first real orgy.  It was better than anything he could imagine, and he was kept busy sucking and swallowing, but also was encouraged to shoot as many loads himself as part of the entertainment.  Everyone was totally drained by the time they landed, and courtesy of Jim his sex buddies were also sore not only from being fucked in the ass but from being objects of his S&M whips and other toys. Matt was anxious and hopeful to join that group, totally turned on by the thought of being fucked and whipped.

 

When they finished the drive form the airport on the island and finally arrived at the estate, Matt was amazed. He’d never seen anything so large or so impressive, even in pictures or movies. This was truly an estate.  Jim explained that they had about 5,000 acres tied to the manor house itself, which was only a small part of their island.  He also explained that there were about 500 guys working on the estate in various functions, from gardeners and cooks to drivers and butlers.

 

“They all have jobs of some sort, but mostly the workers on the estate itself are here for sex,” Jim explained with considerable enthusiasm.  “lots and lots of sex.”

 

“There are also other regular communities on the island, which include thousands of workers and their families, who manage and run our various businesses and help assure everything remains out of public view.  Dad’s got a whole lot more money than anyone knows about,” he added. “It’s many multiples of $100 billion, but he stays out of sight. The island itself isn’t on any maps and isn’t part of any country.  That way we can enjoy all the money and still not lose our privacy.  We can do whatever we want on our own property, with our own property.  And the people who live and work here get to be in a paradise without the burden of having to make decisions on things like government and social policy.  There is no poverty, no crime or disruptions, and everyone has wonderful, productive lives and careers.  As I told you before, all this is supported by a massive group of slaves who are obedient and content to be property.”

 

Matt was absolutely overwhelmed and excited to be there. He didn’t care what the family’s motives were. He just wanted to please Jim, so he could stay a while, especially if it involved gay sex. As he thought further about it, he realized he just wanted to please Jim no matter what.  He was in lust and in love.

 

Jim and Matt got out of the limo that picked them up at the island’s airport and headed to the front door, each with his hard cock protruding in front of him.  They had continued to enjoy each other during the ride.

 

“Wow.” Matt could only manage a one-word comment as he tried to express his wonder. He was even more impressed when he saw the butler who opened the door for Jim.  The guy was in his early thirties and could have been a major movie star on looks alone. He too had an erection – a very impressive one at that.

 

“I gather dad’s home?” asked Jim, pointing at the butler’s hard cock.

 

“Yes, sir, he is,” was the polite and respectful response, accompanied by a friendly smile and then a very warm embrace as the two men hugged each other, their cocks rubbing together and leaking a little precum. Matt just stared, eager to figure out how he might be allowed to suck this guy’s cock.

 

Jim explained that his dad required the house staff to maintain erections whenever he was in the house, for his amusement and sexual satisfaction. One of the companies they owned made a sort of “Viagra plus” drug that enabled guys to be hard pretty much constantly.

 

“It’s not on the market yet, but it works really well. I’ll get you some, although I’m not sure you need it being as horny as you are.” Jim laughed as he jokingly slapped Matt’s cock.  “The drug has a side effect that could create marketing issues.  It causes a fatal heart attack in about 10% of the users.  The marketing group wants to wait until the number looks better before releasing it generally.  We’re doing lots of field tests and think it’ll get lower soon, maybe even under 5%.  Meanwhile, we have no problem getting volunteers on the island to try it given the upside effects, and it’s mandatory for guys working at the estate and for slaves.  It’s pretty much constant erections and plentiful orgasms with gobs of sperm.  Young guys will take a little risk for that.  I’d hate to learn you’re in that unlucky 10%, but having you erect all the time is worth the risk.  You’ll be even more fun to play with if you don’t keel over dead from it.”

 

“Sure, no problem,” came Matt’s quick reply.  “That sounds like a very reasonable risk and I do think I’d be a better sex partner.  So just sign me up.”

 

“Great,” Jim continued, as he gave Matt a pill from a nearby container and continued with more background on the estate.  Matt hadn’t noticed that Jim actually had not asked his consent, but Jim ignored that for now.  “Edward here is the head butler and runs the whole household, which is what butlers do. Dad put him in charge almost ten years ago so he truly knows the place and the people.  He’s amazingly competent, plus being one of dad’s favorite studs.  He’s got a great butt and knows how to use that cock. I walked in on the two of them the other night while they were having at it in the living room. It was quite a scene. Dad was in such a good mood he let me join in and we double-fucked Edward.  But we were both still horny, and Edward was about to burst, so dad sent for some more of the staff to service all three of us.  I kept fucking Edward, shooting another load up his ass as the group assembled. It turned into a terrific party, lasting well into the night.”

 

Jim’s story almost caused Matt to shoot another load. He was careful not to touch himself, he was so excited at what he had seen and heard. If only he could become part of this scene, he’d do whatever it took to keep them satisfied.  A 10% risk of dying form a drug that made him a more appealing stud was a no-brainer to take.

 

It was then that Jim’s dad walked in. His demeanor and the perfection of his body filled Matt with even more lust and awe. While Jim’s dad was obviously older than Jim, probably mid-40s, he was the most handsome male Matt had ever seen. Matt realized he wanted to suck the dad’s cock as much as Jim’s.  It was huge, but not out of place for the smooth, rock-hard, and perfectly formed body. Like the rest of the group, the massive cock was erect and ready for action.

 

“Hi Jim,” he greeted his son, giving him a huge hug. “I see you brought Matt with you. Welcome to our home, Matt. My name’s David Fletcher.  I’m Jim’s dad.”

 

Matt was once again taken aback – this time by the courtesy and kindness in the voice. He barely had the presence of mind to respond.

 

“Thank you, sir.  I’m grateful to be here. This is a fantastic place, sir.” Matt could not bring himself to use Mr. Fletcher’s name. It just seemed too presumptuous. “Sir” was more appropriate.

 

“Glad you think so. We like it. Jim has told me a lot about you.  Are you two going to get a snack, work out, watch a movie, or just get right to fucking?”

 

“Matt’s never been butt-fucked before, dad, or whipped,” enthused Jim. “He really wants me to do both, and I’d like to start that right away.  We’ve already started with lots of sex on the flight and the limo rides.  I got some great cardio in by whipping the staff, especially Dennis, during our orgy, and also with a fun combo of whipping and gut punching of a new slave we just acquired.  I’m afraid I got a little carried away with that, and he’s being checked over by the vet.  His belly and balls just cried out to be punched hard and whipped.  He’ll probably be OK.  I hope so since I want to use him again even more aggressively.”

 

Matt had observed the “rules” of the orgy during the flight.  Jim was in charge, of course, and engaged in dominant sex and S&M.  But with staff he kept to strict limits.  Dennis was hugely turned on by being fucked and being whipped, so Jim laid into him and Dennis erupted with pain-induced pleasure.  However, Dennis was not turned on by having his body covered with clothespins, as some other guys were, so Jim refrained from that with him.  Jim was not the only sadist, and other staff who were got to enjoy their fun too, using the ones who were more masochist.  It was a balance that met everyone’s needs.  The exception was the slave Jim had referred to, who was used by everyone without any concern for his limits or desires.  As Jim had explained to Matt, that was what slaves were for, and they knew it and accepted it.  Further, that meant there was no need to push the limits of Jim or any of the staff, as they could get release from using the slave however they wanted.  It made perfect sense to Matt.

“Anyway,” Jim continued.  “If it’s OK I’d like to skip my formal work-out for now and fuck Matt’s ass, then flog him.  He’s invited me to do it before, but I wanted to wait for this weekend, so it can be part of our partying.”

 

“Is that correct?” Mr. Fletcher asked Matt. “And if so, would you like Jim to fuck you?  And whip you?”

 

“Yes, sir, it is.” Matt wanted to be very responsive. “And I’d be honored if Jim would be the first guy to do so.  Anyone else is also welcome to fuck me, whip me, or whatever, if that’s OK with you and Jim.  I think it would be fun for everyone if you made it a gangbang like I’ve seen in some of Jim’s S&M porn movies, and I suspect I’ve got a pretty tight hole since it’s never been used before.”

 

“Well, Jim’s workouts are important, but I guess that can come later. Plugging a virgin ass and doing some more vigorous flogging will give him a bit of exercise, and it isn’t something we get to do to such an eager and attractive butt every day, is it?  Whipping someone is good exercise if it’s done vigorously for a decent amount of time so that can be today’s workout.

 

Since he’s your guest, son, you get to fuck him first, although if you’re willing to share as he suggests I would like to take a turn. Is that OK with you?”  The question was to Jim, not Matt, as everyone understood the decisions were Jim’s.  And, besides, Matt had already volunteered to be the target of a gang-bang.  He had wondered why Jim hadn’t done it when they spent all those nights together, and he appreciated learning Jim did indeed want to make it a special occasion.  Jim gave his dad an enthusiastic “yes.”

 

“Great. Let’s go for it. Edward, I think I’ll fuck Dennis while I watch the opening act.  Why don’t you round him up along with 30 or 40 of the staff for the event? I know Jim likes an audience, and Matt can spend the afternoon getting a very personal introduction from some of the staff.  The rest can fuck him later – this won’t be our only session, and he has a very appealing butt all set to be used.

 

“By the way, be sure to include a urinal or two for when someone needs to piss,” Mr. Fletcher continued as Edward started to carry out the request.

 

“No need, dad,” Jim interrupted. “I’ve trained Matt to drink both piss and cum, and he’s really good at it. I bet he can service the whole group.”

 

“It would be a privilege to do so, sir,” interjected Matt, somewhat eagerly.  At one level he was taken aback by his offer turning into a rather massive gangbang, but he also understood that this was clearly a chance to ingratiate himself, and he didn’t want to fuck it up.  Besides, he was quite turned on by the prospect of all those cocks ramming his ass and then pissing down his throat.  It was a turn-on that made him feel useful.

 

“Well, son, it seems you’ve done a better job of training than even I had expected. I’m impressed. He also has good manners. It looks like you’ve found a talented young specimen. He’s well formed, and as you know I do like to start training when they’re still young. They’re so much more pliable while still in their late teens.”

 

They led Matt into the main hall, and then into a very large living room. It had lots of overstuffed chairs and expensive looking couches, a large oaken bar, and elegant oriental rugs. There was a fireplace already lit (although not needed given the warm weather) and a handsome young bartender and several waiters ready to get whatever someone wanted to eat or drink.

 

“Would you like a drink?” Jim asked Matt. “We have lots of beer, but you can have something different if you’d like.  I’m going for beers myself since that causes me to piss more. After all, I want to be considerate of my guest.  I know you’re fond of used beer from our movie dates.”

 

“Thanks, but in that case I’ll just wait to recycle yours.  I am sure you’re anxious to get your cock inside me, and it would be rude for me to make you wait while I drank a fresh beer.”  Mr. Fletcher observed the interaction between the boys with considerable satisfaction. Jim was maturing incredibly well. He had just finished high school, and his record was superb – athletics, great grades, leadership, and real popularity.  Jim had developed into a very handsome young man, in the prime of his sexual activity. His body was naturally good looking, and he diligently followed Mr. Fletcher’ admonition to make its maintenance a top priority.  So Jim’s muscles shone and his stamina was relentless.

 

What surprised and impressed Mr. Fletcher the most was how well Jim had trained Matt.  Matt would perform nicely if properly maintained. His sexual orientation was totally gay, and it was already clear that he had remarkably strong submissive and masochistic tendencies. Matt was meant to serve someone, and that someone would be Jim. Jim had also done an outstanding job introducing Matt to sex as a submissive but eager source for Jim’s own pleasures rather than focusing on what pleased Matt. Matt didn’t even seem to need instruction to realize that it was all about Jim.  Jim had already gotten Matt to accept that his role included being a human toilet. That usually took much longer in training slaves.  Yes, Matt would be a very good first slave for Jim.  Jim would not only enjoy Matt, but learn how to use slaves as property, not thinking of them as if they were still human.  Transitioning Matt from a virgin school buddy new to gay sex into an object to be fucked and used up was a very important next step in Jim’s maturity.  Mr. Fletcher wondered how Jim would react when it came time to dispose of Matt, but that was in the future.

 

It would never occur to Mr. Fletcher that Matt had any real value as a person.  He was well aware Matt was the star of the soccer team and at the top of his class academically. He even knew about the awards Matt had just gotten.  He especially knew Matt had overcome great adversity and lack of opportunity in a cruel setting.  After all, Matt’s foster dad was one of Mr. Fletcher’s employees, and had been carrying out his instructions in raising Matt to crush his self-esteem.  That had been a key part of his training.  To David Fletcher, Matt was simply an object to be used in the training and pleasure of what mattered – Jim, a member of the family dynasty and David’s chosen heir.  All those other things were just part of making Matt more useful for this purpose.  That final night in foster care, which left Matt with no possessions, naked and drenched with shit and urine, followed by utter humiliation in front of his classmates, was just a setup to assure Matt had no hope or sense of any future other than Jim.  It had obviously worked well.

 

What David did pay attention to was how wonderfully formed Matt was physically. He smiled as he noticed once again how some parts of any teenage boy develop sooner than others. In Matt’s case, he clearly had a fully developed cock, and it was seriously out of proportion to the relatively small size of the rest of his body. It made Matt an even sexier target, especially as Mr. Fletcher considered how fragile and vulnerable the rest of Matt’s body was. There is no way the 17-year old could resist a beating or whipping form the older, stronger males. That was what being an Alpha Male was all about, and it caused Mr. Fletcher to feel the need for an extra degree of satisfaction, as he realized he was getting seriously excited sexually.

 

“Edward,” David said quietly to his butler once he returned from sending messages for staff to join them. “Do we have any fresh young meat in the holding cells that’s ready for harvest later tonight? I think I’m getting rather horny for something a bit more extreme than what Jim will be doing at this point.”

 

“Indeed you are, sir,” came the respectful but playful answer as he stroked his employer’s manhood. “And I figured you would be.  I’d seen Matt before at the beach place, and I had a similar reaction. So I arranged for the cells to be fully stocked for the weekend.  We’ve got four especially promising candidates within the herd for you to choose from, who were on the plane in the slave cargo hold.  One of them looks a bit like Matt, although his cock isn’t as large. But he is also 17, pretty, and very reliable with his orgasms.  We got him a few weeks ago and we’ve been getting him prepared. He has responded very well to the drugs and training and is ready to be appreciative of your attention.  You should look at the others, too. They’re all good quality imports from the mainland and they all survived a double dose of the erection drug.  They’re expendable and unbelievably horny. Your program of payments to various police groups is starting to pay off. When they pick up these losers as truants or for petty crimes they’re checking in with us first. We tell them it’s for a rehab program, of course, and the prisoners sign a waiver agreeing to go into rehab.  I think a few of the cops suspect what’s really happening, and the irony is that those are the ones who are sending the better-quality meat. After all, it helps them clean up the streets.  So, as an aside, I have some suggestions on focusing and increasing the payments.”

 

“You’re pretty impressive at times,” responded Mr. Fletcher. “Do what you think is best as to the payments.  That’s chump change.  I’ll check out the collection later this afternoon. After all, Matt’s Jim’s toy. I wouldn’t want to mess up his indoctrination, which is obviously going extremely well.  After I choose my sport for the night, feel free to pick one for yourself.  Or maybe we can team up on a couple of them.”

 

“Thank you, sir. That’s very generous.”

 

David and Edward rejoined the main conversation. As they did so a waiter handed Mr. Fletcher a small salad he’d ordered, and the bartender served him a glass of expensive red wine.  As Mr. Fletcher took the salad (having not had anything since he landed that morning), the waiter asked if he’d like the usual dressing.  He nodded, and both the waiter and the bartender quickly jerked off, their beautiful bodies rapidly achieving orgasm so that their cocks spilled generous helpings of cum onto the salad.  They asked if he’d like more than that, and when he again nodded a second waiter did the same.  “Thanks.  That looks just right.  I do think cum makes the best dressing of all.”

 

By now, there were about 50 guys ready for the gangbang.  Word had spread, and Jim loved the idea of showing off his new sex toy.  All were studs, ready to shoot their load as soon as they had the chance. Quite a few started playing with each other, but most quickly focused on Matt. Here was new fresh meat, nice and young, and very available. They wanted to examine him, so they did. Matt was poked and prodded like cattle at an auction, with hands caressing his skin, fingers exploring his asshole, and several guys opening his mouth to examine the other potential opening for depositing cum. His tits were already hard, but they got harder as they were squeezed and massaged, with guys commenting on how nice and firm they were for a male so young.

 

Very shortly, the conversation turned to the issue of how best to position Matt for fucking.  Some of the guys suggested doggy style. Others wanted to use a sling.

 

“If we go doggy style, it’s more degrading for him,” argued a young bodybuilder whose cock was truly massive.

 

“Yeah, but if we use a sling Master Jim can see his face and enjoy the reaction as he slams his cock into that tiny little ass and rips him open,” argued another guy, who had a much slenderer build but had a larger cock. “With my giant penis I like to see the pain in the face when I enter. And it’s even more fun to see how hard they get while I’m pumping.”

 

Matt had joined in the conversation with enthusiasm. He asked how much it hurt to be fucked and seemed pleased when they told him it would hurt a lot for a guy as young as he was who hadn’t been fucked before. He asked what he could do to make it more fun for the guy doing the fucking, and they told him he should react as much as he could, writhing in response to the pain and the pleasure. He asked if being fucked would cause him to shoot his own load, and they told him that some oversexed guys do but better trained guys wait until they are told to shoot.

 

Matt was also solicitous of whether the guys would want him to clean their cocks after they satisfied themselves. They assured him that he would be expected to do that and that he also would be expected to swallow any piss they needed to unload during the afternoon.  Finally, Matt had politely wondered how it would be appropriate for him to express his thanks to each guy for using him. He said he didn’t want to do anything that might embarrass Jim, who had been kind enough to invite him to the entertainment. From the moment other guys had shown up, Matt had made it clear that he welcomed being fucked by the entire group.

 

Mr. Fletcher interrupted the exchange, having finished his salad and his first glass of wine. “So, Jim, what do you think? It’s your birthday, and it seems to me it’s time to get going with your party.”

 

Matt was startled by this information. He had no idea it was Jim’s birthday, and it bothered him that he hadn’t gotten Jim a present. Although he knew he couldn’t afford anything nice, or for that matter anything at all, since he literally had no possessions whatsoever, he thought he should have at least made some token offering. The realization startled him from his fascination with the exchange on how he would best entertain the group. He already knew his own opinions weren’t relevant, but he was extremely interested in how the guys felt. What he did understand is that he wanted to do whatever provided Jim and his buddies the most fun, especially on Jim’s birthday.

 

“Well, it’s a close call for me,” answered Jim, bringing Matt back to the scene as he remembered the conversation on how best to fuck him. “So I think I want to do both. I’ll start with a sling. I do want to see how he reacts when his butt gets popped for the first time. I’m not as big as these two (pointing to the two owners of the massive cocks who had been debating the

best technique), but I’m not exactly small. I figure Matt’s ass is very tight, and I can inflict at least a little pain as part of the process, even if my cock won’t split him open like a stuck pig the way those guys will. Then I think I want to have a couple of you flip him over so I can shoot my load into him doggy style, which is a little more humiliating for him. After I cum, and dad has his turn, each of you can do what you like. But as soon as I get horny again, I may want another shot at Matt, or maybe I’ll just fuck a couple of you guys.”

 

Matt couldn’t help himself, and he spoke up. “Gee, Jim, I didn’t know it was your birthday weekend. I think it would be great if you fucked me as many times as you want. I didn’t get you anything since I didn’t know, and I don’t have any money or possessions to use to buy anything even if I did know, so maybe that can be my present.”

 

“Oh, I have a present from you in mind in addition to a few butt-fucks,” laughed Jim, now a little affected by his second beer. “We’ll get to that later this evening.  I appreciate the offer. I just don’t want to deprive my buddies here of their fun, and I do recall that some of them have very satisfactory butts.”

 

Everyone laughed. And with that, Jim led the group to a door at the side of the living room. It was very unobtrusive, and Matt noticed that he entered a code on a pad that was discretely hidden next to the door.

 

“Shall we, gentlemen?” Jim asked. “Hey dad, is there anything interesting on display in here I should warn Matt about, so he doesn’t freak out too much?”

 

“Not much,” Mr. Fletcher answered, smiling. “Just a couple of slaves in early processing and a supply of them in some of the cages. I haven’t done any real harvesting for a while because I’ve just gotten back home this morning. But don’t worry, we have the entire weekend, and I’m thinking of staying all next week. So we can fill up the place with fun targets now that you’re done with school.”

 

As the conversation continued, Jim led the group into the next room. Matt had overheard the exchange, and was excited at the idea of not going back to school and staying with Jim’s family.  Maybe they’d let him stay the week.  But before he could process that thought, his breath was taken away by the sight of the room they entered.

 

Matt had seen dungeons in the various gay S&M films he and Jim had watched, and Jim had a few toys in his bedroom at the beach mansion. But Matt   had never seen anything like this. It was huge and brightly lit, with torture implements everywhere. Interspersed among them were exercise machines and free-weights. This was a combination exercise room and torture chamber. He saw St. Andrew’s crosses next to treadmills. Traditional crosses with dildos added were up against the walls, next to elaborate climbing walls for exercise.  There were whipping posts of all kinds, some that held the victim in place and some that allowed him to swing free, suspended so his body would sway and twist as it was flogged front and back. There were fucking stations that involved strapping the victim over a leather seat, hands and feet secured to the base so that he was perfectly positioned for butt-fucking and/or cock sucking. They even had hand-holds like ski poles to help the person doing the butt-fucking get better leverage. In some, the seats were covered with nails instead of leather, which would cut into the victim’s chest and belly, ripping them further as his body moved in response to the fucking.  Numerous tables set up as racks for torture were interspersed with other exercise machines, each rack having lots of straps to hold the subject still to whatever extent desired or dislocate shoulders and even rip arms completely form the torso, with channels at the edges to funnel and drain liquids that flowed from the bodies as they were tortured and ripped apart.  Large vertical wheels were fixed with straps that allowed a guy to be positioned for torture and then spun upside down or sideways for easier access to all parts of the body.  Cages were everywhere, some suspended in the air for better display of the victim – and many complete with a naked male slave ready to begin its torture.

 

Matt’s attention quickly went to the slings, where he knew he would soon be suspended. But as he looked at one, he saw past it to crosses on the wall. He was especially fascinated by the knives and whips conveniently located throughout the room, often next to dumbbells and

nautilus machines.  Matt was so stunned that he literally stopped in his tracks and had trouble drawing his breath.

 

“Impressed?” asked Jim, paying close attention to Matt’s reaction. “Or scared?”

 

“Impressed,” answered Matt truthfully. “But I think I’m mostly just excited. I never imagined a place like this could exist. It’s just amazing.  And like you said, all these slaves look almost relaxed, ready to serve by being tortured.  I’m curious.  Do they sometimes fail to survive the torture?  A lot of this stuff looks potentially fatal.”

 

Jim laughed.  “No.  They ALWAYS fail to survive, at least in due course.  They know it’s what they deserve, and snuffing a slave is a fantastic turn-on and stress reliever for all of us.  The fuck-stands with the nails are a favorite of mine, since the nails will tear apart the nipples and pecks as I fuck the guy and he can’t avoid gyrating on the bench.  The guy dies while I am fucking him, which is a great feeling as his ass tightens around my cock.  It’s a lot of fun.”

 

As Jim spoke, Matt focused on the guys being held in cages, and especially noticed two young males with hands and feet nailed to crosses just beyond the sling he had spotted.  He had seen lots of S&M videos with guys tied to crosses, but never with their hands and feet nailed to the cross. This greatly enhanced the effect.  They appeared to be very fit and were quite handsome. All the young males were sort of “on display” in the room, with erect cocks even though some were obviously in pain.  Jim explained that this was the effect of the drug Matt had just taken, so Matt would remain hard for the afternoon and beyond.  The difference was these guys got double doses so they’d stay hard and have orgasms throughout the torture sessions, even as things got extremely rough.  A double dose would ultimately be fatal, but not for a while and these guys were going to die anyway.

 

Matt counted about 30 of the slaves. Some were shackled to the whipping posts, ready to receive their lashes.  Several others were tied to tables, with various leather restraints that seemed to stretch their arms and legs but also to stretch and separate their balls away from the rest of the body, no doubt for easier CBT sessions.  But what got Matt’s attention the most were the two guys nailed to crosses. They appeared to be in intense pain, struggling to breath.

 

“Oh,” laughed Mr. Fletcher. “I forgot. I did have Edward nail up a couple of slaves yesterday evening.  I thought they’d be fun to watch and it looks like they’re proceeding nicely. One of the advantages of the dildos attached to the crosses, which are stuck up their asses, is that they get a little support. So they can suffer a lot longer, which means there’s something fun to look at. As for the rest of these guys, they’re fresh S&M slaves and you should all feel free to let them entertain you. Just be sure I get to see what you’re doing and maybe join in if it gets interesting.”

 

Murmurs of agreement and appreciation came from the house servants. David Fletcher was indeed a generous employer to his favored staff. Nonetheless, even though there were some serious opportunities to inflict pain, the group’s attention quickly returned to Matt.

 

“No problem, dad.  I’ve explained the role of slaves to Matt and he’s cool.  I don’t think anyone needs to hold back.”

 

“Absolutely,” added Matt.  “Jim explained how the slaves understand their role, and this all makes great sense.  Whatever pleases Jim is the right thing to do.”  Everyone was pleased with the response and it was time to start the fun.

 

“So, Jim,” one of the staff inquired. “Where do you want to put your new toy?”

 

Jim pointed Matt toward the sling Matt was staring at. He instructed Matt to climb up onto it, laying on his back with his head pointed toward the back wall where the two guys were being crucified.

 

“I like this one. And with Matt pointed this way I can watch the guys being crucified while I fuck him.  I plan to take a while and they’re clearly starting to have serious trouble breathing.  That’ll be an added bit of entertainment as they weaken and it gets worse for them.   So the rest of you should take a number.”

 

Indeed, Matt realized that there was a number dispensing machine, like the kind you see in ice cream stores.  Jim had gotten #1, and his dad #2. At Matt’s suggestion Dennis, their driver, got #3. After that, it was an open season.

 

“Remember guys,” joked Jim. “It’s first serve, first cum.” The joke was one they had heard before, but everyone laughed anyway.

 

Matt quickly climbed onto the sling, and several guys tied him in. His legs were in the air, and his virgin butt was nicely positioned for Jim’s use. It was finally time for Jim to end Matt’s virginity.

 

Jim did not lubricate himself or Matt before he thrust his cock into Matt’s vulnerable ass. He wanted to inflict the maximum pain. The thrust was effective, and Jim felt the extreme pleasure of having his cock surrounded by a very tight yet pliant asshole. He was of course extremely aroused, so he was careful to hold back so he wouldn’t shoot too early. He didn’t want to have this pleasure end any time soon.  Unlike most young males, Jim was able to sustain fucking for a long time before he shot his load.  Part of it was talent, and part was experience. He was busy fucking Matt for quite a while. He was particularly pleased to see that he had caused Matt to bleed, as shown by the droplets that leaked out as he pumped in and out. He pointed that out to the group, who complimented him on his technique and the obvious effectiveness of his cock.  Matt joined in the congratulations and expressed his appreciation for Jim’s efforts.  “I guess I’d better stop easing you about a small cock.  It’s clearly big enough to do a hell of a job on me.”

 

Jim also enjoyed the look of obvious pain on Matt’s face and was pleased that Matt showed such a good attitude.  Indeed, Matt remained fully erect during the session.  Jim had chosen well.

 

After a very long time, Jim told some of the guys to flip Matt over and put him on one of the leather-covered fuck machines, doggy style. They did so quickly, and Jim resumed fucking. It was even some time after that before Jim finally reached orgasm, blasting a load into Matt. His effort was met with a cheer, and Jim felt completely drained. He leaned over Matt and kissed him. Matt, in turn, thanked Jim for using him, and offered to suck his cock clean.

 

Jim took advantage of Matt’s offer, and then let loose a large load of beer-tasting piss. He stood back a bit for effect, so others could watch how well Matt had been trained to swallow it.  As always, Matt didn’t spill a drop, and then thanked Jim for getting him some beer, albeit used.

 

“Gentleman,” Jim announced to general cheering. “He’s not a virgin any more, as you just saw. But you’re welcome to make sure.”

 

Matt vividly remembered that first fuck very fondly, and he remembered how Jim’s dad had also caused him considerable pain with his even larger cock, followed by almost being torn open by Dennis and then the two muscle guys.  Indeed, Matt’s memory of everything about his first gangbang was still vivid.  It took hours for all fifty guys to rape him, and it hurt a lot, but being used to give sexual pleasure to all those friends of Jim’s was utterly fulfilling.  He also got to drink lots and lots of used beer, and they even drained cum from his ass every now and then and had him drink that too.  When he himself needed to piss, it was into a pail that he also drained, He remembered the total humiliation of it all as the time he learned what his true nature was.  He was completely comfortable with that.

 

Matt had come to realize Jim’s sadistic tendencies were extreme, based initially on the videos they watched and Jim’s reactions.  Matt had volunteered his body for Jim’s use, but as with fucking his ass Jim had declined, telling him that would come in due course.  Seeing the two guys nailed to crosses and hearing Mr. Fletcher’s casual comments about “process” confirmed Matt’s suspicions, and Jim’s descriptions left no doubt.  When everyone had finished fucking him, Matt wasn’t surprised that Jim selected a whipping stand that suspended Matt by his wrists so he could twist as he was flogged, allowing Jim, Jim’s dad, and Dennis to stand in a circle around his body and enjoy lashing him front, back, and sides.  The best part was that the drug had kicked in by then and his erect cock provided a great added target.  By the time they were tired out, Jim having gotten his exercise, Matt’s body was dripping blood and sweat along with the cum oozing from his wounded ass.  Dennis sucked him off to complete the effect, adding a load of Matt’s cum, and then his piss, to the flow.  It was an awesome scene for everyone, especially Matt.  As it had proceeded, he had wondered if Jim would snuff him, but felt it would be rude to ask.  He wouldn’t have resisted, even if he could, but was pleased when he was still alive without any permanent damage as his first rape/torture session ended.  He didn’t want to stop serving Jim.

 

4

Transition

Matt’s mind returned to the present, still speeding down the beach road in Jim’s car.

 

“That was a pretty amazing fuck session the first time you took me to the estate,” Matt commented.

 

“Yeah, I still remember it myself. You really had a nice tight ass then. It’s still not too bad, and there’s remarkably little effect from all the stuff I’ve stuck up it since then.  Our vet has kept you in good repair.  You’re not quite as tight as you used to be, but after fisting and an occasional baseball bat, I suppose that’s to be expected.  I have access to lots of other guys who are cute virgins, so it’s not a big deal.”

 

“Sorry about that.  But I’m still willing to take anything you want to place up there, so maybe that will provide some entertainment for you today.  Your electric dildo toy is not a bad start.”

 

“I’ve got some fun ideas.  But I’m going to make you available for the group first.  I think a lot of them will want to do a last fuck of my sex toy.  But those are good memories and I’ve kind of gotten into fisting guys thanks to the fun I’ve had with you.  So you’ve been useful.  Of course, anyone who wants to fuck you with whatever they’d like will be free to do so, so it might be entertaining to see how creative guys get and how badly you get ripped open.

 

“What I remember most about that first time at the estate, however, was that you were so naive when I asked for my birthday present.”

 

Matt’s mind again wandered into the past. He thought about the afternoon after the first gang rape and whipping.  Jim had taken him to his room, which was amazingly spacious and filled with a plentiful set of S&M equipment along with a giant bed.  He and Jim had been lying in bed, just the two of them.  Jim had fucked Matt’s sore ass again and introduced Matt to the pain that comes from electrical current flowing between the genitals and nipples.  But he allowed Matt to shoot a load onto Jim’s chest and then lick it up for Jim’s entertainment. Then Jim had started asking him questions.

 

“What do you think about when you jerk off?”

 

“I used to think about a lot of different things, but now I think about you and about the guys in the S&M films we watch.”

 

“And who are you in the film while you’re fantasizing?”

 

“Well,” answered Matt somewhat sheepishly, “I get most excited if I’m the guy getting whipped and fucked. Seeing that on movies really turned me on, and now that I’ve experienced it for real I’m fixated on wanting more. Is that wrong?”

 

“Of course not,” laughed Jim. “It just confirms what I’ve always assumed. You’re a complete masochist and a natural slave. You haven’t realized it yet, which is OK. You’re new at it, but you’re a good-looking young specimen of man-meat who shows some real

potential to be useful.”

 

“What do you mean?  I don’t understand.”

 

‘It’s simple, and we’ve talked about it before but not in relation to you.  The world is made up of natural masters and natural slaves. Most people are sort of in the middle, but guys like us have very clear roles. As masters, it is appropriate that dad and I have tons of money – like I said earlier, it’s billions and billions of dollars.  We know how to rule and do it well.  By contrast, it’s natural that you’re a throw-away kid on the streets.  You require someone to serve.  Lucky for you, I found you at school and have been carefully training you to realize your sole purpose and potential.  Dad had me make you a project for my own development.  These movies were carefully selected to create awareness over time with increasing intensity.”

 

Matt was stunned. He had no conception of any of this going on. But he was not upset.  In fact, his already erect cock throbbed a bit more intensely as Jim had been speaking. What Jim was saying made sense and fit with their prior conversations and what their teacher had taught them.  He appreciated being selected for Jim’s experiment.

 

“So what am I?” Matt asked, both curious and intrigued.

 

“It’s time for you to decide that.  You have two choices and you need to pick one of them.  If you want, you could become one of the citizens on the island, free to build a career and probably meet some guy who will dominate but nourish you.  You’re smart and personable and attractive, and a lot of guys would find your shyness sexy.  If that’s what you decide, I’ll get it set up for you.

 

Option two is for you to become a slave – my slave.  Your status would be no different than the animals being tortured and ultimately snuffed in the game room downstairs.  The difference would be that it will have been your choice.  Those animals are slaves because they were bred for it or because they violated the rules of society and lost their citizenship.  So they learn it’s their duty to do all the dirty, dangerous work and in due course be horribly tortured and killed, their bodies used for food and fertilizer.  We train them to accept that and they’re actually quite content as well as obedient.

 

Matt was stunned, and a lot of things started to fit into place.  “I wondered what was going to happen to the two guys nailed to crosses in the game room.  You’re saying they will stay there until they’re dead.  Right?”

 

“Right.  And all the other slaves will suffer similar fates.  It’s how we manage the violent urges of citizens and Alpha Males, and it works amazingly well.  We satisfy our sadistic sexual passions and the slaves need to die anyway so we have a meat supply.  Having them die horrible, humiliating deaths as part of sexual S&M sessions has no downside and makes them more useful.  Once they’re trained they appreciate that opportunity to serve.  Sometimes, like the household slaves our typical citizens own, they serve for a long time before they’re disposed of.”

 

“Do you think I’m one of them?”

 

“Not as of now.  You’re a citizen, like the staff at the estate, and you’re entitled to respect and freedom so long as you don’t disobey the Alpha Male laws.  That’s why I respected everyone’s limits for the S&M fun we had on the plane but didn’t with the slave.  It’s your choice, and you could choose to be a salve instead if you want to.”

 

“Is that the birthday present you’d like?”

 

“Yes, but only if you choose to do so.  You see, there’s a special feeling of sexual power from using a slave who chooses to serve, suffer, and die.  Knowing that choice was voluntary adds a lot to the sexual thrill of owning and using the slave.  If you wanted to do that, it would increase the intensity of my orgasms and my satisfaction in dominating you.  But don’t misunderstand:  The choice is irrevocable, and if you make that choice you will indeed be like the slaves you saw, and I will torture you constantly, humiliate you always, and eventually (or maybe right away) horribly kill you.  This is not a pretend thing.  It would be for real.”

 

Matt didn’t even hesitate in his choice.  “Of course I’ll be your slave.  I think I already am and have been for a long time.  This would just make it official.  You are free to do whatever you want with me, and I know it will involve me being tortured and snuffed whenever you feel like doing so.  I hope you really get a thrill out of it when you do.  And you can count on my total obedience and cooperation.  Happy birthday from your new slave.”

