Tag: gay

Skater Boy Down

On By m3mayhemIn Miscellaneous Sex SnuffLeave a comment

The question, in these cases, is rarely when or where; I usually have those figured out in advance. And the question is never why—we all know why.

The question here is how. As in, how does he die? As if I didn’t already know…

He’s so fucking hot. Long strawberry blond hair, white t-shirt, “skinny” jeans and gray leather Etnies laced up on his feet. I’ve been watching him here in the park for a bit, fucking around with his skateboard. I’ve also seen him go off into the bushes with another guy a couple of times. Once, I think I saw him get paid for it. At any rate, money changed hands. The kid came out wiping his mouth after the second guy.

And I do mean kid. He’s young. Not sure how young; he doesn’t look older than eighteen. Maybe not even that old; he has facial hair, but it’s a soft down. I got a good look as he sauntered past me, looking briefly in my direction with large brown eyes. He knows I’ve been looking at him and he knows what I want.

Well, he thinks he knows what I want.

There’s no one else in sight when the boy comes gliding back on his board. He slows to a stop in front of me, rubbing his hand on his crotch and I can clearly see the long thick ridge of his junk through his tight jeans. He lowers his head, glancing at me almost shyly from under his long bangs.

“Not here,” I tell him. “Follow me. I have a van.”

Well. of course I have a rape van. It helps to be mobile when cleaning up the mess afterwards.

I get in the driver’s seat and tell the fucktoy to get in the back and get ready to take it up the ass. “I’m gonna get us someplace a little more private,” I tell him. It’s only a few miles to an alley between a couple of empty warehouses.

I climb into the back of the van to find the eager bitch already in position on the carpeted floor. He didn’t even take the time to get undressed. He’s crouched on his hands and knees with his jeans around his knees and his ass in the air; otherwise, he’s still fully dressed.

Wow, this little fucker is horny. I’m grinning; he’s bitten off more than he can chew, so to speak. He just doesn’t realize it yet.

Well, I ain’t gonna waste any more time than he did. I reposition him slightly so he’s facing a mirror I’ve attached to one side. I mount him roughly, forcing my thick member into his tight fuckhole. He’s no virgin, but a loud groan escapes his clenched jaw.

“Goddam, dude, ya shoulda warned me. Fuck, that hurts…” he tells me.

“Shut up,” I growl at him, “shut the fuck up.”

I’m on my knees, fucking him from behind. He’s looking at me in the mirror and gives me a big goofy grin.

I grin back and pick up a short length of thin plastic cord. It’s about two feet long and after I’ve wrapped it around my hands, I still have more than a foot left.

I make a loop of the cord in the air. “What’s that for?” asks the kid.

“This,” I reply, slipping the looped cord over his head and pulling tightly.

Instantly, skater boy starts twisting and thrashing. Little punk does not want to die. He tries to cry out, but the only sound he can make is a harsh gagging sound.

He isn’t tied down at all. I have to ride it out the entire time. He’s young and strong; it’s gonna take a while to put him down. Meanwhile, I’m gonna have to control him and guide him to his death in such a way that he works my cock to maximum effect.

All right, first, some physical control. I pull back hard with both hands, the muscles in my arms straining. I pull the boy backwards in a semicircle; he’s looking at the ceiling with his arms outstretched in front of him, hands clawing desperately at the empty air.

“Yeah?” I whisper into his ear, “You like that, you little whore? Ya want more? Yeah? That’s what I though, you fucking faggot bitch.”

He’s really squirming now; I think he’s going into some kind of fight-or-flight thing. His skate shoes are battering at my combat boots, but since he lowered his jeans only to his knees, he can’t really do much with his legs. I keep jerking back on his neck so that he can’t get any leverage with his arms. This keeps his firm back pressed against my chest; I can feel his muscles flex in his panicked attempt to free himself.

I lower him just enough that I can see his face in the mirror. It’s purple and distorted now; it would be hard to recognize the hot young teen punk in the mask of terror and agony I see in front of me.

God, it’s so fucking hot. The kid is dying on my dick and I can feel every last frantic kick and jerk as it travels down his hard, smooth body right to the head of my cock.

I look deep into his eyes in the mirror. They’re wide with horror and I can see the whites redden as the blood vessels bust.

Suddenly his eyes roll back—nothing but bloody white shows. His hands grasp weakly at the cord, but it’s sunk so deeply into the kid’s throat that he can’t reach it.

His white t-shirt is transparent with moisture. He’s sweating. It’s a death sweat, an automatic reflex from oxygen deprivation. His body is making its own lube, beads of sweat dripping into the teen’s ass as if to ease his passing—at least, the assfuck part of it.

His ass is thrusting up and down, smooth, creamy, the muscles of his rectum flowing like waves along the shaft of my dick as reflexive spasms cascade from the teen’s failing nervous system. I’m so close. I give a massive yank on the cord and am rewarded with a cracking, crunching sound from the boy’s neck that almost makes me cum by itself. The kid’s head is shaking and jerking violently, sending foamy spittle flying. His hands bat aimlessly at the air.

In the depths of the mirror, I can see a jet of white spunk erupt from the skater’s cock. It’s almost a fountain; it leaps and splatters against the mirror as the kid gives up his final wad.

Oh my god, his ass clamps down so hard at the moment of death—it feels like my soul is shooting out of my body in the hot flood of semen I release. I cum so hard I pass out.

I’m not out long. Can’t be more than ten, fifteen minutes. First thing I’m aware of is my cock. I can still feel the burn of the seed I planted in the dead punk’s ass. But I’m still hard. And my dick is still getting stroked. What the fuck?

I lean back and look down. It takes me a minute to get it. The kid’s not dead yet. He’s still on his way out; his body had continued to convulse and thrash about while I was out and it was still going on. It’s dead meat, still moving. There’s no brain anymore; these are nerve endings that are still firing.

Fuck, it feels good. The kid milks me for another fifteen minutes. I blow another load before the corpse shudders to a stop.

I pull his pants back up. I leave the body curled in a fetal position in the back of the van on the way to the dump. I know a back way in that isn’t watched. Skater Boy gets thrown out with the rest of the rotting meat.

The Boy in the Blue and Black Sneakers

On By m3mayhemIn Miscellaneous Sex SnuffLeave a comment

The guy in 1324 has got himself a rentboy. I can see him out on the balcony, which usually means the deed is done and the tenant is asleep—or passed out, more likely. Dunno why he does that; he’s been ripped off so many times…

He leaves his blinds open and I own an excellent pair of binoculars. I see exactly what goes on over there and he has no idea. He’s never laid eyes on me directly.

The boy, though…he can see me. I’m out on my balcony tonight and we have a clear view of each other across the courtyard. I’d already checked him out with the binocs, of course.

He’s got black hair, a large nose, olive skin—kinda a Middle Eastern look. He’s well-built with smooth, muscular arms shown off by the electric blue sleeveless t-shirt he’s got on. His tight jeans highlight his junk, the long bulge of his tool very visible. His hightops are black and blue, the same bright blue as his shirt—laces, too.

Now that he can see me—and see me looking—he seems to develop an interest in me. He’s rubbing his dick and I think he’s smiling at me. He’s far enough away that I can’t tell for sure.

Well, why not? His john is passed out and nobody would know he was over here. If anyone ever bothers to trace him, the trail will end at apartment 1324.

But nobody bothers to trace the whores. That’s why I like to play with them. When I’ve used them up, I can just throw them away.
He’s on the other side of the courtyard but he sees me beckon. He vanishes from the balcony, and in a couple of minutes I see him emerge from building thirteen, coming towards me. Most of the courtyard is shrouded in deep shadow, the security lights not having been maintained (like much else in this place).
I hear him coming up the stairs and meet him at the door. He’s smiling, eager to get laid and get paid. I’m stripped and ready. He tells me his name, but I don’t care. His name is fuckmeat and he ain’t gonna live long enough to enjoy it.
When he gets his shirt off, I can see his smooth, hard belly and developed pectorals. I’m actually surprised at smooth he is; he’s in his mid-twenties and I had somehow expected him to be hairier. Even his legs are like silk. I wonder what kind of skin treatment he uses—and how much he charges.

Again, not that I really care. Price isn’t an issue. By the time I’m done with the bitch, he’ll be past his sell-by date.

He’s a pro. When he’s down to a jockstrap and socks, he puts the shoes back on. I’m on him the moment he stands back up, throwing him up against the wall face first. As I press against his back, he moans and shudders with pleasure. I force his hands back and slip a zip tie around his wrists before he realizes it.

The fucktoy starts complaining. Wants to charge more for kinky stuff. I slam his face into the wall, stunning him. Kinky? Little fucker has no idea.

I wrap duct tape around his head a couple of times to seal off his mouth. No more complaints. I toss him onto the bed on his back and climb on top of him. He’s just starting to wise up as I plow my dick into his ass. He opens his eyes wide and glares at me, struggling to slide out from under me.

That’s when I pull out the bag.

It’s a plastic bag from the cleaners. It’s perfect. A couple of twists around the head and it’ll cut off all air but I’ll still be able to see his face. I’ll blow my load as I watch him die.

He sees it coming. He squirms away in terror, his cries muffled behind the tape. He knows what is happening here; he’s a professional whore who knows the risks.

He knows he’s in for a long, slow death.

For the first few seconds, he lays there, huge liquid brown eyes staring into mine. Then the little free air he has starts to go bad and the panic sets in. He starts squirming again, trying to kick at me with those long firm legs. I grin at him and give the bag another twist around his neck.

Now he’s really panicking. He’s blindly shaking his head. Inside the bag, the temperature is going up each time the fuckboy exhales. Sweat beads dot the boy’s forehead and cheeks. The bag is now being pulled tight against his face with each attempt to inhale; his nose is profiled in plastic.

I can feel every single time he attempts to breathe. He’s struggling so hard his body goes rigid with the strain and his sphincter tightens around my meat like a cockring. It’s incredible; it’s totally a reflexive action on his part. He has no idea that his dying spasms are giving me the best fuck I’ve had in a while.
So maybe I should let him know. I jerk his head up towards me, shaking him harshly to get his attention.

“Yeah, bitch, that’s it. You know what’s going on, boy. Let go. Let death take you. Let me feel your dying meat jerk the cum out of my dick. Give it up, whore. This ain’t gonna end till you’re dead.”

He’s writhing against me, his skin slick with perspiration, the sweat of extreme bodily crisis—of death. His legs flail aimlessly against my back and my ass. I can feel those black and blue shoes digging at me but he can’t muster up enough force to really hurt me. His brain is starting to shut down and he doesn’t have the coordination.

His beautiful olive-skinned face is much darker now. His mouth is gaping, the plastic bag forming a concave surface over the opening. His muffled grunts have increased in pitch, caused by a combination of fear and lack of oxygen. Even now, though, they are becoming quieter and farther apart. His movements seem to become less deliberate; he’s nearing the point of brain death. I can’t tell if there’s anything left inside the twitching sack of meat that’s jerking me off—but just in case, I thought I’d let it know…

“Die, motherfucker, die on my fucking cock. Come on, you fucking whore, I want to feel it when you kick off. Gonna blow my wad in your worthless dead ass and throw you out like rotting meat. Yeah? Yeah? Ya feel it? Ya feel death coming? Good. Hope it fuckin’ hurts, bitch. I hope this hurts a lot.”

His face is dark and grimaces spasmodically, uncontrollably. Even though I can feel his rock-hard uncut cock against my belly, a pool is spreading across the whore’s own stomach. He’d pissed himself just before the involuntary hard-on.
His rectum seems to flow in waves along the shaft of my dick. Each one is slightly slower and yet slightly more intense than the last. Suddenly, the fuckmeat goes rigid and I realize that he’s in the final moments of life. Somewhere deep inside, he’s accepted what must be and is using his last seconds on earth to earn my seed.
His blackened face clenches in the final physical agony of death. His entire body shudders; the slightest nuance of each quiver is transmitted to the head of my cock by the fuckmeat’s agile colon.

As I spew load after uncontrollable burning load into the dying slut’s hole I yank the bitch’s head up with one hand and start punching him in the face with the other because my orgasm is so intense I’ll start screaming otherwise and wake the neighbors…

A few minutes pass before I’m fully functional again. I’m still hard and still buried deep in the whore’s ass. The meat is still quivering around my dick, but it’s the uncoordinated spasms of the freshly dead. I need to get cleaned up.
I can’t keep this toy around too long; after all, I did steal it from my neighbor. But I might be able to play with it one more time. That gaping mouth looks inviting…

Mall Rat Trap

On By m3mayhemIn Miscellaneous Sex Snuff2 Comments

It wasn’t love at first sight—not at all—but it was certainly lust at first glance. Jason was bored out of his mind, standing in the concession line. He’d agreed to meet Sam in the food court of the mall before going to the theater, but like a fool, Jason had bought his ticket and gone inside before he got Sam’s text. Asshole bailed on him. So he was standing here waiting for overpriced popcorn before going to see a movie he’d already seen and hadn’t really liked.

Looking around, he noticed the dude standing next to him, in a parallel line (and moving just as slowly). He was instantly hard.

The guy was older than Jason—early thirties, perhaps. He could easily have passed for younger but for the tightness about his mouth and jaw and the lines that gave his eyes a squint. His hair was a mass of golden curls like that found on cherubim, but there was nothing else cherubic about him. He was very well-built and dressed to show it off. A simple white cotton t-shirt stretched tightly over his chest, looking at least two sizes too small. The nipples on his hubcap-like pecs would have been visible had he not been wearing a leather vest.

His narrow waist was circled by a thick black leather belt; the shirt was tucked into a pair of tight but very worn jeans. A slash on the left side revealed a bulge of thigh dusted with a fine gold fur. The knee was worn away on the right leg. The jeans had no further tears; they continued complete until they vanished into the tops of his black engineer boots.

As if he knew he was being looked at, the dude turned and stared directly at Jason, his thick arms flexing as he turned, revealing some tattoos—zodiacal symbols, Jason thought. Then he caught the dude’s eye. His eyes were still in a squint, but head-on, they were an unnerving ice-blue. Jason felt like he was being appraised like a side of beef.

He was well-dressed beef himself. He hadn’t set out today to get fucked—but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to get fucked. Even Sam, although that had gotten old for both of them. At any rate, he was an eighteen-year-old faggot mallrat and had dressed for sexual success.

He hadn’t needed much to enhance his natural assets; his face, clear and smooth, drew older men like a magnet anyway. He looked younger than his years and much less experienced than he really was. His brown hair was swept to a point in front and kept short behind. He was wearing a maroon t-shirt that clung to his slim but firm torso.

His tight low-rise jeans exposed flesh at the waist; in the back, a starburst tattoo could be seen just above the crack of Jason’s ass—his tramp stamp, so to speak. The jeans wrapped around his slender but defined legs. The shiny black hightop sneakers on his feet were loose, the tongues sticking out.

It was what the dude seemed to notice. At any rate, his assessment of Jason started with his shoes and worked its way up, making him feel even more like meat. It was incredible; Jason had never felt so judged on the basis of sexual utility before; it was like the guy was trying to decide if he wanted to buy a sex toy.

He got even harder at the thought. His skinny jeans were too tight to let him hide it. The man’s expression became a sneer of amused contempt when his gaze reached Jason’s crotch. He kept going up to take in his torso and—momentarily—his face, but he’d already seen what he’d needed to.

His steely blue eyes locked onto Jason large dark ones and he jerked his head towards the exit. He left the line, striding swiftly towards the door. Jason followed automatically, as if pulled along by the head of his dick.

Jason had followed lots of guys into the restrooms in the mall, but not too many outside. If they were hot enough, he’d go out and get fucked in their car. But they had to be really fucking hot.

He’d let this guy fuck him in the food court. He had no qualms whatsoever about following the man out to his car. He was willing to endure damn near anything to get this stud to drill his hole.

Exactly how much he was willing to endure was about to be tested to—and beyond—the breaking point.

It was a long walk. The alpha dude had parked way out at the end of the lot; Jason was winded by the time he got there. Once the man had opened the door, he slipped into the passenger seat gratefully. The dude climbed into the driver’s seat. Jason turned to him and had a brief impression of a fist before he had no impressions of anything at all.

His next awareness was of pain; it took a while to sort out exactly what was hurting. His face hurt and his left eye was swollen shut. But his hands hurt too, and his arms were in an awkward position.

As Jason began to sort out his physical sensations and the world swam up out of the depths, he came to understand his position. He was on his back, his arms up over his head with some sort of ligature around his wrists, painfully constricting the blood flow.

The dude; the hot blonde dude he’d followed out to the car. Jason realized he’d been assaulted.

He looked around frantically. He could barely see out of his left eye but his right eye worked fine. He was in a room. A small room, painted white, utterly bare except for the mattress on which he was laying. He couldn’t see what his hands were bound to above his head, but whatever it was, it was very firmly attached.

The dude was standing over him. He’d removed the vest and t-shirt and was rubbing one hand over the massive bulge in his groin while the other pulled and manipulated a nipple. “Good, you’re awake,” he chuckled, “I was afraid you might miss this.” Both his nipple and his dick grew erect under his handling.

“W-wait,” stammered Jason, “where—where am I? Wha-what’s h-happening here?”

“You know what’s happening here,” the older man said as he bent forward. His shark-like grin appeared for a moment just before his head was silhouetted by the overhead light, his hair becoming a halo of golden froth as he leaned in menacingly.

Jason whimpered in fear, in the realization of his surrender of control to this unknown and evidently malevolent entity. He had no idea what was happening; he thought he was gonna get raped—but he was still fully dressed. What the fuck was this dude doing?

The older man couldn’t help but notice the boy’s trepidation. He chuckled in predatory anticipation. He leaned forward again, placing his left foot on the bed. As he did so, there was a tearing sound and the denim on his left leg parted, the existing tear widening as the dude’s huge thigh muscle flexed within it and stretched it beyond its bounds.