 

Jim was thrilled.  This was indeed the birthday present he most wanted to get.  And he made it effective immediately.

 

“Great.  I’d say thanks but as of now you’re an object, a piece of property. You’re important only to the extent you can provide me pleasure. I don’t like to think of objects like you as slaves because the term slave implies people who are somehow just of lower rank. What you need to understand is that you have no rank at all – no more than this bed we’re laying in or a piece of meat in the fridge.  If I want to destroy that footstool by my desk, or eat some meat, no one would object.  The stool and the meat are mine to do with as I want.  You are no different, just potentially more fun to use than a chair or a wastebasket.  You perform the same function as a urinal in a bathroom, but it’s more fun to piss down your throat than to piss into a porcelain toilet – and ultimately, you’ll be more fun to destroy, because it would be wrong to waste a nice designer toilet. It’s fun to destroy a piece of male property like you – a piece of not yet dead meat.  And porcelain isn’t edible.  You are.

 

“You are now my body slave.  That means you’d always be nearby and ready to serve me however I want.  That is your sole purpose, and when I get tired of you or if you fail in any aspect you’d be destroyed.  Again, think of a piece of furniture, except that furniture doesn’t get tortured to death and eaten when I decide to get something new.  For a piece-of-shit-slave like you, being my body slave is quite an honor.

 

“Incidentally, your foster dad works for my family.  He has been part of the program for years, making sure your self-esteem remains low and you endure humiliation and deprivation.  Dad and I arranged the scene at his house the other night to trigger a change in your status, so you’d arrive here without any ties or options through him.  I also arranged the “coming out” scene in front of the school with Dennis, which is a great cover to explain you dropping out of school. No one will ever know or care what happened to you.  And you cooperated by throwing away the last possessions you had – the clothes you prostituted yourself to get at the beach – and you now have absolutely nothing.  My goal was to get you psychologically ready to admit what you are and accept your proper role in life.  But it still needed to be your choice, and I would have honored it had you chosen a life as a citizen.  You would not have been happy or fulfilled, however, because what you now are is what you were meant to be.  All of our effort was just to get you to the point you’d recognize that.  I’ve given you the gift of fulfilling your role, and when I kill you I’ll give you the further gift of the kind of horrible death you deserve – and want and need for your sense of having been useful.”

 

“I understand.”

 

“Good.  Remember that first S&M video I showed you with the guy getting whipped?  I told you dad hired him and we had a great weekend when I got to flog him.  I told you he was grateful for dad taking care of his troubles with the law.  That’s all true, but the way dad took care of his troubles was by turning him into a sex slave.  We were testing some drugs we developed for criminal types who were being reduced to slave status, and we wanted to find out if he would agree to cooperate and be snuffed just for our amusement.  He did, and I not only got to flog him, but I got to snuff him.  It was my first kill, and sexually thrilling for me as I fucked his ass, gutted him, and then slowly strangled him.  Watching the pain and despair in his face and feeling the pressure on my cock as his body pitifully struggled to stay alive was amazing.  He even shot a load as he died, which triggered my own orgasm.  I was so horny I fucked him again as his dead body continued to gyrate for my pleasure.   He did join us for dinner, but as the main course, and dad let me carve the meat.  Part of the plan is to replace cattle with slaves as our prime meat source, since that will help with the ozone environmental issues and slaves are so much more satisfying to kill and eat.  It’s especially fun if they’re still alive while being carved up.  All the meat we serve here is slave meat.  I’ll let you see the video of that first kill for your education.  Put this DVD in the player. There’s a large screen that will come down from the ceiling when you put it in.”

 

Matt obeyed. He took the DVD and started it, then returned to the side of Jim’s bed, kneeling obediently beside the bed even though Jim had not instructed him to do so. Jim was pleased. Matt’s instincts and training were serving him well.  He told Matt to lay beside him so he could observe Matt’s reaction to the film.

 

The film was astonishing, and showed Jim doing a fabulous job torturing the young male to death, while the victim not only did not resist but politely thanked Jim for the honor of being Jim’s first snuff victim.  Several cameras focused on different angles of the tortures, catching all aspects of the death itself, including the agony on the face of the dying male and the sexual ecstasy on Jim’s as he fucked the body while it was twitching violently in its death throws and then again after it was technically dead but still convulsing.  The film then featured Jim celebrating with his dad and some others at dinner, slicing choice cuts of meat off the now-dead slave and enjoying the feast.  Surprisingly to Matt, all of this turned him on a lot.  He had never even conceived of anything like this and it took him by complete shock.  But it did something else. The scene confirmed his decision and turned him on beyond belief. Matt shot a giant load of cum as he watched the scenes where Jim fucked the dying body, fanaticizing himself as the victim.  His orgasm wasn’t caused by touching himself or even by being fucked – it was triggered by the images in the movie and the realization this likely would happen to him someday, as it should.

 

“I hoped you’d react that way. I told my dad that you were ready, and clearly you are. By our standards that first time for me was a quick snuff. Usually it takes much longer and is far more painful.  And I like to enjoy some of the meat while the guy is still alive and can watch me eat him, although I leave the body in good enough shape to enjoy fucking it while it dies and again while it’s still nice and warm, finishing its death convulsions.  I’ve learned a lot of great torture techniques since then so you can count on a far worse level of torture, leading to the same fate.

 

“This guy was cooperative and willing because of drugs, and we’ve proven we can convert anyone into a willing slave when we want to.  That will be critical as we reform various societies and take control.  But you are different in an important way.  You are a willing slave because you know you should be.  That is what my project was all about, and that is why I will especially enjoy owning you and killing you. For the full effect, it had to be your choice.  I’m pleased you made the choice you did and given how resilient you are I know it is for real.  Even after all the events before you came to the island, you recovered quickly and continued on, showing up at school despite humiliation that would have broken most people.  That makes you a more appealing slave.”

 

“Thanks, Jim.  That means a lot to me and yes, this is my choice.”

 

Jim moved the conversation to a different aspect.  “Incidentally, you didn’t have permission to shoot, so you’ll have to suffer consequences for that. I’m going to torture you, introducing you to a new definition of pain.  Pain will be a central part of your life from now on.  Further, now that you know your role you need to perform adequately. And adequately means perfectly – doing what I say always, serving my desires, and using your body only to serve and entertain me. If you ever shoot a load again without permission, it will be your last.  You will never have the honor of serving me again, you will be totally emasculated so you can never enjoy any sexual gratification, and you will be used for months as a lab animal for research on advanced methods of inflicting extreme pain.  Is that clear?”

 

“Yes, Jim.”

 

“And you don’t get to call me Jim any more. People call each other by their names. You’re no longer people. You are to call me “sir” and you are to bow

your head when you address me. You are also not allowed to speak unless you are spoken to and a response is required. If you have a question, you first ask permission to speak.  Clear?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“OK.  One last chance to change your mind.  Do you accept and agree to your new position as a piece of property?”

 

“Yes, sir.  I understand, and I will obey completely.  Thank you for accepting my unworthy birthday present.  I hope you enjoy it.”

 

Matt noted the change in his master’s tone. They were no longer schoolmates, with Jim as the elder mentor leading Matt into sexual awareness. Now, Matt had been assigned his role in life and he must obey. At that moment, Matt accepted his fate and determined to satisfy his new master. He understood his role, and for whatever time Jim chose to keep him as a piece of Jim’s property, Matt would cooperate fully.  He realized this was not only his purpose, it was his greatest hope and source of joy.  He wanted to be Jim’s property.

 

Jim and Matt rejoined the larger group for dinner, and everyone congratulated Jim on his outstanding success in training his body-slave.  Matt knelt behind Jim to be available for any needed services, observing how lavish the dinner feast was, with an assortment of delicious looking vegetables and side dishes on the table.  To the side was another table on which there was a handsome young slave lying on his back.  A chef stood by him and sliced off the desired cuts of live slave-meat that the diners requested, either serving them as slave-tar-tar or grilling the selection to order on a nearby Hibachi.  It appeared to Matt to be a wonderful meal and a wonderful gathering of family and friends.  The combination of the slave’s screams and his expressions of appreciation for the honor of being their entree’ added nicely to the atmosphere.  The slave had expressed his thanks to each diner, until one of them decided to try some fresh tongue.  When it came time to serve the cock, the chef brought it to orgasm so it could be sliced off as it was spilling cum, which was a nice effect.  Matt only hoped he could someday perform as well as this slave had done.

 

 

5

An Interlude

 

Jim’s voice over the noise of the drive once again brought Matt back to the present reality.

 

“What I can’t decide is whether I want to keep a souvenir. After all, you were my first human property, and that has a little sentiment. Dad says it doesn’t matter, and advises against keeping anything from slave carouses, but I’m not sure. What do you think?”

 

“I’d be honored if you did. It would mean a lot to me, not that my feelings matter. Nor should they.  But maybe you could use my cock and balls as a paperweight? It might help organize all that stuff on your desk.” (Before their roles had shifted from schoolmates to owner and property, Matt had teased Jim about his disorganized desk.  It had been one of their favorite jokes since Jim tended to leave stuff all over the place.) “Or maybe my skin could be turned into a jacket or something?  You’re very good at skinning guys alive, and it’s always a crowd pleaser since it’s obviously unbelievably painful but not necessarily immediately fatal.  I’d still be alive while you cut me up as food.”

 

“I don’t wear clothes, idiot,” came the needling reply. “But maybe the paperweight idea is worth thinking about. I must admit my desk is still a mess, and you do have a nice set.  I don’t like eating cock – muscles aren’t very tender. If I don’t have it made into a paperweight, I’ll probably just have it turned into hamburger or sausage, or maybe have you eat it yourself.  I strongly suspect your breast meat will be the best, so I’m going to try that first. The issue is if I want to enjoy your balls as an appetizer. Guy oysters are tasty, and I’ve wondered what you’ll taste like. I guess I’ll decide at the time.”

 

“I hope you enjoy my meat however you decide.” Matt was quite sincere in this. His only regret about the party was that it would end his service.

 

“If I may ask, have you decided whether to kill me first or do you think you will be able to keep me alive long enough to enjoy my flesh while I watch? I know how much you like munching on a guy’s tastier parts while you vivisect him and watch the agony and humiliation. I want to provide you as much fun as possible.”

 

“I haven’t completely decided, but that’s my inclination. I think it’s the most humiliating way for a guy to die, watching himself get cut up for food and knowing he’ll literally wind up as shit.  So don’t disappoint me by dying too soon. I want a worthwhile show.”

 

“I’ll do my very best. You can count on me. I’m deeply grateful for all the use you’ve made of me over the past five years. I expected you to snuff me on my 18th birthday like you mentioned when you took me over as your property. So these years have been a wonderful chance to serve.”

 

“Yeah, I considered that. But you are a fun fuck and extremely obedient.  Frankly, I like your attitude, and I even used to like you as a buddy back when you were a person. Having a willing slave who is content or even eager to be killed whenever I feel like it has turned out to be even more of a tun-on than I’d imagined.  Besides, when you were 18 I didn’t have a great replacement.

 

“I’m glad I kept you around. Maybe I’m sentimental like dad accuses me of being. I’m not sure. But in any event today will take care of the issue. It would be a little embarrassing to keep a slave any longer than I have.

 

“There’s another thing too.  I posted a message on the fact I was going to snuff you today as part of my birthday party and invited young guys on the island to apply to replace you.  I made it clear it was just going to be a one-year gig, so I was amazed how many did so, happy to convert from citizen to slave so they could be my body slave for a year and then be snuffed at my next birthday party if not before.  It’s down to four finalists, and they’re all terrific.  Before they watch you die they’ll all compete to take your place.  They’ve all agreed that the contests will be to the death, which seems appropriate.  Maybe it would be amusing to have the winner eat your cock.”

 

Matt was not disappointed with this report.  He knew he was six years older than when he had first attracted Jim’s sexual attention.  He was glad that Jim would find other objects to satisfy him after Jim disposed of Matt. The years of training had been very instructive in confirming that it was about Jim’s desires, his pleasure.

 

“Anyway, I’m glad I didn’t throw you away at 18. You have been a great sex object, and you provided me with quality entertainment, like when I used you in those soccer matches a few years ago. You were pretty impressive.”

 

“Thanks.” Matt was ecstatic. He had never gotten any reaction from Jim for that effort, and he had given it his all. Matt knew he was a good soccer player since his freshman year in high school, when he made varsity after leading a winning freshman team. Jim had used him, along with some other slaves, to form a highly competitive team. They played other slave teams, and they always won. (One incentive was that the losing teams were brutally slaughtered at the end of the games by being fed to the crowd.)  Matt knew he was the primary reason Jim’s team won but had never had a conversation about it.

 

The best part of the soccer games was knowing Jim was watching. As Matt and his teammates ran up and down the field, their beautiful bodies glistening with sweat and their hard cocks bouncing with the motion, he was aware that it got Jim turned on.  Those nights tended to have some of the best sex Matt would enjoy with Jim. Jim sometimes kept a few of the losing slaves for himself, and let Matt eat their cocks while they were still attached, just as they reached orgasm from Matt’s blow jobs.  As they died, Jim would shoot his load up their tightening assholes. It was a lot of fun and those were among Matt’s most wonderful memories.

 

The two young men drove on in silence for a few minutes, but then Jim spotted a side road and turned off toward the beach.  “Here’s a place I want to show you,” Jim said. “It’s my favorite place on our whole island. The beach is unusually smooth and wide, and there’s a fantastic view. Let’s stop for a while.”

 

Matt was startled at the suggestion, assuming they would head straight to

Jim’s birthday party.  But he hardly objected. Nor did he have any idea what Jim had in mind.  He wasn’t even aware of the beach despite the fact he was almost always with Jim.

 

Jim stopped the car at the end of the side road, and motioned for Matt to follow him., taking Matt by the hand, which also had not happened in years.  They walked down a trail, and Matt understood why Jim liked the spot. It was the best view of the water and the mountains that Matt had ever seen, and the beach was totally pristine. There were no footprints, and the beach was so clean it was almost as if it had been manicured.  There was a large blanket laid on it just above the water line with a picnic basket next to it.

 

“No one is permitted to come here except me,” Jim explained. “I have gardeners who tend to it every morning to assure it’s always perfect.  I had them prepare it for us to visit, and then they smoothed out their footprints as they left to preserve the effect.”

 

They walked in silence to the edge of the water, next to the blanket, where Jim turned to Matt and touched his body. To Matt’s utter `amazement, this was followed by a very tender embrace and a deep, loving kiss. Slowly, Jim led their bodies down to the blanket, where he continued to stroke Matt’s smooth skin and deepened his kiss.

 

“I hope you have enjoyed the freedom you have had during the past five years,” Jim whispered as he briefly withdrew his tongue from deep in Matt’s mouth.  “I wanted to be sure you understand how fortunate you have been, and also to give you one last gift.”

 

Matt was too shocked to speak. Jim used Matt sexually all the time both before and after acquiring him, but afterwards it was as an object, never as a lover. That was fine and all Matt expected.  But this was totally different and far beyond exciting.  Matt also had no idea what Jim was referring to.  Freedom?  Matt was a total slave, a piece of property as Jim often pointed out.  Matt was quite content with that but didn’t see how this related to freedom.  Yet his confusion was overwhelmed by his excitement at the tender embrace.

 

The two bodies became tightly coupled and rolled onto the beach. They were lapped by the warm waves from time to time, which only increased the mutual excitement. Jim didn’t just kiss Matt’s mouth, he adorned his whole body with affection. In due course, that even included Matt’s throbbing penis, as Jim maneuvered them into a 69 embrace.

 

“I know you’re confused, as usual.  You were never a quick study.  Let me explain.  At the party dad will announce that I’m officially his heir and successor and appoint me to run a series of major family enterprises.  It’s a tremendous honor and I want to do a great job.  But it comes at a cost.  Someone in his and my positions cannot trust anyone, and we do not have real friends.  We have everything else anyone could possibly want, and more, but we are in one sense prisoners of our own wealth and positions.  But you were given the freedom to turn over everything you are to me as your complete owner.  That gives you a kind of freedom.  You don’t have decisions to make or anything to worry about.  You only need to obey and everything else will be decided for you.  You have freedom from having to make decisions or achieve goals.  You are free to focus entirely on your role as my body slave without having to concern yourself with anything else.

 

“But what I want you to know is that, if I were permitted to have a true friend and lover, it would be you.  That’s why I’ve kept you so long.  You’ll be dead by the end of the day, so I don’t have to worry about issues of trust after the party.  So I think we should consummate our relationship.  I want you to fuck my ass.  No one has ever done that, and likely no one ever will again.  But I want to feel your cock inside me and see if we can shoot our loads together.”

 

Matt’s emotions were a combination of shock, joy, gratitude, and, most of all, love. He never expected such a reaction from Jim even when they were high school lovers.  This was beyond his wildest dreams.

 

Under Jim’s direction Matt carefully positioned himself over Jim, who lay on his back with his legs wrapped around Matt’s torso.  Jim wanted them to have the ability to see each other’s faces while they made love, and once positioned he had Matt insert his penis slowly into Jim’s virgin man-hole.  Matt was careful to hold himself in check as he began to thrust in and out, concerned that he was inflicting some pain on his lover and master, but comforted by Jim’s assurances and the obvious pleasure Jim was feeling.  As the thrusts increased in intensity and speed Jim’s cock also began to throb, but it was quite some time before the two young males allowed themselves to reach orgasm – which they did simultaneously.  Both were sexually overwhelmed by the intensity, and they lay side by side still enjoying each other’s’ bodies.  Matt licked Jim’s cum from his chest, and that was followed by more long, deep kisses and caressing.  They went for a swim to clean off and enjoy the memory of so many swims in high school, and when they returned to the beach Jim pulled two beers and some chips from the picnic basket.  This was the first “fresh” beer Matt had since becoming a slave, and it tasted great.  By the end of the second beers their cocks returned to full erections, and they concluded their session with a second set of orgasms following a long 69 session of sucking each other’s cocks and swallowing each other’s cum.  It was glorious.  For the only time in his life, Matt was treated to truly mutual sex. It was a deep, satisfying session of love-making.  Matt felt sexually satiated in a different and more fulfilling way than any time in his life.

 

“That was very nice,” Jim said after a while.  “thank you.”  Matt was simply too overwhelmed to speak and just kissed and hugged Jim with all his being.

 

As Jim and Matt finished their lovemaking, a separate scene was underway in Mr. Fletcher’s office.  One of his security guards had entered and asked to make a report.

 

“I just witnessed something I believe you would want to know bout, sir,” he began.  “It was from the secure satellite camera that tracks Master Jim’s car.  May I play it for you?”

 

“Of course,” said Jim’s dad.  “Use this screen on the desk next to mine.”  The guard called up a video, and he and Mr. Fletcher watched a recording of Jim’s and Matt’s beach sex, listening to Jim’s explanations to Matt.  “I felt this might be damaging if it got in the wrong hands,” the guard continued.  I don’t think making actual love to a slave is good for Master James’s image.”

 

“Indeed not,” agreed Mr. Fletcher.  “You have done well to alert me.  Has anyone else seen this, and are there any copies?”

 

“No, sir.  I immediately placed it into a secure file and destroyed the automatic backup.  I’m the only one who’s seen it besides yourself.  If you’d like, I can destroy this copy form here and there will be no record at all.”

 

“I’m afraid Jim has been careless.  The slave is going to be destroyed later today.  What if he blurts something out?  I know he’s amazingly loyal to Jim, but as animals begin to endure the level of pain he’s going to receive strange things can happen.”

 

“Well, sir,” said the guard, smiling.  “Master James is pretty clever, as you know, and you don’t need to worry about that.  As they reached his car he ordered the slave to stick out his tongue.  Once he did, Master James cut it off.  The animal will only be able to make noises, not form words.”

 

“That makes me feel a lot better about this,” said Mr. Fletcher, chuckling at the cute solution Jim had implemented to remove any risk.  “I think I can chalk this up to a rite of passage.  Jim had a long history with that slave, and he clearly understands this type of relationship can’t happen again.  That’s why he decided to just keep body slaves for a year at a time.  So please destroy this copy, and I assume you know what else needs to be done?”

 

“Of course, sir.”  The guard quickly deleted the file and stood facing Mr. Fletcher.  “And may I say it has been an honor working for you.”

 

“You have performed well.”  Mr. Fletcher watched as the young naked guard walked over to a sort of shower area in one corner of the huge office and surveyed a set of tools on a metal table.  As he started to pick one up Mr. Fletcher interjected.  “The one on the far right has been dipped in some fairly fast-acting poison.  Feel free to use that one.”

 

“Thank you, sir.  It has always inspired me how thoughtful you are of your staff.  But will this give you enough time to enjoy my body as I die?  No point short-circuiting a good fuck by having the “fuckee” die too quickly.  I’m hoping I can provide you one final service besides my meat.”  When Mr. Fletcher assured him it would be fine, since he was planning to achieve orgasm as the body finished its death throws and the poison tended to enhance those, the young man picked up the indicated knife.  He began to masturbate for Mr. Fletcher’s entertainment, while his benevolent employer inserted his cock up the smooth, willing ass.  As the youth started to cum, he slowly cut off his cock, and then his balls.  The poison kicked in, and Mr. Fletcher guided the dying body over a nearby fuck stand as he intensified his fucking.  He reached orgasm just as the body stopped convulsing.  Ironically, he was particularly satisfied since he had lusted after this young man for some time as a snuff target, but he didn’t snuff staff unless they requested it or broke the rules.  This young man had done the right thing given the situation, and that meant Mr. Fletcher was not violating his own rules by snuffing an obedient staff employee.  So he got a great orgasm, there would be no witnesses of Jim’s little indiscretion and therefore no risk, and no harm was done. The shower area in his office was designed to make it easy for house staff to clean up the mess.  Nr, Fletcher was always considerate of his employees.

 

Once the two former schoolmates had rested, and then cleaned themselves off again with a relaxing swim in the ocean followed by a third set of beers, they returned to the car. Their bodies dried quickly in the sun, and Jim explained to Matt the need to remove his tongue.  Matt’s only concern was that this would mean he wouldn’t be very good at giving blow jobs, which he assumed a lot of the guests would want.  But Jim had thought of that too and explained that he was also going to use a pliers to remove Matt’s teeth so he could “gum” the cocks to orgasm.   It wasn’t quite as precise as using his tongue, but Jim had experimented with it on several slaves and it was quite satisfying.  So Jim removed Matt’s tongue as a precaution (one Matt fully understood, appreciating the fact there was no longer any risk of him saying something that would embarrass Jim), and he then removed the teeth that would get in the way of blow jobs otherwise.  Of course there was no anesthetic for either process, and Matt’s pain added a bit more entertainment for Jim, who had resumed fully the role of owner and master.  Jim then resumed the drive to his beach party. Both were in a festive mood., and in due course Jim spotted the turn-off to the party. It was easy to spot since it had signage consisting of two crosses that each had a young male nailed to it in the late stages of crucifixion. Each had one arm cut off, creating the effect of the remaining arm pointing the way.  All but the index finger on the remaining hand were also gone, and the index finger was extended, literally pointing the way.  The artistic display was Jim’s idea, and he told Matt how cooperative the two slaves had been when he explained the joke and then slowly sawed off an arm.  “I also cut off their fingers and was tempted to leave the middle finger for pointing.  But I thought that would be rude to my guests.  I had them nailed up yesterday morning so the hot sun would burn their skin, helping make sure they’d be dead by the time the party gets into full swing this afternoon.  I figure guests will enjoy the humor, and we can add their bodies to the meat supply.  You’ll also notice they’re identical twins, which I think is a nice touch.  It’s way better than tying some balloons to a post.” The path to the beach was between the two crosses.

 

“We need to resume our proper roles here,” instructed Jim, who nonetheless still had a little more softness in his voice than usual. “But I hope you enjoyed your respite.”

 

Matt couldn’t talk any more but gave an enthusiastic thumbs up.  He knew that the informality was over, and that he was once again just Jim’s property.  But the brief moments of affection were all he had ever dreamed of, and he was completely content and grateful.

 

6

Party time

 

The beach party itself was well attended and carefully orchestrated.  Bar-be-cue pits were set up all around the area, each with a freshly impaled, spitted slave roasting over it, providing a wonderful aroma of cooking slavemeat throughout.  Their innards had been removed and replaced with stuffing, ranging from traditional croutons-and-sage-based to slavemeat sausage to combos of fruits and vegetables.  There were also plenty of fuck-stations with young males tied up for easy access and use.  Jim let everyone know there were plenty more slaves in the holding cages, so no need to worry if a guest wanted to snuff the one he was fucking.  But when that happened the bodies were left for a while on the fuck stands so guests could also enjoy fucking the carcass before it cooled.  Whipping posts, racks, and various other torture stations and tools were plentiful, with an unlimited supply of slaves to fill them and to act as grateful human urinals when the need to piss arose.  Jim removed the dildo he’d inserted into Matt so his guests could enjoy fucking him, and Matt received a lot of painful attention from guests who wanted one last chance to fuck Jim’s favorite human toy.  Matt was by no means the only slave who was going to be snuffed that day – the plan was to kill several hundred of them given the importance of the occasion, but he was Jim’s toy and that made him a special target.  This included blow jobs, and Matt did a reasonable job satisfying guests with his gums replacing his tongue in massaging the cocks rammed into his mouth.  Of course, there was also lots of used beer for him to enjoy.  What was different was that guests were invited to use metal-tipped whips on his back, as Jim had joked that Matt wanted to be skinned alive, and this would be a good start.  Matt, of course, cooperated fully, pleased at how happy Jim sounded, perhaps aided a bit by a plentiful supply of beer.

 

Once Matt was positioned, Jim’s dad pulled Jim aside for a quick chat.

 

“I saw a video of your interlude with Matt on the beach.  Don’t you think that was a little dangerous?  What if that video had gotten out?”

 

Jim laughed.  “No risk.  I made sure Jordon was doing camera duty today, and I asked him to do me a little favor.  He was one of the ones who applied to replace Matt, but he didn’t make the finalists, partly because I knew how much you lusted after his ass as a snuff target.  But he was especially eager to serve me.  So he agreed to be sure no one else saw the video and to give you an alert.  We both knew you’d use that as an excuse to have him kill himself, which removes any problem with us taking advantage of our servants, and you’d get to fuck his ass as he died.  So no harm, no foul.  I assume it played out as planned?”

 

Now it was Mr. Fletcher’s turn to laugh.  “Perfectly.  He was a great fuck, and you were right about my desire to snuff him and fuck his ass while he was dying and again while his body was still convulsing.  I guess you gave me a present on your birthday.  I’m impressed.  You’re turning into a great Alpha leader.”

 

Jim deeply appreciated the complement.  He and his dad had never been closer.

 

By the time Jim decided to make a little presentation, Matt had been gang-raped by most everyone.  His back was badly lacerated with welts and cuts from being whipped as he lay over the fuck-bench, most of the skin gone form the effect of the metal-edged whips, and his belly and ass full of piss and cum.

 

“Thank you all for coming to my party,” Jim began.  “And I think cum-in is the right term.”  Everyone laughed.

 

“As you know, I’ve decided to dispose of one of my high school sex toys.  I could say I knew Matt so long I even knew him when he was a person. Yet even then he was always my property, since he was my high school project to get a natural slave to realize his true nature and willingly accept it.  I think I got an ‘A.’”  The crowd cheered loudly, pleasing both Jim and Matt.

 

“I did have some help, of course.  His foster parent made sure his self-esteem never developed, and that his natural masochistic tendencies were maximized.  I want to thank him for a job well done and asked if he’d like a memento of his success.  It turns out he would, so he’ll get to cut off and keep Matt’s cock.”  (Matt was disappointed to hear this, having hoped Jim would be the one cutting it off, but obviously understood his desires were utterly irrelevant.)

“I noticed he’s already fucked Matt’s ass several times this afternoon, making up for the fact we wouldn’t let him do that when he raised Matt.  That way I’d have the fun of being the first fuck, which I enjoyed a lot.”  The crowd cheered again, and Matt’s foster dad took a well-deserved bow, followed by administering a well-placed blow to Matt’s cock and balls.

 

Besides disposing of Matt, one of our events today is the selection of a replacement body slave.  I liked the idea of having someone willingly choose to abandon their status as a person and choose to be a piece-of-shit sex slave dedicated to suffering pain and humiliation for my amusement and pleasure.  So I inquired if anyone would be interested in that and was amazed at the overwhelming response.  It was touching and heart-warming.  It’s a great testament to how much everyone loves the Alpha males like dad and me, and it shows how well things are going in our new social order.

 

“We reviewed all the applications and got it down to four finalists, who are here now.”  Jim pointed to four amazingly good-looking young studs standing together nearby.  Each had an astonishingly gorgeous body and a giant cock protruding in front of him.

 

“I’ve interviewed the finalists and had fun fucking and torturing each of them.  They are each 17, my favorite age to acquire a slave.  Frankly, they are all great and I have had trouble deciding.  When I poised the dilemma to them they all came up with the same idea:  Why not have them compete for the honor at today’s party?  And of course the competition would be to the death, so there would only be one survivor.  That was such a great idea it’s what we’re going to do now.  There will be two contests, each with tow contestants.  And the contests will simply be a fight, with the only rule being that the fight goes on until at least one contestant is dead.  Once the first round of fights is done, there will be only two finalists, and then those two will fight to determine who gets to serve me, with the same simple rule.  They drew lots to see which sets of two would pair off against each other in round one.  I think everyone has placed their bets, so, gentlemen, have at it.”

 

The first pair entered a wrestling ring next to where Jim was speaking and the fight began immediately.  They were evenly matched, and it was great entertainment to watch s they applied expert wrestling techniques in their combat, slamming each other to the ground and maneuvering to get a sustainable hold.  But as one teen began to stand in order to get a better position, he tripped slightly and was kicked in the nuts by his opponent.  The very brief moment required for recovery form the kick was fatal, as the opponent seized on this advantage and managed to wrap his arm around the gasping boy’s neck.  The neck was quickly broken and that round was over.  As the guests who’d bet on the winner cheered, he looked over at Jim, who nodded, and then proceeded to fuck the dead body, followed by biting off its cock and balls.  The winner ate the cock but kept the balls in his mouth as he crawled on hands and knees over to Jim, drooping the two morsels at his feet like a cat delivering a dead mouse to its owner.   The crowd cheered even louder.

 

The second match in round one took much longer.  There were no mistakes by either fighter, and they wrestled, punched, and kicked each other mercilessly for nearly an hour.  It finally became apparent one had slightly less stamina, and gradually the other fighter was able to take advantage of his greater stamina and gain an advantage.  It was only slight, but over the course of the hour it became enough.  After an amazingly intense and thrilling fight there was finally one less live animal in the ring.  The winner was so beat up and exhausted from the contest that he was barely able to fuck the body of his vanquished opponent, but he was also so horny form the endeavor he was able to do so, and then also followed the example of his future adversary and delivered the testicles to Jim for Jim’s enjoyment.  There was more cheering, more collecting of bets, and lots more slaves being fucked as the guests were sexually excited by the awesome battles they were watching.

 

Round two began immediately and was not nearly so much a fight as a slaughter.  The winner of the first contest, whose name was Peter, had hardly been winded from the effort and had plenty of time to rest and recover.  But since there was no break between the rounds the winner of the second fight was physically spent, wounded from numerous kicks and punches to his body, and barely able to defend himself.  So Peter took his time and methodically beat his opponent to death, using his advantage to break bones and kick vulnerable areas like the gut and genitals.  He didn’t bother to break the neck, but just watched as the other broken bones and the massive internal bleeding caused his victim to fall to the mat and writhe in terminal pain while Peter pissed all over him.  This was a great crowd pleaser, and the cheering was intense as Peter first bit off the dead guy’s nipples before once again enjoying a snack of fresh cock followed by delivering the genitals to his new master.  He remained kneeling in front of Jim, his head bowed, and then prostrated himself, kowtow style.   “If you will accept me, I am honored to be your property, master.  I relinquish my citizenship and welcome you to do with me as you wish, only hoping it will be as painful for me as it will be entertaining, sexually stimulating, and, whenever you wish, nourishing for you.”  The appropriateness of the speech caused the crowd to go wild, and Jim was extremely pleased.  He reached down and raised Peter’s head from the ground, proceeding to piss down his throat as he announced that he accepted the live meat as part of his birthday presents.  He then kicked Peter in the balls, hard, sending him sprawling back toward the ring.  Peter thanked Jim, crawled back, and knelt beside him as befit his new role.

 

“Wow.  That was quite a show and I hope you all enjoyed it.  I sure did, and I look forward to torturing Peter and fucking his ass during the next year.  And no one need worry about the aggression Peter showed.  Like the other contestants he is an extreme masochist, but his desire to serve drove him to fight.  But just to be sure we will administer the drugs needed to turn any aggressive nature into a completely obedient animal, seeking pain and being utterly turned on at the prospect of being tortured and snuffed at next year’s party if he lasts that long.”

 

Jim’s attention turned back to Matt.  “Now, it wouldn’t be a birthday party without a party game to follow the entertainment, would it?  One of my favorite short stories is “Andy Boy’s Birthday Party,” which has lots of good ideas.  And it’s appropriate for this occasion, since it’s about a fun snuff party for a sex slave on his ‘birthday.’  The cute part is that the birthday status is based on the anniversary of when the kid was snatched and turned into a slave, which was his REAL birthday in his new status.  That works great today since under that definition this is also Matt’s birthday, since he gave himself to me as property on my birthday five years back.   So it’s appropriate to let him be part of the games, like in the story, even getting a featured role.  Right?”  Everyone agreed.

 

“The early games in the story involved whipping the slave, and you folks have already done a great job of that.”  Jim turned Matt around so everyone could see his back.  “As you can see, you’ve managed to flog his back to the point there is no skin left.  It was thoughtful of you all to help him get his wish to be skinned alive, even if it’s just his back.”  Then Jim faked a look of surprise.  “Oh, wait, folks.  You missed a spot.”  With that Jim picked up a nearby whip, complete with the metal tips, and vigorously laid into Matt’s back.  There hadn’t actually been any skin left, but it was fun for Jim and got a lot of laughs.  Matt was pleased Jim was having so much fun and would have thanked him if he could still talk.

 

“Well, that takes care of that task.  Our next fun game is ‘Pin the tail on the donkey.’  We don’t have a donkey here, of course, but we do have a jackass.  So, jackass, how about if you make some donkey noises to set the mood?”

 

Jim pushed Matt into position next to him, and Matt did indeed make donkey noises – which was about all he could do since his tongue was removed.  Jim had earlier instructed him to practice prior to the party, and he was not bad at the imitation.  Again, there was lots of laughter at his expense, as was appropriate.

 

“Of course, we’ll have to make some adjustments.  Instead of blindfolding the players, we’re going to blindfold the donkey.  We have is a party kit from our friends at SnuffStuff, one of the island’s most successful companies.  This is a new set of products that are becoming popular world-wide as we spread our influence, which include everything you need for a fun snuff.  They were the ones who supplied those great whips that we all used to skin the donkey’s back.  This set is for our donkey game.  Let’s start by blindfolding him, while those of you nearby start to choose toys to pin him.”  Jim rummaged in a large bag and had the rest of the content distributed among the nearby guests.  He then blindfolded Matt.

 

The game was great fun.  Guests selected skewer-style needles and inserted them all over Matt’s body.  The cock and balls were the first target, with Jim starting the fun by inserting a large needle into Matt’s piss-slit.  The clever part of that needle was the fact it could be easily heated to burn the inside of the cock, which Jim did accompanied by Matt’s intense screams of pain.  Others were inserted cross-ways into the cock, with about a dozen penetrating the balls.  His nipples were effectively removed with two biting clamps, to which weights were added until the flesh was ripped off.  His butt became a pin-cushion, and more needles and weights assured his pecs were also pretty much ripped off.  His elbows were bent back and broken, and other guests cut off fingers to keep as souvenirs.  The best part was that the drugs with which Matt had been injected in prep for the party kept him awake and prevented the effects of system shock as his body was being destroyed.