The man paused and looked down at the material hanging loosely under his furry leg. His hand moved down to his boot. Jason arced his neck to follow him and noticed for the first time that something was sticking up from inside the alpha stud’s right boot. It was clearly a handle with a full molded grip, including finger holes, looking like nothing so much as a set of brass knuckles covered in black rubber.

As the blond dude’s hard hand closed on it and pulled up, it became obvious that it was the hilt of a knife. A long, wicked-looking knife. The blade was at least seven inches long. The four inches closest to the tip gleamed with a razor-like ferocity, then came another couple of inches of vicious serrations designed to rip tender skin apart irreparably.

The dude withdrew the knife slowly from his boot sheath, looking Jason straight in the eye while maintaining a cold smirk on his face. Jason felt himself entranced, the way snakes are said to entrance birds in folklore. The introduction of the weapon seemed to sap his will.

The older man cut away the torn leg of his jeans, first near his thigh, then slitting the leg all the way down and pulling off the remainder. He was now standing over Jason shirtless, his golden hair gilding his sculpted pecs and firm six-pack abs, his large dark nipples protruding like fireplugs. His right leg was still in worn pale denim down to his engineer boot, but his left leg was bare from the hip down. A white tube sock clung to his muscled calf above his left boot.

Despite his fear and physical discomfort, Jason was still turned on beyond belief. He knew that this was gonna end badly for him and the thought scared the shit outta him, but maybe—just maybe—the dude wouldn’t hurt him. Maybe he just wanted to dominate him.

Jason was enough of a slut to enjoy being treated like a slut. This guy didn’t need a knife to fuck him, but if he got off by fucking Jason at knifepoint, Jason didn’t care. As long as he got to have this stud’s cum inside him…

The dude didn’t have to unzip his fly. He was commando under his jeans. His huge tool was already stiff and poking out from under the ragged edge of the cut-off denim. Thick and heavily-veined, it was oozing clear precum as the man surveyed his captive fucktoy.

He suddenly bent over Jason, whose heart leaped into his mouth with fear. The dude saw that, too, and laughed outright. “Don’t worry, cunt,” he grinned, “I ain’t stickin’ this in ya yet. First, I gotta get to ya.” And with that, he cut Jason’s shirt off, revealing his firm, slim chest heaving in fear and excitement.

Abruptly, the man threw himself on top of Jason, grabbing a fistful of his hair and jerking his head back. His face less than six inches from Jason’s, his gaze drilled directly into the startled and scared punk’s eyes. He spit in the boy’s face before stroking his face with the tip of his blade, not quite breaking the skin.

“Yeah, you like fuckin’ bitch, you want me inside ya? Huh? That what ya want, faggot? Don’t matter, it’s what you’re gonna get. I’m gonna stick all kinda things in you and you’re gonna like it, you worthless fuckpig!”

Jason whimpered again, not realizing how his fear only added fuel to the older man’s lust. He closed his eyes and, gritting his teeth in determination, turned his head to the side as the hard dude ran the blade down from his face—moving slowly, oh so slowly and lovingly—over his throat and down his slick smooth chest.

“I know what you want, you fucking faggot cunt. I know what you been lookin’ for. Don’t worry, bitch, I’m gonna make it hurt so good you won’t be able to tell my long hot dick from my long cold blade. All you’re gonna know is that I’m stickin’ ya good, like the worthless fucking pig you are.”

He left the knife on Jason’s belly. It slipped and slid on the sheen of sweat that Jason was oozing in a state of terror.

He’d wanted to get fucked. That was all. Whatever was going on here, it was gonna…

He couldn’t let himself finish the thought. He simply wasn’t able to process it. He’d been picking up guys in the mall for three years now but he’d never imagined that he was in any danger beyond that of an STD.

That changed the moment the dude grabbed the knife and slammed it up his ass, slicing a hole in his jeans, shorts—and sphincter.  There was a momentary pause that lasted eons and then the knife sliced its way back out, a long, smooth icy-cold slash in his colon…

The pain was like a tsunami. It paralyzed him. He shuddered, gasping, his eyes wide and staring at the dude’s face with an expression of absolute horror. The man returned it with a cheerful grin and as Jason inhaled deeply, instinctively driven to scream, he was aware of a flash of movement on his left side and had just enough time to realize that the hilt of the knife was indeed a set of rubber-coated brass knuckles when another burst of pain in his face took him under…

When he surfaced from the pool of darkness, he was still swimming in a sea of pain. His ass—Jason had never known such pain existed. And now he was getting fucked through the wound.

The dude was raping him through the hole he’d cut in Jason’s jeans. Jason’s legs, still encased in tight jeans, were spread out as the man lay on top of him, pumping and thrusting his engorged shaft into Jason’s torn and bleeding hole. The kid’s hightop sneakers kicked in the air in agony as he twisted his arms fruitlessly against whatever restraints were binding them—he couldn’t see over his head and by now he’d lost the sensation in his hands due to the tightness of the ligature.

“Fuck yeah, cunt, had to cut your fuckhole open so it could handle my horse dick. Knew ya’d be cool with it, motherfucker, since you ain’t gonna be usin’ it once I’m done with it anyway. Now just relax what’s left of your asshole and enjoy what’s coming, slut.”

Jason looked up into the face hanging over him, a face gleeful in demonic lust. He was desperate to speak, to beg and plead for his life but his mouth was jammed full of something—an acrid scent of sweat—he realized the dude had shoved his t-shirt into Jason’s mouth to stifle his screams.

The next few minutes were not preserved in Jason’s memory; moments of blind panic rarely are. By the time they subsided, Jason was swimming in the sea of pain again, accompanied by the sound of cruel laughter.

“Ya done kickin’ yet, cocksucker?” the hard dude sneered. He spit in Jason’s face, then thrust his cock deep inside the kid’s torn and bleeding rectum, lying flat on top of him and stroking his face with the blade again. “Whaddaya think, fuckwad? Where do ya wanna get stuck next? Or ya wanna kick and jerk some more first? Just let me know, cause your kickin’ feels great on my cock.”

Jason’s screams of agonized terror were muffled to faint squeals by the rank t-shirt shoved into his mouth. His hands were useless; the flow of blood had been cut off by the restraints and they were little more than lumps of cold flesh. He kicked and jerked his legs but his jeans were so tight they hindered his movement. The heels of his shiny black sneakers couldn’t reach the dude’s back to leave any marks; no matter how much he thrashed, his jeans wouldn’t let him bend his legs far enough.

The blond man with the ice-blue eyes knew what he was doing. It was obvious in the calm and collected way he dragged the tip of the knife over Jason’s slim but muscular torso, allowing the anticipation of the first thrust, the first ice-cold blast of agony, to build for them both. He was setting Jason up for an experience that would fuse pain and pleasure in a way he’d never known possible.

First, he needed complete control of his victim; this was done by inducing shock. A quick jerk of the wrist and the knife sliced into Jason’s left flank. Seven inches of cold carbon steel pierced deep into the teen slut’s kidney as seven inches of hard throbbing cock tore into his colon. Jason was aware of both; it was a sensation he had never known could exist. His muted cry became a moan as adrenaline flooded his system and his body went into neurochemical overload.

His lithe, hard body, soaked in sweat, writhed against the blond dude’s chest, matting his fur with the kid’s rank perspiration. The alpha dude gave a gasp as Jason’s slashed sphincter fluttered against the base of his cock. He twisted the knife in the wound, shredding Jason’s left kidney as the punk grunted in agony and kicked his shoes helplessly in the air.

“Ya likin’ that, fuckpig? You’re squealing like a fuckin’ pig in heat, so I guess ya do. I knew you were such a slut you didn’t care what I stuck in ya. Fucking cunt. You wanted a real man to show you your place. Well, ya got it, motherfucker. Your place is kicking your life away on the end of my cock, and I’m about to grant your whore cunt wish!”

Jason shook his head wildly, in denial, in panic, in self-defense. It had no effect whatever and he knew it. What he couldn’t understand, in the middle of the horrible agony that was being forced upon him, was why some of the worst pain he was experiencing was in his own cock, which was swelling and oozing uncontrollably.

This guy was raping him and killing him. He couldn’t be right. This couldn’t be what he wanted, Jason thought—but his dick said otherwise. It was swollen and purple, slapping against the dude’s belly as he got fucked, each impact leaving a spatter of precum in the alpha dude’s fur.

“Ready for it, cunt?” whispered the alpha blond, his blue eyes gleaming as he closed in for the kill. “Ready to experience pain beyond your worst nightmare? Ready to feel my cock spasm and pump your faggot asshole full of hot seed as I shove this blade into your head? Not that I fuckin’ care; I just want you to know what’s happening. See, I think it’s gonna take a little while for you to die. I sure the fuck hope so; I want you to enjoy this as much as I’m gonna. Feel it and enjoy it, you motherfucking faggot cunt; I’m gonna fill your ass with my spunk and your brain with my blade.”

His eyes were almost insane with lust and contempt as he spit one last time into Jason’s face and placing the tip of his blade under his jaw, as far back as he could, angled it directly up and began inserting it into the back of Jason’s oral cavity where the mouth met the esophagus.

As he’d promised, he did it slowly, allowing Jason to enjoy every agony-soaked moment of death. As the blade moved upwards, it sliced through the base of Jason’s tongue. Even in the excruciating nightmare of pain that followed, Jason was aware of the dude’s larger, harder, more muscular body holding him down and preventing him from thrashing too violently. He could also feel the alpha male’s long hard cock, like a hot shaft of iron, pinning him to the stained mattress.

In an almost idle moment of lucidity, Jason glanced around the bare white walls of the room and had time to vaguely wonder where he was dying. He would never know. He’d never know if his killer was caught. All he knew from this point on was the overwhelming agony of a brutal death.

“You’re getting’ loose, man,” leered the alpha male, “I guess I cut you open too soon. That’s ok, though. Wait till I get this sharp metal shaft into your sinuses. You’ll feel the crunch as I rip my blade through your skull. Fuckin-A, you fuckin’ piece a’ shit, you’re gonna taste blood and steel in your brain as you soak up my sperm. Ready for it, cuntwad, ready for that last grunt and thrust as I bury my cock in your worthless guts and my blade in your useless brain?”

Jason squealed like the pig in heat he was. He knew that he was utterly helpless in the hands of this man. He could only hold on in agony and terror, hoping for the mercy of a quick death. The fact that his dick was erect and straining, a steady stream of precum oozing from the tip, was beyond his control.

As the knife slashed up through his sinus tissue, Jason experienced a horrifying mortal pain, the pain that can only lead to death. His body instinctively clenched in resistance, tightening his ravaged sphincter around his killer’s raging erection. Each crunch of the blade tearing through the thin bone structure inside the skull reverberated in Jason’s head, amplifying the pain and contacting his anus, bringing more pleasure to the alpha dude.

One last thrust was all that was needed. A quick jerk of the dude’s wrist and Jason ceased to exist. A meat puppet jerked and spasmed, shooting great streams of semen uncontrollably, splashing the blond man’s chest and face. The alpha male grasped the thrashing meat, placing his hands on both shoulders and forcing the faggot’s convulsing corpse down to the root of his cock, draining every drop of sperm into the flailing colon.

Jason fell into a howling vortex of pain and orgasm. The dude had been right. He was in a place where he could no longer tell pain from pleasure; it was as if he was shooting agonizing razor blades from his cock while someone fucked his skull and was shooting a load in his brain.

Jason died awash in semen. He never knew where he died or the name of the man who killed him.

Party & Punish

On By m3mayhemIn Miscellaneous Sex Snuff2 Comments

Tommy was out looking for a good time and he was reasonably certain of finding one. He’d accentuated his lean, hard body with the kind of clothing Ralph liked to see him in. Tight skinny jeans in black, with a purple sleeveless t-shirt highlighting the contours of his smooth, slim chest, just giving the slightest hint of pectoral muscles. Ankle-high skate shoes of the same color completed his mating plumage.

He was nineteen, with long brown hair that stopped just short of his shoulders. His full red lips were surrounded with a faint fuzz of the same color; Tommy liked to imagine that it was a virile goatee. In reality it was a sparse haze that actually made him look a little younger than he actually was. At any rate, it certainly accomplished its purpose of attracting the eye; he got lots of admiring glances. Tonight he’d try for more than just a glance.

Ralph was sound asleep and had no idea Tommy had even left, much less taken the car. But Ralph was fat and middle-aged; the only reason Tommy tolerated him was because he had money—and was willing to spend it on Tommy. But, of course, nothing is free. Ralph liked to get fucked. Problem was, so did Tommy. So Tommy banged him and got access to the house, car, and bank account—but he didn’t get the sex he wanted.

Tonight wasn’t the first time he’d sneaked out after Ralph had fallen asleep. His slim form behind the wheel of the huge Cadillac had become a familiar sight as he trolled the back streets for hustlers. A quick pickup, some party drugs and a cheap motel room gave Tommy some release after performing for his sugar daddy all day (not that Tommy actually did anything for Ralph that day or most others, but he considered just being around the man was work enough).

Tommy, in other words, was a cheap whore looking for a cheap whore; the only difference between him and the rentboys he hooked up with was that he was filling a longer-term position than they did. But the motivations and mentality were the same.

Well, usually. Tommy didn’t know it, but tonight he’d find someone with motivations he couldn’t possibly have imagined.

He eased the big car around the corner onto the street that ran behind the clubs. This was the spot he picked up most of his tricks, but the two guys he saw—one at the corner, the other under a streetlight more than halfway down the block—had the same build he did. Tommy wasn’t interested; he wanted a real man to fuck the shit outta him tonight. These kids couldn’t give his ass the workout he was looking for.

That meant turning west and heading towards the highway. He’d expected this; it was where the rough trade was located, and rough was exactly what he wanted. He didn’t care if the guy was a junkie—hell, Tommy would take a hit or a bump along with him—but he had to have power and stamina.

He wasn’t always in the mood to get treated like a sex toy—well, no, that wasn’t true; he always liked it rough but that usually cost extra. Ralph would want to know where the money went. It came from his account, so he’d notice most of the time and Tommy would have to come up with a convincing lie about a necessary expenditure.

But Ralph had been generous; he’d just gotten a bonus from work and had given Tommy a large amount of cash, to do with as he wished. Naturally, Tommy couldn’t wait to get away from him and go spend it.

As a result, Tommy had promptly impaired his already negligible sense of judgment. He was slightly (read: extremely) intoxicated, having gotten Ralph to sleep by spending the evening insisting they get drunk in celebration of the bonus—knowing that the older man was diabetic and would pass out after three very strong cocktails.

He was also very high; he always had a steady supply of weed. Ralph knew and disapproved, but continued to pay for it on the basis that fucked-up Tommy was considerably easier to live with than stone-cold sober Tommy.

Long story short: one very high twink slut cruising around looking for rough sex. A recipe for disaster, but Tommy had gotten away with it before; this was far from the first time. He knew what he was doing—he thought.

He’d travelled about a mile and a half west when he spotted a dude hanging out on the periphery of a run-down convenience store; the kind of place with wire mesh in the windows and where business after dark is conducted via a drawer under three inches of bullet-proof glass.

He was standing next to a pole that had been installed thirty years ago to hold a payphone; the metal shell with the Ma Bell logo was still extant. A fluorescent light, still working, illuminated him, but the placement of a huge garbage bin blocked the view of the store itself. Tommy slowed abruptly—holy fuck, this one was hot.

He wasn’t tall, certainly not over six feet, but he was extremely well-built and dressed to show it. He had a swarthy, almost Italian appearance, with short jet-black hair and eyebrows. His face, with large dark eyes, even features and a Roman nose, was almost that of a model, but dark circles under the eyes testified to some…unhealthy habits.

He wore a denim vest, skin-tight jeans, combat boots—and, as near as Tommy could tell, nothing else. His huge smooth chest was clearly visible under the vest, swelling in front before dropping to the rippling firmness of his muscled abdomen. Given the dark-blue shadow wrapped around the hustler’s jaw, Tommy guessed the guy must shave his chest regularly; otherwise, it’d have to be covered in black hair. His lower arms certainly were, but not quite enough to hide the needle tracks in the inner elbow of his left arm. His upper arms bulged with biceps, though; they looked like they barely fit through the holes in the vest.

His jeans were so tight, his legs looked like they’d been painted with denim. Tommy was kinda surprised that he’d been able to find jeans that tight that still had such a large area in the crotch; nonetheless, the long tube of flesh was clearly defined as it strained the material. Tommy’s eyes slid down the hustler’s legs to his combat boots, laced, but not tied. He caught a glint of light from something stuck inside the right boot, but it didn’t register.

He wanted this guy inside him. He wanted to feel the dude’s cum splashing in his guts.

The hustler had noticed him the moment he braked. He approached as the passenger window rolled down. Up close, Tommy noticed the guy was sweaty and jittery. Serious junkie then—good. They usually can be gotten pretty cheap.

“Dude, I got a hundred plus whatever kinda hit you want if you’ll bang me like a screen door in a tornado.”

The hustler bent down to the window and grinned. “You payin’ for the hit? Sure. Keep drivin’ and pull over when I tell ya.” He opened the door and hopped in.

Tommy went three and a half blocks further west before the trick told him to pull over outside a decrepit apartment complex. The muscled dude got out and vanished into the darkness of the complex courtyard. Tommy waited patiently. When he’d slipped the whore two twenties for the coke, he’d made sure he’d seen that there was plenty more where that came from. The dude would be back.

Unfortunately for him, he was right.

In fact, he wasn’t gone more than five minutes. He reappeared from the shadows, still grinning, striding along with the smooth feral grace of a panther. Tommy got hard just watching him walk.

The moment the hustler was back in the car, Tommy pointed it west. A mile or two away some worn-out motor court motels still stood on what had once been the state highway. But the interstate had been put in a mile still further west, some fifty years ago. What had once been valuable commercial land was now mostly vacant lots strewn with rubble and glass shards. The two motels still standing survived by renting by the hour, no questions asked, open twenty-four hours. Given the hourly rate, the low overhead and the general utility of the places, they were probably making someone a mint.

Tommy pulled into the Shamrock Motel. He threw the car into park near the office and got out. He wasn’t quite as incapacitated as to forget to take the keys with him. He doubted the dude would take the car and go, but there was no sense in taking chances.

By the time the irony of that phrase was driven home to Tommy, he was in no position to appreciate the lesson.

Tommy left the car in the middle of the parking lot—wisely, perhaps, since everyone else had parked in front of the rooms and he was far too fucked up to fit the huge Caddy between the lines. He handed the key to the whore as he shut off the engine. Once they got out and he locked the doors, he stumbled after the dude, who headed straight towards the room.

The hustler had gone in and turned on the light by the time Tommy got to the door. He already knew what to expect—the cheap, thin, mis-matched carpet; the dented AC unit squealing like stuck pig for the sole purpose of pushing the fetid air around, the antique TV chained to the dresser, and burn marks on everything.

The stud already had his kit out and had drawn up the coke powder in a couple of syringes. He turned and faced Tommy and unzipped his fly. He reached in and uncurled his long, semi-soft cock like a length of rope.

“You want my cock? Pay me. Gimme the money, we’ll do a bump and I’ll fuck ya, man. I can get hard when I’m high. But I gotta get the money first.”

Tommy had been stripping while the hustler was talking. He bent down and retrieved his wallet from the pocket of his jeans on the floor. He made sure the hustler saw that the Franklin he slipped out had company, figuring the dude might be willing to go a bit further than most if he know Tommy would make it worth his while. For once, Tommy was dead right.

He placed the wallet on the dresser and continued to undress until he was wearing nothing but his socks and purple skate shoes. His dick, thin but long, jutted in front like a flagpole. The whore tied Tommy off with a strip of rubber and shot him up. As Tommy started to feel the train, the hustler injected himself. As the rush set in, he grabbed Tommy and threw him face-down on the bed.

Tommy had a metallic taste in his mouth; he knew he was seriously high and about to get plowed. He was happier than a pig in shit—which was a pretty good description of his situation. He moaned in pleasure as he felt the hustler grab his wrists and roughly twist his arms behind him. “Stay like that, bitch; I’m gonna tie you down before I fuck ya,” he heard whispered into his ear. He did as he was told.

He felt a cord wrapped multiple times around his wrists, painfully, before being tied in an excruciatingly tight knot. He moaned again, his mouth stretched into a broad grin. “Fuck yeah, man, rape the fuck outta me, dude,” he muttered. “Shut up, bitch,” the whore snarled back. Tommy buried his face in the pillow in a wave of pig lust, never wondering how the hell his hands would get untied after being bound so securely.

When it came, it was even more brutal than Tommy had been expecting. His head was forced violently down into the thin, scratchy pillows a split second before the dude’s cock tore its way through his sphincter.

Tommy screamed. It was muffled to a faint cry by the pillows. He twisted and writhed, instinctively seeking escape from the pain; it felt like someone had stuck a light bulb up his ass. He hadn’t realized the whore was this big—and as much as Tommy had whored his own ass out, that said a lot.

“Shut the fuck up, you piece of shit, and take my fuckin’ cock,” snarled the rough trade trick. Tommy writhed in pig lust, enjoying the pain. Deep in his slut soul, he loved being treated like the whore he truly was, and he didn’t mind paying for it.

The dude pulled Tommy closer to mount him more securely. Tommy could feel his jeans rasping against his outer thighs with each thrust, could feel the older man’s boots flexing against his own feet in rhythm with each agonizing penetration of his ass. Suddenly, the trick straightened his back and pulled his vest off, his massive, muscled chest slick with sweat, his pecs and biceps glistening in the dim light—not that Tommy, face down on the bed, was in a position to appreciate any of it.

“Ya like that, ya little fuckin’ faggot,” sneered the trick as he pumped Tommy’s ass. Given that he was still forcing Tommy’s face into the pillow, the expectation of a reply would probably be unreasonable. He let go, disentangling his hand from Tommy’s long hair for a moment. Tommy raised his head and gasped for air, emitting faint whines with each lungful.

The trick grabbed him roughly and turned him slightly on his left side, bringing his own right leg up and planting his right boot in front of Tommy’s face. Tommy had a perfect view when the dude pulled the folding buck knife out of his loose boot. His eyes widened as the trick opened it, revealing a serrated five-inch blade.

“What the fuck, man?” he whispered hoarsely. “What’s that for?”

“”It’s to stick into you, you worthless faggot. Fuckin’ homo. You deserve to die, you fuckin’ pervert.”

Tommy gulped, then giggled nervously. “Dude, stop kidding. You’re fucking me too good not to like this. What’s it for?”

“It’s for you, you fucking cocksucking slut. Goddam fucking cock pig, I’m gonna waste ya and have some fun with your money. You’ll keep me high for a week at least, maybe more. Understand this, you fuckin’ bitch, I ain’t no faggot; I’m just wastin’ ya for your money. But I figure, why not enjoy myself while I put down another useless homo cunt?”

Deep within Tommy’s drug- and alcohol-hazed brain, the true danger of his situation began to seep through. He started to snivel and blubber, begging incoherently, not realizing how much his desperate babbling was turning the trick on. The fact that the guy’s rod seemed to have swollen to fill his entire rectum should have been a clue; Tommy had never experienced so painful a fuck to begin with. Every vein wrapped around his massive shaft seemed to force Tommy’s ass open even further.

“Fuckin’ A,” came a deep, lust-filled whisper into his ear, “I’m gonna kill you, cunt. You’re gonna die with my cock up your ass. Ain’t no one gonna miss a worthless little fuckhole like you. What, you got some sugar daddy payin’ yer bills? Dude, he’s gonna thank me for wastin’ your ass.”

Tommy was in deep panic by this point. He was frozen in fear, unable to process what was happening. So far the hustler was threatening him, but Tommy couldn’t see the knife any more. Maybe he got off on talking tough…

The first thrust of the blade, when it came, was nothing like Tommy had anticipated. It was almost icy cold, a quick penetration into his right side; thrust and twist, then out again. He gasped in shock, uncertain what had actually just happened.

Whatever it was, he knew it was bad. He reacted as expected; the trick could feel his hands clench involuntarily in pain and fear. Tommy drew his legs up in shock; the rough trade junkie could feel his victim spasm uncontrollably beneath him as the punk went into clinical shock. But the junkie wasn’t done with him yet.

The next few minutes of Tommy’s life—the last few minutes of Tommy’s life—were the stuff of nightmares. The torture inflicted on him far exceeded his own pig needs and wants.

The trick timed the thrusts of his knife to the thrusts of his dick; each time his long hard cock tore into Tommy’s guts, his long cold blade ripped into Tommy’s lungs, or liver, or stomach. At one point, the dude pulled Tommy up on his knees and, reversing his blade, thrust upwards into Tommy’s soft, smooth belly, slicing holes in his abdomen.

Tommy cried in pain and fear, sniveling and babbling as he died in horrible agony, terror seizing control of his body and rendering him utterly incapable of resisting as he was raped and murdered. And somewhere deep inside, as he felt the cold knife tearing into him, he knew that this was exactly what he’d always deserved, what he’d prowled the streets looking for.

It hurts, oh fucking god it hurts, please end it now I’m full of him his dick his knife oh fuck he’s sticking me everywhere shit the pain stop the pain oh fucking god stop the pain this is it his cock is plugging the hole in my soul or is it his knife it doesn’t matter he’s in me I’m going fuck that burns my ass so bad is that his cum it burns so fucking bad no not yet not ye–

The hustler took a couple of minutes to let his tool drain into the corpse, with the ease of someone who’d had a great deal of experience at this. After the quivering, bleeding meat milked his shaft dry, the muscled junkie pulled his swollen shaft out of the twitching smooth buttocks. He toweled the sweat off his hard, gleaming body and opened the wallet to empty it of cash before tossing it onto the huddled bleeding mass of hamburger on the blood-soaked bed.

“Fuck yeah, cunt, you’re gonna keep me higher than fuck for a long time,” he said with a grin to the still-twitching corpse on the stained bedspread. Slipping his vest (blood-free since he’d had the foresight to remove it) back on and stuffing his still-dripping dick back into his jeans, the whore searched Tommy’s jean for his keys.

As he walked out the door, he took a last backwards glance. Tommy’s blood-soaked corpse, eyes wide open in terror, gaped at the left-hand wall, his hair fanned out over his shoulders, his knees drawn up and his ass in the air. It was obvious that he’d been fucked and wasted like the useless cunt he was.

Ralph got his car back; it was found outside the drug complex with the keys in it. It had sustained no damage. Ralph himself cried for the better part of a week after learning of Tommy’s death, but within three months, found his finances improved. A year later, he moved to a much nicer neighborhood…

The Mule

On By m3mayhemIn Miscellaneous Sex SnuffLeave a comment

The wind whipped round Josh’s helmet as he throttled his bike up over the speed limit. The Kawasaki lurched as he let off the clutch, almost throwing him. He knew he’d get pulled over if a trooper saw him out here on a state highway, going ninety miles an hour, and he didn’t have the skill to outrun a highway patrol car, anyway. But he was running out of time and had to take the risk.

And anyway, getting a speeding ticket wasn’t so bad. They’d never think anyone on a crotch rocket would be smuggling drugs. It wasn’t like he had any place to conceal them except his backpack; and there was nothing there but dirty clothes and toiletries. His youth would probably count against him—he was twenty but looked younger—but it was obvious he had nothing secreted about him.

He wore a skintight black t-shirt that showed the outlines of his pectoral muscles and the exact placement of his nipples. From under the sleeve stretched around his right bicep a snake tattoo writhed down his sweat-covered arm. Leather gloves kept his grip firm on the handlebar. His jeans were so tight they weren’t capable of hiding anything, neither his wallet attached by a chain to his belt or the thick gourd-like bulge that mushroomed out of his groin. The jeans clung to his leg down to the point where they disappeared into his calf-high black motorcycle boots with thick buckled straps circling his legs. No real reason to suspect he’d be carrying anything else.

And even if they did, even the dogs wouldn’t be able to sniff out the fourteen small balloons filled with heroin working their way through his intestines. He certainly hadn’t had any problem boarding his flight from Mexico six hours ago; he’d passed through the security at Escobedo International Airport in Monterrey without breaking a sweat.

He was sweating now, though. He wanted the damned things out of him and was cursing himself for ever getting involved. This was scary shit, dude, and Josh had every reason to be scared. But he had every reason to go on, too.

He’d never intended to get into debt with Rocky. But Josh hadn’t had a sugar daddy in a while (and never had worked in the usual sense of the word at all) and Rocky kept fronting the coke and meth—reeling him in, of course, though he’d been too doped up to see it.

He wasn’t doped up now. He’d found some while he was south of the border, but he’d used it all there. Even Josh wasn’t stupid enough to try to board an international flight with a bag of coke.

He was down, and down hard. He needed another boost. He needed to get back to Rocky. He knew that he was just getting himself in deeper, but it didn’t matter. Besides, there were other options. Rocky had offered to let him work off his debt with sex, but Josh chose being a drug mule with a sense of relief. Rocky was one of the hottest guys Josh knew, but he was also the scariest.

The man—Josh only knew that he was slightly older but was so well-built, Josh felt like a small child in his presence–was worse than a sadist; he was a sociopath. He’d let Josh watch some video he’d taken of one of his sessions with a delinquent customer. Josh had made him stop, pale and shaking, ten minutes in.

“I can’t believe he lived through that,” whispered Josh.

Rocky was silent. After thirty seconds, Josh ran to the bathroom and vomited.

And here he was, hurrying back like an anxious lover. But he thought he had an edge that would keep him safe for at least one night. And maybe he could tame the wild beast. Just one good fuck and Rocky would care enough for him not to hurt him.

Josh wasn’t old enough to have realized that sometimes a romantic nature can be fatal.

Rocky had arranged to meet Josh at a small motel on the rough side of town. He’d promised Josh some money and some extra coke when he showed up–his pay for a successful mission. Josh would hang around in the motel room until nature took its course and the balloons reappeared.

And maybe, just maybe, he’d let Rocky fuck him. He was counting on the fact that Rocky couldn’t afford to hurt him too badly until he got his heroin back to keep him safe. It never occurred to Josh that there was a flaw in his logic.

He’d called Rocky when he landed to confirm the meeting, so he already knew where to go and which room to knock at. He pulled off the state highway into the motel parking lot, hearing the gravel crunching under his tires. He cut the engine on the bike and got off, wheeling it over to room 113 so he didn’t attract too much attention with the noise.

Josh pulled off his helmet, revealing short, almost curly brown hair and thick, rosy cheeks that gave a hint of innocence to his cornflower-blue eyes that they certainly didn’t deserve. Leaving the helmet on the bike, he moved towards the building. The thick black soles of his boots clumped on the concrete walkway as he nervously approached the door.

Rocky opened up immediately. Josh gulped as the large muscular figure loomed in the doorway. Rocky was a good six inches taller than Josh. And while Josh certainly wasn’t underdeveloped, it was very clear that Rocky was much stronger than he was. Josh was still a bit unsettled just by being in the same room with the man; he radiated an air of menace and barely-suppressed violence that Josh found as erotic as it was disturbing.

Rocky let him enter and closed the door behind him. He stood grinning at Josh. Six and a half feet tall with short black hair under a baseball cap, Rocky was wearing nothing but his jeans and boots; his t-shirt was draped over the back of a chair. He’d been waiting here for Josh for a day or two and hadn’t bothered with his hygiene during that time. A faint musky reek of sweat drifted from him and his face was covered with rough black stubble.

It all made Josh hard. He stood silently, waiting for Rocky to say something, admiring his hard, firm body. Rocky’s left arm writhed with tattoos, a colorful sleeve of ink covering his bulging biceps from the shoulder to the wrist, too many shapes and patterns to assimilate. It was a warm evening and the AC wasn’t working well–Josh could see beads of sweat rolling down the smooth topography of Rocky’s chest and was filled with the desire to let his tongue trace the same path.

Rocky’s black jeans were too tight to leave much to the imagination; Josh felt that if he looked closely enough, he might even be able to see the veins wrapped around the huge, thick ridge outlined in denim in Rocky’s crotch.

Josh sat himself on the bed. Rocky looked down at him and couldn’t help noticing the huge hard-on tenting his jeans. He smiled to himself–he could have the kid anytime he wanted, just as he’d thought. Even though Josh had seen the kinds of things that got Rocky off in the sack, he’d still be willing to get fucked.

And once Rocky had Josh where he wanted him, there’d be no escape. He’d checked in with cash on Friday evening, at a time when the place was full of whores and tricks; no one had looked at him twice. He’d taken the room under a false name. No one would know who he was when all was said and done.

Well, Josh would know, but he wouldn’t be able to tell anyone.

Rocky reached down and grabbed his thick package. “How about it?” he asked Josh. “I know you want it. I seen ya lookin’. Get your clothes off and I’ll bang ya.”

Josh hesitated momentarily–the things on that video had been terrifying–but relaxed with the knowledge that Rocky wouldn’t be able to do anything bad to him; not if he wanted his heroin back. It would be different if he didn’t have this hold over Rocky, he reflected as he slipped off his high motorcycle boots and wriggled out of his skin-tight jeans. Thick white socks clung to Josh’s chiseled calves; his muscled legs rose to a smooth, slim torso with a flat belly that looked like silk covered with a fine down. His massive shaft swung excitedly between his legs as Josh jerked his shirt off over his head, tousling his hair.

Josh lay back on the bed, displaying his lithe, firm body for Rocky, trembling with anticipation. He’d always wanted Rocky inside him, but had been too scared of what Rocky would actually do to him. Now he could enjoy it, as rough as it might get, because he represented an investment that Rocky couldn’t afford to waste. As long as he’d been in debt to Rocky, Josh would never have let himself get this far into the dude’s power, but now the tables were turned and Josh had something Rocky needed. He felt safe to enjoy a good fuck with a dangerous man, without worrying about the consequences.

Rocky unzipped his fly and let his hog flop out like a length of sausage, dripping at the tip. He’d wanted Josh just as much as Josh wanted him, but he was smarter, stronger, and infinitely crueler and had worked things out to the smallest detail. He already knew the lust-tinged thoughts percolating through the hot younger boy’s mind and had worked on allaying his fears to the point that he knew Josh wouldn’t begin to resist until it was too late. The kid was young and strong, but he was also a drug-addicted slut and not very clever; there were things about the situation he’d overlooked–just as Rocky had expected.

But he’d notice some things. Rocky still needed a little compliance from him still. He tossed the kid a rock, a lighter and a glass straight. “Light up, man,” he chuckled. “After all, I want ya in a good mood when I fuck ya. And yer gonna wanna be numb before it’s over, anyways.”

As the sharp, sweet scent of crack and the bubbling hiss of the melting rock filled the room, Rocky sat on the bed, his eyes moving over Josh’s lean body, glistening with sweat. Josh was too busy to notice Rocky’s surreptitious movement, sliding his hand down to his black leather harness boot as if to check something.

Josh’s big purple cock was lying along his stomach like an iron rod. Rocky was too horny to wait any longer. Kneeling between Josh’s legs, he threw the boy’s feet, still in white athletic socks, up on his shoulder and began spearing the thick, spade-shaped head of his dick into the kid’s ass. Josh whimpered and grimaced in pain as Rocky’s fireplug shaft pierced him like a javelin. He groaned as Rocky thrust in even further.

“Shut up, bitch, I ain’t even halfway in yet,” Rocky snarled.

“Oh fuck, please go slow,” moaned Josh. “You’re too big. It hurts.”