 

When Matt finally began to show the serious effects of the multiple wounds that would cumulatively be fatal, Jim interrupted the fun.

 

“Well, you’ve all certainly pinned the donkey.  But you haven’t pinned a TAIL on it.  Don’t worry.  I have just the solution, again form our friends at SnuffStuff.”  Jim held up a very large dildo, which had a handle at the bottom.  “This is their Gut-Cleaner, part of the Deadly Dildo line of products.  It’s also brand new, based on the story I mentioned, and I think you’ll be impressed.  I’ll take the blindfold off so our donkey can see it and get an idea what a wonderful tail this will make for him.  And I’ll tie the scarf to the handle so it’s an official tail.”  The dildo looked a lot like a giant pinecone.  As Jim held it up he pressed a button on the handle and the dildo expanded as a series of sharp claws emerged from the sides.  Jim pushed the button again, and they retracted so that the dildo was again pinecone shaped.    “Once I insert this where it belongs, I’ll push the button again.  Then I’ll pull it out.  The coolest part is that there is an internal infrared camera that will project what’s happening inside our donkey onto the screen behind me.  I think everyone will enjoy the effect.”

 

Matt had had hundreds of dildos rammed up his ass over the years, but this one was the largest ever.  Jim didn’t even try to ease it in.  He wanted the maximum pain, so he shoved it as rapidly as it would go, ripping Matt’s ass big time, as evidenced by the flow of blood leaking from it.   Matt was past the point of being able to scream, but his whole demeanor left no doubt about the intensity of his agony.

 

As the dildo moved further inside Matt, the infrared camera showed a remarkably good image of what was going on.  Guests could see it move further into the intestines, and then cut its way into the lower stomach cavity.  At that point Jim pushed the button and the claws extended, cutting into the vulnerable internal flesh.

 

Then the real fun began.  Jim started to pull out the dildo, extremely slowly.  The claws had lodged themselves into the flesh, and at first simply extended further as he pulled.   The result was the claws pulling down the internal meat that it had cut into.  Matt was being gutted from within, and his innards started to make a slow journey down to his asshole.  Jim pointed out what was happening as the camera showed the intestines being ripped to shreds, and there was a general cheer when it finally reached the prostrate, which was surprisingly whole when it exited the asshole.  One of the guests picked it up and held it for everyone to see, taking a bite of it out of curiosity to see what this essential male organ tasted like.  “Yuck.  Clearly not as tasty as the balls,” he announced, spitting out the bite and tossing the rest back onto the now-bloody sand.  Jim, ever the gracious host, cut off what was left of Matt’s balls, handing one to his guest as a “chaser” to the bite of prostate, and eating the other himself.

 

The dildo itself finally came out coated in meat and gore.  Sadly, Matt was so far gone there was no real fun torturing him further.  So Jim had the various needles quickly removed, and Matt was placed on a serving table alongside a set of carving knives.  Jim thanked his guests for such a great party game, and, pointing out that Matt was, amazingly, still alive, invited them to enjoy some fresh live meat.  “Matt said he wanted to join us for dinner, back when he could talk, and it turns out he’ll be able to – at least for a little while.  I’m sure he’ll want to see people enjoy the meat they choose, so be sure to position it so he can watch.  I’ll demonstrate for you.”  Jim started by carving a generous slice of breast meat, holding it in front of Matt’s face as he ate it raw.  It was as good as Jim had anticipated it would be, and Matt was still conscious enough to realize his master was indeed enjoying dining on his flesh, as Matt had always hoped.  But Matt didn’t last long as the other guests aggressively cut off favorite parts. Everyone did agree the meat was very tasty, complementing Jim on how he’d adjusted Matt’s bodyfat level and added fruit juices to make it more flavorful.

 

The party went on for many hours, and Matt was quickly forgotten.  Jim’s attention turned to Peter, whom he fucked and tortured for the amusement of the guests.  It was great fun, and while Jim did briefly think of Matt when he took his morning dump the next day, that was the last time he did.  Matt had served his purpose well, and Jim had grown into the awesome Alpha Male he was meant to be.

 

Terminal Therapy by Gay Slavemeat Gsmeat2@gmail.com

On By m3mayhemIn Reader StoriesLeave a comment

I had a particularly satisfying orgasm recently while re-reading Den’s “Joe & Skyler Take a Captive” – imagining myself as the willing victim and also thinking about the comment Master Mac made to my “Bus Stop” story about a slave he owns.  As I enjoyed the cum I’d spewed over my belly and chest, it occurred to me that his reference could be a potential story for this site.  So, thanks Den and Master Mac.  I hope you (and others) enjoy it.

 

Mac opened the door and greeted the large, muscular man on his doorstep.  “Welcome.  I’m Master Mac, and you must be Ashton.  Do you go by Ash?”

 

“I go by Mr. Schmidt,” the man replied coldly, ignoring the offered handshake and brushing past Mac as he entered the room.  “Do you have the money?”

 

“I do.”  Mac ignored the rudeness and handed the visitor $2,000 in $100 bills.  After some negotiation, it had been the agreed fee.

 

“Where’s the fag slave you want off’d?”  Mac pointed at a young man standing naked in the living room.  He was in his mid-twenties, fit, and quite good looking., his body nicely tanned and devoid of any body hair.      The youth knew full well what was planned, but did not move or speak.  His head was slightly bowed.

 

“This is Jimmy.  If you’d like to sit down, we can finalize the details.”  Schmidt grunted and proceeded to the only nice chair in the rather dingy living room.  “Might as well get this over with.  I don’t know what you’re master of, but this place sure is a dump.”

 

Mac again ignored the slight, and walked over to his guest carrying a bottle of whisky and two glasses.  “I understand you like good Kentucky Whisky, and I inherited a 20-year-old bottle of Boundary Oak that I just opened for this occasion.  Would you like to share some?

 

This presented a dilemma for Schmidt.  He did indeed like high quality whisky, and he knew that this was probably the most expensive brand there was.  Much as he was disgusted by the drab surroundings and unimpressed with his host, he did figure the whisky would be good, and he’d never had any of this brand.  “OK, I’ll have some.  Make it a double.  Neat.  And the price just went up – you don’t get any and I get to keep the bottle as part of my fee.”

 

Mac remained obliging, agreed to the new term, and put one of the glasses back on the shelf.  He poured a generous double shot into the other one and handed it to his guest.  Schmidt reached out and also took the bottle.  It appeared to be the real thing, and that meant he had nearly doubled his fee.  He knew an aged bottle of Boundary Oak would fetch at least a couple thousand dollars at auction.  Maybe this job wouldn’t be a total loss after all.

 

“I covered a little of the situation in our email exchanges, but obviously didn’t lay out all of it.  You see, when Jimmy was almost 18 he was caught shop-lifting and resisted arrest, punching a cop.  The Judge decided to make an example of him, had him tried as an adult, and sentenced him to 7 years.   It was a severe sentence, but the local police chief had been really pissed at Jimmy and he’s quite powerful in these parts.  So Jimmy went to prison, where he was regularly and  brutally raped by a bunch of the other prisoners and guards.  Jimmy was a straight kid, so it not only fucked him up physically it really fucked him up sexually.  What put him over the edge was one night when some of the more brutal inmates and guards joined forces to torture another young prisoner, not only beating him severely and gang-raping his ass but ultimately chocking him to death.  Then they cut him into pieces and bar-be-cued the meat for their dinner.  Jimmy was forced to watch all of this and suck off the perpetrators while they waited their turn to rape the victim.  He’s never been able to get that scene out of his mind, especially the part when the kid finally died, shooting a large load of cum as he was simultaneously butt-fucked and strangled.  As the dying cock shot out the load, the guard who had won the draw and was doing the fucking and killing cut into the kid’s genitals, pulling out the cock and a bunch of intestines.  Two other guards ate the kid’s balls, since those are a delicacy, but Jimmy was forced to lick up the cum and eat the cock and the intestines attached to it.  He was also gang-raped while they waited for the kid’s meat to cook.  It was traumatic.

 

“I met Jimmy when I was serving some time in prison myself, and in due course I persuaded him to become my slave.  I rent him out as a prostitute for a good fee, which supplements what I can make from this farm I inherited last year.  You’re right – it’s not impressive, but it’s mine.

 

“I actually have grown very fond of Jimmy, and I used some of  the extra money he earns as a whore to get Jimmy therapy.  He’s no longer straight, and OK about being gay, and he accepts his proper role is as a slave.  The therapy had the results I was after.  But he still can’t get over the scenes in prison.  He visualizes himself in the scene, and his therapist said he won’t ever be able to get over it, I’ve tortured him severely, but it’s not enough.  Jimmy has accepted that too, so he is ready to encounter death., almost eager.  He wants to do it by re-enacting that scene.  Given my affection for Jimmy, I don’t want him to live his life constantly in emotional pain.  So he and I agreed we’d have to act.  That’s where you come in.”

 

Schmidt had been focusing on the whisky, and showed no reaction to the story.  “That’s pretty pathetic.  I really don’t give a fuck about your problems.  And I hate fags.  But I do kill people for a living, and I’m willing to kill Jimmy if I get paid to do it.  By the way, the whisky isn’t all that great – you’re full of disappointments.

 

“But why don’t you kill him yourself if you “love” him so much?  It’s easy.  You’ve probably got an axe around here, and you could have him kneel over the tree stump I saw out front.  If you whack him in the back of the neck he probably won’t even freak out much and you can get a nice, clean cut.  It’s fun to watch the head tumble onto the ground and the body gush out a torrent of blood and such from the severed neck.  Or if you want to watch him die a little more slowly, which I recommend for a worthless piece of shit like him, then just stab him in the heart.  Here, you can even use my Bowie knife.  Just aim a little to the left of his chest and you should enter the heart directly.  He’ll be dead pretty quickly, but it’ll be more entertaining.”  Schmidt was disgusted with Mc’s reluctance, and his tone showed it.  He took out a large Bowie knife from a sheaf attached to his belt and placed it on the table with the sharp end pointing at Jimmy.

 

“I understand, and those are excellent suggestions.  You’re clearly a professional.  But Jimmy wants the scene in the prison, complete with torture, strangulation, and an orgasm timed to coincide with the point of death.  I’m just not capable of killing someone I care about, especially that brutally.   I really need for you to do it.”

 

“OK.  If you’re a coward as well as a fag, I’ll take care of the job.  You’re obviously no ”master.”  But if I’m only getting two  grand and some expensive booze that isn’t all that great, I get to do it the way I want.  And that won’t be quick.  It will be a lot worse than what happened to the kid in prison.  That’s the only reason I’m willing to consider this at such a small fee.  I normally get a whole lot more.”  Schmidt had had several shots of the booze, even though he claimed not to like it, and it made him a bit talkative.  Given his personality, that also meant he was into bragging about his exploits.  “When I do a typical job, I get at least $10,000 and usually more.  My clients are very wealthy and powerful people who need someone taken out quietly and permanently, with no risk of the event being blamed on them.  So most of the time it’s poison that isn’t traceable, or “accidents” that I arrange.  Every now and then it’s a vengeance killing, and those are more fun.  I get to be personal with the victim, making sure he knows who ordered his death and making sure it’s very painful and slow.  In those cases, I almost always include fucking the guy, which adds a lot of humiliation and some fun for me.  I’m no fag, but I’ll fuck fags when it’s part of the process of snuffing them – like you all deserve.

 

Mac ignored the homophobia, which he was used to in his part of the world, but he was curious.  “Don’t you worry that they’ll have you killed to keep you quiet?  Aren’t they at risk of being blackmailed?”

 

Schmidt was in a mood to brag some more.  ” I got that covered.  First off, most of them are repeat customers, so they’ll need my services again.  Havin someone killed is a great permanent solution to a problem.  Second, I always create clear evidence of what I did, pointing to the person who hired me.  But it also deliberately points to me as well.  So it’s a mutual threat.  If they have me killed, I’ve arranged for all that to be revealed.  But if I blackmail them, I’d be exposed as well.  So my clients and I can “trust” each other.  It’s worked well, and I’ve never turned on anyone who hires me.  After all, I’m a professional.”

 

Mac responded to the descriptions and the terms gratefully.  “I fully understand, and you made that very clear in our exchanges.  Besides, what Jimmy apparently needs is to replay the horrors of the scene he saw in prison.  The kid who got snuffed had lots of bad things done to him before he died, like having bones broken and being subjected to electricity on his genitals.  Whatever you decide will probably be an important part of the experience for him.  But at the end, as he died, the kid shot a big load that the rapists responded to by cutting off his cock as it spewed its final orgasm, as I described.   Jimmy wants that to be part of what he experiences, and I think it would be fun to watch, so that’s the only real constraint on the scene.  I suspect you’d enjoy doing that.  Otherwise there are no limits.  I’ll butcher the dead body, and if you want to join me for dinner you’re welcome to do so.”

 

Schmidt considered what Mac had said, and now took a careful look at Jimmy.  The kid was remarkably good looking.  Schmidt never admitted, even to himself, that he was turned on by young males so long as he could dominate them, ideally killing them.  Somehow that didn’t constitute being gay.  Nor did the fact he enjoyed watching young guys cum, which usually generated an orgasm on his part as well.  He especially liked it when they shot their final load while he choked them to death, his cock up their ass, so he could feel the wonderful pressure as the male’s death spasms caused the sphincter to tighten on his cock and sent him into wild sexual ecstasy. That’s obviously what happened in the prison scene.   So, he figured this might be a fun afternoon after all.

 

“You’ve got a deal.”  And with that Schmidt described in detail what he planned to do to Jimmy.  To his surprise, as he did so Jimmy got an erection.  He wasn’t stroking himself, still standing naked and mute with his hands at his sides.  But his cock grew nicely as he listened to the horrible things Schmidt planned.  And that, in turn, got Schmidt turned on, having never had a cooperative victim before.  Mac could see Schmidt’s own erection, which was not concealed by the tight jeans the muscular killer wore, and could also see the tightening of his nipples under the T-shirt that was deliberately too small for his torso in order to show off his impressive physique.

 

“But one more condition. While I’m ripping your little boy-toy into pieces and fucking his ass, I don’t want you getting all sentimental, changing your mind,  and interfering.  So you can watch – it’s going to be  quite a show – but only if you’re handcuffed in place.  Understood?”  And with that Schmidt pulled a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket and tossed them to Mac.  He had no intention of letting Mac live after he killed Jimmy, and was already planning how to snuff him too.  He was sure he could overpower Mac, but figured having victim #2 already handcuffed would make it easier.  Schmidt planned ahead.  But Mac did not object.

 

“Understood.  I think we have everything worked out.  Is this all OK with you, Jimmy?”  Jimmy still didn’t speak, but nodded affirmatively.  His rock-hard cock had already made his positon clear.

 

Mac had one final question.  “I am glad we have a deal, and frankly getting the money was a challenge for us.  But I’m curious why you’re willing to do it for so much less than you usually charge.”

 

By now Schmidt had had a fair amount of the whisky, and he was more than willing to brag further about his exploits.  He told Mac that he had just completed a very lucrative job in the same county, so he was already in the area.  It had been a long and complex kill, ordered by a right-wing minister who hated homosexuals.  He had a campaign going to make homosexuality illegal again, as it should be, but also to require that gay males be publicly castrated.  They would then lose their citizenship and work as slaves, required to stay naked so that citizens could see the results of their sin.  Since the pastor viewed homosexuality as a choice, he reasoned that this would eliminate the evil form society.

 

The problem was that a nearby rabbi had been leading efforts in opposition, and needed to be neutralized.  Schmidt had figured out a great way to do it, and the job was now complete.  He had spent a year setting up evidence to frame the rabbi as a pederast.  Schmidt identified young males in the area and sodomized them himself, after knocking them out, blindfolding them, stripping them, and taking them to a room he’d fixed up to look just like the rabbi’s bedroom.  The youths had no idea who raped them, but Schmidt played a recording he’d doctored from some of the rabbi’s sermons, in which they heard the rabbi’s voice saying he was sorry.  Then he threatened them if they told, which none did.  Once he had raped a dozen or so victims during the past year, he went to the rabbi’s house.  He forced the cleric to strip naked, and then castrated him.  After that, Schmidt hacked into the personal diary the rabbi had kept online (which Schmidt had discovered earlier) and edited it to include vivid descriptions and photos of the rapes.  He also added lots of self-loathing, telling how the rabbi couldn’t help himself because he was gay and decided the only solution was to castrate himself.  Schmidt made it appear the rabbi died from a botched self-castration.  Schmidt even showed Mac pictures of the rabbi lying naked on the floor of his living room, his hand holding a knife and his balls lying nearby in a pool of blood.

 

“But I wasn’t able to fuck the guy.  If I did that, there would be semen inside him and that would put the positioning as a suicide at risk.  I’m very careful about details – it’s essential in my profession.  Sniffing this kid standing here, and fucking him as I do it, will make up for that, and the fact I’ll have to stop sodomizing those other kids so it confirms that it was the rabbi.  It will be worth it if the preacher is successful in his crusade, which is now gaining lots of support after the news of the rabbi broke.  And I got a HUGE fee from the preacher.”

 

Mac listened appreciatively, congratulating Schmidt on his professionalism.  And, as Schmidt put down his drink, they proceeded to the task at hand.

 

. . . . .

 

Schmidt awakened the next morning.  He didn’t recall falling asleep, and was even more surprised to realize he was now naked, lying on a hard cot in a prison cell.  His cock was rigid with what he assumed was his morning pee-erection, although he didn’t feel a need to piss.  He next realized that his body had been completely shaved from the neck down.  His hands were cuffed behind him, and both Mac and Jimmy were looking down at him.  He also realized he had a serious headache, a foul taste in his mouth,  and pain in his right hand.

 

“Welcome back, Ass.  You don’t mind if I call you Ass, do you?  It can be short for Ashton, but it’s so much more appropriate for an asshole like you.  And enough of that Schmidt stuff.  Let’s go with something that’s also more appropriate.  How about “Shit”?  Mac smiled broadly, and so did Jimmy – his first expression since their guest had arrived.  “Ass-shit seems like a perfect name.  It’s now morning, by the way, and we want to thank you for an afternoon of fun and for inspiring some great fag sex last night between Jimmy and me.  As you might be starting to figure out, I spiked the whisky, and you spent the afternoon extremely drunk.  But you were drinking so much while you bragged about all your exploits I probably didn’t need to do that.  I knew you were an asshole from what we’d researched, but didn’t realize you’re also an alcoholic.  We let you entertain us during the afternoon and then let you sleep it off.  We’re both still pretty horny, but we did have fun with you and we have waited a long time for this, so we figured we could wait another day. But it’s time for your morning piss.”  With that, Mac unzipped his pants and pissed all over Ass.  Jimmy did the same, but didn’t need to unzip since he was still naked.  Ass swore and protested, calling them names and making all kinds of threats.

 

Jimmy, why don’t you lead our guest to the whipping station in our playroom while I explain things to him.  I’m sure he’s curious.”

 

Jimmy unlocked the jail door and grabbed “Ass” by the shoulders to get him up off the cot.  Their guest resisted and started swearing even louder at his hosts.

 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Mac commented, as he touched an icon  on his iPhone.  Ass immediately felt a massive pain erupting inside his guts, and screamed in shock.  He had never felt that level of pain, and it quickly spread throughout his body.  “You see, Ass, I can send electricity into your body from my iPhone app, and I can adjust the amount from a light reminder to a level that would be fatal.  You don’t have to worry about the latter, as we have other plans, but you seem to have felt the level I picked for this morning.  It’s one of my favorite toys, and something I invented in my role as Master Mac.  It’s all from a microchip I had you swallow, which is now embedded in your belly.  It won’t move from there, but I’ll retrieve it later.  I let Jimmy test it, so I know it works well.  I make a nice return on my S&M inventions.”  With that he touched a different picture, and Jimmy jerked with obvious pain, but did not scream.  “Thank you Master,” he approximately responded when Master Mac ended the demonstration.

 

Ass stopped screaming and cursing, and cooperated while he sized up the situation.  He still had no respect for the two smiling fags, believing they were amateurs who would make a mistake and whom he would overcome when they did.  But he was now very worried and starting to develop a little actual fear.  He’d never had that before.  He was always the one in charge.

 

“You see, the story I told you is true, but you misunderstood one part of it.  What Jimmy needs in order to have a great orgasm is indeed reenacting the prison scene.  Seeing that kid tortured and snuffed, and eating his cock and innards,  really did screw him up sexually and emotionally.  And reliving that scene is the only true relief for him.  But in his re-enactments he’s the one doing the killing, not the victim.  I figured that out shortly after I met Jimmy.  The part about me being in prison is also true, but it was for killing a guy in a bar fight.  He’d pissed me off, and I beat the shit out of him.  He turned out to have some weird condition, died, and then I got stuck with a manslaughter charge.  The DA’s a friend of mine, so we agreed I’d just do 30 days since he completely understood that I had every right to beat up the dead guy.  He even arranged for the warden to assign Jimmy as my cell-mate, so I’d have someone young and cute to fuck.  The DA and I are part of a gay S&M club, where we have lots of fun torturing and fucking guys like Jimmy, and we take care of our fellow masters.  The room we’re in is where we meet, and I think you’ll agree it’s very well equipped.

 

“Jimmy turned out to be a great fuck, and I listened to his story while I was pumping his ass.  Part of the problem for him was that he had gotten totally turned on during the snuff party.  He had no problem with the guards and other prisoners torturing and killing the punk kid, and his only objection to having to eat the kid’s intestines was that he would have preferred a bigger helping of boy-meat.  He loved eating the cock and licking up the um from the dead body.  He felt guilty about how he reacted, which fucked him up even more.  Jimmy had gone from being a straight kid chasing pussy to a gay kid massively turned on by extreme gay S&M.  He is now my slave, and I fuck him and torture him as I wish, but he seems to need periodic opportunities to be the ultimate top, and I’m very OK with that.  It’ a lot of fun for both of us, as you’ll see – the three of us are going to spend some true quality time together.    Jimmy gets amazing orgasms when he gets to viciously snuff some guy.  And I do as well when I get to watch and then butt-fuck the nice warm corpse while Jimmy watches.  We’ve hunted down and tortured to death all 10 of the guys who snuffed the kid, so we were wondering where to get more targets.  Then we heard about you and figured we’d give it a try.  We really don’t have all that much money, so getting the two grand in cash was a stretch.  But we figured that had to be real to get your interest.  And I did inherit the bottle of booze and the farm, although you don’t need to worry about having wasted the booze.  I decanted the real stuff into another container, and I filled what you drank from with spiked cheap bourbon that I’d peed into.  I also spiked it to make you get more drunk.  For someone who claims to be such an expert, I was surprised you didn’t realize it was fake.  But your arrogance and rapid consumption solved that problem.”  Jimmy had now guided his target into the main room as Mac turned up the lights.  Ass could now see that this was a very large room, and the cell was positioned in a corner of what was clearly a torture chamber.  As Jimmy led him to a whipping station, Ass was distracted by another jolt of electricity that kept him from effectively resisting as Jimmy unlocked the handcuffs and fastened Ass’s wrists to shackles attached to the ceiling.  At that point Ass could tell that his right index finger was missing, explaining the pain in his hand but confusing him even further.

 

“I see you noticed your missing finger.  Let me explain while Jimmy starts the fun with a long and intense whipping session.  The station is designed so he can get to both your back and your front, so it will also be comprehensive.  Once you’ve been whipped long enough we figure you’re going to be a lot easier to deal with.

 

Jimmy, now smiling broadly and becoming talkative as he assumed his new role of a torturer, piled o: “I’m going to focus more on your back, and I’ll remove all the skin.  That way, when we put you on your back on the torture table it will hurt a whole lot more.  It’s sort of the reverse of you having skin in the game.  But Master will have fun with your chest, belly, and genitals.  He’s really expert at that.  Trust me, I know.”  Both Jimmy and Mac chuckled at Jimmy’s banter.  Mac was delighted to see Jimmy so happy.

 

“So let me explain the missing finger.  It’s simple.  Both Jimmy and I are great internet researchers and software hackers.  That’s how we found what you like to drink.  And while you were out we wanted to  use your cell phone to break into your Facebook page and to find the records on your various kills.  We didn’t want you in the way, so we left you in the prison cell for a bit while we did our work.  It was easier to use your index finger to allow us to  unlock your phone and get past the security blocks you set up.  We just cut it off and took it with us.   We now know where all the evidence you created about your kills was located and have transferred it to our computers.  You did a sloppy job protecting it and you’re lucky one of your past employers didn’t try to break the deal.  The more I learn about you, the less impressed I am.  I think you’re basically just a thug, not a professional at all.   We also figured out how you tried to assure the evidence would be released if you were killed, and we’ve disabled all that.  We’re in complete control of all of it.

 

“We have a great plan.  First, we’ll release the evidence about you and the anti-gay preacher.  That will get his vile campaign stopped, and put him in prison until he’s executed.  Second, we’ll contact your prior employers and blackmail them.  They won’t know who we are, but the evidence and all the publicity around you killing the rabbi will convince them we’re for real. And that we don’t care about exposing you as the actual killer.  At that point we’re going to have no problems blackmailing all the others.  So thanks to you, Jimmy and I are going to be very rich.  Oh, and thanks for all the funds you had in your accounts.  That’s the one thing I’ve learned about you that’s impressive, and it’s now it’s now converted to bitcoins I control.  Totally untraceable. So I’m already rich, with all your money, and don’t have to wait for the blackmail money to start flowing in.  You’ll be pleased to know I plan to use some of it to fix up the place so it’s not so dingy.”  As Mac had continued talking, Jimmy had selected a bullwhip and started working on Ass’s back.  The whipping was intense and Jimmy soon broke into a sweat form the efforts.

 

Ass could not help but listen to what Mac was saying.  He was horrified, and now he was truly afraid.  He was in intense pain as the whip lacerated his skin, and to the delight of both Jimmy and Mac he started screaming.  It turned out Ass wasn’t nearly as tough as he’d appeared to be.  The screams were mixed with curses and threats that further delighted his captors, and gave Mac an excuse to play with his electricity toy to punish the cursing.    Ass was far exceeding the expectations they had when they decided to make him their next target.

 

“A couple more things while we get underway.  I like sex to be not just naked, but REALLY naked – which is enhanced by removing all body hair.  So I had Jimmy remove all yours, as he does with his own and mine, Clearly that also offends your macho nature, and there’s no body hair to cushion the blows.   I think I’ve explained the physical stuff we did to you so far, with one exception.  We like it when the victim’s cock is hard.  I gave you a series of  shots while you were out that will keep it hard until we cut it off.  Maybe you’ll get that death orgasm we chatted about!  You won’t feel it if we leave your cock attached that long, since it happens as you die, but it will entertain us, which is, after all, the whole point.  We probably will not cut it off until after your final ejaculation, and that will be once you’re dead and I fuck your corpse.  You see, if you know how to do it you can get a dead male to have an ejaculation, and I really enjoy doing that. Jimmy’s OK waiting until then to eat it.”  Jimmy had paused to stroke Ass’s cock as Mac explained the drugs, and he did indeed have a solid erection despite the brutal whipping.  He screamed that he was no fag, which got responses of a vicious cut with the bullwhip from Jimmy and an electric shock from Mac.  They both laughed as Ass let out a particularly pitiful scream.  Jimmy and Mac exchanged comments on how pretty Ass’s body was now that it was shaved and naked, complete with an erection that Mac could enjoy whipping.  Mac was now planning on doing just that, and Jimmy laughingly reminded his Master not to get so carried away that the whip cut it off.  Mac responded by sending an electric shock through Jimmy’s body, for which Jimmy once again expressed his appreciation.  They had a wonderful relationship.

 

Mac put down the iPhone he was using to control his guest and his slave, and took the time to strip naked himself.  It was time to move from timid and helpful host to sexual predator, and Mac’s cock was already hard and ready for action.  His body was also hairless, and if Ass had been able to focus he would have had to admire how handsome Mac was, his muscles toned and strong.  His looks and demeanor now fully justified his title of “master.”  Both Jimmy and Mac were totally turned on sexually, even leaking a little pre-cum.   There would be multiple orgasms during the sessions, but they were careful not to erupt too soon.  They had special plans for their first loads of cum.

 

Mac joined in the whipping, and enjoyed focusing on Ass’s vulnerable cock.  As predicted, it stayed hard despite the pain and adrenalin flowing through its owner.  Mac explained further to Ass that the level of drugs he’d injected would be fatal in due course, but keeping the cock hard was important, and Ass would be dead before the impact of the drugs on the rest of his body took effect.  That did not seem to reassure Ass, who continued his screams, curses, and threats.

Mac and Jimmy kept on with their morning aerobics.  Ass was soon no longer screaming, but had started crying.  That pleased his tormentors immensely.  Even better, he actually started to beg.

 

“Please guys, let me go.  I’ll do anything.  I know you’ve won.  But please don’t kill me.  You can keep all my stuff and I’ll keep quiet.  I’m sorry I was an asshole.  Please!”

 

Mac was now beyond delighted.  “That’s very generous of you, Ass, but you don’t have anything to give us.  We’ve taken it all.    We’re going to take your life next, slowly and quite painfully.  That will keep you quiet.  Besides, even if we did let you go, at this point you don’t have a life to go back to.  You see, while you were drunk we had a lot of fun.  We stripped you naked, and as I mentioned Jimmy shaved you so you’d be more pretty and I made sure you’d have a hard cock while we played with you.  To ruin your macho image, Jimmy put you in panties, a bra, and a dress, and then had you kneel in front of him and suck him off.  He came in your mouth, and followed that with a load of piss.    Then you did the same for me.  To our surprise, you drank both and didn’t even gag.  I’m betting your mouth taste pretty weird as a result.  I do think you should come to terms with your own homosexuality, but there might not be much time for that now.  After you swallowed all that cum and piss, Jimmy  took off the dress and had you lie down on your back, pulling the panties down a bit so your cock stood out.  Then he had you jerk off.  You shot quite a load, which sprayed up onto the bra.  So he had you take that off and suck the cum from the bra.  Then you peed all over yourself – which was a nice surprise courtesy of the fact you were so drunk – and you licked that up too.  That’s when you fell asleep for the night and we put you in the cell.  Oh, by the way, thanks for the handcuffs.  We used yours on you.  I hope you didn’t think I was so stupid that I didn’t know you planned to kill me too?  I think you’re the only one dumb enough to fall for something that obvious.

 

“Once we had you put way for the night, we went into your Facebook page and made an entry of “coming out at last” in which you say you wanted your friends to know that you were actually a gay transvestite.   You had fallen in love with a young man who was now also your master, and you were going to live as a gay slave serving him, moving to the Caribbean.  We figure that will explain why you will be disappearing, and it was a lot of fun to write.  The video we posted of Jimmy’s fun with you turned out pretty nicely, if I do say so myself.  It shows Jimmy’s cock in your mouth and the fact his buttocks are those of a young man.  That supports the story without risking him being identified.  Given all that, it’s best if we just keep killing you, which, by the way, we’re really enjoying.  If you want an update, though, I did check your Facebook page  little while ago.  Pretty much all your “friends” have defriended you already.  Some of them had very nasty things to say about you, and there was sure a lot of gay bashing.  No one offered any support or sympathy.  I also noticed that a lot of them have posted shirtless pictures of themselves on their own Facebook pages.  Some of them are pretty good looking and fairly young.  I’ve made a list of who they are and this will give us a promising selection of new victims.  We think snuffing gay bashers who are sexually hot is a great service to society.  Maybe you guys can have a reunion in hell.”

 

Ass said nothing.  His world was destroyed, he was totally humiliated, and now he was going to die a painful death.  His anger and hatred boiled over, but there was really nothing to say.

 

After about an hour of arousing exercise, Mac decided it was time for a break.  He and Jimmy had worked hard, and were very sweaty.  Ass’s back was now effectively skinned by the whipping, making it a great source for further torture.  Mac wanted to shower up so they’d be fresh for the next session, and then take a short nap holding each other.  He also figured Ass was at risk of premature damage.  They sprayed alcohol on Ass’s lacerations, generating some satisfying screams, and walked over to a shower area in the dungeon.  Jimmy washed Mac, as was appropriate, and then washed himself.  They two embraced and kissed, pleased with their efforts and eager for more.  They then went over to Ass and hosed him off, admiring how their handiwork had left the once-pristine flesh terribly scarred or completely gone.  It was just a start, but it was a good start.  They left Ass hanging at the whipping post and lay down in a bed that gave them a great view of their suffering victim.  The two lovers, master and slave, then dozed peacefully and briefly after they enjoyed admiring their handiwork.  For Ass’s benefit, they played the video of the prior afternoon’s fun on a large screen he could view.  They fell asleep fulfilled by the sound of his sobbing.

 

Mac woke refreshed about an hour later, and awakened Jimmy with an electric shock.  He and Jimmy walked over and released Ass from the whipping station.  He had passed out, and they carried him over to a torture table, where they fastened his wrists and ankles so that he was spread-eagled on his back.  The surface under Ass’s back was sandpaper, designed to keep him in constant, ongoing pain especially when his body moved.  The table had gutters along the sides for draining blood and other body fluids, and was on an incline so that the upper body was somewhat higher than the legs.  That way blood would flow downhill after the heart stopped, which would keep the cock hard even then and help generate the desired orgasm.  There was also a split designed so that the torturer could stand between the legs of the victim, making it easier to attack the genitals and fuck the ass.  Mac had designed and built. It himself, using Jimmy to test his ideas.  He was rightfully proud of how well it had turned out, and the others he built were a big hit within his “Master Mac” line of S&M products.

 

They woke Ass up and Mac explained a little of what was coming next.  “You had some very creative ideas yesterday when you described how you planned to torture Jimmy.  It was the thought of doing those things to you that got him hard.   Thanks for those, and we’ll do our best to follow your script.  But we think they weren’t painful or humiliating enough and have added other ideas like whipping to the list.  You also assumed a willing victim, which is an assumption we can’t make.  We’ve planned for that too.

 

“One added area of fun is that we are going to cut off some of your meat before you die.  That way we can make you watch parts of yourself being eaten.  You’ll be dead by the time we fully butcher you for dinner tonight.  Our new hobby has made us realize how tasty male meat is, and we greatly enjoy our cannibal treats.  If there’s a part of your body you especially recommend and would like to watch us eat, please feel free to let me know.  Also, we do hope you continue to scream a lot.  We’re in the middle of nowhere so no one will hear.  We’ve found we especially enjoy listening as the screams become more those of an animal instead of a human.  It helps us realize that’s exactly what you are – meat ready to be killed and eaten.  It’s quite an added turn-on.  Jimmy will take over now.”

 

And Jimmy did indeed take control, speaking to Ass as the one in charge for the first time.  This was his fantasy now, and he was fully into it and, with his Master’s blessing,  in control.  The first thing he did was hold a pair of pliers in front of Ass.  “Now that you’re an official fag, you need to learn to suck cock.  You didn’t do that great a job yesterday, although I think you have potential.  I’ll teach you, and you can suck mine.  But I don’t trust you not to bite me now that you’re no longer drunk.  So, just to make sure, I’m going to use these pliers to remove your teeth.  Slowly, one by one.  It is amazingly painful, apparently.“  With that statement he inserted a device to hold Ass-Shit’s mouth wide open, and started to approach his target.  He paused briefly, however.  “Do you have a preference if you lose your uppers or lowers first?  I do want to be accommodating.”  Both Jimmy and Mac laughed, but Jimmy didn’t wait for an answer before using the pliers to slowly remove Ass’s teeth, enjoying the gurgled scrams and curses.  Better yet, there was no way Ass could lie still, so the sandpaper added another source of pain to his skinless back.  Jimmy had also inserted dentist-style suction tube so that the bleeding would not choke his victim.  “We don’t’ want you to die too soon, do we?  Actually, the whole process of snuffing you will take hours, so be patient.  You’ll be dead before we have you for dinner, but you ought to know we like to eat late.  It’s all just part of the process, and the fun.  By the way, that invitation from Master Mac yesterday to join us for dinner is still open, and we’ve accepted on your behalf.  But you probably didn’t realize you would be the main course.”