“Yeah,” grinned Rocky, “I know.” And he rammed himself in even harder.

“Fuck!” cried Josh. “Get out–yer killin’ me! Ease off, man, I can’t do this!”

Rocky had managed to get one hand in his pocket. He smiled down at Josh as he pulled it back out, holding some cable ties. He’d already known that this would happen–it wasn’t the first time–and he was prepared. “Too late to back out now,” he whispered.

Josh’s eyes grew wide. He still didn’t realize the danger he was in; he wasn’t panicking–he just wanted Rocky to stop hurting him and suddenly realized that wasn’t going to happen. Before he could react, Rocky had secured his right hand to the headboard with one of the cable ties.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Josh yelled angrily. “You think I’m gonna give you your shit if you rape me? Ain’t happening, dude. Now untie me and get outta my ass. I’ll blow ya, but you’re too big to fuck me.” He was beating at Rocky’s broad, sculpted chest with his left hand, trying futilely to push the larger, stronger man off of him.

Rocky caught hold of Josh’s flailing arm by the wrist and cinched it to the headboard as well. Josh began jerking his arms harder in a desperate attempt to free them but only succeeded in making the thin but tough plastic strap embed itself even more painfully in his skin.

Josh was beginning to realize that things weren’t going according to his plan. He whimpered and began to thrash but wasn’t able to move very much. He was pinned down to the bed, practically nailed to the mattress by Rocky’s enormous cock, his legs almost immobilized by Rocky’s strong arms.

Suddenly, Rocky bent forward, folding Josh’s legs until his knees were resting on his chest and Rocky’s leering, terrifying face hung a foot over his own. Josh just had time to wonder why he’d never noticed the homemade teardrop tattoo by Rocky’s eye before it hit him that not only was his ability to move restricted even further now, he also couldn’t get a deep enough breath to enable him to cry out loudly.

He stared fearfully into Rocky’s eyes and saw lust reflected back—but an ice-cold lust that regarded him as an object to be used for mere pleasure and discarded. Rocky wouldn’t “care for him” after just one fuck.

Rocky would dispose of his corpse after just one fuck.

Terror, true terror, can have different effects on different people (to state the obvious) and in Josh’s case, it induced a flaccid immobility. Rocky realized at once what had happened. He spit on Josh’s face, watching his spittle gleam on those rubicund cheeks.

“You—you can’t. You can’t kill me,” Josh whispered in horror, “I’ve still got your stuff in me…”

Rocky smiled gently. He moved his arm down to his boot and back, holding up a serrated hunting knife with a black seven-inch blade that he’d retrieved from his boot sheath. He reached his heavily-tattooed left arm down to stroke Josh’s face as he whispered in reply, “Who sez ya gotta be alive for me to get my shit back?”

The realization of the huge gap in his reasoning made Josh rigid with mental shock; he’d walked willingly into the lion’s den. And tonight, the lion was hungry.

Rocky had been waiting for the rigidity. He felt Josh’s sphincter tighten around his cock. Throwing himself back up on his knees, he pulled Josh’s body back towards him with as much force as he could, impaling the boy on his swollen shaft.

Josh wailed loudly. Rocky hit him—move of a love tap, really, didn’t even leave much of a bruise—and Josh subsided into a quiet sobbing. Rocky bent forward, fully inserted into the boy’s ass and stroked his tear-stained face again. He started to whisper once more. ”Hey, hey, hey. Shhh. C’mon, look up at me. It’s ok. I’m just kidding. I ain’t gonna cut the shit outta your dead body. Really, I ain’t.”

Josh snuffled and blinked hopefully up into Rocky’s face. The gentle smile encouraged him. “You’re not?” he whispered tremulously.

Rocky was straight up on his knees, with the kid’s legs parted around him, his hard strong body looming over the helpless, bound youth. He toyed with the knife for a moment, his smile fading slowly. “No,” he said. “I’m gonna cut it outta ya while you’re still alive, you useless cunt.”

His arm flashed down like lightning. Before Josh had enough time to process the words spoken to him, all seven inches of black cold carbon steel had torn through his hard flat abdomen, ripping viciously through his intestines.

The force of the blow made Josh exhale violently. There was nothing wrong with his lungs—yet—and he inhaled again immediately, only to blast it out again in agony.

Rocky leaned down and grabbed Josh’s jaw with his left arm. Josh’s field of vision was filled with Rocky’s leering face as the vicious sadist twisted the knife in his entrails. His eyes, circled with black rings of shock, looked up blankly into those of his assailant.

“Fuck yeah,” moaned Rocky as he yanked the knife up outta the wound, “lookit that nice fuckhole. Want me to stick it in there, Josh? Yeah, you’re just dyin’ for a hard cock inside of you, aincha, faggot?”

He held the knife in front of Josh’s eyes. Even in the chemical stew of shock, Josh realized that the bleeding shreds of meat caught in the serrations were parts of himself.

“Business before pleasure, though,” chortled Rocky as Josh’s rectum tensed at the root of his cock again; a spontaneous reaction to the pain. Inserting the knife back into the wound, he began cutting upwards, away from himself, slicing through the smooth flesh and opening a slit in the abdominal cavity.

Josh’s eyes grew so large in shock and horror that Rocky almost thought they’d pop. He was enjoying himself. He’d been right; Josh was fun to fuck. Shame it’d only be the once, but it was worth it. Josh was working his cock real good.

“Yeah, you little punk, time to get my investment back. Thought you could hold my delivery ransom till you got fucked, huh? How you like it, bitch? Was this the fuck you wanted? It’s damn sure the one I wanted. Set you up from the beginning, you cunt. Gave you the shittiest leftovers from making rock and meth—didn’t cost me a dime, bitch, but it got ya to think you had to go get me the real stuff. So now I’m gettin’ the real shit back and havin’ a little fun, too. Fuck yeah, dude, we shoulda done this sooner. You’re a great lay, motherfucker.”

In the vain denial of death that only the young and strong truly possess, Josh raised his head as he continued to flail his arms, trying to free himself. He was not equipped mentally for the sight of Rocky pulling out loops of his small intestine and slicing them open. The older man had felt through them with his hands until he’d located the balloons—and started cutting. Now he was squeezing Josh’s guts and popping the heroin out like he was shelling peas.

Josh shuddered and went rigid. His ass tightened in agony around Rocky’s dick once again. Rocky leaned back, dropping the slippery organ he’d been clutching—he’d just removed the last one—and inhaled deeply in blood-soaked lust.

He looked down at Josh. The boy lay beneath him, exposed, vulnerable. A four-inch slit, from which a pink loop of slashed intestine protruded slightly, ran up his belly. He was otherwise unmarked.

Aside, of course, from the mask of terror and agony stretched tightly across his young, innocent-looking face.

Josh’s brain was too full to work. He knew he was watching himself die. The pain itself would have rendered him unable to move, but the realization that he had never known that someone could actually go that far…

How could he not have thought it? After the video he’d been shown, how could he not have realized that Rocky would go to these lengths? He’d been a fool…

He deserved it. Deep in his pig soul, he knew this was how his worthless life would end; this was why he was attracted to Rocky in the first place. Because Rocky was enough of a man to use him as he deserved to be used and then toss him aside like a reamed-out fucktoy whose utility was long gone. He’d served his brief purpose and could be disposed of; he knew it and welcomed it.

But the physical intervenes, as they say. Whatever Josh’s little crotch-rocket-riding, biker-gear-wearing soul craved, his body wanted to live. It fought back.

Rocky had counted on it. From long experience, he’d recognized the deathpig symptoms the moment he’d met Josh. He’d groomed him towards this moment, letting little hints drop about what was in store; just enough to titillate. He’d known, no matter what Josh had said, the boy would be turned on by the thought of a man who could to something like that to him.

Well, now the little fuck was getting it. He shuddered and jerked, looking up at Rocky’s face beseechingly, the skin on his face taut with agony. Rocky ran his eyes down the youth’s slim, blood-streaked body. Deep in the kid’s rectum, the head of Rocky’s dick was banging away at his victim’s prostate. Josh’s thick tool slapped against his belly in time to the pounding his ass was getting.

If Rocky had been inclined to remorse—he wasn’t—this would have ended it. Despite the horrible pain and the terror of imminent death, the punk was hard. It was all the proof Rocky needed that he’d been right; the little shit was a deathpig. Getting offed was getting him off.

Josh probably wouldn’t have put it in those terms, if he had been capable of putting things in any terms at all. At the moment, all he could do was lie back and try to breathe. Keep breathing was the thought he kept clinging to like a spar tossing on a violent sea of pain. If you’re breathing you’re still alive oh fuck keep breathing oh shit he’s so fucking deep in me oh god please just breathe…

His full, red lips, parted, gasping, drew Rocky’s eyes to the kid’s pale, snot-covered face. “I know,” he grinned down, “Hurts, don’t it? Must suck to get your guts yanked out, sliced open and then stuffed back in. But you knew it was coming, you fucking bitch. Thought you’d hold out on me? You wanted me to gut you like a deer, didn’t ya? You wouldn’t’a done it otherwise.”

Josh shuddered and sobbed violently, only able to express himself with faint mewling sounds. “Shut up!” snapped Rocky, backhanding Josh across the face with the hilt of the knife, splitting his upper lip and leaving a small laceration on his cheek. Josh’s blubbering became more subdued but did not cease altogether.

“You’re taking too long to die, fuckwad. You’re not bleeding out quick enough. I’m getting bored; you’re not worth keeping alive to fuck anymore. Your job is over, you useless piece of shit. When they find you—whatever parts of you they can find—they’re gonna know it’s just another sorry-ass drug mule who got cut up to get the load out. They ain’t gonna look for the load I put in ya. They ain’t even gonna look for me; dead thugs like you show up here all the time. They’re gonna haul your meat off and move on to the next dude. Get it, bitch? You’re gonna die on my cock and no one’s gonna know or care.”

Rocky leaned down over Josh’s face, carefully watching the reaction to his words. Once again, the mental shock produced a physical response, a tightening, stiffening throughout the entire body. Rocky could feel Josh’s colon wrap around his engorged rod like a glove.

This was it; this was the moment to hold. Before Josh was aware of what was happening, Rocky had clamped one hand down over his face and with the knife in the other, slashed brutally at his throat one, two, three—four times in lightning-quick succession.

Then he tossed the knife to the floor, placed his hands on Josh’s shoulders and, with his dick planted firmly in Josh’s ass, watched the kid die.

Josh’s eyes, already wide with shock, rolled back as his throat was sliced open. He could taste his own blood; could hear himself gargle his life away—and could feel an uncontrollable swelling in his cock. As he began to gray out, his blood pressure dropped dramatically everywhere but in his groin, where his muscles had locked in excruciating rigidity in reaction to the penetrating pain of Rocky’s enormous tool.

Josh’s entire body rocked with convulsions as he fought to stay conscious, desperately clinging to his wasted life. His asshole constricted tightly around Rocky’s shaft, tugging at it as if suction was being applied.

Suddenly, the open wound in the kid’s throat was covered in pink foam as he drowned in his own blood. Josh’s last physical sensation as everything faded into a screaming whiteness was that there was a white-hot wire running down the center of his dick; his final orgasm was so intense that his dying brain was too dull to interpret between pleasure and pain.

Josh’s body thrashed and flailed as thick, ropy streams of semen flew from the purple, straining head of his cock, splattering both himself and Rocky. His ass clenched and grasped, milking a burning wad out of Rocky’s swollen, aching rod. As Josh’s final loads splashed on Rocky’s chin and spattered his arms, obscuring some of his tattoo, the kid’s legs kicked away his last few seconds on earth, the white athletic socks still clinging to his sculpted calves but twisted around where he’d flailed against the denim of the jeans Rocky still wore.

Rocky grunted as he shot another load. He raised his arm and slammed the blade back down, grunting as the last wad of sperm exploded deep in Josh’s guts while the blade punched through the punk’s left pectoral and plunged directly into his quivering aorta. “Fuck, yeah…” moaned Rocky as he watched Josh’s eyes dilate and glaze over and a last milky spurt ooze from the fucker’s dick.

Rocky paused for a moment, waiting for the kid’s sphincter to relax in death. Once it did, he pulled his long hog back out of the corpse and stood up. Josh was on his back, legs spread, socks still on. His hands were bound to the headboard by the cable ties. A dull, gorgeous death stare gave a certain nobility to his violated corpse.

There was a lot of blood on the bed. Some had leaked from the opening sliced in his smooth flat belly (the protruding, sliced-open intestines testifying to the drug mule angle) down his flanks and stained the sheets at his sides, but most of the mess was up by his neck. The bloody froth exuded by his final breaths obscured the gaping wound where his throat had been torn out. And everywhere were pools of cum—which DNA testing would show were the victim’s own. And as Rocky knew, no one would care beyond that point. Just another addict pervert who made a really bad choice in a lifetime of bad choices.

Rocky showered quickly. He’d managed to keep the blood off his jeans and boots, but after throwing his t-shirt back on, he took Josh’s motorcycle boots—they’d fit him too. As for the rest—well, the maids in this part of town had dealt with worse.

Jamie’s Night Out

On By m3mayhemIn Miscellaneous Sex SnuffLeave a comment

Jamie stomped angrily out of the twinkie dance club, his expensive black Nike ball shoes slapping firmly against the pavement. Everything about Jamie was expensive—or so Brad had said. So Jamie, already so drunk his gait was just short of a stagger, had screamed at Brad, right in the middle of the dance floor and stumbled out.

He paused at the corner and turned back. The club’s neon sign lit his face as it was reflected in a puddle left by the sprinklers; he could see ‘Studio 69’ in the murky pool, the words upside down but the numbers just right. The name was as subtle as a coronary thrombosis, but subtlety wasn’t Jamie strong suit.

He was in his early twenties, thin and wiry without being scrawny. There was just enough definition to his lithe, hard body to make him desirable, and he knew it. With his slightly olive complexion, black hair and high cheekbones, he had an ethnic cast. Depending on the lighting and the angle at which they beheld him, some observers had thought he was Hispanic. Others caught something Asian in the tilt of his dark almond eyes. In fact, he was neither, but because of this trick of the light, he had a unique ability to attract all kinds of men.

His boyfriend Brad, a chiseled blond god, as vain and shallow as he was, had the advantage of being rich. He and Jamie had met out of a mutual interest in choking. There was actually no choking involved; Brad would put his hand over Jamie’s mouth, Jamie would flop around a little on top of Brad, getting each other hard, then they’d jack off together. They didn’t really think about why it got them hard, especially since they never cut off each other’s breath long enough to get so much as a headache.

But Brad was getting bored. And Jamie had pricey tastes and no job. Plus, he was a slut; he tried to hide it from Brad since Brad paid the bills, but it was kinda obvious when Brad got home from work to find the freshly-laundered sheets he’d put on the bed last night stiff with cum and he hadn’t had sex with Jamie since they were put on…

It came to a head on the dance floor. And so Jamie was out on the corner, swerving back around to find the car. Fuck Brad. He could take a cab home.

Jamie was wearing a tight sky-blue t-shirt that wrapped firmly around his lean swimmer’s torso—swimming was about the only thing Jamie did regularly; not with the discipline of a sport, of course. But he knew on an instinctive level that he had to keep it up to maintain his desirability. A white leather belt covered in square metal studs wrapped around his narrow waist, holding up a pair of skinny black jeans that outlined each asscheek, cinched up along his taint and wrapped around the thick bulge in his groin.

As he turned the last corner into the parking lot, staggering toward the car and a near-certain death in a fiery drunken wreck, he ran straight into some dude who was walking out of the lot. Jamie grunted in surprise as he bounced off a hard body as if he’d walked into a brick wall.

He stumbled back and looked up—and instantly got hard. The dude was seriously hot. Taller than Jamie himself, the guy must have been six-six or more. He was older, early thirties perhaps. Curly hair like spun gold, he had a broad, muscled chest accented by the dirty sleeveless white t-shirt he wore. Jamie could see a skull tattoo on the dude’s left shoulder. Under the skeletal grin were inked the words “Die, Motherfucker, Die!”

The dude’s jeans were tight and faded, ragged at the hems and torn at the left knee. On his feet were rugged, well-worn construction boots laced tightly above his ankles.

Jamie looked up into the man’s face. The orange glare of the sodium light in the parking lot lit a nimbus of fire in the man’s gold hair. His eyes were ice-blue—and ice-cold. Stubble darkened his lean, hard jaw. He looked down at Jamie with no emotion at all.

Jamie found himself turned on—and scared. There was something about this guy that reeked of sex. Jamie knew, somehow, deep within himself, that this man was capable of giving him the best sex he’d ever had. He didn’t know why he was so certain, but he was. He was, however, also frightened by the dude. There was something about him—he was appraising Jamie with a look of lust that Jamie was very familiar with, but the other emotions that should be there—hope, doubt, desperation—well, there was nothing.

It didn’t matter. Jamie was too drunk to heed the red flags. “Hey, sweetie,” he leered obscenely, “wanna fuck me? We can go back to my place; it’s only a few blocks away.”

The dude looked down at him for a moment, considering. In his drunken state, Jamie concluded the guy was a construction worker. Straight to his friends and family. Comes down for a quick fuck on the DL every now and then. Ok by him. Dude had a hot body and anyway fuck Brad! This guy would fuck him without bitching about money and maybe even choke him a little. He’d ask; couldn’t hurt. And if he was better than Brad and had some money—fuck Brad!

Even in his alcoholic stupor, Jamie felt a slight chill down his spine when the dude reacted to his suggestion by staring levelly into his eyes and saying in a monotone, “Yeah, you’ll do.” Jamie interpreted it as a lack of gratitude that a young stud like himself should condescend to make the offer. It was an experience he was not used to; most of the time guys were “generous” to him in every sense of the word, which infuriated Brad.

“C’mon, we’ll take my car,” the dude snapped suddenly, “you’re in no shape to drive. You live alone?”

“No,” Jamie slurred, “but that asthhole won’t be back for long time. He gonna go fuck someone elsh. Like I don’t fuckin’ know what he means when he says ek—exthp—I cost too much, fuckin’ bitsth…”

Jamie found himself strapped into the front seat of a car, not quite remembering if he’d gotten in under his own power. The car was moving. He must’ve passed out for a moment. He hoped they were going home but was just a little too wasted to be able to tell. “Where we goin’, man,” he blurted.

“Your place. That’s what ya said,” the dude replied abruptly.

“How you know where t’ go?”

“Your wallet. Got the address off your driver’s license. Just lay back, James, you’re gonna have a good time.”

“Jamie, dude, name is Jamie. Will you choke me? I don’ mean really choke me, dude, I mean act like it. Y’know, pretend-like. Gets me off, if ya know what I mean.”

The older man let out a deep chuckle. “Yeah, Jamie,” he grinned, “I think I can do that. I can choke ya and make you get off.”

It was a ground floor condo at the back edge of the complex. In the parking lot, Jamie grabbed the dude’s hand and led him to the front door, letting go to unlock it. The unit was dark. Jamie didn’t bother to turn on any lights. Walking straight back into the bedroom, he started to strip.

“When you’re done, put your shoes back on,” the dude said as he walked into the room and pulled his shirt off, exposing his broad chest and rippled abdomen covered with a fine golden haze of fur. “I wanna fuck you while you’re wearing them.” His taut body glistened in the half-light.

As Jamie tightly re-laced his basketball shoes up to his ankles, the older man unzipped his fly. Slipping the elastic band of his briefs under his scrotum, he let his cock and balls flop out, already swollen and purple.

Lying back on the bed, Jamie stared at the dude’s thick tackle and inhaled deeply, shudderingly. “Fuck, dude,” he moaned, “stick it in me. Make me feel it.”

The dude’s cold, icy eyes roved over Jamie’s body like he was appraising a piece of meat—which was exactly what he was doing. The thin, firm, wiry body of the boy was stretched out on the bed. He wrapped his hands under his knees and hoisted his legs, exposing his pink quivering butthole, his black Nike kicks dangling in the air.

The dude approached the bed. Not bothering to remove his boots or his jeans—since his dick was out anyway—he plunged his long, erect member into the boy’s trembling, pale rosebud of a sphincter. Jamie cried out in pain as the thick tool split his ass, impaling him on a rod of hard flesh. He’d been fucked many, many times before, but never quite this ruthlessly.

Somewhere deep in his little pig soul, he loved it and craved more. He looked up into the dude’s face and saw nothing there but contempt. It scared him, and being scared got him harder than ever. So did the dude’s cock. Jamie could feel every ridged inch of it stretching out his already well-worn fuckhole; the guy’s tool was painfully thick.

If Jamie hadn’t been so drunk and angry, he might have recognized some danger signals; he was pretty experienced with random pick-ups. But with his senses dulled, he walked into a bad situation. He was about to make it worse.

“Goddam, dude,” he moaned breathily. He jerked back on his legs, spreading his black sneakers further apart as they hung in the air. “Fuckin’ Brad can’t fuck me like this. Can ya choke me, too? Can ya do that better than him? If ya got some money, I’ll be your bitch, dude. Take care of me and you can bang me all th’ time.”

The dude slipped one hand down to the right front pocket of his jeans. Without breaking the rhythm of his pumping, he grinned into Jamie’s face, his left hand placed in the center of Jamie’s chest, pinning him to the bed. “Don’t worry, bitch,” he whispered. “I’ll take care of you, all right.”

Suddenly, he spit in Jamie’s face. It took a moment for Jamie to realize what had happened; just as he did so, the dude’s right arm came up, biceps bunched in strain, swinging right at Jamie’s face. In the last split-second before it made contact, Jamie could see what looked like a length of braided nylon cord in his clenched fist.

The blow stunned him–it actually wasn’t that strong; just hard enough to split his lips and cause some minor bleeding. But Jamie was still too drunk to put up any kind of coordinated defense, so the impact was out of proportion to the force. He grunted in pain as he felt a hand grip his hair and jerk his head up off the mattress. He was laid back down a moment later, but he could feel that something was different.

He could feel the rope on the back of his neck. Despite the unexpected, terrifying assault, Jamie’s long cock was still erect, slapping against his own lean belly as his body rocked with the purposeful thrusting of the man on top of him. As the dude crossed the ends of the rope over the front of his throat, Jamie’s dick started oozing in anticipation. He had a live one. This guy was gonna fuck him good. And a hard alpha male like him pretending to choke…

And then the dude pulled the rope taut. Jamie’s perspective changed immediately as the cord sank deeply into his skin. Jamie’s eyes widened; Brad had never cut off his air so completely so early. And besides, it hurt like fuck. The dude was gonna have to let up or this was gonna be over real fast.

Jamie tried to cry out, to tell the older man to ease up a bit, but found that his throat was too constricted to be able to make an intelligible sound. He turned his bulging eyes up to the dude’s face and for the first time during the encounter, experienced true fear—just after the nick of time, so to speak.

The dude was bearing down on him, straight-arming the tight cord into his neck. It was the look in the eyes, though, that managed to pierce through Jamie’s alcohol-induced haze and spark true terror in his soul. It was a look of lust, mixed with contempt and rage. Seeing it made Jamie instantly aware of his vulnerable position; a larger, stronger man was holding him to the bed with his huge cock up Jamie’s ass and a cord wrapped tightly around Jamie’s neck.

That’s when he finally realized what was happening. This guy wasn’t gonna let go. He wasn’t pretending. He was gonna take Jamie all the way down that path to the very end.

Jamie panicked. He began flailing wildly, trying to batter his way free. The dude shifted both ends of the cord to one hand, never creating any slack in the process. Jamie still couldn’t breathe, but now the man had one arm free. He drew back and began pummeling Jamie’s face. Bruises bloomed on Jamie’s tan cheeks as a series of roundhouse blows taught him the virtue of accepting his fate.

With each shuddering smack of fist against flesh, Jamie’s colon tightened involuntarily; even in his pain and fear, he could feel it—but he didn’t know what the feeling was. Since he had no way of knowing that his rectum was contracting, he thought the dude’s dick was swelling to completely fill his ass every time he got punched.

This was going way too far. Jamie’s eyes, protruding from the orbits, began to leak tears. He wanted to stop, to get off the ride. He wrapped his lean, strong legs around the dude’s heaving, sweaty flanks in a vain attempt to force him off. His Nike kicks drummed helplessly on the man’s back. His face was beginning to swell and turn red, and he was gagging uncontrollably; if his esophagus hadn’t been closed off, he’d have been vomiting. But it still wasn’t too late. If the cord came off now, it could all still be okay.

That was when he made his fatal mistake. Giving in to utter panic, Jamie clawed and scrabbled furiously at the dude, scraping and scratching along the man’s hard, hairy chest, breaking the skin and clawing out hair.

The dude grimaced and leaned down with his face up against Jamie’s. Jamie could feel the man’s stubble graze his cheek as he hissed, “You’re gonna pay for that, you fucking slut. You marked me. But you’re my bitch, remember? So now I gotta mark you even harder. See, this is how I know you’re my bitch; I’m gonna mark you as my property—for good.”

With a deep grunt from the center of his chest, the dude spit into Jamie’s face. Wrapping the ends of the cord twice around his hands to improve his grip, the dude yanked it tight around Jamie’s neck.

After Brad’s play-smother, Jamie was unprepared for the dude’s first true choke. Compared to the intensity of the burning agony around his windpipe now, that first one seemed as benign as Brad’s. His fingers scrabbled frantically at his throat but were unable to find leverage; the cord had sunk in too deeply for him to reach.

Jamie felt the pounding, excruciating pressure increase above the stricture. His head felt like it was being over-inflated; his eyes, his tongue, the very skin of his face, all were swelling. A fire was burning in the center of his chest; he thrashed wildly in an attempt to escape it. Somewhere in the depths of his fear-inflamed mind, he could feel the dude’s cock, like a red-hot shaft of iron shoved up his ass. But the pain in his chest and his head overrode that.

The dude was still, holding himself over Jamie’s thrashing, limber body. He didn’t really need to thrust anymore; he could just stay still and let Jamie’s quivering, flailing hole work his cock for him. He remained poised above the kid’s wiry, convulsing body like a steel cage, one shaft of which held the boy to the bed by his ass.

Jamie couldn’t actually feel his face turning black. He could feel his tongue swelling and forcing his jaws apart, though. He could feel his eyes bulging out to the point that he could no longer close his lids. He couldn’t feel the petechial hemorrhages or the blood vessels rupture in the white of his eyes, but he could see the great bursts and blooms of nothingness as his eyes began to misfire from lack of oxygen.

By the time white frothy drool began to leak down his cheek from the corners of his blue lips, Jamie wasn’t really capable of conscious thought. There was nothing left but a nervous system growing increasingly unstable under progressive brain damage. His long, thin cock, all seven inches, was erect and glistening.

Suddenly, a massive convulsion wracked Jamie’s body. As his muscles tightened involuntarily, cum flew from the end of his dick in thin, ropy strands; it looked like someone stomped on a tube of toothpaste.

The older man shuddered, grunting and groaning as Jamie’s colon sucked out his spunk in a suction created by the death throes of the rectum. Gripping the cord in one hand and a handful of Jamie’s hair in another, he jerked them violently apart. As Jamie’s neck snapped under the strain, sending a last constrictive shockwave through his body and milking that last drop of seed out of the dude’s cock, he gave a last strangled cry, “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” before relaxing his hard, tensed body.

After a couple of minutes, the dude’s breathing returned to normal. He pulled himself out of the corpse’s ass, his boots hitting the floor with a thump. He walked into the bathroom and spent a little time cleaning himself up.

When he came out, Jamie was still lying stretched out across the bed, legs spread, arms still clutching his throat, blood-stained eyes rolled back so that only a tiny arc of the iris was visible. It was too good of an opportunity to miss. The dude’s dick was still hard. He slipped it into the corpse’s mouth, forcing it past the dry, swollen tongue, feeling it rasp against the sensitive bud of nerves on the underside of his dick head. As he pumped his shaft down the dead kid’s throat, he could feel a slight obstruction on his deepest thrusts; it was the crushed section of Jamie’s esophagus.

The dude came so hard it overflowed the corpse’s oral cavity and leaked out onto the face. It took another few minutes in the bathroom to clean up for the second time. The dude left without a look back.

It was another couple of hours before Brad got home. As Jamie had thought, he’d fucked someone else who’d dropped him off afterwards. Brad was stunned and shocked when he turned on the bedroom light and revealed Jamie’s throttled, abused corpse.

Shocked and stunned, yes. Surprised, no. Brad had known that Jamie could be naïve and randy when drunk, so he had always kinda thought this might happen someday. He’d tried to imagine how he would handle it and now he knew.

Much as he wanted to, he couldn’t fuck Jamie’s body; he couldn’t afford to contaminate the evidence.

But he took plenty of photos before calling 911.

M4M4snuff

On By m3mayhemIn M4M Stories, Victim POV2 Comments

“M4M—looking now.

Aggressive top looking for service.  32, built, 170, 6’4”.  Can host.  Looking for young only.  HMU.”

That’s all it says, but that’s all it has to.  I’m already hard just reading it.  No idea who this dude is, but I want his cum.  Thank you, Craigslist.

I reply with my stats:

“Hey man, want your dick.  19, 5’9”, 123 lbs.  Blond and smooth.  Willing to travel for your load. –teenslutboi”

I navigate the obstacle course of my bedroom floor, littered with piles of dirty laundry, to the tiny bathroom area.  The vanity and sink are actually part of the open closet; as I check my look in the mirror, I can see my remaining clean clothes hanging behind me.

What I wear will depend on the reply.  Fuck, man, please let him reply.  I’m so anxious my hands are trembling when I reach for the phone.  I can barely pull up my email account.

Man, I know I’m high, but there must be something else going on; it’s not like I’ve seen a pic of this guy, even.  But there’s something about his ad that makes me know I want him.

Fuck, there’s an answer. Please, please, pleasepleaseplease….

“Roehampton Suites, 15th and Park.  Reply when you get here and wait for directions.”

I look at the time—it’s about a quarter past eleven.  I’m one block off Park and four from 15th.  “OMW.  Be there by 11:30.”

I know the place; I’ve had hookups there before.  The entrance is locked after 10 pm.  There is no real lobby, the street door leads to a glass cubicle.  From it, the door on the left leads to the check-in desk, which is set so far back it can’t be seen.  The door on the right leads to the guest entrance and gives access to the rooms.

He’s gonna have to come down and let me in.  If I don’t like what I see, I can always leave.  But I think I’m gonna like it.

But that clears up one thing—I can’t dress too much like a slut.  Well, I mean, I ain’t gonna cover myself with a burka, but I can’t go full-on whore the way I’d like; this motel ain’t that kinda place.

So I find a clean simple t-shirt of thin white cotton.  I’ve shrunk it slightly.  My torso is smooth and slim, but the shirt is tight enough to highlight my small but firm pecs.  I tuck the shirt into the tightest pair of skinny jeans I have—they’re black, with elaborate designer stitching on the rear pockets, which draws attention to the way they lovingly cradle my firm bubble butt.

I cap it off—literally—with a black ball cap worn backwards, shoved down on my head.  Even so, the mirror shows unruly strands of blond hair peeking out underneath.

Just before leaving, I lace my white leather sneakers forcefully around my feet, tightening them almost painfully.

I’m ready to be used.

It actually takes me twenty minutes to get there; I missed a light because of an ambulance going through the intersection at the wrong moment.  I send a reply the moment I throw my car into park; I’ve parked on the side of the building out of sight of the entrance.

His response is swift and abrupt; he’ll be at the door in exactly three minutes to let me in.  I leave the car and hurry around the corner to be there in time.

Holy fuck, I’m glad I am.  He’s there—it has to be him.  Jesus Christ, what a fucking stud.

His short hair is dark and slightly curly—and receding slightly at the temples; a sure sign of an overabundance of testosterone.  His t-shirt is tighter than mine, stretched tautly across the massive swelling of his chest muscles.  It’s the same shade of electric blue as his eyes, coldly appraising me the way I’m appraising him.  The cuffs of the sleeves stretch tightly across his large biceps and down the inside of his left forearms is a large tattoo of a winged skull.

His jeans are as tight as his shirt; they aren’t skinny jeans like mine because skinny jeans wouldn’t fit over the massive knots of muscles in his thighs and calves.  Under the frayed denim cuffs, I can see he’s got on a pair of worn and scuffed square-toed ropers.

Did I say I could leave?  I can’t leave.  I have to have him.  I crave his cock.  I want his sperm so bad, please let him want me too, oh please…

I sigh with relief as he opens the doors and lets me in.  He gives me another quick cold glance before turning silently away and striding down the brightly-lit but empty hallway.  I follow, almost having to run to keep up with the pace of his long legs.

He arrives at his room and opens the door before I catch up; I manage to slip inside quickly—but realize I never caught a glimpse of the room number.  Not that it matters.

The dude turns to look at me calmly.  I notice the muscles bunched at the corners of his hard, frim jaw.  A heavy scruff of five o’clock shadow darkens the jaw as well as his cheeks.  “Well, what ya, waitin’ for, faggot?  Strip!” he barks.

I comply; even if I didn’t want to obey this stud, I don’t think I could have resisted his command.  There’s something about the scent coming off him—pheromones, maybe—that overrides the smell of bleach and industrial cleaning solvents in the relentlessly clean room and establishes his alpha status.

Sitting on the bed, I start with my shoes, unlacing them carefully before prying them off.  The dude stands over, watching, one hand rubbing an almost frighteningly huge bulge in his crotch.  He continues to rub himself as I stand up and wriggle out of my skinny jeans, so tight I almost need to peel them out of the crack of my ass.

Once free of the jeans, I jerk the shirt up and off over my head, taking my cap with it.  I stand before the dominant stud, nude except for my white ankle socks, my long, thin, vein-wrapped cock standing to attention in front of me.

He smirks at me and I know what he thinks.  He thinks I’m just some useless slut who wants his cock—and he’s right.  I’m anxious to prove it to him.

Suddenly he reaches down and grabs the hem of his t-shirt.  In a much smoother move than mine, he whips it off over his head in one swift motion, revealing his enormous pecs and six-pack abs.

There’s a dusting of dark fur across the stud’s bulging chest which darkens into a clearly-defined trail as it works its way down his firm belly and disappears below the waistband of his jeans.  A long, defined ridge in the denim extends outward from his groin; as he rubs his right hand over it, the ridge extends even further.

Holy fuck, what I have I gotten myself into?  I want his dick, but I’m not sure I can handle it—it’s literally that big.

But then my eyes are drawn inexorably upwards along the thick fur trail lining his belly, up past his muscular chest, glistening with sweat, his large dark nipples hard and erect like his cock, to his cold, hard, handsome face.  I know I’m going to submit.  No matter how much it hurts, for him, I’ll submit.

His eyes drift behind me.  He grunts and looks back at me.  I get it; he wants me on the bed.  Without allowing my gaze to shift from his face, I slowly back towards the double bed. I stop when I feel the slick polyester comforter against the back of my calves.  Gingerly, I ease my way back up onto the bed.  I hadn’t paid any attention to it before; the comforter and blankets, I now realize, have been turned down and soon the thin sheets, stiff with starch, are scraping my bare, smooth asscheeks.

Feeling behind me with one arm, I manage to snag the pillows and get them placed under my head.  I finally settle in on my back, my legs spread, my dick rising in front of me like a hood ornament.

I’m ready for him.

Silently, he continues to stare down at me, one hand on his groin, the other rubbing and fondling one of his nipples.  I can’t tell if that faint look of contempt on his face is his natural expression or not, but it doesn’t matter.  Somehow, it only seems to make him even hotter.