 

Jimmy kept talking as he worked.  Once in charge, with the prospect of being able to relieve his sexual tension by snuffing another male, he had a very outgoing personality.  “You might notice the cameras that are all around the room.  We’re filming this, like we did the fun I had with you yesterday during your coming out party, and we’ll send an edited version of the film – one that doesn’t show us – to your former employers.  It will feature you sucking cock and getting butt-fucked, among other things.  We want them to conclude that you were a fag all along, which I think you actually are.  Having a seriously erect cock while you suck another guy’s dick is pretty strong evidence.  We don’t just want to torture and kill you.  We want to humiliate you as well.  And, of course, we want your employers  to know you’re dead so they understand the reality of being blackmailed.  Once I’ve strangled you and Master Mac has enjoyed fucking your corpse and making you cum, I’ll cut off your head to make it clear.  Then we’ll finish butchering you and toss whatever’s left into the chipper Master Mac has out back.  We love the movie Fargo and will probably watch that tonight.”

 

Once Jimmy was done with his first task, he climbed on top of Ass and inserted his cock into the bleeding mouth.  Ass tried to resist, but couldn’t.  Jimmy began thrusting his cock in and out of the new fag he was creating.  There was also an elaborate system of mirrors, so both Jimmy and Ass could see that Ass’s cock was dripping pre-cum, an observation Mac was delighted to point out as he watched.

 

But Jimmy did not let Ass bring him to orgasm.  He had other plans first, so he ending the sucking and just loosed a load of piss down Ass’s unwilling throat.  “It’s time for some breakage, so we can release you form the restraints.  We’re going to fuck your ass next and it’s easier if we can lift you a little.”  Jimmy climbed off Ass and signaled to Mac, who approached the strapped victim from the side opposite to Jimmy.  “We think you’d try to attach us, and that would interrupt our fun.  So we’ve decided to prevent that.  You’d mentioned parts of me that you wanted to break, and we’re going to follow your advice.”

 

At Jimmy’s signal, Mac grabbed Ass’s left elbow with one hand and administered a professional karate chop to it with the other.  Jimmy did the same with the other elbow, and both blows were successful.  Ass now had two broken arms, and he would not be able to use them to try to attack his torturers or defend himself.  Mac and Jimmy now released his wrists from the restraints, and, just to be safe, administered similar blows that broke each wrist.  Ass passed out, but was quickly revived.

 

“We’re going to cut off your hands now,” Jimmy announced with glee.  After we dispose of you, I’m going to drive your rental car down to Florida and abandon it.  I’ll wear gloves so I don’t leave any fingerprints, then I’ll use your hands to make sure yours are all over the place.  Then I’ll dispose of them by burning them up in order not to leave a trace.  Pretty clever, huh?”

 

Mac couldn’t help piling on.  “Jimmy dreamed that idea up himself, and I approved so long as he stays naked.  That’s a condition of his status as my slave.  But it will work out OK since I’m going to fly down and meet him.  I’ll get a rental car and we’ll go to a S&M bar I particularly like.  Slaves are always naked there.  The coolest part is that one of your former Facebook “friends” is actually gay and hangs out there too.  I recognized him from when I was there before.  I’ll arrange to meet him, and offer him Jimmy to whip and fuck.  When we go back to his place to do that, Jimmy and I will knock him out and fake his decision to move away or something like that.  We’ll drive him back here and he’ll be our next victim.  The first thing he’ll see will be the full film of your adventures, so it will be fun to share that with him before he starts his own.”

 

 

 

Jimmy took a slightly different approach in terms of destroying Ass’s knees.  He and Mac first took sledge hammers and pulverized Ass’s ankles.  They released the restraints, and next bent each leg forward until it broke at the knee.  This required once again reviving their target, who was now completely incapable of any action they would consider threatening.  And they could maneuver him on the table to suit their fatal plans for the body.

 

“I do admire your physical shape, especially your great chest and pecs.  So let’s take care of them next.”  Jimmy once again picked up the pliers, washing off the blood in a nearby sink.  “We want to keep things clean.”  He placed the pliers over each tit, and squeezed them tightly.  Then he twisted them, causing the tits to be crushed and twisted off the handsome chest.  There was a little breast-meat that came with each one, and after he was done he offered one to Mac and took one himself.  They made sure Ass was watching and ate them raw.  It wasn’t very good meat, but it did make sure Ass knew they were serious about what was ultimately going to happen to his body.  That body was now a ruined mass of pain.

 

“Time for a good fuck and our first orgasm of the session,” announced Jimmy.  He explained to Ass that they had not butt-fucked him the day before because they wanted him to feel that sensation and humiliation while he was sober.  He also explained that they resolved the issue of who got to do the first fuck by agreeing to do a double-fuck.  With both their dicks up Ass’s ass, his pain would be a lot greater, as would their pleasure.  They loved the feel of the asshole being torn, and of each other’s dicks erupting together.  They had gotten quite good at their timing, he assured Ass.  And once he was double-fucked by two guys, Ass would officially be initiated as a total fag.

 

Mac positioned himself underneath Ass, and Jimmy lifted the broken legs (delighted at the obvious pain that caused Ass).  They both inserted their cocks at the same time, not bothering with any lube that might have reduced Ass’s pain.  This was when the screams took on the despairing tone of an animal that they so much enjoyed hearing.  Ass had lost all hope, all his fight, and was simply wallowing in the incredible agony being inflicted on him.  Being double-fucked by two fags was the worst thing he could imagine.

 

But Ass had another problem.  As painful as the fucking was, it also gave him considerable sexual pleasure.  The pressure on his prostate enhanced his erection even more, and he was aghast to realize he was getting major sexual pleasure from being raped by guys.  Both Jimmy and Mac recognized his reaction, and made sure to point out that he was in fact just a fag who, under his own standards, deserved to die a terrible death.  This was what Ass himself believed he deserved.  His humiliation was total.

 

Mac and Jimmy took their time fucking, wanting it to last as long as possible.  They were turned on by feeling the tear in the asshole itself, and they were beyond turned on by the feel of each other’s hard cocks in the tight hole.  They guessed (correctly) that the hole was in fact a virgin as Ass had claimed, and took satisfaction being the first (and last) to rape it.  They managed to stretch out the rhythmic thrusts for nearly an hour, but their sexual excitement had to be dealt with.  They kissed each other and picked up the pace, moving toward orgasm.  As they did so, Jimmy started stroking Ass’s cock, which was also clearly aroused even beyond the drugs that kept it hard no matter what.  It all worked perfectly, and all three males shot loads at the same time.  Jimmy’s however, was more like an explosion, as he got not just the physical release of a great fuck but the psychological release of knowing the guy he just fucked would soon be dead, and that Jimmy was the one killing him.  It was a phenomenal release, second only to the anticipated death itself.  Mac’s orgasm was also intense, in his case amplified by knowing his beloved slave was on his way to sexual and psychological fulfillment.  For Ass there was no joy, although he did feel the physical pleasure of shooting a load.  That pleasure was overwhelmed by the immense pain he was in, and by his humiliation.  But his lack of appreciation was made up for by how much Mac and Jimmy enjoyed watching him shoot and laughing at his agony.

 

It was now early afternoon and Jimmy declared it was time for lunch and another nap.  He was worried that Ass was fading faster than he wanted, and he was hungry.  They left Ass on the table and washed up, cleaning off what was a considerable amount of Ass’s sweat, blood, and gore as well as their own sweat.  Once they were freshened, Jimmy approached Ass and announced that he had decided what to have for lunch.  “I don’t want to risk you dying too soon, so I am not going to cut into your core.  But there’s enough meat for lunch on your lower legs, and they’re already pretty much destroyed.”  With that Jimmy picked up two hand saws, giving one to Master Mac.  They were deliberately slow as they first sawed off Ass’s feet, then used a butcher knife to cut off the meat on the lower legs, and finally sawed off his lower legs at the knees.  Doing it in that order had the advantage of assuring Ass felt all possible pain in the process.  Jimmy expertly cauterized the wounds so that Ass wouldn’t bleed to death.  And he revived him so that he could watch them eat his flesh.

 

Lunch was delicious.  They made it sort of a picnic, with grits and baked beans, eating Ass’s meat raw.  “Ass tar-tar is sure delicious,” Mac declared. “And it will in due course turn into shit as we digest it.  You are aptly named, Ass-Shit.”  Both Jimmy and Mac laughed, but Ass was not amused.

 

“We’re going to take a break and relax, so you don’t react too strongly to what we’ve done so far.  After all, the next round will be a lot more intense.  We don’t want you to get bored, however, so we’re going to turn on a vibrator in the table that will cause your body to shake and make sure the sandpaper does its job of assuring your back is in constant agony.  Master Mac will also turn on a low level of electricity to assure the rest of you is also in pain.  That way we can rest without shirking our duty of torturing you completely.  But I promised to teach you how to suck cock, so first I’ll let you suck me off.”  After Jimmy shot his load down Ass’s throat, the two lovers again embraced and kissed, and lay down for a well-deserved nap, which began with Jimmy sucking off Master Mac.

 

It was late afternoon when Jimmy awakened.  He awakened his Master by lovingly sucking on Mac’s erect cock cone again, and after a little 69 action they returned to their task of the day.

 

Ass had passed out from the pain, but was quickly revived.  Jimmy turned off the vibration feature and Mac turned off the electric shocks.  They had more intense and more painful ideas in mind for this session.

 

“We especially want to thank you for the Bowie knife,” Mac commented.  “I’ve never owned one quite this nice.  I think it will make Jimmy’s next actions much more satisfying for him., and you’ll have the honor of having been helpful.  You see, this is where he really takes over.  This is when you get ripped apart and die.”  Mac handed the knife to Jimmy and moved away from the table so Jimmy had free range to satisfy his needs.  Ass could only hope it would be quick, but knew it would not.  He had laid out too much of the scenario he now anticipated would happen to him, not to Jimmy.  And he was right.

 

Jimmy stood in the space between what was left of Ass’s legs, and positioned the knife so Ass would involuntarily focus on it.  “I’ve never gutted another guy before, but your description makes it irresistible.  Thanks for the great idea.”

 

Jimmy now positioned the knife just above Ass’s still-rigid cock, and inserted it into the vulnerable flesh.  He went deep, and he went slow.  At the same time, he inserted his own rock-hard cock into Ass-Shit’s asshole, which was still bleeding from the double-fuck Jimmy and Mac had enjoyed inflicting.  The fuck-hole was nicely lubricated with Ass’s blood and the torturers’ cum, and Jimmy began a slow fuck – in and out, in and out – thrusting deeper with each motion.

 

The knife kept pace, staying deep in Ass’s guts and very slowly moving up his torso.  But Jimmy paused once the knife reached the belly button, leaving it in place, continuing his thrusts with his cock, but picking up another knife that Mac had paced on the table.  “You won’t be needing these, even for your last orgasms, and they look tasty.”  With the handle of the Bowies knife sticking up from the middle of Ass’s belly, and with Jimmy’s cock going in and out of his asshole, Ass saw in the mirror, and felt, as Jimmy carefully cut off the skin around his scrotum and then individually removed each testicle.  Ass was officially no longer a male, and in his pain and humiliation he could not help but continue to watch as Jimmy handed the two prize man-seeds to Mac, who quickly cleaned them off and handed one back to Jimmy.  They put them in their mouths and kissed each other as they chewed and swallowed the sources of Ass’s manhood.  They were delicious and remarkably satisfying.

 

Jimmy returned to the knife and continued its journey up to the base of Ass’s rib cage.  He then took it out and used it to cut into the skin a bit more so he could easily reach into Ass’s innards.  He first reached in and pulled out Ass’s liver, which he handed to Mac.  “We’re very fond of liver and onions, and we hope your alcoholism hasn’t ruined yours.  That would be a shame.”  Jimmy next pulled out stings of intestines, cutting off a piece for himself as a token of the experience that had so inspired him.  It tasted terrible, but he swallowed it as his cock got even harder.  He would need to cum soon, but that was OK.  He didn’t have a whole lot left to do.  Ass was near death, and Jimmy wanted to control how that happened.

 

Jimmy next reached into the body cavity and pushed his hand up into the chest area, reaching Ass’s heart.  It was still functioning, but not by much.  Jimmy squeezed it until it stopped, causing Ass to gasp in agony.  Jimmy quickly withdrew his hand and grabbed Ass’s neck, which he now squeezed until no oxygen could pass through it.  He achieved his goal, feeling Ass die from both a crushed heart and a crushed windpipe.  As Jimmy saw the death-throws starting, he could also feel the pressure on his cock as the sphincter failed and the pressure increased.  Jimmy shot a massive load that was even more intense than the one he’d pumped into Ass’s body earlier that day.  It was beyond explosive, and made even more satisfying as he watched Ass’s own cock erupt, driven in part by gravity generated on the cock from the slight elevation that put the heart at an angle.  The blood had to go somewhere, the heart was no longer pumping, and the cock was the lowest point.  Jimmy admired just how creative his master was as he enjoyed watching Ass’s cum stream out onto his open guts while feeling his own cum fill them from within.  It was spectacular.  This was the greatest orgasm and the greatest psychological release he’d ever had.

 

The balance of the evening was highly enjoyable for both Mac and Jimmy.  Mac enjoyed fucking Ass’s dead body right after Jimmy was done, and he succeeded in getting Ass to shoot one last load courtesy of how he had positioned the body on the table.  It intensified Mac’s own orgasm, and Mac had the pleasure of cutting off the dead man’s cock as it erupted, handing it and some attached innards to Jimmy to enjoy eating.  Ass was now totally emasculated and gutted, and Jimmy finished the scenario by decapitating him.  The cameras aught all the action, and they knew they’d have wonderful memories as they watched the film time after time.  Jimmy was content to return to his role as a slave, grateful to his master for the release.  Master Mac made it a point to use Jimmy even more brutally that evening to drive home the point – and Mac’s own need to dominate and torture.  All in all, it was a wonderful day, capped off by a great meal featuring Ass’s lean chest meat.  With their newfound wealth and all the info on Ass’s handsome young fag-hating friends, they knew there would be many others to enjoy.

What Do You Want by Den

On By m3mayhemIn Reader Stories2 Comments

I first meet Jack on an on-line torture forum. Sexual torture, not the political prisoner stuff, and we hit it off almost instantly. We meet for a drink about a week later, and it’s the same story: Instant attraction. He drags me back to his place and works me over for hours, taking me places I didn’t know I’d enjoy going. I soon come to love the look in his eyes that communicates his absolute joy in cruelty.

In a few short months we progress from play piercing to permanent piercing and soon I am hanging two thick and heavy rings in each nipple, and enough stainless steel in my genitals to fashion a full place setting of flatware, and we‘re both proud of his handiwork. He has a great love for knifeplay, and soon so do I. Shallow careful cuts progress as I come to like it, till I sport a selection of scars on my chest and back and arms to go with my hardware. A permanent map of our landscape of pleasure and pain. Eventually the sight of my own blood begins to excite me as much as it does Jack. He really gets off on hearing me ask for his cruelty and I am more than happy to oblige, He’ll bring out the knife and ask, as he holds it to my chest “What do you want boy?” “Please, cut me”. I’ll say. And he does.

Of course I want it, he knows exactly what I want and how to make me feel pain and pleasure mixed incredibly. But the added pleasure we get from the ritual is great. I have never had orgasms as intense or as satisfying as when Jack is torturing me, and over time I find myself craving more and more brutality from him. The line between pleasure and pain shifts more and more to the left, and he always has another trick up his sleeve to turn me on. Finally, and inevitably I think, my thoughts turn to snuff and it dawns on me that I want the experience of being butchered by him. Want it bad.

We see each other regularly for well over a year, and it just keeps getting better. I want to give him more and more in return for the excitement and pleasure I get from our play. I daydream more and more about what it might be like to be killed in the midst of a brutal play session, high on both lust and drugs and aware that i was to be killed. I think of him killing me when ever we are together, but not knowing his inner desires never let on. I let him think it is simply his use of my body that has inspired the increasing sexual frenzy i display when he tortures me.
One night while walking home very late I hear a vehicle approach. The streets are totally deserted, but I think nothing of it. The brakes screech, the door opens and the next thing I know a damp fume-reeking  rag covers my nose and mouth and I pass out.

When I come to, I have no idea how much later that is. I am bound naked on a steel table with a raised edge, and a drain in one corner, like an enormous pan. I realize immediately it is an autopsy table. A rubber mat makes it a bit more comfortable. It is in what appears to be a basement room dimly lit by moonlight coming through a small window, and I can hear crickets outside. I am obviously outside the city. The overhead light comes on suddenly and I hear Jack say “Hey boy, quite a surprise huh?”
“What’s going on, what are you doing?” I ask, but intuitively I already know and my mind begins to race, my dick swell.
“I really hadn‘t planned this, but have had this room set up for a number of months now with an eye towards future activity. This is an old family property, way out of town and in the middle of 100 wooded acres. I saw you last night just by chance. I had been out late, and with no one around it was really perfect.  Having the ether was just dumb luck, my cousin needed some for a model boat engine so I’d picked it up during the day. It seems fated to me. No one knows we are here, no one saw me take you.” He walks around where I can see him and he is naked as well, his body gleaming in an anticipatory sweat, his dick proud and long. He strokes my body and then mounts my face to fuck my throat, it is hard to move, but I manage to get to it and give him the best blow job of my life. I am more excited than I could ever imagine, totally certain at this point of what is ultimately in store. And sure enough while fucking my face he says softly “All this time since we met I have wanted to kill you. Tonight’s the night. I have already dug your grave”, as if he has read my mind.  My excitement is huge and I struggle to get his dick as far down my throat as is possible. He pulls out before he comes, panting and raging with desire.

“What do you want boy?” he asks.
I could say let me go and bring an end to this, and I am sure he would do it, but seeing the excitement in him, and feeling the same in myself I answer quickly. There is fear, but desire trumps that by a mile.

“Please Jack, hurt me. Make me scream. YES Jack, kill me.Please!” I whisper. And he goes to work. I moan and scream and cry, as much in excitement as in pain as he works on me with a freedom and pleasure we have not known before. He kisses me hard on the lips and whispers in my ear “There is nothing stopping us now.” “I know, you can do whatever you want to me, no limits!” He lets me lick and worship his sweaty armpits as he admires my bound torso.”Are you scared boy?” “Yeah, but look at my dick, I’m not too scared to do this. This is what I’ve wanted for a while now but was scared to tell you.” He tortures me for hours with belt, cane, fists, paddle, an exacto knife, and all the other toys we love. A Wartenberg wheel makes beaufitul bloody patterns across my chest, scrotum and abdomen; bloody rows of dots on my hard dick.  We had shied away from drugs in the past but now considering the one way trip I’m on, he stokes us both up with speed and poppers to make my experience more pleasurable. My body sings as it gets covered with sweat, piss, bruises, blood….Terror wells up in me periodically, but lust keeps up, and the things i am feeling as he slowly destroys my body make me realize that my death is the only way to get what i know i want.

What do you want boy?
“Destroy my balls Jack, please.” And he does, tying off my sac then spending the next hour with nails pliers, ,branding iron and finally the caresses of a mallet to reduce my manhood to pulp, as I have always fantasized. From my thrashing, cries and screams he knows he has given me what I want. Looking into my eyes, wide with agony, he asks:”What do you want?” “Castrate me, Jack, Castrate me please” And he does. Slowly and sweetly drawing a blade through my scrotum making it last as long as possible, and then rubbing the ruined sac over my body leaving cool bloody smears that make me shudder. I have my penultimate orgasm, and it is blindingly intense. I had expected the pain which draws an involuntary scream from me, but not the pleasure that floods my body in equal measure as he cut my balls and sac free of my body. My fear fades away as I understand that this will be as I had imagined and that there is absolutely no turning back.

He goes to work again with excitement and relish and hours more pass. My nipples are pleasured by knife, heated pliers and toothed clamps till they are gone, all that remains is the ache and sting centered on an unrecognizable mass of bloody tissue. The skin of my pecs around the nipples is sliced and peeled away.  My ass is opened wide by both his arms; stretched to the point of tearing as he lays all his strength into getting both elbows into my body. When he asks”What do you want ?” all I manage to say is “more!” He pulls my sphincter apart with all his strength, like some giant muscular speculum, and with a groan from me, it gives way and tears. Finally he shows me a razor sharp Swingblade knife and I nod my consent as my excitement mounts still further. With the point just above the groin begins to sink the blade into me. “Give me what I want boy!” He commands, barely under control at this point. ” Yes Jack!Gut me!  please…… please!” And he does.

The first blade goes in sweetly, he reverses it and i arch my back to get the hooked blade in as quickly as possible. It easily zips me open from groin to sternum, and he quickly makes side cuts at the top and the bottom. Pulling me apart with his hands we both gasp to see my guts shiny and alive inside me. He cuts the rest of my abdomen away, clamping all the big vessels as he goes. I am lost in the pain and in my own blood lust, but my dick is still hard and throbbing despite my screams and moaning.  He strokes and plays with my guts and the feeling of his hands on my entrails is exactly as i had imagined. “Untie my hands” I implore, and of course he does, kissing me hard. I need to feel the heat and slippery mass of my own guts.The pain threatens to overwhelm my excitement, but he begins to skull fuck me taking my mind off myself, and pleasure wins out. I begin to jack off, wanting to feel what orgasm will do to the pain and wanting to be killed soon, as I am already meat, beyond saving. Jack comes and then pisses into my open abdomen and I receive his sperm and piss in a frenzy of sensation and sexual excitement. Finally I approach orgasm, and as I lose myself in the unbearable sensations, see him raise a gleaming new hunting knife.

My orgasm begins to well up as I feel the knife’s blade pressing into my neck and I groan in actual pleasure at the feeling. I am no longer scared, this has been exactly what I had imagined. We both know I am too far gone now anyway and must be finished. He kisses me hard then asks fiercely, his voice thick with animal lust and well aware that all my pain is being momentarily transmuted by orgasm  “What do you want boy? What do you want?” His face aglow and grinning from ear to ear.

My orgasm is enveloping my body, and it is too intense to hold back”Please Jack, KILL ME! Please kill me NOW” I cry, head back to bare my neck “Kill me Jack, please!”
And he does.

 

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

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

Although he has just come, Jack is so wound up form the thrill of watching his boy cum while being gutted and killed, that he pulls the head over the edge of the autopsy table and mounts it. He fucks the dead throat brutally as the body, still dripping sperm, piss and blood jerks randomly. He lets go of the head and gripping the sides of the table fucks like a madman. The sound of the body’s neck snapping throws him over the edge and he howls as a huge load pours into the corpse. When he withdraws, the  head flops at the end of the broken neck. „Fuck YEAH“ he groans in awe of what he has just done. He will fuck the head and the soft loops of gut several times before he finally disposed of the body that gave them both so much pleasure. With every future kill he will wonder who had the most satisfying experience, him or the men who sought him out and welcomed his desire to kill them.

Trucker 10–Trucker v Birthday Boi

On By m3mayhemIn The Trucker2 Comments

It was a Friday night, so of course the bar was full.  Dylan was thrilled—he knew, naturally, that it wasn’t all for him, but it still made him feel good.  The crowded bar wasn’t the only thing that was making him feel good; he’d already slammed three beers and smoked a joint before he’d left the house.  He was primed for a party.

 

Specifically, his eighteenth birthday party.

 

Legally, he never should have been let in the door, but he’d been selling weed inside the bar for over a year by a simple expedient—going to into the back with Don, the owner, and letting the older man bend him over his desk and fuck his ass.  He’d had a free pass ever since, even being allowed to buy alcohol, as long as Don got to plow his hole on occasion.

 

Tonight, Don was out.  That was fine with Dylan.  Even though he was attracted to older men, Don was a duty fuck.  Tonight, the boy wanted fun.  He wanted a real man.

 

Dylan had plenty of cash—he was also the main (but not the only) pot dealer for the county high school.  And looking around, he could see some of his classmates at the bar and another one on the dance floor.  He knew them; they’d gotten in with fake IDs.  Unless they wanted to buy some smoke, they left him alone and vice versa—they all already knew he wasn’t into twinks, despite being such a beautiful one himself.

 

Dylan was well-built and almost exactly six feet tall.  He had dark brown hair of moderate length.  It was styled in silky waves over his forehead, almost obscuring the long lashes surrounding his large dark brown eyes.

 

Since he wanted to be the center of attention on his birthday, he sported a vintage Rolling Stones t-shirt, white, with the famous logo across the chest.  It was thin, worn cotton, two sizes too small—it fitted his torso like a second skin, making obvious the twink’s large pecs, flat belly and hard, erect nipples.

 

Under the t-shirt, his legs were displayed in a pair of basic Adidas basketball shorts, black with red strips.  Long, slightly furred calves descended into a pair of ped socks, almost invisible deep inside his red Nike Jordan Horizon hightops.

 

Dylan had always looked younger than his age; even now, based on his appearance, most people thought he was no older than sixteen.  The Asian ideograms tattooed down the inside of his lower left arm (he had no idea what they meant, if anything; he just thought they were cool) and the small solid gold hoops in his pierced ears only added to the confusion regarding his age.

 

He didn’t complain, though—he could get laid anytime he wanted, by any guy he wanted; his model-like looks guaranteed his ability to pick and choose.  Shame he had no better place to bestow his charms than this dive; the highway nearby had a truck stop which lured in a few eligible prospects, but otherwise Dylan knew all the regulars—and wanted nothing to do with them.  He already knew he was too good for them.  But it was a Friday night and the pickings could be good.  He’d just have to see what showed up.

 

He didn’t have to wait long.  He’d already downed three rum and cokes at the bar before crossing back to the dance floor when he noticed the stud who’d just walked in the door—and froze.  It only took a single glance for the teen fag to realize that this dude would be the perfect birthday gift to himself.

 

As tall and well-built as Dylan was, this hot motherfucker was even taller and more buff.  Obviously a dominant alpha, the stud strolled in with a wide-legged stance that bespoke a massive set of tackle between his legs.

 

The older man wore a dark blue sleeveless t-shirt that emphasized not only his incredibly-sculpted chest but also his thick, bulging biceps.  His tight, faded jeans were worn so thin that the head of his huge cock was clearly outlined in his crotch.

 

The jeans were tucked inside a pair of dust-yellow construction boots.  Left laced but untied, the uppers, with a black leather band around the cuff, came halfway up the calves of the undeniably arousing stranger.

 

The stranger’s face seemed to be covered with a dark, wiry scruff, but it was hard to make out under his cap—a black trucker’s cap, mesh in the back with a solid fabric front and the word “Rogue” embroidered on it.

 

He already knew—this was it.  Dylan had decided that he was gonna have this hot fucking alpha inside him before the night was out.  Wasting no time, he struck out across the dance floor, anxious to hit the stud up before anyone else could.

 

For his part, the Trucker had already taken notice of the hot young slut.  Most of the dudes in the bar were in jeans and t-shirts or short sleeve button downs; there were a lot of caps and boots.  A few twinks writhed and undulated on the dance floor in skinny jeans and expensive kicks—but none of them stood out like the teen punk heading towards him.

 

And that was good.  It’d been a couple of weeks since he’d last had the chance to vent his sexual anger; even now, the thought of how the last meat had twitched and quivered as its life was choked out with a wallet chain made him horny.

 

The alpha killer was primed and ready to blow; all he needed was suitable prey—and that difficulty seemed to be surmounted already.  He stared down at the boy as the latter strutted towards him; the kid clearly thought he was hot shit.

 

“Hey, man,” the cocky teen drawled, posing with one hip jutted forward.  “It’s my birthday—I turn eighteen at midnight—and I deserve somethin’ special.  Whaddaya say—I’ll get us a room at that place down the street and you can plow my ass.  Think you can do that?”

 

The Trucker glared down at the arrogant little fucker, a slight smirk on his face—which actually took some control.  Jesus, this stupid twink bitch needed to be put down hard; just the thought of teaching the teenaged faggot his proper place made the cruel stud’s dick pulse and throb.

 

And his jeans were so tight, it was obvious.

 

Dylan saw it and blinked.  Fuck, the dude must be almost literally hung like a horse, the way his trouser snake—trouser python—wriggled in his crotch and down his leg.  And his own cock responded in kind, visibly tenting the groin of his black athletic shorts.  The boy’s lust was obvious, painting a bright gleam in his dark, nearly liquid eyes.

 

“I can do that, bitch,” the Trucker said in a low, cold monotone.

 

Suddenly cowed, Dylan found that he couldn’t look the stud in the face.  His eyes were naturally drawn to glinting reflections on the older man’s massive chest.  Keeping his gaze on them—they appeared to be dog tags—he stuttered, “O-ok, ma-man, let’s g-go.  I’ll, uh, I’ll get us room at the Shamrock Inn next door.”  Gulping deeply, he glanced up at the towering stud’s face, as if seeking approval.

 

The Trucker remained still, not moving a muscle.

 

“Ya-ya w-wanna go?” the punk quavered.

 

The alpha chuckled deeply, a bass note that vibrated along the root of Dylan’s dick.  “Ok, boy, I’ll bang yer boycunt if that’s what ya need.  Go get the room, faggot; I’m gonna grab a brew.”  And with that, the Trucker strode across the dance floor towards the bar, his hulking, powerful form parting the twinks like a bull moving through tall grass.

 

Staring after him, Dylan’s breath hitched with erotic anticipation.  His dick was pulsing in his shorts; he could already feel the precum oozing from the tip.  He headed out of the bar and crossed the gritty acre of asphalt that served both the bar and the motel as a parking lot.

 

Despite his drunkenness, the handsome young slut managed to successfully navigate the litter-strewn expanse.  He entered the dingy office and greeted the wizened old Indian clerk like an old acquaintance, as indeed he was.  “You again?” the old man asked in a clipped British accent.

 

“Hey, Anjit,” Dylan replied, “That one on the end open?  In the back—you know, 130?”

 

“No,” the clerk replied, “But the front wing is completely empty.”

 

“Gimme one in the middle,” the kid said, taking a moment to brush an errant lock of silky hair up out of his eyes.  “I got a live one tonight; want some privacy.”

 

The elderly Indian slid the key across the counter with an air of resigned dignity; he clearly didn’t care what Dylan had planned.

 

The teen turned to leave, but paused once he reached the door.  “Oh—and, Anjit?” he said, turning back, “I’ll probably wanna sleep in after this one.  If the lock works as bad as the one on 130, tell that stupid spic bitch that picks up the used rubbers to leave me alone, huh?  She can clean up once I check out.”

 

The clerk nodded and picked up a pen and pad of paper to note the request.  Once Dylan was out the door; Anjit put the blank, unused pad down and headed back into the rear office, already putting the transaction out of his mind.

 

After all, he’d be doing this for at least a dozen faggots on a Friday night.  He couldn’t keep track of them all and had no intention of trying.

 

The night was unusually warm for the time of year; it was very obvious to Dylan after the overly-chilled motel office.  The room was a couple of doors down on his left; as he waited, unsure of whether he should go to look for his birthday stud (and with a sudden pang of concern that perhaps he’d been dumped—not likely given his looks, he knew, but still…) when suddenly he heard the heavy measured tread of a muscular man in boots.

 

Glancing in the direction of the footsteps, he saw the hunk approaching and felt a thrill run through his groin.  Inadvertently, the Trucker had positioned himself between Dylan and the security lights of a used-car lot across the street; as a result, the hulking alpha’s phenomenal body was illuminated in silhouette, highlighting his powerful and perfectly-developed physique.

 

The well-built teen’s natural adolescent horniness had been enhanced by his chemically-altered mental state; between the bud and the booze, the punk was so ready to get laid that he could barely contain his excitement.  He gulped, then called out.  “Over here—number 103.”

 

 

Hearing the kid’s voice, the Trucker glanced up and ambled in his direction.  The room was in the front of the building, but the entire wing seemed to be virtually empty.  The vicious psycho smirked—it would do.

 

An adequate pit for slaughtering the little homo pig.

 

Dylan had already reached the room and opened the door.  Reaching in, he flicked on the light to reveal a dark and dingy room.  The towering alpha followed the twink in, shooting the deadbolt and setting the chain as the kid moved forward to turn on the bedside lamp.  More light revealed cheap worn furniture.  Cheap-ass particle board with peeling brass accents and papered veneer pocked with cigarette burns.  At least it was a matching set, the Trucker thought, and about thirty years old.

 

In his eagerness, Dylan was already turning down the thin scratchy polyester to reveal the old yellowed sheets underneath, reeking with an industrial bleach smell.  The cunt’s presumption amused the Trucker; hauling out his pack of Marlboros, he lit a smoke and wandered in to check out the bathroom.

 

His boots thumped loudly on the tile floor.  The bathroom was decrepit, with loose shower tiles and dripping taps, but it seemed to be reasonably clean.  Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the sink, the Trucker lowered the bill of his cap some—just enough to obscure his face, leaving only his strong, stubble-covered chin visible.

 

Walking back into the room, he saw that the bitch had stripped the bed—only the pillows and the fitted sheet remained.  The teen punk stood at the foot of bed, facing the bathroom door, massaging the extremely obvious bulge in his crotch.  The Trucker leaned in the doorway, this time with the deliberate knowledge of the impact his silhouette was having.

 

The muscled stud curled his lip.  “Strip, cunt,” he sneered, taking a drag of his cigarette, “Let’s see if yer faggot ass is worth my dick.”

 

Dylan moaned softly as peeled his Rolling Stones t-shirt off his smooth, strong torso.  His body wasn’t quite beefy enough to qualify for the football team, but it was close.  Not that Dylan was interested in football.  Football players, on the other hand…

 

“Did I stutter, bitch?” the Trucker snapped.  “I said strip.  That mean yer shorts too, boy.”  He grinned, feeling his own thick meat swelling and pulsing.  This kid liked to be dominated—that was good.  The Trucker had no problem with the thought of dominating him; his boiling rage was gonna dominate the little fucker to death.

 

Dylan dropped his shorts, freeing his thick tool to bob about and splatter precum everywhere.  Among other places, transparent drops of hot pre-ejaculate darkened the honeycomb pattern on his red Nike Jordans, all that he was left wearing.  Nude but for his footgear, the teen slut was ready and anxious to get fucked.

 

The meat’s eagerness and anticipation was obvious; the Trucker had no intention of satisfying it quickly.  The twink needed to suffer in all things, including its expectations.

 

As the kid stood trembling in front of him, the Trucker parked his smoldering butt in an ashtray on the dresser and pulled his own sleeveless T off over his head, maneuvering carefully so that his trucker cap remained placed exactly where he wanted it.  Stepping forward, he loomed over the teen by at least a good half-foot.

 

“You want my dick, faggot?” he demanded.

 

Dylan gulped, unable to catch his breath.  The Trucker’s face twisted in anger.

 

“I asked you a question, you stupid motherfucker,” he snapped and backhanded Dylan across the face, smacking the kid’s head sideways.  The young pansy gasped and moaned loudly; at the same time, his huge semi-soft cock got hard, spurting out more precum across the room before sinking back to drizzle the clear fluid on his expensive kicks.

 

The Trucker noticed—and barked out raucous laughter.  “Ya like that, do ya, faggot?  Ya like a good beatdown, you worthless cocksuckin’ fairy?  Fuck yeah, yer just the bitch I been lookin’ fer, fag—you like it rough, yeah?  Huh?  Answer me, ya queer-ass cunt!  Ya want me to ream ya like the whore ya are, right?”

 

“Yes—” Dylan had time to gasp before the Trucker unzipped his fly.  It took a bit for hulking top to excavate the entire length of his enormous, pulsating manmeat, but the teen homo’s attention was focused entirely on the spectacle unfolding in front of him.

 

The Trucker loomed before him, his massive chest darkened with wiry manfur except where the dogtags gleamed between the two huge hubcap pecs.  Below, his almost-frightening horse dick jutted proudly from the groin of the faded jeans that still clung tightly to his strong legs, bulging with muscles.  His open workboots, reaching to mid-calf, were planted wide apart in a domineering, open-legged stance.

 

“Ya want this cock, boy?  Ya think ya deserve it?” he jeered.