He unzips his fly.  He has to reach in with both hands to wrest his monster hog free from the confines of his tight jeans.

Oh fuck, it’s even bigger than I thought it would be—how is that even possible?  From here, it looks like a vine-wrapped fireplug.  Clear beads of precum glint on the swollen purple head.

A lump forms in my throat; I have trouble swallowing.  I cast my eyes downward as I gulp, only to find my gaze pulled irresistibly upwards.  His thick-soled ropers planted firmly on the thin carpet, those faded jeans becoming tighter around his legs the further up his thighs my eyes travel, that jutting, bobbing, dripping shaft, his massive chest with its fine haze of fur heaving in anticipation, his eyes—

Oh fuck, his eyes—what is that look?  I’ve never seen that kinda look before…

I think he’s more ready for me than I am for him.

He lunges—wait, what?  Dude, no lemme prepare myself—no wait stop for fuck’s sake use some lube don’t just hawk up phlegm on my ass get something to—

FUCK STOP IT OH GOD THE PAIN YOU’RE TEARING ME FUCK FUCK THE PAIN

Breathe, just keep breathing, he can’t keep going his cock can’t be that long shit shit shit it feels like I’m getting a spear shoved up my ass FUCK DUDE STOP PLEASE OH PLEASE

There’s nothing else right now, nothing else in my universe but this huge, powerful man fucking me brutally in the ass.  The weight of his muscles pressing down on me, his fur scratching me as his body slides over mine on a film of our mingled sweat, the waves of manscent and pheromones exuded by his body as he pins me down and reams out my colon—this is all there is.

But he’s stopped.  He’s not driving in any further, oh thank you Jesus.  I can’t take any more.

I can’t speak.  I’m too full of cock.  My sphincter has already collapsed under the onslaught of his shaft, but I’m afraid to move.  Fuck oh fuck he’s so huge inside me if he moves at all he’s gonna tear me he’s gonna make me bleed please no dude…

Then he speaks.

“Almost all the way in, motherfucker.  Ya likin’ it?  I ain’t even started fuckin’ ya yet.  And I gotta special happy ending for ya—don’t worry, faggot, you ain’t ever gonna cum harder than you’re gonna tonight!”

What?  No, dude, there can’t be more, it already feels like you’re raping my fucking intestines, you gotta be OH FUCK NO CHRIST YOU’RE FUCKING HOLES IN MY GUTS JESUS NO—

It hurts so bad how can I feel anything else but I can

I can feel his denim-covered thighs pumping like pistons as he drives his shaft even deeper into my rectum

I can feel his hard firm six-pack abs thrusting against my smooth flat belly

I can feel his hands gripping my wrists and forcing my arms back above my head on the bed

I can feel his scuffed square-toed shitkickers scraping against my socks and lower calves

I can feel every inch of the hot hard man as he painfully violates my body and I love it I love the fucking and the thrusting and even the pain that sharp spearing agony hurts so fucking good

He sees it.  He knows, and I know he knows.  Good.  He knows I’ll give him whatever he wants for the sake of his load.  It’ll make him happy—and I want this hot as fuck stud to be happy.

Except it’s not.  What’s wrong?  Why is he looking at me like that?  The contempt was sexy, but this is—is—what?  It’s not hate; it’s too erotic for that; what the fuck is going on?

He lets go of my wrists and rises up somewhat, looking down on me.  He’s still pumping my ass, fuck yeah—it hurts, oh god it hurts so bad but I’m falling in with his rhythm.  Why is he looking at me like that?  What is he

His hands oh shit what the fuck dude get ‘em off I can’t breathe what the fuck are you doing

Dude no get off what the fuck off me let go why are your hands around my throat what what’s that

“Time to die, faggot.  You worthless homo bitches always fall for the Craigslist ads and the motel hookups.  You stupid piece of shit, you make it so easy.  Just another useless queer gettin’ raped and strangled in a motel room.  Yeah, you heard me, cunt.  You’re dying.  I’m gonna kill ya.  So c’mon and fight it, cocksucker—you’re gonna lose, but your struggle is gonna jack me off so good!”

What the fuck he’s killing me so he can cum what OH SHIT HE’S GONNA FUCKIN’ KILL ME THIS PSYCHO IS GONNA STRANGLE ME TO DEATH

No no no no get the fuck off me I gotta get away gotta get away I can’t his rod is impaling my ass pinning me to the bed like I’ve been speared

air air no air oh my god GET OFF GET OFF I CAN STILL FEEL YOU IN ME FUCK DUDE NO WHY WHY I JUST WANTED YOUR LOAD

it hurts so fucking bad his hands are tightening like a vise I can’t pull them away he’s too strong higher maybe

no his rock hard biceps too strong my hands slipping on sweat over his winged skull tattoo

his chest his hard heaving chest no get off beat against it fuck like beating a brick wall no fuck this can’t be happening oh god oh fuck oh please no beat and slap and thrash just GET THE FUCK OFF OH FUCKING HELL PLEASE OH GOD NO

his face his eyes claw claw make him stop rough steel wool that’s his scruff his stubble on his cheeks oh fuck those cold blue eyes

they’re not cold anymore hot hot with bloodlust he wants me to die

oh shit still on me and in me I can’t break free he fills me utterly

the pain the pressure my throat my chest my head my dick what the fuck why is my dick so hard

he’s still squeezing my throat as he thrusts that massive shaft up my colon crunching pain what the fuck

MY WINDPIPE OH GOD OH FUCK HE CRUSHED MY THROAT I FELT SHIT BREAK I HEARD SHIT BREAK IN MY THROAT

NO NO NO BEAT AND FLAIL GET OFF NOW I CAN’T THE PAIN DUDE YOUR COCK SWELLING IN MY ASS OH FUCK MY CHEST

what’s happening was gonna meet a friend for coffee after wasn’t supposed to die tonight just looking for a quick fuck why why

a vacuum I’m trying to breathe in a vacuum fight try harder keep going harder air if I try hard enough I can breathe I know it forget about the man holding you down and traumatizing your colon just breathe asshole you can do it

NO I CAN’T NO AIR PAIN HIS HANDS ARE STILL SQUEEZING I CAN’T PRY THEM OFF HE’S SPTTING IN MY FACE

“Die, you cocksucking faggot, die with my dick up your disgusting homo fuckhole, you worthless fucking cunt, yeah? Huh?  Ain’t no one gonna care about yer useless cumslurping ass gettin’ offed, huh?  Ya like that?  C’mon, cunt, fight for it, fight for the air.  Work the spunk outta my shaft as you die so your death ain’t a total waste of flesh, you piece of shit!”

what I don’t

AIR OH PLEASE AIR

it’s fading cold and black but the pain won’t fade why please just let me die but the pain won’t go away

my chest fuck it hurts the pain the pressure please let me die

my throat fuck why dude why are you still throttling me I’m dying you’re only doing this so you can keep hurting me

my head the black fireworks the maddening buzz of cicadas such agony

my dick what why so stiff so erect my sack so puckered and shriveled what the fuck is happening

please no don’t do this maybe I can still live please let me live let go

your cock oh shit it’s so big inside me the pain is fading black roses are blooming and I am full of you

no please it feels so good but it means death I know it means death but it’s so good

fuck the burning the boiling in my ass your face is fading but I can still see the snarl that’s your cum you’re cumming in me as I die that’s why

the pain the terrible burning pain in my cock what the fuck im cumming thick ropy strands

fuck feels like my spunk is being ripped outta my cock i didn’t know it would hurt this bad i didn’t know it would hurt this good

oh fuck cold and dark the pain THE PAIN NO IT HURTS TOO GOOD I DON’T WANNA DIE YET IT HURTS TOO GOOD—

seed flowing into me and out of me

Victim POV 6–The Hog and the Pig

On By m3mayhemIn Victim POVLeave a comment

It’s chilly tonight, but not cold. I’ll go with my leather bomber jacket; if I leave it open over a white t-shirt, it’ll show off my torso. Not that I’m a big, muscely guy; I’m slim and lithe. But that shows off just as well and lotsa guys like it.

Enough of ‘em like it that it pays to keep in shape. I’ve just gotten in from the gym. Their pool is chilly and crowded, but the pool in my complex isn’t heated, so it’s where I go in the winter. Plus, I find a lot of contacts there. Half my income comes from guys I meet at the gym.

Not tonight, though. A lot of looks, but no bites. Well, there was that one dude—old and fat, but I’da done him if he’d had any money. But he didn’t; I could tell just by looking. I always know where the money is. Like my momma said, “Don’t marry money—just fuck it.”

Bless her heart, crazy old bitch was right.

I need to find a new daddy soon though; the money from the last one has just about run out. I mean, don’t get me wrong; I’ll fuck a dude just because I think he’s hot—but if he don’t have cash, he better be real hot.

At any rate, I’m home and getting ready to head out on the prowl. I’ll start down at Club 69 and work my way down the other bars on the strip. If it’s a bad night, I’ll have to head out to The Underpass. Most nights I’m able to avoid that place, though. Good thing, too.

Too many rentboys vanish from that place.

Let’s see, tight jeans that highlight my package, check. And I won’t need to strip them off; I’ve cut a slit in the ass. I ain’t wearin’ shorts underneath—I’m ready to go. After all, if my jeans are tight, it can take too long to peel ‘em off; I ain’t gonna break the mood—I like getting’ fucked in tight jeans. Equally tight t-shirt visible beneath my sleek leather jacket, check. Ok, what kinda boots do I wanna get fucked in? Lessee…

Oh fuck yeah, these black leather Demonia boots with the buckled straps around the calf. Laces and a zipper for easy access—not that I’ll be taking them off. I’ll be watching them hanging in the air beyond the shoulders of whoever is fucking me tonight.

And whoever the john turns out to be, he’ll be lucky. I’m a good lay. Worth the price. My slim, smooth body, my firm denim-covered and leather-booted legs—yeah, whoever gets to fuck me better appreciate the favor I’m doin’ him.

Let’s get goin’.

Like I said, I need to find a new daddy. Car is on the fritz—I could call a cab, but I ain’t gonna waste the money; it’s only two blocks out to the main drag and then three blocks down. And this leather jacket blocks the wind pretty well. But still, I deserve a working car. I’ll find someone to pay. And even if not, I’m horny. One way or another, I’m gonna get fucked tonight, but believe me, someone’s gonna pay.

Someone’s gonna pay a lot.

It’s dark down these side streets. I wish they’d repair the streetlights. Not enough tax dollars in this neighborhood, I guess. But it gets kinda dangerous. On the other hand, most people have their headlights on, so you can tell when a car is coming. But what’s coming now isn’t a car, it’s a motorcycle.

Ok, I’m interested. It’s a Harley, a Softail Classic. Gleaming black and chrome with studded black leather saddlebags, two seats—when it glides through the gleaming circle of the streetlight, I can see that the black finish is highlighted by strategic points of dark midnight blue.

Guys on bikes are always hot; guys on Harleys especially so. And this dude doesn’t disappoint. As his bike rumbles up to the curb, I get a good look. Older than me, but not more than, say, thirty-one or two. Long, shoulder-length black hair—no helmet laws in this state, so it fans out under the red bandanna tied over his head.

He’s dressed—well, actually, he’s dressed a lot like I am. His leather jacket is the huge bulky kind favored by bikers, with zippers over half the surface. On him, it looks real. He’s clearly not a poser or one of those weekend warrior types, desk jockeys who like aspire to street cred by tooling around the suburbs on overpriced bikes.

This one’s a real biker dude. The waves of testosterone his hard body gives off are damn near visible. His diesel jeans are skin tight. They outline the thick, firm muscles of his thighs. Below his knees, his legs are encased in black motorcycle boots, rising most of the way up his tight calves. The thick-soled leather boots are held on by five leather straps with bright steel buckles. They look like mine, but they’re real—no zipper for easy access.

Bet he leaves them on when he fucks; too much of a pain in the ass to take them off. Fuckin’ hot.

He’s got a dark t-shirt under his jacket; in the shadows, I can’t make out the color. It doesn’t matter; what I can see of him shows me how well-built he is. Strong muscled dude on a crotch rocket—man, I already want his dick. Now, if I can just figure out how to make some money outta this, it’ll be a perfect night…

He’s pulled to the curb just past where I’m standing. I’ve been able to take all this in within a matter of seconds. Now, he turns to look at me.

His eyes are like embers of coal—blazing, yet hard as stone. I’m both attracted by their beauty and repelled by their coldness. A well-groomed black goatee covers his strong jaw with fur; his handsome, chiseled face is almost emotionless.

I can’t tell if he wants me or not.

It’s cold. And once he shuts the Harley off, it’s quiet, too. The apartment buildings along this stretch of the street are set well back. And the tenants in the front basically install iron bars over the windows and ignore anything that happens on the street.

The biker stud appraises me coldly. I’ve never felt such an icy, impersonal sensation before and it scares me.

There are literally hundreds of people within the sound of my voice, but I’ve never felt so alone and helpless before. There’s something about this guy, about his mere physical presence, that seems to take control.

I’m his and we both know it. I don’t know how it happens, but it does, when I catch his eye again. His face contorts with a contemptuous smirk, and I know I’ll do whatever he wants.

Fuck, this wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He won’t pay me; for all I know, the dude might actually hurt me. But it doesn’t matter. Even if he’s one of those sick fucks who gets off on pain, he’s still gonna fuck me tonight. I want it. I want him—no matter what.

He grins at me and I flinch. It’s a sly grin, full of complicity and dark promises, and it gets my cock hard (like it wasn’t already). He twists his head, more or less beckoning with it and I approach him.

When he speaks, his voice grinds through the lower registers and makes my dick and balls vibrate. “Hey, bitch,” he rumbles, “get on and I’ll give ya a ride.” He chuckles and stares at me brazenly.

Not daunted in the slightest, I stare right back. Dammit, I’m the one in control. Or at least, I’m gonna show him I’m not a pushover.

“Yeah?” I sneer at him, “I like a long ride—how long can ya last?”

He stops chuckling. “I’ll last longer than you will, cunt,” he snaps coldly, “get on. Now.”

I obey. I don’t know why. I mean, I’ve done dozens of guys—dozens of dozens. But I’ve never come across anyone like this guy before. And I don’t know what to think or how to react. He’s such a fucking stud, but he scares me. He scares me a lot. And part of my fear is that I’m so attracted to him, I’ll let him do whatever he wants, as long as I get his load.

And that’s a bad thing. It puts him in control, not me. And there’s something about this guy—I don’t think he has a lot of control.

And the fact that that thought gets me hard is the scariest thing of all. But it doesn’t stop me from getting on his bike.

I slip onto the Harley’s rear seat and wrap my arms around the stud as he throttles the bike up and heads out toward the highway. I cling to his torso like it’s a boulder—and it’s just as hard and firm as if it truly was. I press my face against the biker’s back, burying it in the slick, smooth leather, inhaling its scent, feeling his muscles flex against my cheek as my shaft grows so hard it aches.

I enjoy the ride. I enjoy it a lot. Fuckin’ crotch rocket, vibrating on my sack and my tool—this dude must be so fucking horny, riding around like this all time. I’ll bet he needs some release. That’s ok; he can release it all in my aching fuckhole.

He zips past the Underpass and stops at the light at the interstate access road. I know where he’s going; there’s a cheap motel on the other side of the highway. Wonder if he’s local. Maybe; I didn’t need to give him directions here.

I’m surprised when he pulls around back of the motel. No idea why he didn’t park in the main lot—but he fishes a key out of his pocket; he’s already got a room. I follow him across the gravel parking lot, my boots crunching in the large marks left by his boots.

We walk around the building and enter room 134. He unlocks the door and steps inside; I follow and he shuts the door behind me, leaving us in total darkness. Only when the door is completely closed does he turn on the light.

I immediately turn to face him, grabbing for his crotch. I’d thought it was what he wanted and I’m surprised when he shoves me forcefully onto the bed without touching his cock.

“Get your pants off, whore, I’m gonna fuck ya,” he growls, pulling off his leather jacket. His t-shirt, I can now see, is dark brown and tighter on him than mine is on me. He peels it sinuously to reveal a flat furry belly and hairy hubcap pecs; the biker is a damn near perfect archetype of masculinity.

I sit up and pull off my jacket and my shirt. The biker looks down at my smooth, firm chest and breathes heavily. “I said pull your pants off, cunt, not your shirt.”

“I don’t have to. There’s a hole cut in the ass,” I tell him, staring him defiantly in the eyes.

It’s the hardest thing I’ve had to do. His dark blazing eyes turn on me with a burst of lust and rage like I’ve never seen before. I’m suddenly strongly aware that I’m alone with a strange man and no one knows where I’ve gone or with whom.

I’ve been in this situation many times before. What is it about this time that makes me aware of my vulnerability?

And more to the point—why do I not care? I’m so fucking horny right now—and there’s something about the dude’s look—that sneering, disgust-filled look of domination—that makes me want him even more.

He thinks I’m a piece of shit. And as long as he fucks me, I’m ready to let him treat me like one.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m better than this; I’m the one who decides, the one who chooses…

Oh my god, I don’t care. He’s unzipping his fly. Holy fuck—the hog that flops out is enormous. It’s a thick, long uncut slab of meat—and it’s not even fully erect yet.

Now I know there’s something wrong with me. His tool is gonna split me wide open. I can tell just by looking that this is gonna hurt like all kinds of fuck. And even so, my own shaft starts to throb at the thought.

I’ve never really believed in pheromones, but it’s the only explanation. The dark, muscled biker reeks of sex, and I want it so bad, I’ll do whatever it takes to milk the sex right out of his hard body…

He leans over me. I gaze up into his granite face, merciless as stone as he speaks quietly in white-hot rage. “You fuckin’ whore. Ready for any dude’s dick, huh? Any place, any time, as long as you get paid, right? Bet you’da taken my rod right there on the street if I’d flashed some bills at ya, huh, cunt?”

He grabs my boots and thrusts my legs apart and I feel the weight of his lithe, panther-like body on me.

He’s on top of me, his hard, cruel, bearded face filling my field of view. The hot musky scent of mansweat washes over me, pinning me to the bed with an almost physical force. I place my hands on his chest as he lies on top of me, feeling his rock-hard pecs under the fine black fur covering his torso.

His eyes are lit with an icy gleam as he sneers down into my face. “Lick me, you faggot whore. I worked up a lotta sweat, ridin’ my hog all day. Get your fuckin’ punk tongue into my pits and slurp up my sweat, you cheap-ass cumchugger.”

He reaches down and grabs a hank of my hair, pulling my face into his left armpit. The reek of his sweat and hormones is as overwhelming as his wiry hair; it’s like his pits are lined with steel wool that grinds my face as he chuckles evilly.

Goddam, this ain’t right. He’s such a man—oh fuck, I want him so bad. Yes, if this is what it takes, I’ll lick your musk. I’ll lick anything ya want, dude…

He manipulates my head like I’m a puppet; I simply let my tongue hang out of my mouth and let him apply it to whatever part of his body he desires. He sits up on his knees, pulling my head up with him, never letting my face get out of contact with his hard chest. He twists my head to one side as he applies my mouth to his left nipple. “Suck it, cunt,” he snaps before spitting in my face. I close my eyes and feel the warm trickle of his spittle sliding down my cheek as I fervently tongue the hard knot of his nipple.

Without warning, the biker stud drags my head roughly to the right, scraping my skin along his chest hair—much smoother than his pit hair, but still being ground against my skin—to stop with my face buried in the moist valley between the swellings of his iron-hard pecs. Oh fuck, this hot alpha dude wants me, wants my tongue to taste his pheromones and sex chemicals…

My cock is so hard, it hurts. I don’t know how this is gonna end—and I don’t care. The call, the sexual need emanating from this man is overpowering; I already know that I’ll do whatever it takes to make him fill me with his DNA.

And that scares the fuck outta me. There’s something wrong with this guy. He doesn’t just wanna fuck me.

He wants to hurt me.

And I want his load so bad—oh fuck, god help me—I’ll let him.

As my face is forced abrasively across the biker’s chest, I soon find his right nipple forced into my mouth. As I slurp greedily at the small hard mound of flesh, I feel his free hand scrabbling around my ass, gripping my firm cheeks, squeezing, probing—finding the tear in the seat.

He drops me abruptly, looking expressionlessly down into my face. “You worthless fucking slut,” he says levelly, coldly.

I have to release my dick. It’s straining in my crotch, too tight, too hard. I have to set it free. I don’t break eye contact with the biker—I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. He has control and I know it. But my hand gropes down, unseeing, and unzips my fly, letting my thick, dripping cock spring out.

The biker looks down at my face and still his expression doesn’t change. “Did I tell ya you could get your dick out, slut?” he drawls, savoring his building rage. “You were ready to fuck any dude who came down the street, huh, you useless motherfucker? Yeah, ain’t that right, cunt? Goddam cut open your fuckin’ jeans so anyone can come along and shove a cock up your loose faggot asshole, yeah?”

Oh shit, I’m scared. He’s angry. Goddam Jack the Ripper type, down on whores—but still…

What the fuck is wrong with me? This guy is bigger and stronger than me. And he’s a fucking sadistic psycho who’s gonna get off on hurting me—

Why do I want to let him?

It’s his domination. No, no—I’m my own fucking person; I can’t be enjoying this—

He shoves me back down on my back and jerks my legs up, resting my boots on his shoulder. I remember putting them on tonight—I was gonna watch them bob in the air as I got my ass drilled by some hot stud.

Ok fuck, that’s exactly what’s gonna happen but this isn’t what I meant…

He’s grinning at me as he reaches into his crotch. He’s gonna stick that monstrous shaft into me. No, dude, no; I’m not ready for that thing—you haven’t even used any lube—

OH GOD NO GET IT OUTTA ME FUCK GOD NO

please please please pull it out it’s too much please pull it out

oh god yes I can feel it receding oh thank you god

NO NO NO FUCK DON’T SHOVE IT IN AGAIN HOLY FUCK WHY IS MY DICK SO HARD

his face, his dark, cruel, handsome, sneering face

Ok. Ok. Ok.

My sphincter has collapsed. He’s torn it. He’s hurt me. Oh fuck, he’s hurt me bad; no one’s ever fucked me so bad I’ve needed to go to the hospital…

What? What’s he saying?

“You worthless fucking whore. How many cumshots has your worn-out fuckhole sucked up, huh, cunt? See, even now, your shredded colon ain’t used to mancock after all them homo dicks you been willin’ to ride. You need a real man to show you your place. And ya know where your place is, faggot? It’s screaming and writhing on the end of my cock. And you’re gonna be doin’ it tonight, cunt.”

I hear the words, but they don’t make sense. I can only absorb so much anyway and right now, I’m full of cock.

The pain, the pressure is phenomenal. I’ve been fucked a lot, but this guy is… Well, he’s…

Oh fuck, he’s compacting my guts. I don’t want this. I want to get fucked, but this dude’s raping my guts. He’s reaming my innards violently.

Oh my god it hurts it hurts so bad this isn’t sex you’re gonna kill me this is gonna tear me open I’m bleeding you’re tearing me apart in the inside…

I don’t understand why I’m so helpless. He’s tearing me open on the inside, but he’s such an alpha stud I can’t stop him…

“Fuck, dude, I was almost there. Your ass was nice and tight around my tool, but I think I stretched ya out. You really are a worthless cunt, ain’t ya? Can’t even make me cum. What kinda faggot whore are ya?”

The pain. Everything he’s put me through, and it’s not enough. His hard, muscled body, pressing against me, is slick with the sweat of his efforts; even his jeans are streaked with dark sweat marks trailing down to those strapped-on boots rising nearly to his knees.

Beyond him, I can see my own Demonia biker boots hanging in the air as he rapes me mercilessly. I remember putting them on, thinking about how I’d watch them bob as I got fucked by a john who’d pay well for the privilege…

No. He’s not getting away with it. Enough. I start grabbing and scratching at his slick, muscled body, my fingernails snagging and tearing at his body hair as he bends over me and fucks me violently.

Mistake. Oh fuck, his anger. His face is twisted with fury as he reaches down and—

I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. Fuck his hand is like a vise around my thought OH MY GOD I CAN’T BREATHE WHAT ARE YOU DOING YOUR OTHER ARM—

pain pain he’s punching me in the face piledriving his fist into my face as his other hand clamps down on my throat

I can’t breathe

fuck the pain he’s talking what’s he saying names he’s calling me names

he wants me dead I need to die to make him cum

my face his fist into my face every blow

“Fucking cunt!” WHAM

“Cocksucking faggot whore!” WHAM

Stars lights bright lights in my head my cock is hard I can feel it straining

“Die, you worthless faggot cumdump!” WHAM

my head my face the pain I can feel his cock fill my ass with every blow but I CAN’T BREATHE

it’s him that’s all there is he’s over me and on me and in me this biker stud, this hot hard reeking man, I can see him, his face contorted in lust and rage as he dominates me

wasn’t supposed to die like this wasn’t supposed to die tonight

oh fuck, solid streams of molten metal, life, genes, my inner material flowing up outta my cock I give my sperm as the teeth of my zipper tear open my scrotum

it hurts so bad I’m cutting my sack the pain in my chest he’s still punching me why god why I only wanted sex I didn’t want to get used and die

OH MY GOD THE CRUSHING PAIN IN MY THOAT MY WINDPIPE COLLAPSED

no air no air he’s still punching me my nose it crunched just like my throat

pain crushing pain my chest my throat my head

tearing pain my sack my swollen balls

fire flowing lava being pumped into my ass the biker’s spunk it’s filling me overflowing burning lava flowing out of my own dick is it my cum or the bikers

Victim POV 5–The Unkindest Cut

On By m3mayhemIn Victim POV1 Comment

Y’know, all I really want tonight is to get laid. I want some dick, and that’s it. Some hot, hard stud shoving his tool up my ass until I cum. Ya wouldn’t think it’d be that hard to find; it’s not as if I ain’t pretty decent-looking myself.

There’s a couple of leather bars in town, places to find a good eager top, but I only go to the one that’s next to the dyke club. It usually suffices—and the other one, out by the highway, has some scary characters. I usually only troll for cock in there if I’m already drunk or high.

Tonight, looks like I’m gonna hafta get drunk or high.

It’s too close to Halloween. Everyone wants to dress up—fine, but that doesn’t excuse the incestuous little drag show my favorite hookup joint is putting on. Everyone in the audience seems to be a performer as well.

No dude in drag is fucking me. I want a real man. Shit, I better drink up. This means I gotta head out to The Underpass. That’s the name pf the place.

On the way, I fire up the jay I keep in the car. Getting’ myself nice and loose, relaxed, ready to find a rough stranger and let him plow my hole. It works; I feel myself growing calmer (and harder) during the drive.

The gravel lot is full. Lotta people here, wonder what’s goin’ on? Looks like a poster by the door, better check it out.

The walk across the parking lot takes some effort. Damn, didn’t realize I’m this fucked up. I can do stupid things in this state—better be careful. Now what’s this thing say? Fuck, my eyes are blurry…costumes? Offuckingcourse. What’s it—an 80’s contest. Jesus. Even better. Goddam it, someone at least better look hot in there.

Inside is almost like the center of explosion. It’s pitch-black but for the flashing strobes. The air is full of smoke and the music is deafening to the point of incomprehensibility. I guess that’s an 80’s song but I’m damned if I know which.

I’ll admit, some of the guys can pull off the look. Skin-tight parachute pants don’t look any less sexy around a pair of thick, muscular legs, despite being unfashionable. I could have done without the Members Only jackets or the obnoxiously-patterned shirts—and I desperately hope that dude with the Flock of Seagulls haircut is wearing a wig—but tight jeans with Reebok hightops were popular and still look good.

I get another drink. I was already way too drunk and stoned to drive before I got here, but fuck it. Ain’t nothing gonna happen; nothing ever does. I down the drink and order another, rolling my eyes at the bartender’s hesitancy. He shrugs and fills my glass. I ain’t the drunkest one here, cocksucker; go sneer at someone else. See how much I tip ya, bitch. I forget him and turn back to the dance floor.

And that’s when I see him.

He’s on the other side of the room and very difficult to make out at first, largely because he’s all in black expect his boots. I have to put together a composite image from quick mental snapshots grabbed with each flash of the strobe lights. He helps by stepping forward—holy fuck, I think he’s staring straight at me.

He’s tall, over six feet. He’s also clearly well-built; his clothes strain against bulging muscles. But he’s not a bodybuilder, he’s just really fit.

He has sandy brown hair, full and silky, nearly shoulder-length in back but shorter at the front and sides—almost, but not quite, a mullet. He’s wearing a stretched-out black t-shirt with print stenciled across the front in white. The shirt is so tight it distorts the letters slightly; it must be at least two sizes too small but it shows off his incredible chest beautifully.

I have to squint and put some effort into reading the words that rise and fall with the contours of his pecs. After several flashes of the light, I get it: “If you love something, let it go. If it doesn’t come back, hunt it down and kill it.”

Now, why does that make me hard?

My eyes slip lower—holy shit. Tight black leather jeans highlight his massive thighs; there’s a shiny gloss on the bulge in his crotch that’s so tight I can see the shape of the head of his dick from across the room. My eyes flow down from the punk metal weave belt, sliding down the black leather that caresses his legs like a second skin down to his knees, where I spy another blast from the past—knee-high moccasin boots

They’re brown suede with a fringe hanging a couple of inches below the knee. Rawhide strips cross repeatedly in front, serving as laces.

At first, his head is down. His shaggy brown hair falls over his eyes; I can’t see his face. Suddenly he looks up. His huge dark eyes look directly into mine as a grin washes over his handsome, chiseled face, framed by a goatee slightly darker than his sandy brown hair.

I hop off my bar stool—goddammit, lost my balance. Smooth move, asswipe, now he’s never—

Oh, wait, he’s coming over. Looks like he’s grinning, like he’s pleased. Maybe he likes doin’ guys who are fucked up. Well, good, cause I sure the fuck am.

He’s here. Still not on my feet yet, how fucking embarrassing—oh, he’s helping me. Wow, he’s even stronger than he looks. And he smells like—

He smells like mansex. I want him. I don’t give a shit what he wants to do to me as long as I get his load inside me.

A motel? Sure, there’s a cheap place on the other side of the highway. Yeah, we can take your car if you’ll bring me back. Ooh, that’s an evil grin; I like it. You’re gonna fuck me good, right?

He gives me that grin again and my knees go all rubbery. The parking lot gravel slips under my feet—he grabs my arm to steady me, giving a low bass chuckle. A deep rumble, almost a purr of pleasure. Guess he likes drunk dudes after all.

I’m sitting down—what kinda car is this? I didn’t notice. No, not a car, it’s a pickup. There’s tools in the back. Wonder what this stud does for a job.

I ask him. He smiles slowly. “I work with my hands,” he replies, his voice a deep rumble. I reach over and start sliding my hands over that smooth black leather, my fingers flowing almost frictionlessly across his bulging thigh. He grabs my arm and throws it off—is that contempt in his face? It’s getting a little dark–

We’re here already? Fuck, I musta passed out. Yeah, it’s this shitty Motel 6 on the highway. He’s shoving me and handing me a $20. What? Ok, I’ll go get the room. Fuck, it’s a long way down from this truck. And another gravel lot; great. My ropers have smooth soles; I’m sliding around like I’m walking on lube…

The fuckwad druggie in the office recoils from my breath. Yeah, I’m drunk, bitch. You seen worse. Gimme the fuckin’ key and fuck off.

He said to go right to the room, so I do. Third from the last on the far side. Now where’d he park? Can’t see a truck here at all—oh, there he is. Coming around the corner now. Fuck, look at how he strides, those muscles working like a panther’s.

Over here, man. Room 126. I unlock the door and he’s on me right away. I can feel his hard body pressed against me as he pushes me into the darkened room and I fall onto the bed.

He slams the door behind him and turns on the overhead light. I’ve been here many times before, I don’t need to see the cheap furniture, veneer peeling and stained with cigarette and crack pipe burns. I know the rough comforter, the hard, unforgiving mattress. My attention is on my handsome stud. He looks down on me, his hard face framed with his long brown hair. His eyes are sunk into pools of shadow; I can only see the expression on his face…

What is that? Contempt? Hatred? Why is he looking at me like that?

Suddenly, he reaches down and grabs his shirt near his waist. With a swift, fluid motion, he jerks it up over his head, instantly revealing his buff torso and pumped biceps. “Down on your knees, bitch, and start sucking,” he snarls as his hand slips down and unzips the gleaming mound of black leather in his crotch.

As he commands, I drop to my knees, the foot of the bed at my back. I want that cock. I want to feel that enormous spear-shaped head in my mouth, the veins wrapped around the long shaft rubbing over my tongue…

Holy fuck, dude, lemme take a breath—

My throat is plugged with a thick tube of flesh as strong hands grip the back of my head like a bear trap, clamping down on my skull and forcing it forward inexorably as his spongy mushroom tip slides further into my esophagus.

I can still breathe—just barely, through my nose. As my head is forced into his groin, I can smell the warm musky scent of his leather jeans. His hairy balls slap and scratch my chin. He keeps slipping himself in—I can’t break free; my only choice is to wrap my hands around his thick leather-wrapped thighs and brace myself. Just as I start to gag, he pulls back and I take a deep breath. I know what’s coming.

“Worthless fuckin’ slut,” I hear him growl, “open your fuckin’ jaw and take my dick. Just lean back and open up that throat. Gag on my cock, faggot, choke on it!”

His grip tightens, his fingers tangled painfully in my hair—fuck, I can’t move my head, he’s serious about this, he’s gonna—

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe I can’t breathe oh fuck his dick is like a plunger down my throat there’s suction when he pulls back I’m gonna puke—

Sparkles in my vision what the fuck am I passing out what the

Air air he’s out I can breathe

My throat hurts fuck he reamed it out fuckin’ roto-rooted my goddam windpipe jesus I wanted cock but I didn’t want it to hurt like this

But he grabs me by my shirt and pulls me up. Holy shit, he’s strong; I knew he was built, but I didn’t know he was this strong. Oh fuck—if he really wants to hurt me, I can’t stop him. I’m helpless; he’s too much for me.

I can only submit and pray he doesn’t hurt me too bad. Oh fucking please, let this alpha dominance stuff be an act. I’m so fucked if it’s not. Christ, I’ve never been so scared—

But I’m confused. He’s thrown me flat on my back on the bed, knocking the wind out of me. Suddenly he’s on me, the scent of sweat and new leather washing over me as he grabs my waistband and yanks down, pulling my jeans to my knees.

Of course I’m commando underneath. I wanted to get fucked tonight—oh my god, I’m so fucked tonight…

He’s on top of me, lying on me full length, one hand clenched in my hair, pulling my head back, the other gently stroking my cheek. There’s something wrong with me. Yeah I’m drunk and still fuckin’ high, but it’s like he’s got me hypnotized—there’s a gleam in his huge dark eyes, a gleam of lust and rage in the face of a saint—

I’ll do what he wants. I want him bad enough to do what he wants. I don’t care what it is. He sneers and spits in my face as his caressing hand tightens around my throat and I love him for it.

“Ya want my tool, cunt? Ya want my meat inside ya? I’m gonna cut those fuckin’ skinny whore jeans off your ass and stick my thick shaft up your fuckhole, you cheap slut, and you’re gonna squeal with joy like the worthless faggot cumpig you are.”