 

Dylan nodded blankly; he absently wiped his lips with the back of his hand—an instinctive reaction since he was utterly unaware that he’d been drooling.  His cocky young arrogance reasserted itself.  “Yeah, man, I deserve it.  Toldja it’s my birthday, didn’t I?” he slurred in drunken lust, “I deserve some nice dick on my eighteenth birthday, dude—and after all I paid for the room, yeah?”

 

The Trucker paused for tension-filled moment, picked up his smoke and found it nearly all burned to ash.  Taking a final drag, he ground it out and stepped forward.  The shadow cast by the brim of his cap cast hid the expression in his eyes, but the grim twist to his lips and the firm set of his chiseled jaw clearly showed the contempt he felt—not that Dylan was sober enough to recognize it.

 

“So ya paid for the room,” the Trucker said evenly, “So what?  Ya think ya bought me, boy, huh?  That what ya think, huh?”

 

The booze was flowing full strength through the teen’s bloodstream by this point; the beers he’d drunk before hitting the bar had been superseded by the four rum-and-cokes wannabe admirers had bought him at the bar.  Dylan had been both drinking and smoking pot for more than five years, but he was more tanked tonight than he’d been in a long time.

 

In other words, he felt both invincible and entitled.  And he was too fucked up to realize how dangerous that attitude was in his current situation.

 

“Yeah, dude, that’s what I think,” the handsome teenaged slut replied in a sarcastic tone.  “So c’mon and stick it in me, fucker.  Whaddaya waitin’ for; ya wanna give me my birthday spankings?”

 

And at that moment the Trucker straightened up, his cock suddenly starting to pulse.  Transparent beads of pre-ejaculate started to drip from the thick, mushroom-shaped head.  The cold, cruel mouth visible under the shadow on the alpha’s face curled into a malevolent grin.

 

“Yeah, cunt, that’s what ya want?  I can do that too…”

 

And with that, the Trucker stepped forward again, even closer to Dylan.  The young gay slut inhaled abruptly as the muscular alpha was suddenly within arms’ reach, an intimidating and threatening presence.  As his nostrils filled with the scent of pheromones and mansweat, laced with nicotine, the kid turned his dark eyes, the whites stained with red, up to the older hunk’s inscrutable face.

 

And that was when the Trucker’s powerful arm lashed out, diving his fist into the youth’s face and snapping his left cheekbone.

 

Dylan fell back directly onto the bed in shock.  He knew he’d been hurt badly.  Clutching the side of his face, he gaped at his attacker.  “Wh-wha—” he stuttered, the sharp pain in his cheek making it difficult to form the words.

 

“That was one,” the towering alpha sneered down at the boy cowering on the bed.  “How old didja say ya were gonna be—eighteen?  And look, it’s past midnight.  So ya got seventeen more coming, ya little sack a’ shit.  And unless you want the next one to break yer nose, ya better start gulping down my cock.  Now, faggot!”

 

Reaching out with his large, paw-like hand, the Trucker grabbed a hank of Dylan’s silky brown hair and jerk his head forward viciously.  The teen opened his mouth to cry out in pain only to find it plugged with a thick wad of throbbing flesh, oozing a stream of thick, salty fluid.  Before he knew what was happening, the monstrous tube of manmeat had been shoved past his tonsils and down his esophagus.

 

The pain in Dylan’s cheek became a piercing agony as his face was stretched out of shape; combined with the sudden cessation of oxygen as his air was cut off, the young slut was stunned both literally and metaphorically.  His birthday present was going horribly wrong and he didn’t know why or how—it made no sense, it couldn’t really be happening…

 

The Trucker knew the thoughts racing through the cunt’s sad excuse for a mind.  All these young cockpigs were the same; no concept of their own mortality until it was staring them in the face.  He chuckled deeply as he forced his enormous shaft down the punk’s throat; this evening was turning out better than it had started.

 

He’d left his rig at a truck stop on the other side of the interstate, then walked to the bar on the offhand chance of finding a decent fag on which he could work out his anger issue.  He’d actually been accosted by a hustler in the darkness of the highway underpass, a scrawny, cadaverous addict with missing teeth and a rancid odor.  He aroused nothing but disgust from the Trucker and putting the fucker’s lights out with a blow to the head didn’t provide him the vent he needed; it just served the purpose of shutting the skank up.

 

Now, though, he had this entitled, cocky-ass little fuck in his control.  Several long days in the driver’s seat had left him with a violent need to drain the built-up manseed in his balls.

 

Birthday boi was gonna suffer—bad.

 

And the worthless little fuck seemed to want to suffer.  It might simply have been a twitch in the muscles from having his jaw pried open so wide, but suddenly the Trucker could feel teeth.  And that was bad—for Dylan.

 

Using his handful of hair as a handle, he jerked the kid’s head back off his dick.  The moment his airway was clear, Dylan began gagging and coughing up his drool on the Trucker’s thick tool.    “Big mistake, you stupid motherfucker,” the muscular alpha hissed, “I guess that means you ain’t no good at givin’ head.  That means I gotta buttfuck ya to get off, cunt, huh?  Stand up.  Now, you goddam faggot!”

 

Stunned and shuddering the well-built teen climbed shakily to his feet, standing trembling at the foot of the bed.  His face was still beautiful but with his left cheek swollen and bruised, a little less perfect.  Tears leaked from his eyes and snot from his nose as he glanced up at older top.

 

Fear prevented Dylan from making eye contact with the Trucker; the cowed youth turned his gaze from the massive hog bobbing in the air in front of him, glistening with his own spit, up along the fur-covered ripples of the alpha’s buff abs.  Above that, the body hair widened out into a dark, wiry forest spread across the top’s broad chest.  In the declivity between the hubcap pecs a pair of dogtags caught both the light and Dylan’s eyes.

 

“Think yer due for another birthday bash, faggot?” the Trucker jeered.  “Need a little tenderizin’?”

 

Stunned and shocked, the twink’s attention was focused on the shiny objects; he could hear the words but the ominous meaning failed to penetrate his drug- and fear-clouded mind.  The killer noticed—unfortunately for Dylan, since it aroused his sadistic brutality.

 

“Stupid fuckin’ cunt,” he barked in rage, “Guess this’ll get yer attention!”

 

And with that, he slammed his fist into Dylan’s jaw with all the force of a train wreck, snapping it into three pieces.  The teen slut made an odd sound, a kind of gurgling shriek, and dropped like a sack of potatoes.  With a lightning-swift reflex, the Trucker reached out and snatched at the now-tousled brown hair again.  Grabbing a fistful, he pivoted and tossed the boy across the room.

 

He didn’t toss the slut at random, though. In front of the yellowed drapes covering the window was a round table flanked by armchairs; Dylan smashed into it just at waist level.  His torso smacked down onto the table, which tipped back, struck the AC unit under the window, and bounce back upright.

 

As the Trucker approached, the teenaged homo was bent over the table, chest down, quivering and helpless in agony, his legs hanging down with his red Jordan kicks just barely touching the floor.  His pink, pulsating fuckhole was clearly visible; the cruel alpha smirked as he aimed his huge dripping hog at the puckered hole in the twink’s bubble butt.

 

In a nightmarish haze of excruciating pain, Dylan clutched the edge of the table tightly, blubbering as blood trickled down his ruined chin.  Although he’d miraculously escaped losing a tooth, the slightest movement of his mouth slammed waves of agony into his head. He struggled just to maintain consciousness, barely noticing the sudden pressure on sphincter.

 

Then it wasn’t pressure anymore; it was an engorged, vein-wrapped tube of hard pulsing manflesh—and it was in him.  All the way.

 

The Trucker had thrust his cock deep into the kid’s ass, his thick precum the only lube.  The swollen purple head hadn’t hesitated at the resistance of the youth’s ass muscle; worn out with regular buttsex as it was, it still couldn’t accommodate the muscled alpha’s powerful tool.  With a faint grunt, the brutal rapist rammed his shaft home, tearing Dylan’s sphincter in two places.

 

The tsunami of sharp, glassy pain that tore through the teen’s ravaged fuckhole was too much; he passed out on the Trucker’s dick.  The sweating, heaving top spent the next few minutes pumping his shaft doggy-style into the unconscious punk’s torn and bleeding ass.

 

The hard-bodied boy awakened into the same universe of suffering that he’d left; his first sensation in the darkness of semi-consciousness was the searing pain in his torn colon and he instinctively started crying.  That triggered the second sensation—the agony of broken bone ends grinding together in his jaw.  He was forced to taper off to a faint, high-pitched keening noise.

 

Unluckily for him, the sound annoyed the Trucker.

 

“What the fuck is that, cunt?  Ya must be likin’ it, huh, faggot—yer squealin’ like a goddam pig!  If yer into that, you sick fuck, then yer gonna love this shit—check it, dude, I’m gonna make yer next birthday taps donkey punches, huh?  Bet ya know what that is; yer a stupid piece a’ shit, but yer a fucking sick-ass pansy slut too, right, boy?  You know all the disgusting homo perversions, dontcha?  Then ya know ya better buckle the fuck up, bitch, cause here it comes!”

 

Grabbing a hank of Dylan’s long (and now badly tousled) brown hair—reaching up to snatch a fistful near the forehead in front—he yanked the kid’s head back.  With no warning, he slammed his other fist like a piston into the back of the teen’s skull.

 

The idea behind a donkey punch is that the blow to the head makes the sphincter tighten.  The Trucker hadn’t actually tried it before; much to his surprise, it actually worked.  Ripped and bleeding, Dylan’s ass muscle still managed to cinch around the hairy base of the sadist’s shaft like a cock ring.

 

The stunned teen moaned as his body responded to the punch by clenching up; even his toes curled as his red Nike hightops kicked and scraped at the carpet.  Gripping the table tightly, he tried desperately to pull his head away but the alpha’s grip on his scalp was too firm; despite the horrific agony involved in moving his mouth, he began to sob and beg inarticulately, knowing that he was unable to escape the vicious assault.

 

And he was right.

 

“Fuck yeah, cunt, that really got yer sick homo ass off, dinnit?” the Trucker laughed cruelly, “Here—have another, birthday boi!”

 

With that, he popped the little shit in the back of head again, this time a little harder so the he was rewarded with even more tightening.  The young fag’s rectum gripped his huge vein-wrapped cock like a velvet glove, squeezing it and caressing it.  Not one to miss an opportunity, the Trucker shifted his muscular, denim-sheathed legs, planting his workboots further apart for better traction, and doubled the speed of his hard, driving buttfuck.

 

By now, Dylan was clinging to the table with his head pulled up, curled painfully backwards.  His pain-wracked face streaked with tears, his head was being violently shaken to the same tempo as his brutal assrape.  His attempts to beg had become random syllables of pain force from his mangled mouth along with a thin stream of drool, pink with blood.

 

“Shit, motherfucker, I’m gonna like puttin’ you down; I can control yer meat real good.  I don’t even need you to be alive for you jack me off, ya worthless faggot, ya hear me?”

 

Dylan heard words but no meaning; things were starting to go grey at the edges and there was a loud buzzing in his head; he welcomed the fuzziness, since it might make the pain go away…

 

The powerful, well-skilled sadist sensed he was losing his audience.  He wasn’t done with this one yet, not by a long shot.  The cruel serial killer still had a lot of rage to vent—and a lot of cum.

 

He pounded one more roundhouse into the fucker’s cranium.  The youth’s reaction was swift; he thrashed out with both arms and legs as he lost consciousness again.  The Trucker pumped the suddenly re-tightened fuckhole furiously, leaning forward, lowering his weight onto his victim’s limp form—

 

—and that was when the table gave way.  Tipping forward, it impacted the AC unit under the window hard enough to bend the metal vents out of shape; with a loud splintering sound, the circular top tore free from the metal base column.  Everything collapsed to the floor with a loud crash—top, base, the chairs on each side, and, of course, Dylan.

 

He went to the ground still impaled on the Trucker’s dick.  The experienced top had understood what was happening.  Even though it was too late to prevent it, he’d managed to turn and extend his arm, catching himself easily and breaking his fall; with his other hand, he’d caught at the boy, pivoted, and slammed him to the ground.

 

Reluctantly, though, the alpha knew he had to pull out; he needed to make a quick security check.  He’d just made a lot more noise than he liked in a public motel.  Withdrawing his long, pulsing shaft, he left Dylan slowly shuddering his way back to tortured awareness and glanced out the window from a chink in the drapes.  Nothing moved in the darkness beyond, but he still wanted to give it a minute, just to make sure everything had settled down.

 

Digging his smokes out of his pocket, he lit one and sat on the foot of the bed.  As he smoked, reassuring himself all was quiet, he could watch the meat slowly regain consciousness.  The cunt trembled and gasped before rolling over so the he now faced the bed, hid eyelids fluttering open to reveal his rolled-back eyes, white streaked with red.

 

As the kid painfully came to, the gray dimness of his vision was first pierced by a pair of bright glints of light; as he became more able to focus, he could see the dogtags buried the muscular stud’s chest fur.  Looking up, the coldly handsome face was still partially shaded by the trucker’s cap.  When he got out of the, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to ID a photo of his rapist.

 

Because he was gonna get out of this, Dylan knew; he was hurt but he wasn’t dead.  His birthday had turned into an unimaginable horror story—some deep pig part of him still wanted this violent, erotic dominant top—but the thought that he wasn’t going to survive this ordeal never seriously crossed his mind.

 

Then the Trucker spoke.

 

“That’s five, boy,” he drawled gleefully.  “It twenty past midnight, so yer, what—eighteen?  Only got thirteen more birthday beatings to go, bitch.”

 

The Trucker hit his cigarette again, exhaling in the kid’s direction as he waited for the words to sink in.  It took a bit for the youth to realize that this powerful psycho was gonna do a lot more of what he’d already done.

 

When he did realize it, the Trucker spoke again.  “Tell ya what, faggot, I’ll give ya a fair chance—you make it through yer birthday taps and I’ll let ya go.  Gotta tell ya, though, yer gonna hafta fight to survive, cause I’m gonna work ya over good—you faggot pigs feel so good when ya squeal and die on my dick.  But, hey, if ya live, ya live, and I don’t ever go back on my word.  Whaddaya say—sound like a deal?”  He ended the question with a deep, throaty chuckle.

 

The teenager’s eyes, already circled with gray rings of shock, widened in horror.  This hot, intensely masculine stud that he’d wanted so bad—the dude was gonna kill him.  He was gonna beat him and kill him.

 

Dylan panicked. Flailing wildly, he shrugged off the waves of pain from his broken jaw and began scrambling across the thin, dirty carpet towards the door on his hand and knees.  He didn’t go more than two feet before the Trucker swung out his foot.  The alpha’s powerful leg kicked forward, slamming the steel-toed workboot into the punk’s flank.

 

The kick was violent enough to flip Dylan into the air.  Smashing into the broken table, he slid to the floor, moaning in agony as the jagged ends of three broken ribs dig into his internal organs, one scraping against—but not puncturing—his lung.

 

Taking another drag from his Marlboro, the depraved killer stood up and walked toward where Dylan lay helpless and mewling on the floor.  As the high, loosely-laced boots filled his ground-level view, the teen winced at a brief singe on his cheek where the alpha had knocked off an ash.

 

“That was six, asswipe.  Wanna go for seven?”

 

The brutalized teen shuddered and wheezed; every breath cause a terrifying stabbing pain in his side.  Blinking blearily up at the grinning alpha towering over him, Dylan’s misshapen jaw moved feebly as he tried to beg for release from the torment.  Nothing comprehensible emerged from his mouth—and it wouldn’t have mattered it anything had.

 

The Trucker stooped and wrapped his large strong hands around the youth’s throat.  With a deep grunt, he heaved the struggling punk into the air with a single swift motion.  Dazed as he was, the injured slut began to flail frantically the moment his air was cut off, his red Nikes kicking vainly for traction a good six inches off the ground.

 

Holding the boy’s darkening face inches from his own, the Trucker sneered and spat.  As his phlegm trickled down to mingle with the cunt’s tears, he chuckled.  “Tell ya what, bitch, I won’t hit ya for number seven, huh?  I won’t even kick ya—how’s that sound?”

 

Deep in the shadows under the brim of his trucker’s cap, a bright glint of malicious glee illuminated his eyes.  “All I’ll do for seven it—this!”

 

He whirled and flung the well-built teen through the air with the ease of a stuffed toy.  Dylan flew across the room, smashing into the desk-dresser combo with his back.  The flimsy unit rocked back against the wall, breaking off the mirror.  As the hard-bodied homo fell face-down on the floor, the mirror crashed down over him, peppering his smooth skin with shards of glass.  Numerous small nicks and slashes were inflicted on his sweat-streaked flesh, but nothing even remotely fatal.

 

Dylan wasn’t getting out that easy.

 

The Trucker strode over and kicked the twisted wooden frame of the mirror aside.  “Tell ya what, ya pansy-ass piece a’ shit, I’ll be gentle with ya—seein’ as how it’s yer birthday an’ all—and I’ll count the mirror as eight.”

 

With a cold, braying laugh, he bent down and snatched bleeding, gasping teen fag—one hand grasping the right ankle and the other a sweaty mass of long brown hair.  From this position, the powerful alpha rose and spun, flinging the well-built meat into the wall above the bed’s headboard.

 

Dylan hit the wall and exhaled a loud, helpless bleat as he caved in the drywall and fell back onto the bed, bouncing onto his back with his legs spread.

 

The Trucker approached the bed slowly, the lower half of his face the only part visible in the dim light.  Above his strong, stubble-darkened jaw, a wicked grin had crossed his face.  “Of course,” he smirked, “Everything after eight’s gotta count for more, ya understand?  I mean, fair’s fair, yeah?”

 

And with that, the hulking alpha climbed onto the bed and grabbed Dylan’s legs by the ankles.  Spreading them back and apart he lowered his hairy, muscled form between them before repositioning the terrified teen’s red kicks up onto his own shoulders.  Then, in a single simultaneous movement, he buried his cock so deep into the slut’s ass that his pubes scraped the boy’s smooth asscheeks—and rammed his fist into the boy’s face with an unexpected violence, breaking the meat’s nose with a thick wet crunching sound.

 

“Nine, cunt,” the powerful sadist chuckled, spitting into the boy’s swelling face as he ran a hand down the punk’s smooth, muscled chest, slick with panicked sweat.  “Fuckin’-A, you really are a nasty pain pig, aintcha, faggot?  Yer dick is hard and drippin’, motherfucker, I can feel it slappin’ against, you sick perv—goddam, this shit is really gettin’ yer rocks off, huh?”

 

Moaning loudly, Dylan started to flail violently.  It was too much; the pain was too much.  His ass was split wide open, his guts were impaled with huge throbbing manmeat, broken ribs ground in his torso with each agonizing breath—and his face, oh fuck, his face hurt so goddam bad, he had to get out, he had to get away—

 

Less a thinking human than a desperate, trapped animal, the well-built teen let his desperation run wild, clawing viciously at his assailant.  His hooked fingers scrabbled at the Trucker’s face, but the skilled killer knew what to expect and was able to avoid the homo’s frantic, questing hands.  After scraping at the alpha’s chin a couple of times, Dylan suddenly threw one arm up and caught the brim of the trucker cap, knocking it off.

 

The Trucker’s reaction was immediate.  He wasn’t havin’ no fag meat fuck with his lid; with terrifying brutality, he slammed his balled-up fist into the boy’s face four times in a row, with the speed of a jackhammer.  Each blow landed with a loud, wet smacking sound—and each one made the little shit’s body jump and jerk like an electrical shock.

 

The Trucker’s grin widened; each powerhouse punch had resonated through the fag’s body and tightened his ass.  Each one had squeezed the sick top’s swollen shaft, massaging the dominant psycho’s pulsating hog.

 

Lowering his head, he hissed at the semi-conscious youth.  “Think yer gonna make it, bitch?  Can ya hold out?  Fight it, cunt, fight for yer worthless life.  Like I said, faggot, if ya survive the beatin’, I’ll let ya live—but I don’t think it’s gonna happen, you weak gay-ass cocksucker.  Yer gonna die here and now on my cock, aintcha?”

 

His face beaten to hamburger, Dylan could only gurgle his protest, his desire to live.  Even in the rising red tide of agony that had become his entire universe, he was still aware of his own straining, oozing dick, inexplicably erect despite the ongoing trauma.  But he was young and he was strong—he had every intention of surviving this horrific nightmare.

 

“Up to thirteen now, boy,” the Trucker grinned as he relentlessly shagged the punk’s bruised and bleeding fuckhole.  “Ya still with me, homo?  Ain’t been fucked to death yet?  Hang on, meat, we ain’t done yet!”  As the hypersexual alpha pumped and grunted, sweat oozed form his broad heaving back, filling the room with pheromones and manscent.

 

Dylan might have actually enjoyed it had his shattered nose not filled his sinuses with blood.

 

The teen’s slick body bent back in distress, his arms now flailing at the thin fitted sheet as he arched his back in agony.  Scrambling blindly, he managed to knock the pillows off the bed; the right one skittered across the night stand and took the clock and phone to the floor with it, accompanied by a loud crash.  The lamp was hit too, but didn’t fall to the ground—instead, it fell on its side, crushing the shade.

 

The top of the bulb threw an unaccustomed glare across the bed, casting lurid shadows of violent mansex onto the far wall.  The image was so crisp that the Trucker’s dogtags were clearly silhouetted as they dangled between the killer and his victim.

 

Deep within the recesses of his traumatized mind, Dylan felt a sense of betrayal at the way his body was responding to the vicious rape and beating; each pounding he took seemed to force more hot precum from his throbbing shaft.  Even now, as the older man lay on him, thrusting and penetrating him for his own pleasure, the teen could feel his thick rod poking into the fur on the alpha’s firm, flat abs, sliding around on a slimy film of sweat and pre-ejaculate.

 

“Shit, ya stupid fuck, yer goin’ loose on me again,” the Trucker snarled.  “Gotta tighten yer worn-out fuckhole, faggot—ya know what that means, dontcha?”

 

Rising up on his knees, the muscle-bound stud drew back his arm, tensed his thick, bulging bicep and drove his fist into Dylan’s smooth flat belly like a piston.

 

“HOOOG!!!” the fucked-up youth cried, expelling all the air in his lungs in one mighty yelp of pain.  He jerked up violently, trying to double over in pain, but the moment his torso rose off the bed the Trucker hit him again, this blow impacting the boy’s broad left pec, immediately knocking him back down onto the mattress.

 

Gasping and struggling, Dylan popped up again—a reflexive reaction caused by the agony that the punch had caused to his snapped ribs—only to be met with another belt in the chest.  Shuddering and whimpering, the brutalized teen fell back.  His face, twisted and covered with tears and snot, darkened as he fought to regain his breath.

 

The Trucker grinned; the last three hits had done as good a job as genuine donkey punches would have in terms of tightening the meat’s anus.  Grunting deeply, he hunched over the suffering teenager and rammed his enormous rod furiously into the boy’s torn and mangled colon.  “Where are we now, cunt?” he hissed at the stunned and traumatized adolescent, “Sixteen?  Gettin’ close, whore, gettin’ fuckin’ close.  It’s time to separate the men from the boymeat, and I’m willin’ to betcha can’t take it all the way, ya cumsuckin’ fag!”

 

As a thin trickle of air managed to painfully work its way back down Dylan’s esophagus, he heard and comprehended—and hoped.  The mauled youngster knew he was badly injured, but not fatally; if he could just get out of this room alive, he’d make it.  He’d survive.

 

But oh fuck, those last two blows…

 

The Trucker could tell what was running through the little cockpig’s head.  Even though his once-gorgeous face had been pummeled into hamburger, it was still easy to see the light of hope gleaming in the kid’s swollen, red-rimmed eyes.  Worthless little sacks of shit, they were all the same—it was so easy to manipulate them; the stupid fucks always walked right into the trap.

 

The sick sadist could also see the fear.  This meat knew it still had some suffering to endure.  As he pumped the oozing, engorged head of his cock deep into the homo’s guts, the Trucker smirked—asswipe had no clue how much suffering was on the way.

 

Maybe it was time to let him know.

 

“Ya like gettin’ hit, dontcha, ya disgusting painpig?” the alpha stud whispered, lowering his face so close to his victim’s that his dogtags rested on the kid’s heaving chest, “Ya sure seem to like my hairy balls slappin’ at yer gay-ass fuckhole, huh?  Well if ya like that, fuckmeat, yer gonna spunk with joy with this one—take it, bitch!”

 

This was a roundhouse punch that circled wide from the shoulder and smashed into Dylan’s face like a bomb blast, snapping facial bones and shattering the already-broken jaw.  The boy went rigid with shock.  “Fuck yeah!” the Trucker grunted, “That’s what I’m talkin’ about!  Goddam, cunt, that got yer meat good and tight—let’s do that again!”

 

The next blow came from the other side; the experienced killer was ambidextrous.  Even had the battered teen been in a positon to expect anything, he couldn’t have foreseen the fist rocketing towards him from the off side.  And after the impact, he didn’t see anything at all; a mountain of glassy pain fell on him, crushing his consciousness out.

 

Pain.  His first and most basic sensation as he came to was pain, overwhelming and all-encompassing.  Every part of his body, even his somehow still-erect cock and straining cock, was flooded with agony.  The second sensation was motion; combined with the searing, slashing pain in his rectum, he knew the hulking alpha was still raping him.

 

Opening his eyes, Dylan could see the Trucker sneering down at him.  One thought kept ringing in his mind: he was alive.  He’d made it through all eighteen.  He was gonna be ok.

 

The Trucker’s dick began to pulse even faster at the sight of hope pooling in those eyes, dark puddles in a ruined face.  This was his favorite part.

 

“Oh, yeah,” he chuckled malignly, “I forgot one—what is it they call it?  One to grow on?”

 

This blow was a rabbit-punch—swift, brutal, and intensely powerful.  In the blink of an eye, the experienced killer had slammed his knuckles directly into Dylan’s larynx, instantly smashing it back into the esophagus and crushing both with a horrifyingly loud crunching sound.

 

“We’ll call that one to die on,” the well-built psycho whispered with malicious glee, without missing a single thrust of his cock.

 

Dylan’s eyes widened in terror.  Throwing his arms out, he clutched at the bed first, arching his back violently upwards as he tried desperately to breathe.  It was useless.  His trachea had been compressed into a solid mangled mass of splintered cartilage.  There was nothing he could do; his airway was completely crushed.

 

He was suffocating.  He was gonna die.

 

No, that couldn’t be right.  He’d promised; the dude had promised him and he’d fought, oh fuck, he’d fought so hard to live—and his birthday wasn’t supposed to turn out like this; he was supposed to be having fun and getting laid—

 

As blind terror set in, the realization that he actually was getting laid never crossed Dylan’s panicked mind.

 

Again, the well-built, writhing teen pawed at the Trucker’s face, fingers clawing with no specific object in mind, motivated by mindless anguish.  The brutal top held the kid down, riding his ass as he died, feeling the boy’s smooth slick body flail underneath him.

 

Dylan’s flow of oxygen had already been seriously obstructed by earlier sinus damage.  He didn’t have any reserves left in his lung—the onset of brain death didn’t take long.

 

As darkness closed in on the teen faggot, his frantic scrambling became slower and calmer; soon, his hand settled on the Trucker’s shoulders, gripping them tightly just past where his own red Nike kicks rested.  At the same time, the youth’s strong, muscled body began undulating, a kind of rhythmic flow that the well-versed sadist knew to be a precursor to violent convulsions.

 

Now he just needed to hold on and ride the birthday boi into his grave.

 

As he expected, the kid began to shudder and twitch, jerking his head swiftly from side to side as bloody froth erupted from his lopsided, ruined mouth.  Although it was difficult to see at first, under the swollen, bruised flesh, the punk’s face soon darkened to a noticeable point, growing ever more purple as his tongue began to protrude.

 

Holding his killer tightly by the shoulders, his sneakers touching his hands, Dylan convulsively pulled the alpha to him as his hips began to buck uncontrollably.  Over the Trucker’s shoulders, the punk’s Jordan Horizons thrashed helplessly in the air; the left one, which had slowly come untied, suddenly flew off the boy’s foot, spinning into the far corner of the room with a clatter.  The punk’s foot was left to flex, curling his toes in the white ped sock.

 

Knowing what was coming, the hard-bodied stud repositioned his legs, planting his unlaced workboots wide apart for better traction on the slick sheet. Grinning, he felt the little fucker’s ass start to grip his shaft as it slid over the vein-wrapped tube of manmeat with increasing speed.

 

“That’s it, faggot,” the testosterone-laden muscled killer muttered, “Milk my load out as you get offed.  Yeah, die, motherfucker, die so I can blow my wad.  Fuckin’ work the cum outta my cock with yer convulsions, ya homo asswipe.  One less worthless fag in the world after tonight, but at least I get to use yer death to drain the spunk outta my hog, yeah?  Fair trade, huh?  Now die like the perverted subhuman cumpig you are, you fairy cunt!”

 

By the time he finished speaking, there wasn’t enough of Dylan left to hear him.  The gay teenager who had left the bar forty-five minutes ago looking for a good time on his birthday had slid screaming in terror and agony down a dark hole that led straight to death.  Technically his heart was still beating—a wildly irregular pulse—but the human spark had seeped out of the physical tissue.

 

The Trucker was left with a shuddering piece of meat that clutched amazingly at his swollen cock.  With an inarticulate cry, the powerful alpha jerked and sent a solid spray of semen deep into the boy’s guts, hosing down his prostate and flooding his intestines.

 

Whether or not Dylan’s brain was too dead for him to know what had happened, his dick responded as if he did.  He pressed his belly up to the Trucker’s; the latter could feel the kid’s cock suddenly swell and writhe like a garden hose on full flow.  Huge wads of thick oversexed boyseed spewed from Dylan’s pulsing rod, matting the older stud’s chest hair and coating the kid’s already slick, broad chest with another layer of fluid.

 

The Trucker and the teen continued to hold each other tightly, locked in an erotically fatal embrace, as each kept cumming, the Trucker using the kid’s death throes to jack off—the adolescent’s dying corpse made a phenomenal sex toy.  Dylan himself was unloading reflexively, an instinctive reaction to death by suffocation.

 

After what seemed like half an hour—but was likely no more than a tenth of that time—the Trucker pulled himself together, then pulled himself out of the dead, shuddering meat.  Getting back off the bed, he let the meat’s legs flop back off his shoulders, leave the dead fag splayed out on his back, arms and legs spread.

 

Turning away, the alpha fished out another Marlboro, lit it, and grinding shards of glass from the broken mirror into the carpet with the thick soles of his boots, crossed into the bathroom.  He needed to clean up; little homo cocksucker sure had been fulla spunk…

 

After wiping down with a wet towel—which his left under running water in the sink—the cruel stud leaned in the bathroom doorway and, taking another drag of his half-done smoke, surveyed his work.

 

The room was demolished.  There was a small cheap flat-screen TV on a flimsy stand on the far side of the room; it was the only thing not damaged during the rape and murder.  The AC under the window was making an odd noise; from this angle, the Trucker could see that the collapsed table had put a large dent in the front of the unit as well; likely it was impacting the fan blade.

 

The dead fag was the centerpiece, though, without a doubt.  Dramatically highlighted by the overturned lamp, the birthday boi—who could have had a modeling career if he hadn’t been a cumsucking druggie in a small town—was now nothing but a shuddering mass of meat, his once-stunning face reduced to bleeding pulp.

 

The Trucker approached the corpse, still jerking and kicking in the long-drawn-out death throes associated with asphyxiation, and tossed his smoldering cigarette butt at it; the glowing ember sizzled out in the congealing puddle of semen in the center of the meat’s chest.

 

The slut’s right foot, still laced into its Nike hightop, kicked and jerked on the dislodged and twisted fitted sheet.  The meat’s left foot had been kicking and scuffling too; in fact, it had worked the sock off, revealing the teen’s bare toes curling reflexively in death.

 

The condition of both the body and the room made the nightmarish violence of Dylan’s death obvious.  The Trucker felt purged and relaxed.  He slipped his sleeveless t-shirt back on, then located his cap, halfway under the bed.  Taking one last glance backwards at the teenaged homo’s still-quivering corpse, spread out and lit like a selection of prime meat on a butcher’s slab, the cruel alpha felt a sense of pride in his work.

 

As he headed back towards his rig, he began to whistle.  Quietly, of course, so as not to attract too much attention—in fact, the thumping of his thick boot soles on the pavement nearly drowned it out—but the note of satisfaction was obvious to anyone who could hear it.

 

Carlos Solo: A Little Time to Kill

On By m3mayhemIn Movies with Carlos and Nick3 Comments

When the light changed, Carlos eased off the brake and turned left off the Strip, heading east on Flamingo.  Even though it was past one in the morning, the crowds on Las Vegas Boulevard had diminished only slightly; it took several minutes to complete the turn while he waited for the idiots who’d decided to cross against the signal.

 

Finally the way was clear; Carlos gunned the Benz.  He’d gotten angry at the delay.  Given that he was already bored and horny, it was a lethal combination.

 

Someone was gonna die tonight.  Somewhere out there was a fag who was gonna soak up Carlos’s cum and die on his dick.

 

Nick was out of town.  He’d had a sudden offer to film a straight snuff flick in Tahoe; he’d packed his equipment in his truck and driven up yesterday.  Prior to that, though, they’d planned to go hunting this weekend.  With Nick gone, Carlos had decided not to alter his plans.

 

So here he was, heading east on Flamingo.  It was a pleasant night with the temperature in the mid-seventies, so the top was down on the bright red luxury car.  Inside, the hard-bodied convict displayed his broad, sculpted chest and flat ripped abs in a leather vest with no shirt underneath; a thick gold chain sparkled alluringly around his muscular throat.  His skin-tight black leather jeans were tucked into a pair of engineer boots.

 

And he’d found something while idly poking around the condo last night—likely left over from one of Nick’s earlier flicks.  A pair of thin leather gloves that fit Carlos’s powerful hands like a black second skin.  He was wearing them now, as his fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly.

 

He turned right off Flamingo into what had been a decent middle-class neighborhood.  Now it was little more than a cluster of run-down cinderblock homes with dirt yards and questionable tenants.  There was still some activity on the street, most of it furtive and probably criminal, but Carlos couldn’t spot anything worth fucking.

 

Heading further south before turning east again, the leather-clad predator found the streets less well-lit—and less-populated.  After a couple of blocks, he no longer saw anyone at all, so he turned back towards Flamingo, fuming in frustration

 

That was when he saw the boy.

 

He had come to a stop at a stop sign.  The kid was on the sidewalk, leaning against the sign itself.  Late teens or early twenties—at the latest—the punk had a mane of sandy blond hair that came nearly to his shoulders.  Completely bare-chested, the youth wore a pair of denim shorts that stopped just above the knee.  On the feet were a shiny pair of black Adidas Originals X hightops.  Otherwise, the boy’s smooth, muscular body was as visible as meat on a butcher’s counter.

 

It seemed an odd place to find a trick, but the moment the convertible Benz came to a halt, the punk stepped off the curb and approaching the car, reached in.  “You can put it in my mouth for twenty or my ass for fifty,” he said, grabbing the enormous bulge in the crotch of Carlos’s leather jeans.

 

For a moment, the brutal sadist was actually surprised.  Prey was hunted; it didn’t just wander into the killing pit on its own—but this one had.

 

“How much for the rest of the evening?” Carlos asked, knowing that the amount the boywhore named wouldn’t matter, since he wouldn’t be in a condition to collect it anyway.

 

The rentboy’s eyes opened wide with surprised greed; he clearly hadn’t expected an offer of this magnitude.  The eyes in question were dark, dark brown, almost black, and the white were stained red as a result of drugs and/or alcohol.  “Two-fifty and you can do what ya want till morning,” the slut responded, its breath confirming the at least the alcohol part of Carlos’s estimation.  The killer chuckled inwardly—this was Vegas, for fuck’s sake; kid with a body like that coulda asked for at least double that.

 

Good.  Ain’t no one was gonna miss a cheap fucking fag whore.