His left hand still grasping my hair painfully, he slips his right hand down to his boot. His leather jeans are too tight to be hiding anything; whatever he’s got must be in his boot—

Oh my fucking god it’s a knife…

What the fuck are you doin’, dude? What is—

And I’m flat on my back with the knife sawing through the crotch of my jeans, spreading my legs until each is enclosed in a separate denim wrapping—

Jesus fucking Christ he’s pulling my legs apart like he’s pulling a fucking wishbone what the fuck is he shoving in my ass it feels like a fireplug oh shit he’s splitting me apart like an overripe melon—

Breathe. Just breathe. Take his dick and breathe and maybe I’ll get through this. Oh fuck, please let me get through this.

He’s on me and in me, grunting and rutting like an animal. I’m just a hole to him. Good. Not worth killing a hole…

But I can’t stop moaning and squealing; it hurts too bad. Oh shit, it feels like he’s tearing me open dude enough I can’t take this it hurt too much STOP IT I’M GONNA SCREAM STOP—

There’s a bright explosion of pain what the fuck he’s whispering the knife he’s holding it up what’s he saying…

“Ya like me in ya, you useless faggot whore? I got something else to stick in ya, too. Something long and hard. You think you’re hurting now? You ain’t start hurtin’ yet, cocksucker. Welcome to hell, you fuckin’ homo cunt!”

Oh my god the knife. It’s all I can see; he holds it in front of my eyes. I can see every detail—

That gleam on the edge; the tiny glint at the tip of the blade—it’s sharp. Those parts will be deep inside me before I know he’s stuck me. Oh fuck that’s gonna hurt so bad—but that’s not the part that terrifies me; it’s the serrations that march back towards the hilt.

They’re not meant for slicing; they’re meant for ripping. Wherever this dude sticks that knife, he’s gonna shred me to pieces.

No no nononono—

A blur of frantic motion, the electric taste of panic in my mouth you won’t not happening I’m not dying here get off me you fucking psycho your arm drawing back gotta keep it away gotta keep the knife away no no no—

OHMYGOD THE ICYTHRUST—

It’s in me cold hard steel in me its cold its so cold right in my guts my abdomen jesus christ the hilt is standing straight up from my abdomen—

OH FUCK DUDE DON’T TWIST IT YOU’RE SLICING ME LIKE FUCKING DELI MEAT OH DEAR GOD NO AAGGHH—

It’s not me seeing the blade brutally jerked outta my belly. It’s not my eyes focusing on the shreds of my own guts caught in the knife’s serrations as it rises above the dude’s head, his shaggy mane of hair catching the light behind him for a moment. He’s a silhouette with a golden halo of hair, holding aloft a vicious, dripping blade…

It means nothing. The pain is all. Fuck, there’s a hole in me. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna—

NO NO OH FUCK NO I DON’T WANNA DIE OH DEAR FUCKING GOD NO—

He lies on me again; I can feel his ripped abs sliding over my poor ripped belly on a film of blood. His thrusting legs shove the sliced denim legs of my jeans down to my boots; I’m in fucking agony but I feel his slick leather jeans pumping against my thighs and the rough buckskin of his boots scraping my calves…

His face fills my vision; his beautiful goateed face with the great dark eyes and the long lashes as he sneers and spits and then suddenly leans forward and kisses me, his tongue thrusting deeply and brutally into my mouth and down my throat, the swollen head of his cock stabbing at my rectum…

I’m shivering in pain oh god it hurts so bad his huge cock in my ass the hole in my guts he’s on me and in me and filling me in every fucking way possible I’m his he’s making me his—

Oh fuck the pain my ass my guts my cock what the fuck my cock is so hard it hurts I don’t understand—

He’s pulling up off me. There’s a flash from his shoulder; is that—

NO FUCKING GOD NO MY CHEST IT’S IN MY LUNG HOLY FUCK YOUR DICK IN MY ASS YOUR BLADE IN MY CHEST FUCK NO—

Time pauses for a moment. There’s an island of clarity in a sea of pain as I see what’s happening. There’s a small voice somewhere squealing like a stuck pig. It might be me; I can tell. I can’t breathe…

I CAN’T BREATHE EACH BREATH IS FUCKING LIGHTINING PAIN OH SHIT GET THAT SHANK OUTTA MY LUNG STOP TWISTING STOP CUTTING ME UP FLEASE FUCKING GOD STOP—

The knife rips up out of my chest, a spatter of blood flying upward from the blade as I gasp in icy agony; an excruciating numbness spreading across my chest as my lung collapses—that’s gotta be what’s happening breathe man ya gotta keep breathing shit it hurts—

OH FUCKING SHIT IT HURTS TO BREATHE I CAN HEAR AIR BUBBLING OUT OF MY CHEST OH FUCK MY COCK IS SWOLLEN AND DRIPPING WHAT THE FUCK WHY AM I HARD HE’S TALKING WHAT IS HE SAYING—

“Ain’t no one gonna miss ya, you fucking queer cunt, you fucking cocksucking faggot whore. I’m gonna fuck ya and off ya and no one’s gonna give shit. Just another homo slut, not like a real human’s involved. They don’t care who wastes animals; ain’t no one gonna care who carves you up, you faggot piece a’shit!”

He’s right oh dear god he’s right I’m his in his power he can do what he wants this beautiful stud I still want you I know I’m dying I still want you—

My hand flail and scratch at his bulging muscles; it’s like beating against steel.

Fading but still here every second a struggle to live I can still feel him sweaty muscled flanks pumping against my thighs slick leather and rough buckskin along my calves a thick swollen shaft of hot meat reaming my poor inflamed rectum oh fuck it wasn’t supposed to end like this I wasn’t supposed to get fucked to death I just wanted dick tonight, not death I  swear—

“I’m close, you homo cunt,” he snaps, his beautiful goateed face full of anger and lust and hatred, a killing gleam in his eye. “I’m gonna spunk in your fuckhole, faggot, but I’m gonna make sure no one ever knows I fucked and seeded a fuckin’ piece a’shit fag. I’m gonna pump your homo cunt fulla sperm, bitch, and it’s gonna be the last load you’re gonna get in your useless queer-ass life, so ya better enjoy it, slut!”

Gah, his hand over my face, brutally jerking my jaw up and back what the fuck is happening now—

OH SWEET FUCKING JESUS HE’S CUTTING MY THROAT OH GOD THE FUCKING PAIN THE BLOOD I TASTE THE BLOOD NO NO NO SCREAMING NO ONE CAN HEAR IT’S JUST GURLGING OH FUCK DROWNING ON MY OWN BLOOD—

FUCKING ME HE’S FUCKING ME HARDER OH GOD THE PAIN MY ASS MY THROAT MY COCK FUCK I’M HARD I’M DYING I’M HARD HOW WHY MY DICK IS SO FUCKING HARD—

MY ASS IS SPLITTING MY THROAT OH FUCK IT’S OPEN I’M SUCKING AIR OH SHIT MY ARMS MY LEGS TINGLING AND FADING and fading and growing cold—

My body is going away I’m losing it where is it going it’s all cold but the hot spots my ass my cock my throat even the other wounds are cold and numb but I can still feel foamy blood bubble at my slashed windpipe and my swollen cock why swollen oozing dripping and my colon torn on the inside as thick intruding flesh tears at my rectum—

Grey it’s all grey fading to white ice sinking into ice no one told me death would be so cold can’t even feel my slashed throat—

Loud buzzing sound all else fading I can hear him now he’s cursing think he’s beating me can’t feel it—

hot lava molten steel in my ass fuck same thing flowing outta my cock the hot burning pain in my cock and my ass in a dark world of ice life flowing into my ass and outta my cock as things start spinning and I

Victim POV 4–For Leather or Worse

On By m3mayhemIn Victim POVLeave a comment

I’m so fucking horny tonight.

It’s like being possessed, sometimes, I think. When I want dick, I go on autopilot. Like now. I’m out looking and I’m not going home until I get a fat mushroom head shoved past my tonsils.

I’m dressed for the part, too. I don’t think I could get on a tighter pair of jeans without someone else’s help. My hightop baller shoes are silver with bright red laces; they’re sure to draw attention if the skin-tight yellow t-shit I’m wearing doesn’t.

Yeah, I’m a little drunk, a little fucked up. Doesn’t matter. A little anesthesia to take a long hard cock inside me. Goddam, I want it bad.

Where am I? Looks like the spot. There’s Club 69 over there. Ain’t going in the clubs, though. They’ll call the cops if I go down on some dude on the dance floor. Got thrown outta 69 once for getting’ fucked in a bathroom stall.

Naw, if I can’t get some dude to pop for a cheap motel room, I’ll suck him off in the alley. Fuck yeah. As long as I get to drink some cum, I don’t care where.

I turn off the main drag and start ambling down a side street. I can take my time. I may be horny as fuck, but I ain’t swallowin’ any sperm that I don’t want. Not like I’m bein’ paid—I ain’t no fuckin’ whore.

I turn right along the street that runs behind the bars. It’s dark and deserted, but I’m only about a hundred yards down when a white shortbed pickup pulls up alongside me. He’s heading the same direction I am, so it’s the passenger window he rolls down.

He’s hot, in a way I find hard to describe. He’s in his mid- to late thirties. His face is…well, I have to say craggy. It’s the face of a man. His pale blonde hair is cut short, showing the receding hairline. The pheromones, the aura of testosterone he gives off is almost palpable.

I already know I want his cum. Whatever his offer, my answer will be yes.

He looks like he’s just leaving the leather bar that was further up the block. He’s wearing nothing but leather from head to foot. His visor cap, his vest, his skin-tight jeans and his boots are all black leather. Under the vest he’s wearing nothing but the dark fur covering his firm chest and his flat, hard belly. His dark eyes glint dangerously at me from the darkness under the brim of his cap.

His voice, when it comes, is low and gravelly. Even as I strain to hear, I’m getting hard.

“How much you charge, bitch?” he rasps.

“I ain’t a whore,” I drawl back at him insolently. I can see a tiny spark of interest in those dark eyes. “But I’ll give you the best blow job you’ve ever had—if your dick is worth it. You got enough cock to gag me?”

He grins. His teeth, white and even, catch the reflection of a streetlight further down the block, giving him the predatory gleam of a shark. For some reason, it makes me harder. Again, doesn’t matter. He’s taking me up.

“Get in,” he says, “I’ll run up to that place on the highway. You think you can handle my tool, cunt? We’ll see if you’re as good as you say.”

He floors it. In just a few lust-drenched minutes, we’re in the parking lot of the by-the-hour motel on the interstate access road. He hands me a twenty.

My dick is so hard, I have trouble walking to the office.

He’s parked on the far side of the lot—which is fine; we have a room at the end of the wing. I go directly to the room, as he told me; he gets out of his truck and walks toward me while I unlock the door. He and I enter the room together.

I’m aware of sudden movement on my left. There’s a sudden, bright, painful sensation.

I wake up slowly. There’s pain, lots of it. Where? My jaw, wow, yes, that hurts like fuck. My head in general, yeah. But there’s something else wrong…

As I become more aware of my surroundings, I realize that I’m kneeling. I can’t move my hands. Fuck, I can’t even feel them. They’re bound behind me painfully by something that constricts my wrists tightly enough to cut off my circulation. What is it? Wire? A zip tie? I can’t tell…

The leather dude is sitting on the bed, his vest off, revealing his furry, developed chest. His legs are spread; I’m on my knees between them. His leather button-fly jeans are open, his long engorged member erect in front of me. It’s huge; at least six inches if not longer. It’s swollen an angry purple and oozing clear precum from its tip.

The older dude grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls me upwards. As my head rises in response to his physical summons, I become aware for the first time of several different sensations.

The first is the feeling of something in my mouth. It’s a feeling I’ve experienced before, but never in a sexual setting and it’s very unsettling. There are jaw blocks in my mouth. The only other time I’ve ever experienced this was at the dentist.

They’re designed to keep me from closing my mouth.

I’m also suddenly aware of something circling the back of my neck. It’s about an inch and a half thick—my belt? My jeans are loose and sagging—is he using my belt to force me down onto his cock?

He gives the belt a brutal tug and my face is full of his pubic hair.

Oh fuck he’s plugging my throat hold on he’ll let up soon just hold on and take his shaft you know you want it just hold on he’s pulling out

Air oh thank god air

He’s laughing. He’s talking. What’s he saying?

“Fucking bitch, choke on my fucking cock. Fuck yeah, gag on it, you cunt. Ya wanted to know if it was big enough? How ya likin’ it now, you little slut—big enough for ya?”

He doesn’t give me a chance to reply before his huge shaft is plugging my throat again. I can feel his thick head deep against the base of my tongue as the strap at the back of my neck tightens painfully. I roll my eyes up, my gaze travelling upwards along his hard, hairy body to his face. He sees me looking and sneers. He grunts and gives a great thrust; my nose is flattened against the root of his cock as his bristly pubic hair scratches my face again.

I wish he hadn’t bound my hands. I’d have taken this without restraint. And I want to beat off so fuckin’ bad. This dude knows exactly how to treat a cocksucker like me. I’m pigging out on his dick.

He stops thrusting unexpectedly. I can feel his hand against the back of my head, forcing his cock further down my windpipe with inexorable intensity.

Goddam, I can’t breathe again. Fuckin’ stud is choking me with his dick again. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe oh shit I’m gagging I’m retching oh fuck get it out let me breathe dude let me—

He pulls out and I cough up a huge froth of drool, stringing from my mouth to the massive, glistening head of his meat. It forms a long string that breaks off and splatters on my yellow shirt, streaking it in large moist stripes that reduce it to transparency. My own chest is visible—and this dude seems to like it.

I can just barely glimpse his leering, sneering face beyond the sculpted hairy forest of his chest. He hacks up a large wad of slime and spits in my face. “Fucking faggot,” he grunts, “get back on my cock, you worthless piece of shit.”

I brace for the assault I know is coming. Sure enough, my mouth is full of his meat right away; I get the metallic taste of his precum as he reams my esophagus like a cheap sex toy. Suddenly his thrust increase in speed, force, everything.

Holy fuck, he’s seriously skullfucking me.

Hold on. Just hold on. Cough and spit up the drool. Just hang on. I just need to relax and let him use me. I try to open my throat, to accept his hot fucking cock and milk his seed out of it. I’m only scared when he buries my face deep in his crotch and I can’t see or breathe. I don’t know what he’s doing…

I turn my eyes up again. I can see his strong, furry chest heaving in exertion. He’s sweating heavily. Even from here, I can see it beading on his forehead and matting his chest fur. He’s really working, and really enjoying this. Well, he should. My tongue is working his shaft continually. I love his cock. I love that it’s big enough to gag me. I finally found a dude who can give me what I really want.

He tightens his grip on the belt again; by now, I know enough to inhale deeply as soon as I pick up on what he’s doing. He jams his long hog back down my throat. It sinks so deeply that I’m coughing and gagging involuntarily. Then, in a flash he locks me into place and starts thrusting rapidly.

Jesus, I can feel the bulging veins wrapped around his shaft as he reams out my esophagus. There are repeated blows to my chin, his huge hairy balls slamming into me in time with his pumping.

Fuck, dude, enough. My eyes are watering. I’m gagging—fuck, man, let me breathe. I’m gonna pass out if you don’t ease up. C’mon, man, please…

Oh shit he’s not letting up. Fuck, man, this ain’t cool. I can’t turn my head away, not with your dick so far down my throat. I can’t push you off with my hands bound. I can’t even close my jaws—

Oh shit oh fuck no dude please this isn’t what I want please let up dude please I need air soon oh god please—

Oh thank god he’s pulling back not far still down my throat but I’m unplugged air I have some air…

He presses one hand back against my forehead while pulling forward with the belt, turning my face up to his with my mouth still full of cock. “Fucking faggot,” he whispers as he spits in my face, “is it big enough for ya, you fuckin’ slut? Ya like choking on my cock, huh? Yeah, you fucking choke pig, look how hard your dick is, you piece of shit. Now be a good little piggy and drown on my cum.”

Wait. man, no. Please don’t fuckin’ do this, I don’t wanna—

Oh fuck he’s in me again he’s standing up what the fuck…he’s dragging me along, his dick like a fishhook in my mouth. The wall. He’s got my back against the wall thrusting he’s thrusting again—

He’s slamming my head against the wall. It hurts. I can feel his tight, leather-covered legs pressed against my drool-soaked chest, flexing rhythmically as he pumps his rod down my throat.

He doesn’t pull out, though. Not enough for me to breathe.

Gotta hang on. Maybe if I can make him cum, he won’t kill me. He wants to get off. Maybe. Maybe.

Keep awake. Stay awake. Oh fuck it hurts. It hurts bad. My head the wall his cock my chest my lungs I can hear my heart fuck it’s so fast oh shit I’m so scared so why the fuck is my dick so hard it hurts what the fuck is going on…

He’s cursing me, calling me faggot, whore, slut. His voice is fading, though. There’s a loud pounding in my head is that my heart is that his shaft plugging my windpipe

My face itches it’s his pubic hair my face mashed into his groin his powerful thighs clamping down on my skull to lock me into place so he can inch his tool further down my throat fuck dude you’re so far down inside me just cum please just give me your load that’s all I want right now fuck it just unload in me man—

Please dude quick it’s going dark I’m losing it I can’t hold on much longer just fucking shoot your sperm inside me and let me go—

black flowers blooming in my face hot hot inside me fuck molten lead is that his cum it burns bad it burns so bad not as bad as my own oh fuck i’m cumming jesus never like this before oh fuck he’s pumping his seed directly into my lungs—

he grabs my head and jerks the belt violently holy fuck that cracking sound lighting i’ve been hit by fucking lighting the electric shock fuck i can’t feel my body anymore what the fuck happened what did he do i can still feel his cock spewing in my mouth—

oh my god cold dark his hair in my face his cock swelling and pumping in my mouth buzzing what’s that buzzing sound oh shit it’s—