 

“Get in,” Carlos said gruffly.  “I ain’t fuckin’ ya in public, cunt, I got class.  My place is a coupla miles north.”  Class had nothing to do with it; he was gonna destroy this cheap-ass hustler, and he didn’t want an audience while he worked the bitch over.

 

The rentboy obeyed, jumping into the passenger seat and buckling himself in.  As Carlos stepped on the gas, he noticed the kid sizing him up with sidelong glances.  He also noticed—he couldn’t help it, it was too obvious—that a tentpole was stretching the denim in faggot’s groin.  Little cocksucker was horny himself. Carlos headed out.

 

They were inside the condo in less than twenty minutes.  “Damn,” the meat said, looking around in awe, “This is some nice crib ya got, dawg.  Name’s Kris, by the way—Kris with a K.”

 

Carlos ignored the cunt and headed to the bedroom in silence.  He didn’t turn on the bedside lamp; instead, he opened the curtain on the picture window, allowing the bright neon of the Strip to reflect gaudily off the gold satin bedspread.

 

Kris staggered in, his booze- and meth-addled head reeling in the kaleidoscopic effect the spectacular view provided.  “Goddam,” he muttered.  His bleary eyes lit up; Carlos could almost see dollar signs in them like a cartoon character’s.  The muscle-bound sadist chuckled.  Wheeling around the kid, he locked the bedroom door behind him.  Kris was still too stunned by his surroundings to notice.

 

The boywhore was attuned enough to hear the stealthy sound of a zipper, though.  He turned and directed his entire attention on Carlos’s crotch as the tattooed stud extracted the full length of his horse-like dick from the confines of his tight leather jeans.  The glistening tube of meat fell out and slapped against the alpha’s thigh, throbbing and swelling as it bobbed in the air.

 

Kris gasped.  The whore had seen lots of cocks, but had never come across one quite this large.  Even as he watched beads of precum well up on the pulsing purple tip, he could feel his own boyjuice start to trickle from his straining, aching shaft.  Instinctively, he reached down and grabbed the bulge in his groin.  He gave his tight waist a quick jerk and his denim shorts slid to the floor.  Stepping out of them, Kris grabbed his cock and stood fondling it in nothing but his shiny black Adidas hightops.

 

“Get yer hands off yer dick, faggot!” Carlos barked.  “I bought you for the night, cunt, remember?  You’re here to serve me, got it, ya fuckin’ whore?  Now get over here; I wanna skullfuck ya!”

 

Kris staggered across the room towards Carlos.  He liked being used, and he was high enough to let anyone use him, but the combination of lust for this dominant hunk and chemical confusion led him to ignore any red flags—like the tattoos.  Despite his age—he was a couple of months shy of his twenty-first birthday, not even old enough yet to buy beer legally—he was no stranger to crime or convicts.  He knew the meaning of some of Carlos’s inks—and recognized the amateurish nature of others that indicated a prison origin.

 

It didn’t matter.  The dude had the body of a god.  And he was gonna pay him enough to stay high for three days straight, maybe more.  Maybe, if he played his cards right, this guy could become a regular customer—fuck, lookit this place, he must be fuckin’ loaded…

 

“Suck my cock, faggot!” Carlos snapped, cutting through Kris’s reverie.  Before he could respond appropriately, Kris found that he couldn’t respond at all—Carlos had literally taken matters into his own hands by grabbing thick fistfuls of Kris’s hair and jerking the rentboy’s head forward until it was forced down onto the ex-con’s dick.

 

The well-used whore found his eyes watering as the massive flesh tube was thrust inexorably past his tonsils, the thick mushroom tip slipping into his esophagus on a lube of spit and precum.  The young homo was an experienced cocksucker; he knew how to control his breathing while sucking a pulsing, vein-wrapped hog down his throat—but this was manmeat of a different magnitude.

 

And Kris realized it once Carlos’s tool slid over his epiglottis and sealed of his airway.  Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe at all.

 

“Fuck, dude, is that all of me you can take?” Carlos sneered, “Whadda lousy cocksucker!  Shit, whore, ya gotta do a lot better than that if ya wanna get paid—now swallow my fuckin’ dick, you worthless homo slut!”

 

Kris’s hand’s reached out in from of him, looking for support, something to brace himself, as Carlos’s grip intensified and he plunged his iron-hard shaft further down the boy’s throat.  The hard-bodied alpha began to throatfuck the punk, but never drew his shaft out far enough for Kris to take a breath.

 

The helpless rentboy was too drunk and too high to fully understand what was happening; he just knew he couldn’t breathe.  His hands had finally made contact with the smooth, pumping firmness of Carlos’s leather-clad thighs, but no matter how hard he pushed back, all he seemed likely to do was tear open his scalp where the vicious sociopath still held a tight grip.

 

As the young faggot whore jerked and writhed under him, Carlos closed his eyes and sighed with pleasure.  “Choke on it, cocksucker, choke on my cock, you worthless motherfucker! That’s it, work my load out, bitch—take this one and if yer lucky, I’ll give ya another!”

 

Kris heard him.  His response was divided; his logical mind ignored the words and kept beating against those strong, thrusting thighs, wrapped in black leather, while his unconscious absorbed the full meaning, causing the slim but well-built young pansy’s own cock to swell painfully.

 

The kneeling slut could hear his pulse pounding in his head; the rapid, frenetic tempo seemed to match the speed at which the cruel, leering top was facefucking him.  His chest seemed to balloon up, swelling in agony as froth spilled from both nostrils.  Kris could feel his eyes bulge; his sight went dim and his panicked struggles slowed and became more rhythmic.

 

Just as Kris’s consciousness started to fade, the powerful convict, still holding him in an inescapable grip, began to shudder and grunt uncontrollably.  Even on the verge of asphyxia, the experience cumsucker knew an incipient orgasm; if he could only hold on a little longer…there!

 

The young faggot felt the thick, wide base of the alpha’s cock pulse as it pumped a solid stream of cum down his throat.  Kris had no choice but to swallow; he was literally just trying to stay conscious as the muscled stud unloaded a massive amount of spunk, jets of hot creamy sperm shooting into his belly as the huge shaft of manmeat continued to throb and pump.

 

Kris felt like he was drowning in cum.  His burning, heaving lungs seemed to be filling up with manseed as the brutally aggressive top emptied his massive, puckered balls.  Suddenly, the hot dude let go and Kris fell back into a huddled heap on the floor.  He gasped, choked, and coughed up an enormous wad of cum.  It dribbled down his chin as he panted and drooled, trying to regain his breath.

 

Finally, the shaken and cowed boywhore turned his paradoxically innocent face up to that of his assailant, his dark eyes wide with shock.  The well-endowed ex-con towered over him, his monstrous cock jutting out from the black leather darkness of his crotch.  Above, even in the semi-darkness, Kris could trace the amateur tattoos inked on the killer’s rippled abs and broad, sculpted chest, even under the latter’s body fur and leather vest.

 

The faint glitter of the gold chain was visible around the thick, bull-like neck.  And above that, the handsome, chiseled face—despite the trauma he’d just endured, Kris could feel his own shaft stiffen as he gazed on the john’s wiry black goatee and stared into those blue eyes, flinty with a cold rage.  The incredible stud wore a do-rag on his head; it seems to be shiny black satin.  In the back of his head, Kris wondered if this hot, scary-ass fucker was shaved like a skinhead…

 

Then the hard, cruel face broke into an open sneer.  “Don’t get comfortable, faggot,” Carlos snarled, “There’s a fuck of a lot more where that came from.  I got another load already churnin’ in my scrote, bitch.”

 

The words snapped the slut out of his reverie.  The meth he’d smoked and the Colt 45’s he’d drunk had dimmed his sense of danger, but not his sense of business.  Sadly for him, it led him to miscalculate and make a bad business decision.  He decided that there was enough demand to inflate his price.

 

“D-dude,” he coughed, still choking on Carlos’s spunk, “If yer gonna do that kinda shit—get all rough and shit—you gotta pay more.  At least four or five big ones, man.”

 

“You worthless piece of shit,” Carlos returned in an even, toneless voice.  “We had an agreement.”

 

“Yeah, and now I’m uppin’ the price, man.  I can take gettin’ used, dawg, but you gotta pay extra for that freaky chokin’ shit, see?”

 

Even in his drugged state, Kris could feel the tension in the room thicken like glue.  He half-expected the stud to explode in rage; he was somewhat disconcerted when the guy gave him a cold, shark-like grin instead.  “Sure,” the alpha replied, “I’ll go to five if ya want.”

 

There was something about his malicious chuckle that raised Kris’s hackles.  He suspected he was gonna get ripped off.  “Show me,” he said suspiciously, still sitting on the floor with his firm, buff legs curled under him.  “I wanna see yer cash, dude.  Course, if ya ain’t got it, I’ll take meth, or coke.  I mean look at this set-up—ya gotta have one of the three around here.”

 

The boywhore knew the value of his body and was trying to use it to get what he wanted.  What he got was something he feared—something he’d heard about often enough, since it was an occupational hazard.  He just never thought it’d happen to him.

 

His first clue was the flash in the older stud’s eyes; it was literally as if a light had shone momentarily.  Unfortunately for Kris, he didn’t see the glare of rage for what it was.  “So what’s it gonna be, dawg?  Cash or dope, dude, ya gotta pay up—”

 

And that was when Carlos said, again in his calm, toneless voice, “Naw, ya faggot cunt, yer the one who’s gotta pay.”  The second he finished speaking, he drove his foot forward, sinking the steel toe of his leather engineer boot deeply into the yielding, unprepared flesh of Kris’s belly.

 

“HOOOGH!!!” the boycunt cried as the swift, vicious kick forced all the air from his lungs; grabbing his midsection, the youth doubled over in agony, his sweet, innocent face twisted in pain.

 

“Fuck yeah, now yer talkin’” Carlos crowed as he stood over the shuddering, gasping youth.  “Ya like that, ya faggot cunt?  Huh?  That feel good, cocksucker?  Cause just like my load, there’s plenty more where that come from!”

 

Fighting against the physical trauma, Kris managed to inhale deeply enough to regain control of himself.  He knew now, beyond any drugged doubt, that he’d picked up a bad john.  He knew he’d let his defenses down and that his survival depended on his getting away from this psycho motherfucker as soon as possible.

 

So he bolted for the door.

 

He was already low to the ground so he lunged forward, below the grasp of the killer alpha—he hoped.  Scooting past Carlos, he grabbed the doorknobs for the double bedroom doors. He didn’t stop to notice that the hulking stud wasn’t coming after him.

 

He did notice that he couldn’t open the doors.

 

Kris jerked frantically on the doorknobs as he became aware that Carlos had finally turned and was moving towards him.  Whimpering in horror, the blond whore stopped trying to open the doors and beat on them mindlessly as death approached slowly and deliberately.

 

A strong hand gripped his shoulder and despite his hard dick, Kris was vaguely aware that he was pissing himself in terror.  The yellow fluid spurted from his erect shaft again when he felt the grip on his other shoulder.  When Carlos whispered, “Big mistake, asswipe,” a flood of urine splashed from Kris’s cock, splattering his black hightops, but before he knew what he was doing, he was flipped in the air up over Carlos’s shoulder and slammed back down flat on the floor face-down with rib-shattering violence.

 

Kris’s breath was driven from his muscled frame with a loud, agonized grunt.  As he moaned and writhed on the floor, the killer’s big black boots stepped into view.  Suddenly, Carlos squatted down.  Grabbing a fistful of long blond hair, he pulled the kid’s head back, twisting it to the side so he could look into the slut’s pale, terrified face.

 

“You wanna see how yer gonna get paid, you sack of shit?” the powerful convict hissed, his eyes narrowed into rage-filled slits.  “This is how—pain.  Yer getting paid in pain, bitch, and ya just asked for double, right?  Yeah?   Don’t worry, ya stupid homo fuck, yer gonna get paid real good.  It’s yer lucky night, cunt; I’m feelin’ generous!”

 

Carlos let go of Kris’s hair and stood back up, then, with a swift kick, slammed his boot into the weeping punk’s face and snapped a cheekbone.  The handsome blond whore squealed, grabbing at his injured face and groveling on the floor.  “Shaddup, ya worthless cockpig,” the hypersexual alpha snarled, his thick tool still erect and dripping as he bent down and jerked Kris by the hair yet again.

 

This time, he forced the trembling youth upright and up against the wall in the corner of the bedroom.  Finding himself trapped with the well-built powerful body of the vicious killer in front of him, Kris began babbling.  Tears streaked down his bruised, swelling face as he begged for his life.

 

“P-please, man, d-d-don’t do th-this,” the young, drugged whore pleaded, “Don-don’t hurt me, d-dude, oh please, oh fuck, don’t kill me I’ll do any—URK!”

 

His shrill pleas were suddenly cut off when a hand encased in a tight black leather glove closed around his throat.  Kris opened his eyes wide, just in time to see the other gloved hand, balled into a fist, drawn back then rocketing towards him with blinding speed.

 

The blow landed on Kris’s nose, smashing it with a wet, squelching sound.  The hot young slut jerked, his howl of pain managing to escape Carlos’s grip on his neck.  The vicious stud cut the cry off with another swift punch; this one caught the bitch on his jaw, snapping his mouth shut so fast and so hard that the boy bit through his bottom lip.  After that, the succession of belts and bashes to the face were brutally regular.

 

Kris was stunned, his head rocking back under the hail of blows that were slamming against it.  As blood flowed from his split lip and bruises bloomed on his young, smooth face, the whimpering cunt could just barely make out the words his assailant was hissing with malevolent glee.

 

“Enjoyin’ the pain, motherfucker?  Ya must be, ya worthless pig bottom bitch, lookit the way yer dick’s throbbin’ an’ oozin’ every time I pop ya one!  Fucking sick-ass pansy piece a’ shit, yer just lovin’ this, aintcha?  Yeah?  Ya like gettin’ put in yer place, faggot?  Ya like gettin’ shown what a useless cocksuckin’ pervert like you deserves, huh?”

 

Carlos paused, his large, muscled body heaving and slick with sweat.  Kris focused his blackened, swollen eyes on the powerfully-built alpha.  It was drawn first to the thick gold chain around the convict’s neck, glinting and highlighting the buff killer’s neck tats.  But then he shifted to Carlos’s balled fist, drawn back to shoulder level and waiting, ready to spring into action in the blink of an eye, inflicting even more agony and more damage.

 

During the tension-laden pause in the violence, Kris had time to notice that the skin-tight glove looked wet.  His already drugged and now brutalized brain didn’t have time to realize that his own blood was too dark to show on the black leather.  Then his attention was drawn back to the cold, hard masculine countenance of his killer.

 

“You wanted money,” Carlos whispered, his eyes narrowing with a piercing, ice-cold rage.  The expression would have made Kris piss himself again if anything had been left in his flaccid bladder.  “How much was it, cunt?  How much didja want me to pay?”

 

Kris blinked dazedly and moaned.  With unbelievable speed, the sadistic alpha drove his bulging, inked arm into the rentboy’s face with the force of a jackhammer; after an intense, bright-red explosion of agony, the hard-bodied young whore shuddered and coughed up a bicuspid.

 

“Answer me, you cumsucking cunt, or I’m gonna knock out yer teeth one by one, ya hear?  How much?  How much didja want, faggot?”

 

“T-t-two h-hundr-dr-dred…” Kris muttered, barely afloat in a sea of pain.  There was a slight whistling sound caused by the gap in his teeth.

 

Carlos’s face twisted in anger.  “Lyin’ homo bitch!” he snarled, slamming another right hook into the youth’s jaw.  “It was two-fifty, yeah?  That’s what ya think yer worth, you piece of shit?  You stupid cumsuckin’ motherfucker, didja really think I was so desperate to fuck your worn-out asshole that I’d spend that much for ya?”

 

He punctuated his contempt with another blow.  Kris could sense this one coming and tried to turn away but the hand of the buff sadist was gripping his neck too tightly for him to move.

 

Not that it mattered.  Carlos went low this time, delivering a devastating and excruciating gutpunch.  His gloved fist smacked into Kris smooth, flat belly; despite the kid’s firm abs, the jab sank in deeply.  The whore’s throat wasn’t closed off and the gutbash drove the air out of him in a loud, deep grunt.

 

“And now you want more, you fucking pervert?  Ya want more money cause you ain’t enough of a faggot to take my cock?  Fuck, bitch, if I’m gonna pay that much, I wanna free trial.  Ha!  Yeah, cunt, I think I’m gonna try before I buy—you gonna guarantee my satisfaction, huh?  Fuck no you ain’t, you reamed-out pansy-ass whore; ain’t no way a little queer pain pig like you gonna satisfy a real man!”

 

The well-built ex-con let go of the young rentboy’s neck; reaching up, he grabbed the punk’s mouth, the tight leather glove sealing off Kris’s mouth as Carlos’s hand clenched his jaw painfully.  “You do know what happens, dontcha, fuckwad?  You know how this is gonna end.  I’m gonna fuck ya now, and I’m gonna make it hurt—ya like that, huh, dontcha?  Fuck yeah, yer cock is all hard an’ drippin’—ha!  Holy shit—you really want this, huh?  You wanna go all the way?  Saddle up, cumslut, I’m about to make your deepest painpig desires come true!”

 

What happened next happened so quickly that Kris wasn’t even aware that it happened at all.  With one hand around Kris’s jaw, Carlos bent down and, reaching under the whoreboy’s oozing cock, grabbed his ass.  Standing back up, the muscled convict pivoted and tossed the youth onto the bed.  He was standing near the foot of the bed so that Kris landed on his left side, head toward the headboard.

 

Rolling onto his back, Kris gurgled and gasped, still trying to recover his breath.  His bruised and swollen eyes were difficult to open but when they did, he had a blurred view of the hulking form of Carlos towering over him at the foot of the bed, his amazingly sculpted torso glistening with sweat in the reflected light that also glittered on the gold chain at his throat.

 

With exaggerated slowness, the aggressive sadist slipped off his leather vest.  His massive cock dangled over Kris’s fit and nubile body, hot precum dripping onto the kid’s flesh and burning it like melted wax.  The panicked whore tried to beg, to plead for forgiveness or mercy or something—it didn’t matter—but was so terrified that nothing emerged from his trembling lips beyond a shuddering moan.

 

Stooping down, Carlos grabbed Kris’s legs and pulled them up as he climbed onto the bed so that the boy’s shiny Adidas kicks were resting on his shoulders.  Bending the rentboy double, he slapped the swollen purple head of his cock against the slut’s puckered fuckhole.

 

Then all the pain Kris had experienced faded to the intensity of love taps compared to what he had to endure—it was as if someone had suddenly and unexpectedly shoved a baseball bat up his ass without warning and without lube.  If the hot young boywhore had been able to breathe, he might have screamed; as it was, all he could do was flap his jaw and gasp like a dying fish.

 

The pain was so mind-shattering that Carlos had pumped his enormous shaft up Kris’s ass half a dozen times before the latter realized he was getting buttfucked.  While his rectum was being brutally shredded, the well-built rentboy writhed on the smooth satin bedspread and tried desperately to inhale.  He succeeded—but not for long.

 

His mistake was screaming.  Deep in his pig soul, Kris knew that it was a mistake, but he was in too much agony to control himself, and he was too terrified to try.  The whore was well aware that he was trapped, pinned helplessly under his muscle-bound rapist.

 

He was also aware of the stories that circulated among the hustler crowd—horror stories of boys who’d gone off with the wrong trick, only to be found tortured, raped and murdered when they were found at all.  He’d always listened to the tales with a sort of amused contempt, not fully believing them, and certain that he was far too smart to be caught in such a situation should it occur.

 

But tonight he’d been drunk and high and horny.  He’d mixed business and pleasure and had been too fucked up to recognize any red flags.  It was his own fault but if he could just survive this night—

 

—and then the panic bubbled over and the welling scream finally burst from Kris’s swollen, bleeding lips.

 

“Goddam, ya stupid sack a’ shit, shut the fuck up!” Carlos bark, his face twisted in rage.  He rested more of his heavy, buff body on the flailing punk, pinning the cunt to the bed with his cock.  Kris’s own swollen, throbbing cock was pressed between their two flat, firm bellies; his hightops jerked and kicked on his rapist’s shoulders  As Carlos leaned in, his hard, handsome, cruel face filling Kris’s field of vision, the boy inhaled the deep masculine scents of pheromones and mansweat.

 

“I’m sick of yer squealin’, pig,” Carlos hissed, “And it’s time for you to die anyway.  Beatin’ the fuck outta yer fag ass got me all kinda hard, bitch, huh?  Yeah, ya like that idea?  Ya like gettin’ worked over by a real man, faggot?  Fuckin-A, I think I’m blow a load here soon—ya know what that means, dontcha, ya homo cumdump?  It means I’m gonna put ya down like a fuckin’ dog—fuck, I hope this hurts.  I hope ya die in horrible fuckin’ agony, dude—it’s so goddam hot!”

 

With a quick shift of his arms, Carlos wrapped one leather-gloved hand around Kris’s neck and clamped the other over the whore’s face, sealing off his mouth and nose.  Just before his air was cut off, Kris got whiff of musky leather scent from the black glove.

 

Then he realized he was suffocating.

 

Carlos hunched down over the helpless youth, their torsos pressed together in hot sweaty mansex, fur scraping over skin on a lube of testosterone-spiked perspiration.  Kris’s battered, blackened eyes bulged in terror as the convict sneered and spit in his face.  The whore closed his eyes but couldn’t turn his head—Carlos was putting a lot of his weight on his arms; his hand was literally crushing the cunt’s nose and lips.

 

Some part of his mind, walled off from the agony of the brutal assrape, was able to discern a faint jingling sound amid the grunting of the rutting top and the noise of violent sex.  Feeling the killer’s spittle slide down his cheek, Kris opened his eyes again, catching sight of Carlos’s gold chain.  The boy knew what the jingling sound had been.  The thick chain seem to be dancing in the air with malicious glee, coming to life with each of its owner’s deep, repeated thrusts.

 

Each penetrating plunge of his killer’s cock brought searing agony to Kris’s rectum, but every part of his body was flooded with pain.  Beyond the shiny dark do-rag covering Carlos’s head, Kris could see his own hightops kicking feebly in the air; he had no idea that the slashing pain across his midsection was from being doubled-over.  Carlos’s ferocious gutpunch had torn the slut’s liver; this position was tearing it even more.  Left untreated, the injury was large enough to cause Kris to bleed to death internally with about forty-five minutes…

 

But there was other pain.  His once-adorable face had been beaten to an unrecognizable pulp out of which his large brown eyes now protruded grotesquely, tiny hemorrhages popping up in the whites.  His long blond hair, dark and matted with sweat, was spread in tangles across the gold satin comforter.  And the excruciating pressure that the muscled and tattooed convict was now exerting on his already-broken nose and torn lips made him claw frantically at the killer’s hands—only to find the leather gloves so smooth and tight he was unable to catch a grip.

 

And then the pain got really bad.  It got bad because Kris had been without oxygen for almost a minute; reflexively, his body fought for survival by dumping a shitload of adrenaline into the dying rentboy’s bloodstream.  When it hit his brain, it triggered a tsunami of panic.

 

Kris was suddenly very, very aware that he was dying.

 

He jerked and kicked desperately, his hands flailing against Carlos’s rock-hard body.  One hand reached up to the sadist’s grinning face, scraping at the rough stubble on his face; the other hand, grabbing at Carlos’s chest, managed to snatch the gold chain and yank it, but the thick metal links didn’t give way.  The kid let go, reaching around to beat fruitlessly against the stud’s steel-like bicep.

 

Carlos stopped thrusting, giving his powerful thighs a break.  He didn’t need to pump any more anyway; the meat was doing the work for him now.  It was something he’d learned from Nick—at a certain point, the fuckmeat loses its shit and starts bucking like a bronco.

 

“All ya gotta do then,” Nick had said, “Is pretend like yer breakin’ a horse, ya know?  Ya gotta stay in the saddle and ride it till it tires out.  If ya work it right, you can hold the fag in that position and make it milk your cock until it’s down for good and you can let those fuckin’ hot-ass anal convulsions jack ya off…”

 

That was exactly what Carlos was doing now.  His huge, powerful arms were clamped onto Kris’s face and neck and locked like iron bars.  His monstrously engorged shaft was buried deep in the youth’s guts.  His leather-clad legs were spread wide, his engineer boots secure on the floor, giving his hunched-over posture the stability to keep the struggling rentboy pinned into place.

 

“That’s it,” he murmured quietly, barely above a whisper, “That’s it, bitch, fight it.  Keep fightin’ you useless faggot whore, keep fightin’ for yer worthless life—it ain’t gonna do you no good, but it’s doin’ me plenty good right now, cunt!  Fuck yeah, keep it up, motherfucker, yer working my tool so fuckin’ good right now—aw, fuck, dude, is that yer tongue?  I can feel it through the glove, cocksucker, yer tongue is stickin’ out!  Ya know what that means?  It means yer dyin’, asswipe, yer gonna die here and now with my hog up yer guts—ain’t that so fuckin’ hot, ya cumsuckin’ fag?”

 

Trembling on the verge of brain death, Kris heard the words and understood them but wasn’t able to process them fully through the roaring, pulsing silence that was darkening his pain-wracked existence.  Pressure was building in too many places—his head, his ass, his chest, his scrotum—that he couldn’t focus on anything.

 

His frenetic clawing had stopped; his hands were now gripping Carlos’s upper arms tightly in what could have been mistaken for the acquiescent clutch of an eager, willing bottom.  His wild thrashing slowed to a more rhythmic movement.  As silent explosions burst in his head and dimmed his vision, Kris was still aware of his painfully-erect dick.  It had been—and still was being—massaged between his flat, smooth, sweat-slick belly and Carlos’s hard, ripped, furry abs and had not stopped throbbing and oozing throughout Kris’s ordeal.

 

Carlos had noticed it too.  “You fuckin’ disgustin’ faggot pig,” he sneered, hocking up a wad of phlegm and spitting it into the whore’s tear-streaked face.  “You deserve this, you piece of queer shit, dontcha?  Ya know it, too, cocksucker—that’s why yer dick is hard, innit?  Fuckin’ homosexual scumbag pervert, ya know ya need to get put down like a cock-worshippin’ pig!  This is what ya needed, huh—a real man to take ya out?  You were just waiting for the right dude to come along, weren’t ya—someone man enough to treat ya like the worthless piece of garbage ya are?”

 

The sadistic killer’s cruel words faded to a ringing echo in Kris’s mind as more and more of his brain failed from oxygen deprivation.  His hands slid up Carlos’s arms and over his shoulders, past his own sporadically quivering black Adidas hightops.   As death approached swiftly, Kris’s hands clutched Carlos’s muscular back.  Jerking his arms involuntarily in his final few moments, the young boywhore held his murderer in an embrace tighter than any lover’s.

 

As a result, their faces were close together at the end.  Kris was being crushed in the grip of an icy, all-consuming darkness, but he could still feel parts of his body—and he could hear.

 

“Ok, faggot, I’m gettin’ bored with yer ass—you done worn out yer welcome, bitch.  I got shit to do; I ain’t got all night waitin’ for you to get me off.  I’m a busy man, dude, time for me to drain my load and move on.  Yer a suck-ass whore, by the way—hope ya got cash in yer wallet, cunt; you owe me for the time I’m takin’ to waste yer useless ass.  So ya ready to get this done?  I sure the fuck am, scumbag.  Die, you worthless motherfucker!”

 

It was a single swift movement that was utterly spontaneous; in the blink of an eye, Carlos had let go of Kris’s mouth, reaching up and grabbing a fistful of as much of the kid’s hair as he could.  Wrapping it around his right hand, he yanked that arm back with a might jerk that made his inked bicep bulge even more; at the same time, he threw himself down with all his weight on his left arm.

 

Kris’s head snapped forward and, with the splintering sound of shattering vertebrae, popped off the top of his spinal column.

 

The whore’s last experience in his pathetic, wasted existence, was an electrical shock that ran through his entire body, holding him momentarily in an agonized paralysis as his balls exploded and released a raging flood of semen through his rigid shaft.  His boiling deathload spewed in a solid stream of cum that lasted for a good fifteen seconds, hosing the dead slut’s belly and splattering up along Carlos’s chest.

 

Instinctively, Carlos bent his head back as a final wad shot between them, splashing against the picture window and smearing the view.  Carlos’s reaction was instinctive because he was cumming so hard himself that his eyes rolled back in his head.  His massive, well-built body bent back, rigid with extreme stress as the hulking alpha injected the dying boycunt with his load, pumping what felt like a dull quart of manseed into the dead kid’s convulsing fuckhole.

 

Carlos’s huge puckered scrote wasn’t empty, though—bending forward to send his second jet of spunk into the youth’s guts, the sadist was so lost in his bloodlust that he leaned too far forward over his victim.  His boots had good deep tread, but they could only go so far.

 

Carlos fell forward, full-length on his victim’s trembling corpse.  He ended up spewing his final wad into the dead boy with his face in the mattress, cheek-to-cheek with that of the corpse, now doubled over into a position that would be impossible for a living person.

 

And there they stayed for at least three minutes while Carlos regained control of himself.  Heaving and panting, he finally straightened up, withdrawing his still-throbbing purple cock from his victim’s ruined anus. Heading for the bathroom, he kept one hand wrapped around the head of his shaft to avoid having any cum drip onto the carpet.

 

After all, he already had enough of a problem figuring out how to clean the bedspread and take out the garbage before Nick got back; he wasn’t afraid of Nick, but he wasn’t sure how the dude who paid the bills would react to something like this, so he wanted to keep it on the DL…

 

 

Carlos didn’t watch the videos Nick made of him; his interest was in the doing, not the viewing, for which Nick was grateful.  The experienced snuff producer had known that the cameras he’d hidden in the condo—more than twenty in the bedroom itself—would come in handy with Carlos around.

 

He’d seen the video within an hour of returning from Tahoe; it was edited and posted online at a very high premium by that evening; it had returned a record profit by morning.

 

No, Nick was not angry about Carlos’s solo adventure.  Not at all.

The Convict

On By m3mayhemIn Carlos the Convict4 Comments

Carlos strode quickly down the street, his big black boots thumping loudly on the warm pavement.  Bystanders saw a muscular young man moving purposely in their direction and stood aside; there was something dangerous in the youth’s hard face.

They were reacting instinctively to a soul filled with hate.

It had happened again last night.  His last night in.  Two and a half fuckin’ years in that place and they got him again, just to add insult to injury.

His well-built body was boiling with rage.  He’d been given back the clothes he’d worn when he went in—but that was two and a half years ago.  Not much else to do in prison but work out—Carlos wasn’t the type to read a book—and he was much more developed than he’d been when he bought the clothes.

The navy blue sleeveless t-shirt clung to his broad chest as if it’d been painted on.  A sleeve of tattoos, mostly geometric designs, covered his right arm from wrist to elbow, bulging along with his bicep.  A large winged skull was inexpertly tattooed on the left bicep, clearly done inside.  He’d always worn his jeans tight; he’d liked the admiring glances his huge hog got, but now the worn, thin denim not only highlighted his thick thighs but outlined the massive head of his tool.

The only thing that still fit right was his pair of black harness boots.

It was what he’d been wearing when he got popped for offin’ that faggot.  It wasn’t like Carlos was a queer, man, he didn’t hang like that.  But when he’d been down on his luck and needed a little money, some of them homos were good for a few bucks.  And no one had to know…

At least not till that one had stiffed him.  He’d actually swallowed the dude’s load, too, in the front seat of his car.  Motherfucker was gonna pay for that—then the bitch said he didn’t have any money.  Carlos was left gagging, still tasting the fuckwad’s smoky sperm, when he felt the rage take over.

He’d always been violent.  This time he kept slamming the faggot’s head in his car door till he crushed his skull.

His lawyer had been good and the jury was sympathetic to the gay panic defense.  Even with a record for assault, he still only got manslaughter two, five years.  Prison overcrowding, the attorney advised him, would get him out in half that time.  The lawyer had been right.

What he hadn’t told him was that the nature of his crime had proceeded him, as it always does.  Some of the guards have access to the details.  They gossip, exchange favors…and soon Carlos was marked as fresh meat.  Perfect prison bitch.

He’d fought it, god, how he’d fought, but each time he was overpowered and raped.  Each time, he was beaten and called faggot as his ass was painfully violated and violent felons forced their cocks into his mouth.

And yes, he’d worked out.  And he’d fought back more.  He’d gotten better at fending off the attacks, but if they jumped him from behind or enough ganged up on him, he still ended up moaning in a dark corner, bruised, oozing cum from multiple orifices.

Last night was the worst.  They’d gotten the drop on him; one dude—a big, muscular black bull—had snagged him from behind with his forearm and choked him out; he woke up to violent reaming.

There’d been blood in his shorts again this morning.

That worthless fuckin’ faggot.  If he’d just had the money he was supposed to, none of this woulda happened.  But them goddam pansies always lie and cheat.

Someone needs to teach ‘em a lesson.

In addition to his clothes, he’d been given fifty dollars and a bus ticket downtown.  The city council was still squalling about that practice but hadn’t managed to alter it yet, so Carlos soon found himself in a squalid neighborhood bordering the gay ghetto—his old stomping grounds, so to speak.

So here he was, moving purposely along the street, and he did indeed have a purpose.  His current objective was hardware and there were plenty of pawn shops on this street.

His ultimate objective was money, of course, but he needed a way to get that.  He already had a plan, one that—if he played it right—would get him some cash, some transportation, maybe a little more…and would also let him vent some of his seething anger.

A gun would be the most effective means of persuasion, but he’d literally just walked out of prison.  There was no way he was gonna be able to buy even a .22.  No, guns were not an option.

There’d be no difficulty in buying a knife, however.  He had $50 in cash; he could get something perfectly adequate for far less than that in one of these shady little places.  Carlos turned abruptly and walked into the closest one.

The guy at the register narrowed his eyes and stood up straight; he knew trouble when he saw it.  He was sure this rough dude was gonna make a bee-line right for the handguns and was relieved to see the he was eyeing the blades instead.

As the muscled punk examined his options in edged weapons, the clerk scanned his chiseled face, mouth circled by a long black goatee.  The clerk wondered if the guy had a shaved head; the Confederate flag bandanna he’d tied into a do-rag made it hard to be sure.  He blinked to make sure his vision wasn’t faulty; the dude had the word “revenge” tattooed on the left side of his neck.  The irregular spacing of the letters made it obvious that he hadn’t paid a licensed tattoo parlor for that thing.

The clerk really, really wanted this guy outta the shop.  “Show ya somethin’?” he asked, moving forward, determined to flush him out.  Much to his surprise, it appeared to be a normal transaction.

“Yeah, man,” the punk said levelly, “I wanna see this shank right here.”  He pointed at the most wicked-looking knife in the case.  The clerk bent down and, unlocking the back of the display case, extracted the knife.

“It’s a bowie combat knife,” the clerk said, reading the handwritten tag attached to the hilt with a loop of string.  “Total length seventeen inches, blade length twelve inches.  Stainless steel blade with double-serrated back edge.”  He placed it on the counter between them.  “Dude, this thing can seriously fuck someone up.”

The young man—he looked like a gangbanger to the clerk—grinned at the words.  “How much?” he drawled.  The price was marked on the tag; the clerk shoved it over.  “Ten bucks?  Sure, I’ll take it.”  He’d been given two twenties and a ten; he handed over the ten and walked out with a vicious lethal weapon, no questions asked.

Stooping just outside the pawn shop door, Carlos hoisted the leg of his jeans and slipped the evil-looking shank into his right boot.

He finally felt free again.  Now, he needed prey.  Time to hit up his old hunting grounds.

The neighborhood had changed since he’d been inside.  The piano bar where the rich old fat faggots hung out was gone; now it was some kinda hookah/vapor lounge.  Carlos snorted disgustedly.  He’d have been able to snag a soft and weak old homo there and get as much money as he needed.  Damn.

Turning into a side street, he noticed sleazy dive bar where he’d picked up dudes in the past.  It was dark, with strippers and a small dance floor, but most of the action was on the back patio.  Might be worth a shot.

He should have known—middle of a weekday afternoon, the bar was dead.  A rancid old troll sat on the far side, leering at the bartender and everyone else in the room—which consisted of exactly Carlos at the moment.  Quickly ordering a beer, he grabbed the bottle and stepped out onto the covered patio, about sixty square feet surrounded by a privacy fence and filled with picnic tables.

To his surprise, the patio bar was open as well.  Several of the tables were occupied—hustlers and tricks, mostly.  A couple of strung-out twink couples looking around furtively before hitting glass straights.  The sweet vanilla scent of crack wafted briefly in front of Carlos.

Sighing dispiritedly, he sat at a table near the bar, nursing his beer.  Nothing worthwhile here but maybe if he held out long enough, something might show up—hopefully he could drag out his cash long enough.

The afternoon crept slowly by.  The patio’s cover had ceiling fans; their lazy revolutions did little to combat the oppressive heat.  Carlos’s thick, tattooed arms were soon shiny with sweat.  He was getting hot, in several senses—the most influential of which was anger.  He began to eye some of the other dudes on the patio, wondering if maybe he shouldn’t slip out and wait for one to leave alone, just to take the edge off things…

That was when Chad walked in.  Carlos didn’t know his name at that moment, of course, but he soon learned it.  Chad was friendly with the bartender, and Carlos was close enough to eavesdrop.

Most of the conversation consisted of bragging; Chad was evidently a mid-level whore.  He was flirting with the bartender but was evidently more than the dude could afford.  At the moment, he was describing how much cash he’d gotten paid for a sleazy photo shoot—which explained his clothing.

The hustler had a swimmer’s build with slim but firm muscles, his body lean without being scrawny.  His face was shadowed with copper-colored hair, the same new-penny shade covering his goatee and beard.  His eyes, slightly almond-shaped, were bright green rimmed with long dark lashes.  Above the red scruff, the rentboy’s face was youthful; he was probably no older than twenty-one or –two, but he looked considerably younger. He got relentlessly carded—occasionally even here in his regular hangout, by new employees.

He detailed his spread to the bartender—he’d been paid $500 to dress up like a skate punk and let pics get taken as he stripped.  The photog had even slipped him a little X to get him into the mood.  Chad was still riding high and wanting to get fucked.

And since he’d come straight to the bar instead of going home first, he was still dressed the part.  A white ball cap with the letters “L.A.” embroidered on it didn’t quite hide short hair the same bright red as his facial scruff.   He wore an open sky blue short-sleeve dress shirt unbuttoned over a tight black t-shirt.  The t-shirt had a smiley face with a blood-spattered bullet hole in the center of the forehead.

Chad had slipped on his tightest pair of skinny jeans for the gig; they were so revealing he’d only gotten them in black.  The seam in the seat parted his smooth asscheeks perfectly; as the seam ran down to his groin, it massaged his bare taint.  Even with the black shade of the fabric, it was clear to anyone who looked closely—and Carlos was looking closely—that the kid was commando under the thin layer of denim.  The jeans clung tightly to his legs all the way down to his skate kicks, shiny red leather shoes with laces the same bright blue as his dress shirt.

“So what ya gonna do now?” the bartender asked.  It should have been obvious; Chad had downed four shots of peach schnapps while gloating.  At least he was honest.  “Gonna get fucked up an’ get fucked, man…” he slurred.

The door to the bar opened and the inside bartender leaned out.  “Hey, Jack, we gotta delivery comin’ in.  Boss wants ya to handle it while I keep the inside runnin’.  C’mon, man, they can come in for refills till ya get back.”

The bartender grinned sheepishly at Chad before slipping away.  The slut had managed to get a fifth shot from him before he’d gone.  Wheeling around on the barstool, Chad glanced around the patio and had already thrown back his shot before his sodden brain processed the information.

When it did, he focused instantly on Carlos.

Chad had always had a fascination with rough trade.  It was a rarely-satisfied curiosity, though; Chad got fucked for money and most of the really dangerous-looking ones—the ones that made his seven-inch dick get hard when he looked at them—didn’t have the money.  And if they didn’t pay, they didn’t play.

But right now, things were different.  He was flush with cash—and not being the type to save money when his slim, youthful body was still so much in demand, he felt free to indulge himself.  The fact that he was drunk didn’t impinge on his awareness at all; the alcohol had swept up over him all at once.

The dude at the table closest to him was staring at him.  He had dark eyes, a black goatee, a body—holy shit, what a body—colored with tattoos.  Chad felt almost embarrassed by his single tattoo—Chinese characters running down the inside of his right arm the last two ideograms visible just below the cuff of his shirt.  He was such poser; he didn’t even know what it actually meant…

He somehow managed to get off the barstool without falling.  Walking confidently towards the dude—that bandanna; was he a fuckin’ skinhead?  He looks Mexican—Chad was utterly unaware of how badly he was staggering.

Carlos was, though.  He grinned.  Fuckin’ queerboy couldn’t hold his liquor, fuckin’ pansy-ass schnapps.  This was gonna be almost too easy.

Good.  He could take his time.  He could make it hurt.  He could inflict extended suffering on this faggot and wallow in the nightmarish agony he could wield.

Smiling warmly, he motioned Chad over.  “Have a seat, man.”

The slim rentboy slid unsteadily into the chair, almost overbalancing himself.  He slapped his red skate sneakers down hard onto the patio to keep from falling, his face beaming with a goofy grin the entire time.  When he finally got planted to his own satisfaction, he glanced up into the rough trade’s face.

“I’m Chad,” he slurred.  “Whass yer name?  Whatcha into?”

“Carlos,” the well-built tough said quietly.  “I’m looking for a bitch who can take my dick.  That you?”

Chad’s shaft started to swell at the sound of Carlos’s low, deep voice.  He tried to focus blurrily on the dude, but found himself shying away from the piercing stare in the cold black eyes.  The rough guy was only about five years older than him at most, but there was something about him that seemed to assume control of the situation.  High and drunk as he was, Chad new that this fella would be doing the driving, so to speak.

The thought got Chad even harder.

“Yeah,” he hiccupped, “yeah, thatss me.  Won’t even charge ya, Carlosh.  C’mon, stud, you can bang the fuck outta me back at my place—if yer up for it.  Less go, dude, lessee if ya can give me what I want and make it hurt.”

In a more sober state, Chad would have spoken more clearly, but just as directly.  He expected the guys who fucked him to be up to the task—and as more cocks got shoved up his hole, the bigger the task tended to be.  The only thing unusual in Chad’s comment was the lack of financial settlement; he normally settled the fee before taunting the trick.  But this one would be for fun, on his own time.

The patio had a one-way gate, exit only, which led to the parking lot in the rear.  After some difficulty navigating the exit, Chad stumbled into the lot and began fishing for his keys.  In his uncoordinated state, it took him a while to retrieve them, which was why he didn’t notice that it had taken several minutes for Carlos to follow him out.  Long enough, in fact, that no one on the patio had realized they’d left together.

As he yanked the keys out of the pocket of his incredibly tight jeans, they snagged on the fabric and he dropped them.  As he stood, swaying and looking dumbly down at them, Carlos swooped in and snatched them from the ground.

“I’ll drive, dude,” he muttered—little motherfuckin’ queer was way too trashed for Carlos to voluntarily sit in the passenger seat.

Chad shrugged.  “Sure, whatevs, man—it’s that one there.”

He pointed to a white Mustang convertible with red pinstriping.  The car was several years old and looked it; there were numerous small dings and scrapes but nothing major.  Part of the roof had a duct tape repair.  Carlos noted the car had paper tags.

Chad confirmed it.  “Just bought it last week—whaddaya think, huh?  Pretty sweet ride, huh?  I can tell ya, it hauls ass.”

Carlos unlocked it with the fob and slid into the driver’s seat; Chad fell in heavily next to him.  The car reeked of weed, french fries, and cheap floral air freshener.  “Take a left out the lot,” Chad said uncertainly but surprisingly clearly, “and the next left—no, wait, right.  Then second left.  It’s the De Gama Apartments; you can park in the back.”

Carlos had them there within three minutes; the place was literally walking distance from the bar.  Chad almost went to his knees crawling out of the passenger seat, but once upright, he was able to walk more or less in a straight line.  Handing him back the keys, Carlos followed him into the open breezeway of the building to the immediate left.  Chad’s apartment was first on the right.

Carlos found himself stepping into a dark, tiny efficiency apartment.  The single window was covered with blinds and had a blanket draped over the brackets holding the blinds; it let in no light whatsoever—and very little in the way of sound.

Chad turned on the overhead light to reveal the fact that he lived like a pig.  Carlos, long since used to a routine that had forced him to clean his cell on a daily basis, felt a thrill of disgust as he scanned the room.

It wasn’t that it filled with filth; but it was strewn with dirty clothing, much of it—judging by the smell—soaked with semen.  The tiny alcove that served as a kitchen didn’t need a lot to make it look cluttered; the empty glasses and liquor bottles on the two square feet of countertop sufficed.

The obscured window looked into the breezeway; in front of it was one of the few quality items in the unit—a 40-inch LCD television (the other item was a laptop barely visible on the floor under a pair of used briefs).  There was a cable box, a cable modem and an older Xbox on the lower level of the TV stand.

Opposite the TV was the bed with a nightstand on each side.  Carlos had to blink at it a couple of times before he realized it was an unfolded futon; it doubled as a sofa.  This dude was such a whore he never bother to put the bed away…

There was a cheap dresser next to the TV and past the kitchen were a couple of doors; presumably bathroom and closet.  The entire place couldn’t have been more than four hundred square feet.

And it reeked.  The funk of cigarette smoke, weed, incense, and sex was almost thick enough to be visible.

Chad chuckled drunkenly as he staggered forward and tried to smooth the twisted and stained sheets.  After a few fraught seconds, he gave it up as a bad job and sat on the edge of the thin foam mattress.  He glanced up at Carlos’s face, grinned, and started slipping off his blue dress shirt.

Tossing it on the floor, he stood up slowly.  He haltingly pulled the black tee with the shot smiley face up over his head, swaying alarmingly as he did so.  Carlos’s eye glittered as Chad revealed his leanly-muscled chest.  This shirt went on the floor as well, just as Chad lost his balance and fell back into a sitting position on the futon again.

He didn’t notice the narrowing of Carlos’s eyes.  The convict felt his cock straining in his jeans.  Another thing he could feel was the knife; much taller than the boot he’d hidden it in, the hilt was pressing into the side of his lower leg, a slight sensation of discomfort that made him both angrier and harder.  He shifted slightly and heard something crunch under his bootheel.

Looking down, he saw he’d shattered the case for one of the Xbox games—Call of Duty.  As he glanced around, he noticed the floor littered with cases and discs, some partially hidden under clothes.  Mixed with the games was a sizable collection of porn.  Judging by the titles, the slut liked it rough and raw.

Chad hadn’t heard the sound—he’d flopped onto his back and was running his fingertips up and down his slim, smooth chest, humming contentedly.  Carlos had been right in his assessment; he was drunkenly anticipating a long hard punkfuck by a hot, built gangbanger who could hold him down and ream him till he screamed.

That was exactly what he was gonna get—although when it happened, he wouldn’t be in a position to appreciate the gratification of his lust.  Taking advantage of Chad’s preoccupation, Carlos slipped off his own tight t-shit.  Quietly approaching the futon, he tossed it on the end table on the right side before Chad heard him and sat up.

He almost gasped at Carlos’s body.  Sweat gleamed off his muscular chest like a sheen of oil.  Across his left pectoral, just to the right of the large nipple, was another tattoo.  This one was also inexpertly done but very detailed; a grim reaper figure that carried not a scythe but an AK-47.  Under the figure was the phrase “Die, Motherfucker, Die!”

The wiry black fuzz that began on his broad chest thickened as it flowed down his washboard abs to his firm, flat belly.  The dark trail was cut off by the jeans and thick leather belt at Carlos’s waist.

The con could see the effect he was having on the whore; Chad’s skinny jeans bulged in the crotch as his eyes light up with lust; drunk as he was, the ecstasy was still having some effect.  He decided it was time to get started.  Reaching his hand up to his neck, he unconsciously scratched at the tattoo that said “revenge”.

“C’mon, punk, let’s see what ya got.  Show me your fuckhole, bitch.  NOW, goddamit!” he barked.

For a split second, Chad’s face registered the same shock as if he’d been slapped.  Then it vanished into a salacious grin as he scrambled to his feet.  “Yessir,” he panted, unbuckling his belt and worming the skin-tight denim down his firm legs.  His long dick—his moneymaker—flopped out stiffly, the slit at the tip of the swollen head glistening.

The jeans hit the floor on top of his bright red sneakers.  As he bent to remove them, Carlos abruptly shoved him back onto the bed.  “Just like that, bitch, I’m gonna plow your hole just like that.  Stay there like a good dog.”

Chad remained on his back, panting with anticipation as Carlos unfastened the brass buckle on his leather belt.  Unbuttoning and unzipping his crotch, he had to put in as much effort to get the jeans off as Chad had his; they were even tighter than the whore’s had been.

Underneath, he was bare; he’d gotten rid of the cheap thin skivvies the prison has issued him on his release.  He’d stopped in the first public restroom he could find and tossed them in the garbage.  Even though he tried to ignore it, he couldn’t help but notice the rust-colored stain of dried blood that had leaked from his violated ass.  Now, as the image flashed across his mind again, a red fog of fury rose behind his eyes.

Out in front, his cock rose as well.

Chad had a big dick.  Carlos’s was monstrous.  Chad’s eyes opened wide; even in his drugged haze, the kid was aware of how much this would hurt.  At the same time, seven inches of vein-wrapped flesh began to rise in his groin.  It was gonna hurt—and that turned him on.

He wanted it rough, and he was gonna get it rough.  In fact, it was gonna be fuckin’ brutal—starting now.

Carlos couldn’t wait anymore; mounting rage led to mounting and rape.  Placing his hard, rough hands on Chad’s smooth inner thighs, he forced them apart and thrust his thick, muscled body between them.  Both men has their jeans around their ankles.  For Carlos, it was a matter of expediency.  For Chad, it was a matter of bondage.  The scary-looking dude was suddenly right on top of him and he couldn’t move his legs.  He didn’t resist, though; so far, his most erotic fantasy was coming true.

Of course, he’d never noticed the knife rising out of Carlos’s boot.  And the way he was positioned now, he couldn’t see it. The rough ex-con reached down to aim his dick up the slut’s fuckhole—but before he did, he moved his hand a bit lower and grabbed the hilt of the blade, just to make sure it was still in reach.

After all, he didn’t want to be searching for it later.  Ruins the mood.

In his anger, it was the only thing he checked on; brandishing his massive rod like a weapon, he plowed it deeply into Chad’s rectum with no warning whatsoever.  There was no hint of what was happening, and no lube.  Chad wasn’t used to the lack of either, but it was the latter that had the greatest impact, in several senses of the word.

The pain tore through the drunken haze filling his weak, drugged mind.  It didn’t sober him, exactly, but it did make him aware that this might not be as fun as he’d thought—and that he was too fucked up to handle things if it went out of control.

It was a cardinal rule of whoredom.  Always be aware of the situation; always have a way out.  Most of Chad’s clients were middle-aged suburban men who found his slim, boyish body irresistible.  He’d never dealt with someone truly dangerous.  And this was fun, not business.  He’d let his guard down, but the thought was slow in processing, and the possible consequences hadn’t yet occurred to him.

What had occurred, however, was a horrible tearing sensation in his colon, a flaming, white-hot sheet of pain that evoked a shrill scream and an attempt to push Carlos off him.  “Bitch, I ain’t takin’ your shit,” Carlos snarled, “shut the fuck up, faggot, and take my cock—and if ya don’t, I’ll fuckin’ make ya.”

With another violent thrust, the muscular convict buried his tool in Chad’s fuckhole to the root.  Used and abused as the rentboy’s puckered asshole was, Carlos managed to stretch it past its prior limits, literally tearing the muscle in one place and the rectal lining in another.

Chad eyes went wide with shock; it hurt so bad his logic shorted out for a moment and he had a vivid mental image of a cactus shoved up his ass before he began to shriek at the top of his lungs.  It lasted less than a second; Carlos donkey-punched Chad in the jaw, putting out his lights.

“Worthless piece a’ shit, told ya I’d make ya shut up,” he whispered sneeringly at the limp form beneath him, the lithe body jerking unconsciously with each thrust of Carlos’s hips.  After about thirty seconds, the boy’s long lashes began to flutter.  Parting his swollen, split lips, he let out a gagging, guttural moan.

Carlos slipped his right hand down to his leg and carefully slid the knife out of his boot.  He placed it on Chad’s flat smooth belly; it was too large for the slut’s heaving gasps of breath to dislodge.  Still in the process of regaining consciousness, Chad was too dazed to notice the huge blade lying on his abdomen.    As his eyes focused on the sweaty, muscular chest in front of him, the rentboy’s awareness resurfaced in a torrent of verbal abuse from the convict.

“Stupid fuckin’ faggot, actin’ like you ain’t never had a dick up your worn-out fuckhole,” Carlos hissed viciously into the boy’s stunned, terrified face, “you squeal like a pig, ya know that?  Just like a motherfuckin’ queer-ass cocksucking pig!”

Chad was still high, still drunk—but it wasn’t fun anymore.  He wasn’t able to think clearly; all he knew was that this hot stud seemed to hate him and was hurting him more than he’d thought possible.  The drug had intensified his sensations; it was as if every vein wrapped around Carlos’s enormous shaft was barbed wire slashing at his torn sphincter.

The con was holding the slut down by pinning his shoulders to the thin foam mattress but Chad managed to wriggle out from under.  Still bleating in agony, he started clawing and beating at his assailant, making shallow scratches on the brutal killer’s hairy chest.  As he struggled, the knife slid off his belly but in his frantic, futile attempt to climb off the rod impaling his ass, he had yet to realize it was there.  The pain was just too intense for him to notice much else.

“What’s the matter, bitch, my dick ain’t enough?  Ya want somethin’ else shoved inside ya?” Carlos snarled.  Grunting in anger, he grabbed Chad’s flailing arms and held both wrists together in one hand above the boy’s head, immobilizing him.  He needed to get the cunt’s attention—time for show and tell.  With his other hand, he reached for the knife.

Carlos held the long, evil-looking blade in front of Chad’s bewildered eyes.  As the boy froze in shock, the con released his arms and clamped his hand over the slut’s mouth.   Leaning forward until their faces were a foot apart, he bought the knife between them so it almost filled Chad’s field of vision.  He couldn’t look away.

As Carlos whispered to him, Chad was unable to take his eyes off the gleaming steel blade, as if he was hypnotized by the razor-sharp edge and the double-serrated tip.  “Yeah, bitch, look at it,” the muscled killer murmured, “imagine what it’s gonna feel like inside ya.  It’s gonna feel fuckin’ great to me, I can tell ya.  I seen this inside, dude.  Guy got done like this.  It hurts bad, man, it hurts so fuckin’ bad you tighten up and milk the cum outta my cock.  And if I do it right, I can make it last a long time.  So get ready, you worthless faggot—it’s your lucky day; you’re gonna get all kinda long hard shafts stuck inside ya!”

Chad’s mind was a clean white sheet of panic, useless and helpless.  Tears welled from his large eyes and trickled down his cheeks into his copper-colored scruff.  His full, swollen lips trembled under Carlos’s excruciating grip as he began to blubber, a low keening sound grating to the nerves.  His own long dick, protruding limply from a tangle of strawberry-red hair, wasn’t hard enough to prevent pure terror forcing out a couple of trickles of piss that ran warmly down the boy’s smooth sides.

“Ready to get it on?” Carlos grinned.  “Ready for me to show ya what I think you disgusting faggots are worth?  Time for some fun, cunt!”

He lay his massive bulk on top of Chad’s slim body, feeling it wriggle in terror under him, slipping across his muscled form on a film of sweat and piss.  He kept his left hand tightly and painfully clamped over the whore’s mouth while with his right, he pressed the knife into the boy’s side, just below the armpit.  Applying just enough pressure to break the skin, he slowly drew the blade downward, tracing a long, oozing line of red down the kid’s smooth, heaving flank.

Chad closed his eyes tightly and tried to turn away; the hand that gripped his face like an iron vise didn’t let him move far.  He could feel the icy slice moving down his body and he knew that when it stopped—but he wasn’t able to think past that point.

He didn’t have to.  Carlos grinned evilly as he slowly brought the knife back up, cutting a little deeper this time.  Watching Chad wince in pain, he grunted and shoved his dick further up the boy’s ass, enjoying the muffled squeal he elicited.  Then he pulled the knife back and started touching the tip to the bitch’s side at random.  “Eeney, meeney, miney, moe,” he whispered, “catch a tiger—“  He shoved the blade in up to the hilt, burying all twelve inches of sharpened steel in Chad’s guts with a wet squelching sound.

The jagged serrations on both sides of the tip sliced through Chad’s tender flesh like soft butter.  The blade had entered his left side, just below the ribcage.  Slashing through the descending colon and a twisted mass of small intestine, the knife was rammed in on a slightly upward angle, shearing through the transverse colon and slicing the pancreas.  Before the sharp steel tip stopped moving, it had punctured Chad’s gall bladder and embedded itself in his liver.

And yet no major blood vessels had been hit.  The wound wasn’t immediately fatal—just horrifically painful.

Chad shuddered in shock, his wide eyes ringed with purple circles of agony.  A foot of cold steel had been shoved into his torso; the white-hot flame of agony was all-powerful.  What Carlos had said was true—he stiffened involuntarily; his muscles tightening on their own.  It made things worse; as his abdominal muscles clenched, they closed in on the knife, causing it to slice open the wound even wider on its own.

“Fuck yeah, homo, now you’re gettin’ it,” sighed Carlos.  “Goddam, guess that’s what it takes to get you stupid fuckin’ faggots to work a dick right—gotta stick ya like a pig.  That it, cunt?  That what ya like, you sick fuckin’ pansy?”

Chad barely heard the words; his world had become the flaming lance upon which he was impaled; the only other thing that worked its way through the agony was the tightening of his muscles—that had to be it, that had to be why his dick was getting hard, his muscles were sealing the blood flow into his painfully erect tool, that was OH HOLY FUCK—

Grabbing the handle, Carlos had twisted the blade ninety degrees.  As the tip rotated within the wound, the serrations on each side carved strips from Chad’s organs, shredding parts of his liver, pancreas and intestines.  With whip-like speed, the convict jerked the knife out of the whore’s quivering body.  A trickle of blood flowed from the small gash in the kid’s side, but most of the damage was internal.  Chad’s gall bladder was destroyed.

As the lean, smooth youth writhed in nightmarish agony on Carlos’s cock, his mangled sphincter desperately grabbing at the muscled killer’s tool, the con spit into the sobbing slut’s face before holding the knife up to him again.  Drops of his own blood spattered Chad’s cheeks; where they hit his beard, they made circles of crimson on the copper.

“Look at it, cocksucker,” Carlos snarled viciously.  “Ya like it when dude stick things in ya, you fuckin’ faggot, huh?  Ya like what I’m stickin’ in ya?  Look at the blade, you goddam homo cunt, lookit yer guts hangin’ in strings off my fuckin’ knife.  Fuck yeah, you ain’t dead yet, bitch.  I’m gonna make you hurt a whole fuckin’ lot more before you die.  Watch this, fag, you’re gonna love this shit!”

Lifting himself up off the rentboy’s twitching, sweat-smeared body, Carlos drew his arm back and plunged the knife down vertically, the blade sinking straight into Chad’s flat, smooth belly.  The redhead’s eyes widened to a grotesque extent as the blade again tore through his intestines, this time front to back.  The blade was longer than Chad’s torso was deep, it utterly impaled him, coming out his back and cutting several inches into the foam mattress.

Carlos’s left hand had come away from the rentboy’s mouth, but by this time it didn’t matter.  Chad gave an incoherent grunt of pain—“hoog!”—before sinking into a shuddering gasp.  He was past the point of consciously calling for help; his entire existence was now simply reaction to pain.

Part of the pain was in his dick.  It was harder that it had ever been, not that he was in a position to compare—but it was so hard it hurt.  He was well-endowed, nowhere near as big as the horse dick plugging his rectum, but too big for comfort at the moment.  As his long hard hog lay along his belly, the engorged purple head was scraping against the blade embedded in his belly.

In some malignant way, Carlos’s chuckle wormed its way through to Chad’s awareness.  He knew this tattooed roughneck was both amused and aroused by his pain.  As icy despair enveloped his shallow soul, Chad knew he’d be giving his killer exactly what he wanted as he died.  He’d be in too much pain to resist.  He’d die in horrible pain while his killer contemptuously used his convulsing rectum as a disposable sex toy.

In a defiant act of denial, the whore, realizing his arms were free, began to claw at Carlos’s face.  His manicured nails dug into the convict’s scruff-covered cheeks as the boy gasped and squealed uncontrollably.

“You goddam faggot,” Carlos growled flatly, “here, maybe this’ll shut your worthless ass up, huh?”  Yanking the long knife out of Chad’s stomach, he slammed it into the right side of the kid’s smooth chest.  The blade sliced through the boy’s broad, flat pectoral muscle between two ribs before it punctured the right lung and embedded itself into a rib in the slut’s back.

Carlos held the shuddering youth tightly to him, feeling the rentboy’s agony ripple through his lithe lean body in waves, each one convulsing Chad’s colon and sending a thrill of pleasure along the convict’s cock.  Again, he twisted the knife in the wound before yanking it back out, a long spurt of blood following the blade up out of the body.

He’d created a sucking chest wound.  The rest of the bleeding was internal.  Chad was sweating and quivering, his eyes wide and fixed as physical and electrochemical shock overwhelmed him.  The massive internal trauma he’d suffered was starting to catch up to him; damaged organs were leaking not just blood but hormones and enzymes into his abdominal cavity.

He wanted to plead, to beg for his life, not realizing that he was past saving by this point.  But it was moot; he still rigid from the physical shock, his body stiff and shuddering—and his cock.  It had something to do with the searing burning pain in his ass—some part of him remembered the alpha stud on top of him, this was his cock, he was gonna make his erotic fantasy come true…

The rage-filled killer leered at Chad’s bewildered expression.  There was a truly undeserving look of innocent appeal that made him even more contemptuous; his spit into the suffering cunt’s face again.  Chad was gasping, his face turning blue as his lung collapsed.  Suddenly, he jerked, his smooth firm legs wrapping tightly around Carlos’s waist, his red leather sneakers quivering in the air as gargling sound filled his throat.  His body strained momentarily, causing his dick to rise up and slap the con’s hairy chest, then a bubble of blood burst in his mouth.

Chad continued to jerk and cough, trickles of blood leaking from each corner of his mouth and winding its way through his curly red beard.  He was sweating profusely, his hair so dark with moisture its color was now hard to discern.

Carlos hadn’t done this before.  He’d seen dudes snuffed in jail, but the one he’d killed had been in anger.

He had no idea how good it’d feel.  And somehow, he knew exactly what to do—and when to do it.

He knew they were entering the home stretch when Chad began tensing rhythmically with each wheezing, desperate breath.  The bitch was losing too much blood.  Time to shift gears.

“Ok, homo, time for me to cum and you to go.  I’m sure they’ll slap a coat of paint on this shithole after they haul your rotting, spunk-filled corpse outta here.  That’s about all anyone’s gonna care about a cocksucking faggot whore who took the wrong trick home and got himself offed.  Just so you know, you queer piece of shit, ain’t no one gonna care how much it hurts or how scared you were.  The only one who cares is me.  And for me, more is better.”

Chad continued to shudder, his eyes losing focus and rolling back momentarily before he clawed his way back to consciousness, grimly hanging on to life despite the agonizing pain of each passing moment.  There was still enough of him left to feel the sadistic con’s engorged rod plunging deep into his battered and torn rectum.

Each breath was a struggle against the crushing pain of his collapsed lung, an uphill fight that left him weak.  Chad’s world had shrunk to a tunnel view of Carlos’s muscular chest; on the side of the pec, past the wiry hair, he again caught the words “Die, Motherfucker, Die!” on the tattoo.  Everything else was blinding white-hot pain.  Even his huge cock was so hard it seemed to be on fire.

In a way, Chad was at peace; he was experiencing the worst and it would soon be over.

He was only half right.

Carlos looked down into the ginger’s face, blue from limited oxygen.  “Useless goddam faggot, you still ain’t made me cum.  You homos make me so fuckin’ sick; you lure us straight guys in and somehow it’s our fault when we gotta teach you cunts a lesson. I went to jail for the last one, but I ain’t goin’ back cause of you.  Gonna take your cash and that piece of shit car you’re so proud of and by the time anyone bothers to check on your subhuman ass, you’re gonna be so rotten they ain’t gonna be able to tell what happen to ya for sure!”

Panting with rage and lust, Carlos held the knife up and looked at it, a terrifying glint of eagerness lighting his eyes as he gazed at the strings of flesh still caught in the serrations.  His hard body heaved, his bulging arms glistened with sweat.  The word “revenge” on his neck had actually been tattooed across his carotid; it throbbed with his racing pulse.  The Confederate flag bandanna wrapped around his shaved head was dark with sweat.

Carlos fixed his icy gaze on Chad’s dazed, half-lidded eyes.  “When we met, you told me you wanted it to hurt,” he hissed.  Inhaling deeply, he spat another wad of phlegm into the slut’s blue, tear-stained face.  “Does it hurt enough yet?  What’s that?  I can’t hear you, you motherfuckin’ piece a’ shit, so I’m gonna take that as a no.  Ok, wow, you really like it the hard way, huh?  Good, all of ya faggots deserve this much pain; glad ya realize it.  Ok, cocksucker, if ya want it to hurt, this is really gonna make you blow your cumsucking load!”

A lot happened in the next few seconds.

It started with Carlos’s left hand.  He placed it on the crown of Chad’s head, digging his fingers into the short wiry hair on his scalp like a handful of copper wires.  His right hand flashed up in a blur, shoving the blade up under Chad’s jaw, behind the chin.

Pressing down on Chad’s head with his left hand and shoving up with his right, he managed to slowly force the length of steel blade into the rentboy’s head.  The tip sliced slowly, excruciatingly up through the bottom of the jaw into the mouth.  Pinning the slut’s tongue to the roof of his mouth, it continued up through the soft palate at the top of the mouth into the sinuses.

The helpless youth kicked his feet convulsively in the air, his sneakers jerking as his body shuddered in incomprehensible agony.  Some part of him could hear, could feel his septum and the base of the cranium crunch and shatter as the knife continued its inexorable climb…

And then, nothing.  There are no nerve endings in the brain.  Chad wasn’t aware of the parts of his cerebrum that were destroyed as the knife passed through; he felt a twinge of pain as it punctured the dura and dug the tip into the inside of his cranium.

He felt an irrational and truly amazing sensation from his cock.  He didn’t know the blade had sliced through and short-circuited the pleasure center of his brain; he only knew that he was in more pain than humanly possible—and that he wanted to cum so bad…

That was when Carlos pulled his hands in different directions; the one in the hair pulling left while the one holding the knife impaling the cunt’s head pulling right.  In the blink of an eye, the convict had snapped Chad’s neck, completely severing the head from the spine.

The whore’s nervous system, already primed by the faulty signals from the brain, went into overload when the spinal column was mangled.  The smooth lean body again went rigid and quivered, but this time with an intensity far beyond anything it had displayed before.  The rentboy’s rectum clutched Carlos’s shaft desperately, like a drowning man.  The dying fag’s cock stood up.  It hesitated for a moment, throbbing and pulsating, before it began to pump out a steady stream of semen in a single ropy strand that splattered Carlos’s chest and smeared the dark fur on his buff torso.

With a loud, guttural grunt, Carlos felt himself pump his burning load into the dead whore’s guts; the convulsing slut still milking his hot spunk out of his shaft.  “Goddam faggot!” he snarled as he shot his wad, “fuckin’ die, you worthless cumsuckin’ homo!”  As he yelled, he felt himself shoot even harder; it didn’t matter if the motherfucker was already dead or not.

Carlos held on to the twitching, jerking corpse for a while longer before pulling out.  This process had to be done twice—once with his dick and once with his blade.  Then he was free to wriggle out from between the kid’s quivering thighs.

Carlos strolled to the bathroom and tried the sink.  The hot water was really, really hot.  That was good.  He soaked a hand towel and wiped himself down, then used the same towel to clean the blade.  When he was done, he left it in the sink under running water for a while.

Pulling up his jeans, he began a careful search of the room, starting with Chad’s clothes.  He found $460 in the wallet plus change from the booze he’d bought.  He also snagged the car keys.  A quick glance around showed nothing else unusual—besides the bleeding corpse of the boy sprawled nude on the bed, his jeans around his ankles, that is.

He grabbed his shirt off the nightstand next to the futon—but before putting it on, he looked into the kitchen.  There he did see something unusual.  In the midst of liquor bottles and fast food wrappers was a flour canister.  Opening it, he saw that there really was flour inside.  And under the flour was a baggie with $3500 in it.

Score.

Carlos dressed quickly.  Lifting the corner of the blanket, he peered out from behind the window blinds.  No one in the breezeway, no one in the parking lot.  Perfect.

His boots seemed to thump loudly on the pavement as he crossed the asphalt to the Mustang, but he didn’t worry about it.  He’d be past the state line by midnight.  And he had enough money now to last a while.  Well, at least till he found another victim.

Cut Throat Sex

On By m3mayhemIn Miscellaneous Sex SnuffLeave a comment

The boy is starting to wake up. Damn, I thought I’d knocked him out harder than that. He’d smoked the doctored joint quickly enough, that’s for sure.

I think he’s about eighteen or so. I found him in the parking lot of a big box in the ‘burbs; he was looking to score some weed. I’d already rolled a “sample” joint with some trank tabs ground in. The kid was out cold after a couple of hits. I drove him back to my killing pit.

He was still out when I stripped him and tied him to the framework around the bed. He’d been wearing all white, for some reason. White baseball cap worn backwards, white t-shirt, white satin sports shorts and white canvas high-tops. I let him keep his shoes and his cap.

He has a tight, smooth body that I fondle as I strap him into the steel frame I’ve built around the bed. It’ll keep him still at the end; makes less of a mess. This abandoned house is perfect. It’s far enough from any neighbors that no one will hear any sounds that manage to escape. And when I’m done with my fucktoy, I can torch the place. It’ll be a while before anyone notices—much less before the fire department actually gets here. Any evidence will have gone up in flames.

But that’s for later. Time for fun first.

The fuckmeat is strapped face down, his hands and ankles are tied to posts at the corners of the bed. He’s immobile and completely helpless. And still out, at this point. I stuff my hard dick into his virgin ass. He doesn’t need to be awake for this part; I’m just priming my pump.

Oh god, that tight hole…no one’s been up there before. Smooth and sweet. While my cock is spearing the kid’s ass, I reach around and fasten a ball gag onto his mouth. It’s secluded here, but there’s no sense taking any chances.

And by the time I’m done with him, he’ll be screaming his little punk life out.

The drugs are wearing off faster than I thought they would. He’s starting to groan and struggle. I don’t think he’s awake enough to realize he’s being raped. He’ll figure it out soon enough. I’m tearing his tender asshole with every thrust and can feel his blood on my meat.

He’s awaking in agony. Really starting to moan and yell. I love it when he screams; it makes his rectum clench and vibrate.

His muffled voice begs and pleads for me to stop. Like that’s gonna happen. His boymeat just feels too good around my cock.

He struggles violently but all it’s doing is massaging my dick more. I lie down full length on top of him and whisper in his ear.

“Shut up and take my cock, you little fuckin’ bitch. The more you squirm, the more I tear you open. Just lay there and enjoy my tool deep inside you.”

He squirms and moans, but he’s listening.

“Yeah, this is what you want. Little fuckin’ punk wanted to get taken down by a hard man. You like my rod rippin’ you apart? Enjoy it now, faggot, ‘cause you’re gonna be screaming and bleeding out your last few seconds on earth. You’re gonna die on my dick.”

He doesn’t like hearing that. Even with his mouth gagged, his cries and screams are getting me hot. Little teen punk, dumb and full of cum, spending the last moments of his life trying to escape my cock. Each panicked spasm grips the swollen purple head of my cock tightly.

I’m getting close. Gonna blow my load soon. Time to amp up the terror. I can feel the muscles in the fuckbitch’s smooth calves tighten against my legs. The boy is tensing up; on some level, he may know what’s coming.

Time for show and tell. I show him my knife and tell him how I’m gonna kill him with it.

It’s a huge hunting knife with a viciously serrated blade. I hold it directly in front of the kid’s eyes so he can’t help but see it.

“See this?” I whisper. “In a few minutes I’m gonna cut your throat with it. You’re gonna feel each one of these jagged serrations rip into your throat. It’s not gonna be a neat little slit; I’m gonna tear your fuckin’ windpipe open. You’ll feel the gaping gash in your trachea but you won’t be able to cry out. You’ll just moan and start gurgling as you inhale your own blood. You’re gonna die, choking and gagging, your mouth full of blood and your ass full of cock. Your death throes will clamp your hole down hard on my dick. I’m killing you because your death will make me cum, fucker. You’re just here to die on my dick and get thrown out like rotting meat.”

Oh yes, there’s the panic I was looking for. The ball gag muffles the teen punk’s cries but I can make out the words. It’s the usual. Begging for his life, pleading for mercy. He doesn’t get it yet. I’m only interested in him as fuckmeat and that means he has to die. That’s all the bitch is good for.

I’m lying on top of him full length, not moving, not thrusting. I won’t need to; once I cut his throat, all I’ll need to do is hold on while his thrashing body works my cock for me.

As I lie there with the kid impaled on my rod, I reach around with one hand and pull the boy’s chin up. The knife is in my other hand; I press it into his tender flesh and start sawing his neck open.

The shriek that erupts from his blocked-off mouth ends in a high-pitched squeal as I puncture his trachea.

He backs his ass up on my cock. The sound of gushing blood can barely be heard over the kid’s labored breathing—each bubbling gasp accompanied by a moaning sound that escapes convulsively from the boy’s severed windpipe. I hold his violently jerking body down on the bed by placing a hand on each of his shoulders.

“That’s it,” I whisper into the dying teen’s ear, “just ride my cock as you bleed out. Feel it, punk; this is what a real man feels like inside you as you die. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? You wanted a hard man to take you and breed you and waste you. Don’t worry, you fucking cumdump pig, the last thing you’ll feel as life drains out of you is my load burning in your ass and then your job will be done, bitch.”

“MMMM-hmmm!” He gives a deep moan. There’s almost a sound of pleasure in it; he’s finally getting it. Getting me off is the last thing he’ll do in life and the best use of him. He wants it. He wants to feel my spunk in him before he fades out.

“Work it, you dying faggot bitch. Work my dick. Make me cum before you die, you useless punk.”

There’s a gurgle. “MMMMmmm!” His rectum clamps down and stokes my tool. He gurgles and moans a second time and a third; each time his tight virgin hole gasps my rod like a hand, jerking my meat in the agony of death.

The kid’s fourth moan is faint and despairing; it’ll be his last. His heart is spasming irregularly with the loss of blood; his consciousness is fading into a white haze. In a final, intense twitch his body grips my dick and I blow a hot geyser of cum deep into his quivering intestines. As his corpse goes limp in death, I fill his rectum with semen.

Still deep in his ass, I lie on top of him for a while, loving him now more than ever. I’d love to stick around and fuck his cold meat again but my phone tells me there’s already an alert out for him. Time to get a little fire going.

Jack, Offed

On By m3mayhemIn Miscellaneous Sex SnuffLeave a comment

Jack walked warily down the rain-slicked sidewalk. He was drunk, and angry—and horny—but not enough of any of them to risk getting the new gray Etnies skate shoes laced tightly around his feet getting wet. He was higher than fuck, too, having burned an entire joint himself in the men’s room back at Club 69.

He was high enough to be seeing tracers, making his ability to avoid the large puddles on the pavement seem miraculous. But then, Jack had always had the ability to perform well while impaired; he spent most of his life drunk or stoned or cranked out of his head, but he still managed to hold onto a job and an apartment.

Not much of either one, which was fine with Jack. His goals in life were to stay as fucked-up as possible and to get fucked as much as possible. It actually took a great deal of skill to manage. Jack wasn’t intelligent, but he had street cunning and a lot of drive. He’d kept his body slim and taut, looking far younger than his true age of twenty-three; he looked like he was mid- to late teens.

His short black hair was draped across his forehead, arranged with careful negligence, giving him a scruffy look. He was short, about five-seven at the most. His emerald eyes glittered out from behind long dark lashes, his full lips parting almost to a pout in resting position.

He’d have had the face of a model if he hadn’t abused his body so much; he’d been active with both drugs and sex at a very early age and nearly a decade of hard living had taken a toll—still subtle, but present, and becoming much more obvious year by year. Even now, his skin wasn’t clear and there was a dark shadow under his bloodshot eyes. His nose was large and getting larger (and redder) as his drinking increased over the years.

Jack was still hot, but he was wearing out. And he knew it. It was why he was so angry tonight. He was horny as fuck, and he couldn’t get fucked. All the studs on the dance floor—the big strong types Jack liked—had blown him off and gone for the other twinks.

Jack had been devastated. He worked hard to maintain his firm, smooth body. He knew he looked good, dressed as he was. Under a plain gray t-shirt, he wore a long-sleeved skin-tight black thermal shirt that he’d tucked into black skinny jeans. The jeans ended just above the ankle to show an inch of his white socks above his skate shoes.

At one point, he’d discarded the t-shirt to show how tightly the thermal shirt clung to his lithe but developed chest. But even with clothing so tight that very little imagination was required to picture Jack nude, there was still a hard edge to his face and manner that put dudes off.

And so Jack stormed angrily out into the rain, grabbing his leather jacket—a simple windbreaker—on his way out the door, but leaving the t-shirt on the dance floor.

He had no idea it’d be retrieved later as evidence.

Although Jack wouldn’t admit it to himself, the fact that none of the twinks had come on to him made it worse. He wouldn’t have touched them; he had standards, after all. He liked his tops bigger, stronger, slightly older than he was. When he’d been younger, he’d been offered money by twink types that wanted to bang him. But he wasn’t a whore; money gave the other guy too much control. And Jack liked to get fucked, but there was a limit.

But by the same token, he was a slut, willing to get fucked bareback by any stranger who actually did turn him on. Problem was, he was a picky bitch and only wanted to get fucked by muscle studs.

Alpha muscle studs were hard to find, though. And while he had the perfect teen body, his abuse of it over the years was finally catching up to him. The few tops he’d wanted were all snagged by younger kids.

So here he was, walking home in the rain like a Hemingway hero. Not that he’d heard of Hemingway, or could be considered a hero; he was just a drunk, stoned twink who was pissed off because he wasn’t quite enough of a twink.

He didn’t have his shit together enough to afford a car, but he managed to hold on to a shitty hourly job and filthy cheap-ass efficiency apartment. So he was gonna go back, drink some more, toke some more, and pass out with the TV on and his dick hard.

He turned the corner and walked past the parking lot behind the clubs. Club 69 was where he’d ended up; he’d run the entire circuit on the strip. So there was no use in trolling the parking lot; no one coming out was interested. He’d already tried. Fuck. If he’d had a car, he might have tried The Underpass, but it was too far to walk. And he was way too drunk to drive, anyways…

Jack was three blocks down, deep in the gay ghetto, before he remembered he needed to go two blocks south; he had just kept staggering drunkenly (but amazingly around anything that might soil his shoes; high as he was, he’d paid too much to want to ruin them this soon) after he turned the corner, ruminating angrily over his slights. At the next intersection, he turned left onto the dark, unlit side street.

Halfway down the block was the entrance to an alley that gave access to parking in the rear of all the properties that faced the main street. The side street was dark but there were security lights down the alley from the parking lot of a house that was divided into apartments.

Jack paused a few steps down the street. There was a shadow stretching out from the alley, the elongated, backlit image of a man standing with his legs spread. Some guy was just standing there, in the alley, out of sight behind the wall that ran along the pavement. Jack felt a chill for a moment but kept going. He could handle himself. He might have the body of a sixteen-year-old, but he was lithe and deceptively strong.

Jack moved quickly, increasing his step as he approached the alleyway, determined not to look or draw attention to himself. He flipped the collar of his leather jacket up, ducked his head and strode quickly along the sidewalk.

The voice, when it came, had something in it—a quality, a timbre—that made him listen and obey. “Hey,” was all it said, a deep, basso voice that seemed to reverberate along his spine and command him to stop. So he stopped. And looked.

All he could see was a silhouette. One of the security lights was angled down the alley to the street; the glaring halogen blinded Jack, but he could see a large, tall man standing there. As Jack paused, shading his eyes with his hand, the man slowly began to move towards him. Perversely, as the man blocked out more of the light with his body, Jack could see his body more clearly than he had with the light in his eyes.

This dude was huge, well over six feet. His biceps and thighs were larger than Jack’s torso. His hair was black as well; it had an almost blue glint and curled tightly, a feature it carried down the side of his face to merge with a thick goatee covering a strong, firm jaw. Even with his face in shadow, the dude’s eyes sparkled in pools of darkness.

He wore what looked like a plain white cotton t-shirt under a thick leather biker’s jacket with zippers at the cuffs. His tight denim jeans sank into a pair of black leather harness boots with buckled straps.

Jack’s fear was gone, instantly replaced with lust; this was exactly the kinda stud he’d been looking for. He grinned up at the man, a giant towering over him, praying that he could lure this incredible stud back to his place. “Hey,” he replied, “what ya lookin’ for?”

The stud stepped out onto the sidewalk and turned to face Jack, leering down at him. Jack could see the left half of his face illuminated by the alley light. The dude’s eyes were an extraordinary pale blue. He had high cheekbones and a strong jaw covered with the same curly black fur that circled his mouth. His lips were full and red, but compressed into a hard, tight line.

“I’m lookin’ for someone to fuck,” the dude drawled lazily. “I’m lookin’ for someone who can take my cock.”

“I can take it,” gasped Jack, trying to contain his excitement.

“Yeah?” asked the leather-bound stud. “Gotta warn ya, punk, I fuck hard. Ain’t found anyone yet who could stay the whole course. If ya get what I mean.”

Jack smiled, an almost contemptuous look on his face. “I know what ya mean. I can take you, dude. I can take anything you give me.”

The man stepped forward into the light; Jack got a much better look at him. He was somewhat older, but his age was hard to discern; he was well-built and his body was incredibly developed; the arms of his leather jacket and the legs of his jeans bulged with muscles. He could have been anywhere from his early thirties to his early fifties; the only evidence that he was at the younger end of the spectrum was his jet-black hair with no trace of gray.

He looked down at Jack, smiling faintly. “Can you, dude? Can you take whatever I give ya? Let’s find out. You got someplace private I can stick it in ya?”

Jack gasped as lust flooded his body, triggering the flow of hormones. “Yeah, man, just follow me back to my place.” He wheeled about and began staggering down the street. He was more fucked up than he thought—but he attributed his difficulty walking to the fact that his cock was harder than a brick.

Across one more street, then up the alley to the right—this one far less well-lit than the other—to the rear parking lot of Jack’s little bills-paid complex. He led the stud around to the rear-most unit on the left on the ground floor.

It was a squalid affair; Jack’s job didn’t pay much. He had a memory foam mattress—but no bed to put it on; it sat on the floor. He had a decent chair and an expensive TV and game system. On the other side of the large room, next to the open closet displaying Jack’s expensive clothing, was a cheap desk supporting an equally inexpensive computer and printer. Jack’s priorities were fairly clear; especially when one took into account the amount of booze in the kitchen, pot in the bathroom, and coke in the closet.

But this guy didn’t need to know any of that, Jack decided; he just needed to stick his hopefully enormous schlong up Jack’s ass.

The older man glanced coldly at the squalor around him—despite Jack’s care with his new clothing, anything that remained in his possession more than two months was considered too used to be worth caring for. As a result, costly designer shirts and name-brand jeans were massed in piles on the floor. Soiled sheets of high-grade Egyptian cotton twisted across the bed and dragged onto the filthy floor.

His eyes, ice-blue and utterly emotionless locked onto Jack’s own. Jack felt a tremor run through his body, but was unable to define the emotion associated with it. Lust and unease and the sense of something hidden and unknown stirring deep inside him.

The older man shrugged off his heavy leather biker jacket, letting it fall to the floor with a thump. Under it, he was wearing a thin white cotton wifebeater which he proceeded to pull off as well.

He stood before Jack, almost literally taking the boy’s breath away. His thick, taut torso descended in a V-shape into the top of his tight jeans, his waist circled by a belt woven of black leather strips. It had no holes; the shaft of the buckle could be jammed into the weave at any point.

But Jack’s eyes didn’t linger on the belt. They were drawn back up to the six-pack abs and rippled chest, covered with thick, wiry black fur. It spread over the dude’s chest but concentrated in a distinct line as it got lower, a line running straight down to his crotch.

The stud sneered at Jack as he spoke. “On your knees, bitch. Suck on it. I wanna see how far I can stick my cock down your throat.”

Jack’s green eyes glittered defiantly as he replied. “You can stick it in my ass if ya want, but I don’t take any guy’s dirty piss-stained dick in my mouth.”

The alpha dude’s expression changed from contempt to terrifying rage instantly. He stepped forward and snatched a fistful of Jack’s shirt, jerking him forward and twisting the fabric. As he did so, Jack’s collar tightened into a near chokehold.

“Listen, cunt, you’re gonna get on your knees and suck on whatever I put in your mouth. There is no ‘or else’; you’re gonna do it. Your only choice is gonna be how much it hurts.”

Jack made his fatal mistake. He hesitated. That was all it took to establish the balance of power, once and for all. And although he wasn’t aware of it at the moment, ‘for all’ wasn’t going to be much longer for Jack—say forty minutes at the outside.

Depended on how strong he was, really, although that could work against him, too. Somewhere near the end of those forty minutes, it was likely that Jack would be hoping that the end of ‘for all’ was imminent.

But as Jack sank to his knees and the black-haired stud unzipped his fly, letting his thick, veined hog flop out like a butcher laying out a slab of prime beef, the end of it all was still several minutes in the future. Jack paused, looking at the enormous organ with trepidation. His useless bravado aside, Jack was no stranger to BJs; he’d swallowed enough sperm to float—well, if not a battleship, at least a dinghy. But this was something else, a tool big enough to completely plug his esophagus.

Even with the amount of use—he called it ‘experience’—Jack had undergone, he knew that this fuck was gonna hurt worse than anything he’d experienced before. Even so, he had no concept of the pain in store for him as the dude’s rough, strong hands grabbed Jack’s face and roughly forced his mouth open.

There was no tentative exploration. Before Jack had the time to react, his mouth and throat were full of cock. He could feel the thick oozing head plugging his windpipe, its ridged length lying on top of his epiglottis, preventing him from breathing.

He grunted in panic, his hands pummeling the dude’s legs. It felt like (and seemed to have the same effect as) beating on tree trunks. As tears welled from Jack’s bulging eyes and saliva bubbled out in a foam past the massive tube of meat jammed into his mouth, he could feel the hard manstud’s pubic hairs scratching his face. He turned his eyes upward, trying desperately to catch those of the stranger choking him, but his vision faded into the dark forest of fur hanging above him.

Gasping and choking, Jack placed his hands against the stud’s rock-hard thighs and pushed with as much force as he could muster. The top clamped his hands down onto the side of Jack’s head. With excruciating, inexorable force, he exerted a vise grip on Jack’s skull, causing him great pain as he forced his dick even further down the slut’s gurgling throat.

Jack’s resistance was useless. The tender flesh on the inside of his lip was torn against his teeth as his face was forced relentlessly into the top’s groin. He squealed and gurgled; his tongue wriggling reflexively along the underside of the alpha stud’s shaft, making the man grunt and apply yet more agonizing pressure.

Jack could feel himself going under; as he coughed and spewed foam, darkness was closing in around him. He was going numb. His body was fading…foam dribbling down his chin past the manmeat in his mouth…why was his dick hard…

Suddenly, it was gone. He could breathe. Jack took a deep, whooping gasp of air and fell back onto the half-stripped foam mattress. He laid back, eyelids fluttering, as he spent the next two minutes coughing foam up onto his cheeks, the darkness in his face slowly fading.

The alpha top glared silently down at him, waiting for him to recover enough to obey. He decided a couple of minutes were enough. “Okay, bitch, strip. Still think you can take me? Let’s see what my shaft feels like up your ass, cunt. Get outta yer clothes, slut. Now.”

Jack pulled his shirt off in one fluid motion, revealing his firm, slim, smooth torso, shiny with sweat. The deep register of the older man’s voice had vibrated through his tender ass to the root of his cock, already erect. Even though he hadn’t recovered enough of his wind to be able to think clearly, he knew that he had to do as he was told.

He sat abruptly on the edge of his mattress as he pulled off the new sneakers. Standing up immediately, he wriggled out of his jeans. He stood before the dominant stud, nude except for the white athletic socks climbing his calves. His cock, unaccountably, was jutting out in front of him, despite what he had just been through.

Jack faced the unknown man, letting his eyes slowly slide up the dude’s hard body, starting with his black harness boots. They moved up the thick calves and thighs, tightly wrapped in worn, frayed denim. His long, thick, cock, still only semi-hard, dangled out in front like tackle, its swollen purple head shiny with saliva and precum. His scrotum was still in his jeans; they still clung firmly to his tight ass even with the fly and waist open, peeled back to show a black, hairy V from which his throbbing, veined shaft protruded.

Jack’s attention was momentarily diverted by something shiny—it was just the dangling buckle of the woven leather belt catching the light—before it was drawn upwards along the stranger’s body, almost hypnotically. The stud’s furry, rippled abdomen, his heaving, sweaty flanks, the muscles in his chest bulging as he breathed—Jack took them all in greedily, knowing that no matter how much this might hurt, he was gonna be able to beat off to the memories for the rest of his life. This motherfucker was the perfect stud; exactly what Jack had wanted. Even the skull tattoo on the right shoulder.

Then up to his face. Dark curly hair covered a strong jaw and circled a full mouth set in an emotionless straight line. The beard merged with the thick hair that was just as black and curly. But the eyes; those icy blue eye…Jack stared directly into them—

WHAM

It wasn’t a punch; it was a backhand blow hard enough to raise a bruised welt on his cheek. Jack was both physically and emotionally unprepared for the assault, though, and crumpled to the mattress as if he’d decked in the jaw. As he cowered, clutching his face, the older man spoke.

“You don’t get to look at me, cunt. Only time my bitches get to look me in the face is when they make me cum. Got that, you fucking worthless faggot? You wanna look me in the face, you gotta earn it by milking the sperm outta my dick. Now roll over and get on your hands and knees, slut, I’m gonna fuck ya like the homo dog you are. Gonna take ya from behind, boy. You won’t get to see me, but ya damn sure get to feel me.”

As Jack positioned himself on the mattress on his hands and knees, he felt almost nothing at all. It was due more to denial than anything else—yes, he was a bottom, but he’d been a desirable one, able to command respect. He’d never anticipated so completely losing control of a situation. He was shocked; he felt nothing.

The top lived up to his word. Jack felt something soon enough. His response started as a moan but quickly escalated to a shriek as the dude’s massive tool stretched his sphincter past its breaking point. Instantly a hand clamped tightly and painfully over his mouth and a voice snarled, “Goddam, cunt, ya squeal like a fuckin’ pig,” so close he could feel the breath hot on his ear.

It took forever. The stud was enjoying Jack’s pain, holding him close with the brutality of iron clamps as he slowly slid his cock into Jack’s torn, quivering fuckhole. Jack’s arms beat frantically against the mattress, his fingers tightly flexed, his toes curling visibly in his white socks, his jerking feet confined between the alpha’s boots. Holy fuck, it felt like he was getting raped with a baseball bat…

Then, there was blessed relief. It stopped. The dude wasn’t shoving it in anymore; he was kneeling behind Jack with one hand spread on his back, holding him down, the other hand over his mouth, pulling his head back.

Suddenly both hands were gone.

Jack gasped and whimpered, his entire body trembling. He was still upright on his hands and knees. He felt full of cock. The pain, the trauma to his lower colon, had taken his breath away, but at least it had stopped. Christ, any farther and he’d be getting fucked in his guts—there’d be internal damage…

He’d known it’d hurt. He’d been willing to accept that as the price for the perfect fuck. He hadn’t known it would be this bad—but it was still worth it. If he could just take a moment to let his ass muscle collapse and accept the stud’s shaft…

As usual, Jack’s grasp of reality was weak. This time, though, the contradiction was about to be driven home, brutally. It started with a faint rasping sound.

It didn’t last long, and Jack couldn’t make out what it was at first. Then he realized the alpha stud was slowly slipping his belt out the loops on his jeans. Jack almost went faint with relief; the dude would have to pull out of him to undress further—maybe Jack could talk him into some lube—

It was a brief relief. As Jack trembled on his hands and knees, with an excruciatingly huge cock shoved up his ass and sweat running down his face, something flashed in front of his eyes—something that looked like woven leather straps.

Then the top’s belt cinched brutally around Jack’s throat, instantly cutting off his air.

Jack’s hands frantically scrabbled at the leather mesh digging into his neck, leaving his upper body unsupported. The older man threw himself down on Jack’s back, letting the young slut feel the dude’s muscles rasping his belly fur against Jack’s smooth, slick back. They boy fell forward, the thick choking grunts emerging from his closed-off windpipe directly into the mattress as his face was buried in it.

There was a terrible, tearing pain on the right side of Jack’s neck. His hands found the spot, clawing desperately at the piece of metal cutting into his skin. It was the belt buckle—the alpha wasn’t using the belt like a cord; he’d made a basic noose by looping it back through the buckle.

The stud took control immediately, locking Jack into place by grabbing a fistful of hair on the back of his head; with the head immobilized, he only needed to pull on the belt with one hand to tighten the leather mesh through the buckle.

Jack’s mind was aflame with sheer panic. He’d never known—never had any reason to consider—that sudden cessation of breath could be so terrifying. The only thing that kept his weak psyche from disintegrating in a white-hot sheet of terror was the pain; as scared as he was, he couldn’t escape the agony of his physical suffering.

It wasn’t just the strangling; the top had started shoving his dick in again. Jack braced himself up on one arm, bending the other behind him at an almost impossible angle in his desperate attempt to reach his torment.

“Stop it, you worthless fuck, you ain’t gettin’ away,” the dude growled, then spit on the back of Jack’s shuddering head. “Only way you’re getting’ off my dick is with my load inside you. Sooner ya make me shoot, the sooner I let ya go. Whaddaya think, cocksucker, think you’ll last long enough for me to cum? I bet not. You’re a useless fuckin’ faggot, not even good at gettin’ fucked. Look at ya, bitch, look at this place. Ain’t no one gonna miss ya.”

Jack couldn’t see that his face was turning purple, but he could feel it swelling painfully. His throat was blazing agony, the woven straps sinking ever more deeply below the surface of his skin, making impossible for his fingers to find a purchase. It pulled violently at the buckle, jerking his skin up and tearing it, a trickle of blood dripping onto the mattress and soiled sheets.

There was a huge, swelling pressure in his chest. His air had been shut off for almost two minutes, most of which time Jack had been struggling and burning the limited oxygen in his bloodstream. But his years of drug use had conditioned his body to functioning under extreme conditions—which meant, unfortunately for Jack, that he was a long way from going numb or losing consciousness.

Already, despite his instinctive fight against the overpowering force crushing the life out of him, part of Jack’s spinning, frantic brain craved oblivion—even death, if it meant an end to the pain.

His ass—oh fuck, it was being torn wide open. He could feel the burning shaft of ridged flesh penetrating deep into his guts, tearing him on the inside. He’d never felt so full, so completely violated before. But as painful as it was, it had to come second in his attention. Breathing came first. Jack jerked and writhed, anything, anything to release that horrible crushing pressure in his chest, oh shit his lungs were gonna pop move move get away…

Then came the voice. Even in full survival mode, there was something in the deep bass timbre of the stud’s voice that reverberated along the root of Jack’s unaccountably hard dick.

“Now you got it, fucker. Goddam, your quivering and trembling feels so good on my tool. Gotta get ya to do it some more. Let’s see—ya like that, pig? Fuck yeah, that made ya kick! Goddam, I gotta do more of that; you milk my cock good, you fucking squealing cockwhore!”

The top had shifted himself slightly and ground his engorged rod into Jack’s bleeding fuckhole at a different angle, tearing the rectal lining in a new spot.

Jack had bent his back upwards, his hands clawing the air in front of him in mindless agony. The tip of his black, swollen tongue was already forcing its excruciating way out his mouth as thick foamy drool spilled down his smooth, weak chin. His bulging eyes leaked tears as petechial hemorrhages formed in the lids and blood vessels ruptured, red blossoms appearing in his green eyes. In some deep recess in his fear-wracked mind, some part of Jack was screaming at the thought that the nightmarish pain and terror he was experiencing was sexually arousing to his assailant.

That was the true, mind-shattering revelation for Jack. He’d just planned tonight to be like any other. Get a little stoned, get a little drunk, let some stud fuck him. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Tonight there’d be no repeat. This guy wasn’t just gonna kill him; this guy was gonna get off on killing him as slowly and painfully as possible.

The realization was accompanied by an icy coldness flooding Jack’s body. Through it all, he could still feel his own dick, traitorously hard, slapping against his thighs as his body bucked and jerked. He wasn’t paying attention anymore, though, huge black roses were blooming in his face; they made a buzzing sound that got louder. He could still the alpha stranger speak, but the words had no real significance to him…

“Almost there, you faggot piece of shit. Almost ready to shoot. Goddam, I had to work you over good—you really are a stupid cunt, ain’t ya? Don’t even know how to make a guy cum without choking the fuck outta ya. But ya like it, don’t ya, whore? Ya like that mancock rippin’ into your soft homo guts, huh? Are ya ready for my load, faggot? Think ya can take it? Ready to look me in the face as you get my spunk, you worthless queer? Get ready, motherfucker, here it comes—UUURRRGHHH!!!!”

With a loud cry, the dude hunched down over Jack, his cock swelling and pumping a solid stream of boiling semen into Jack’s torn colon. As he did, he locked the buckle into place around Jack’s neck so the belt wouldn’t loosen.

Then, still clutching a hank of hair at the back of the head, the alpha reached around, grabbed Jack’s jaw in the other hand, and twisted his head through 180 degrees.

Even in the extreme last moments of consciousness, Jack was aware of what had happened. His protruding eyes gazed in utter, absolute horror at those of his killer, ice-cold and remorseless. The sound was that of a tree limb snapping, but Jack felt it as well as heard it. It was the last thing he heard or felt.

The sensation was that of a massive electrical shock running through his body. He had no awareness that his erect cock had blown a huge load of creamy sperm onto the bed as his neck shattered. He didn’t feel it; what he did feel was the shattering of half a dozen vertebrae that sent bone fragments slicing into his spinal cord.

His entire body went intensely rigid, every muscle clenching tightly. Even torn and mangled, his sphincter was able to tighten around the base of the killer’s dick, making the stud cry out and collapse on top of Jack’s quivering body, punching the shuddering mass of flesh repeatedly.

As the universe faded into a cold sheet of dark eternal ice, Jack’s consciousness faded to a pinpoint focused on the rage and lust of the man who was beating him while filling his abdomen with semen and spitting into his gasping, dying face. It was the last thing he saw.

The dude didn’t stay around long. He stepped into the bathroom to wash up. When he came out, slipping his wifebeater back over his slick, heaving torso–still breathing deeply with exertion–Jack’s body was still convulsing on the mattress, face up but chest down. His white tube socks were still covering his twitching calves and white foam still trickled down his blackened face from his blue lips, parted by his grotesquely swollen tongue. Even from here, the dude could see his own cum oozing out of the corpse’s ravaged ass.

The killer stuffed his thick cock back inside his tight faded jeans and zipped the fly. Approaching the bed, he bent down and grabbed a handful of Jack’s sweat-soaked hair, lifting his head. It lolled forward easily with no functioning spine to stiffen it. Keeping a firm grip on Jack’s hair, the dude worked the fingers of his free hand up under the belt; his nails tearing open the purple flesh of the slut’s crushed neck. The buckle had become embedded deeply—it took a few minutes before it was pulled off and slipped back around the top’s waist.

Jack’s eyes, now faded to a cloudy green ringed with red, stared into his killer’s face. Blank and dull, they gave no hint of the terror he’d experienced at being forced to give up his useless, wasted life.

Slipping his leather jacket back on, the stud smiled to himself. He always enjoyed putting down a pig; it was a good workout. Kept him in shape. And it wasn’t like anyone was gonna miss the worthless little homo slut anyway…

Another Skater Bites the Dust

On By m3mayhemIn Miscellaneous Sex SnuffLeave a comment

“Hey, dude, ya got any smoke?”

I sit forward on the bench and take a closer look at the kid. He and his friends had been riding their boards around all afternoon—or at least as long as I’ve been sitting on this bench. This boy has taken a couple of good long looks in my direction but he hasn’t indicated any interest, till now.

Maybe that’s because his friends had left. There’s no one to see what he does now. Which is good for me.

It’s very bad for him, but he doesn’t know that yet.

He’s no older than eighteen, if that. Shoulder-length brown hair, with large dark eyes. He’s about 6 feet tall, but not big—he has more of a swimmer’s build, lean but muscled; not scrawny. He’s wearing tight grey jeans that just cover his ass and a black t-shirt with some band logo on it. On his feet are what look like purple suede hightops, tightly laced…

He’s beautiful. And he’s hoping to get high with me.

Sure, I’ll get him high. And then I’ll put him down like a dog.

“Ya wanna smoke?” I ask him. He nods eagerly. “Sure, I got some weed back at my place. C’mon, we’ll go get high and see what happens. I’m parked over here.”

He follows me back to my van like a puppy; the little fag was eager to “see what happens”. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him massaging his dick with one hand. Horny little fucker thinks he’s gonna get his cock sucked or something.

He’ll get something, all right. I grin at him as he climbs into the seat beside me. Poor little boy grins back. He has no idea what’s in store.

Back at my place, I roll a joint while the kid gets undressed. “What about my kicks?” he asks. “Some guys like watchin’ me jack with ‘em on.”

“Yeah, go ahead and put ‘em back on,” I tell him, wondering how many guys he’s been with. I don’t think it’s been very many. He’s too—oh, how do I put it? Too soft. No rough edges; he’s a sweet but kinda stupid suburban kid whose main interests are clearly getting high and draining the copious amounts of semen his raging teen hormones are producing.

Other guys like watching him cum while he’s wearing his kicks? I’m gonna like watching him die wearing them.

See, I knew it. I tell him I’m gonna fuck him and he gets all nervous. A virgin; at least anally. And he protests too much. “I ain’t no fuckin’ faggot! You wanna suck my dick, fine, but I ain’t lettin’ no dude stick anything into me!”

Of course he wants my thick purple rod up his ass; for all his words, the look on his face and the gleam of lust in his eyes as he stares at my meat show the truth. I push him over onto his back, spread his legs with my arms and plow my cock straight into his tender hole.

He tries to scream. I quickly let go of his legs and clamp both hands over his mouth. Gotta keep the fucktoy quiet for now. He struggles beneath me, the heels of his hightops beating on my asscheeks. I’m reaming him violently, penetrating deep into his rectum with each thrust. His cries emerge as plaintive moans from behind my hands, clenching painfully tight on his mouth.

I spend a good ten minutes ramming his virgin teen fuckhole with no lube but my own spit. Then I let up on his mouth; his cries have tapered off. He’s still moaning, but now it’s in pleasure. He’s a natural little homo all right; he just loves it up the ass.

Shame to have to end it all, now that he’s found out what makes him happy.

It looks like a simple length of white clothesline. It’s just a nylon cord. The skater punk is lying back, eyes closed, a huge happy grin on his face. He never sees it.

I lift him up and gently loop the cord about his neck. Then I pull tight—hard—straining to tighten it as much as possible.

The kid reacts instantly. His eyes wide with horror, he claws frantically at me, at my arms. I’m pressing him down onto the floor with the cord around his neck and my dick still in his ass. I’m dominating him to such an extent that he can’t really move. He gyrates his ass side to side in an attempt to break free but all he’s really doing is massaging my cock.

“Ooh yeah, ya little fuck,” I mutter in pleasure, “that’s it, bitch. Struggle and die. Milk my cock as you kick away your last few minutes on earth. I wanna feel you suffer. C’mon, boy, die for me, let me feel your agony in my dick. Useless fuckin’ skater punk…”

He’s beating and slapping at my face now, but he’s so panicked that he’s not doing any damage. I can see the terror in the kid’s face; the stunned disbelief that this can be happening to him. He’d planned to go to the park, show himself off, maybe get high, get sucked off–he hadn’t known that he’d die today.

But he is dying. He’s dying like a fucking cumdump whore on my cock. He’s thrashing violently, but there’s no concerted effort to escape. He’s in a state of blind panic; his conscious mind is still there, but it’s nothing but a solid shriek of terror. He’s sweating heavily with the strain and the lack of oxygen.

His face darkens from red through purple to a near black color. As it darkens, it swells. His eyes bulge, seeming to stare frantically at me as the tiny vessels hemorrhage.

The boy gags horribly as his tongue swells and protrudes. Drool leaks out both corners of his mouth and his eyes have become so red it looks like he’s gotten higher than his wildest dreams.

Maybe he has. The oxygen deprivation has taken a toll. He’s not fighting me any longer. His movements have slowed, become much gentler. He’s caressing me now. He’s sweat so much his body is covered with a fine oily sheen that slips and slides against my own.

I tighten the cord, brutally. It sinks into the teen’s neck so deeply it can’t be seen. There’s a loud cracking sound as the kid’s hyoid bone shatters. I could release the little shit now; it wouldn’t matter. I’ve crushed his windpipe. He’s dead meat now, no matter what. I’ve wasted the little fucker. From here on out, it’s mindless nerves and dead meat. The punk is toast.

He leans back, in extremis. Suddenly he arcs his body upwards intensely. His smooth, firm chest and belly slide frictionlessly over my body and I feel a sudden warmth blazing against my stomach.

Skater punk has shot his load all over me.

He falls back into the rhythmic convulsions of fatal brain trauma. Oh god, the inside of his little virgin bitch hole feels like velvet as it flutters against the head of my dick in its dying spasms. I can’t control myself.

The last thing I remember, as I unload what feels like a solid quart of spunk into the dying teen’s ass, is that I’m cursing and punching the boy in his face as hard as I can…

-————————————————————————————————–

It’s very late when I wake up. I’m still on top of the kid and my limp cock is still in his ass. He’s cool to the touch now, but I’ve been out for a while and I think rigor mortis has passed already.

Oh, my poor little skater boy. So alone, so utterly helpless—now he needs me more than ever. And he’s sticky and dirty. There’s blood on his face—he must not have been completely dead when I punched him.

I draw a nice warm bath and get in—not alone, of course; he’s the one who needs it. I lower his body down onto mine as I sit in the tub. I take soap and a washcloth and I gently bathe my boy.

He lies in my lap, so peacefully, so willingly. I clean his beautiful body all over. I wash the scales of dried spunk off his tight, smooth belly. I carefully clean his adorable face, washing off the blood and snot and foamy drool. His thick cock floats limply in the water as I clean it, too.

When we’re done, I dry myself off, then my boy. We lay in bed, together, he and I, and I kiss him deeply, passionately. I force my tongue against his, swollen, bulging, rough, dry. His bloodshot eyes are turning milky in erotic death. He wants to get fucked again and how can I resist such innocent beauty? I slip my swollen tool back into his cool smooth teen fuckhole.

He jerks limply with each thrust of my dick. He’s so pretty, so totally dependent on me, so helpless in the face of my every whim—how can I deny him my seed?

I shudder and cry out as I fill his cold dead guts with spunk.

It saddens me to know that I’ll have to dispose of him soon, but he won’t be fit to keep for much longer. Such a shame; he was so adorable. But there will be others.

There are always others.