Fantasy Scenario 7

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fantasy Scenario 6

On June 28, 2015January 15, 2016 By m3mayhemIn Fantasy Scenario Series1 Comment

Wow. These kids get younger each year. Maybe it’s just that I’m getting older. It doesn’t matter. But I seem to save fewer of them as time goes by.

It doesn’t matter. I still love my work. Pain and fear still exist. The fuckmeat still squeals and dies in a welter of blood and semen. Nothing changes.

Thank God!

The one I’m watching is Mexican. Straight black hair, beautiful black eyes. He’s adorable. I’m gonna cum so hard when he dies.

He’s hustling as hard as he can. Skin-tight faded jeans highlight his junk. He must be wearing a cockring; I’ve been watching him for twenty minutes and he’s been rock hard the entire time. Oh, that’s good. This is gonna be fun.

I know this boy’s a whore and already lost and beyond redemption. But I’m feeling wild tonight, so this will be perfect. I have some frustrations to work out. This one’s gonna be messy.

He hasn’t had any luck. They seem to be going for the more well-built rentboys tonight; this kid is slim, almost a swimmer’s build. He’s got on a simple white t-shirt and a pair of scuffed lace-up work boots.

He looks like part of a landscaping crew and that may be what he does during the day. This may just be a sideline to make some extra money.

Oh, I hope he’s straight. His suffering will be so much more intense.

Ok, he’s the only one left on the street now. Time to get the show going. He’s grateful that he’s got a paying customer and hops in my car right away. I ask him how much he wants for a blowjob and then punch him in the face hard. He stares at me, stunned. I pop him on the jaw and put out his lights.

He’s out for a while, which is good, because it’s a long drive. I’ve saved this location for a special occasion. It’s an abandoned house way out of town near the intersection of a couple of two-lane state highways. The nearest inhabited building is a cement plant about a mile and a half up one of the highways, and at this hour, it’s closed. And it’s not guarded; I’d checked.

I needed a place in a middle of nowhere. See, this one gets to scream.

I’ve already got a mattress and my steel frame in place. I’d made this one custom for this situation; I’d been planning it for some time and had set up everything I needed in advance.

I strip the kid of everything—I was right, he’s got thick leather cockring on, which I leave in place–but put his boots back on. I love it when they die with their boots on. Did you know that’s the title of a movie? It’s an old western.

Doubt I could get anyone to produce the porno I’d want to go with that title.

Bitchboy goes on his back on the mattress. This frame has two pairs of upright posts at one end of the mattress. The whore’s hands are tied to one pair and his ankles to the other. He’s lying there with his fuckhole in the air, unable to move. Perfect.

Even better—he’s starting to wake up. This is an almost unique experience for me; I think it’s the first one I’ve done where my snuff toy wasn’t drugged. This should be fun.

None of his senses will be dulled. There won’t be any chemical joy offsetting the horror. He’s going to experience this in a way none of the others did.

He gives a loud moan as I stuff my thick cock into his ass. He’s only semi-conscious, but he’s coming around quickly. Little Mexican cunt has been fucked before—but never like this, I’ll bet.

He’s awake now. Awake and unhappy. He’s yelling at me in Spanish and twisting his body, trying to get away from my dick.

Tough luck—the kid’s impaled on my meat and isn’t going anywhere. He’s scared, but he doesn’t want to show it, so he’s acting tough and threatening to hurt me. So sweet and smooth with those soft black eyes, trying to be intimidating—I love him and am almost moved to pity.

Almost. Not quite. Time to turn it up.

“Shut up, you fucking cholo cocksucker,” I snarl at him. “You’ve had plenty of cocks up your faggot fuckhole. You ain’t ever had anyone like me, though. My dick ain’t the only hard thing that’s getting stuck into you. I’m gonna hurt you, fucker, and there’s not a goddam thing you can do about it. You’re gonna like there and suffer like a punk bitch so I can cum.”

“What? What the fuck are you talking about? Get the fuck off me, you fucking psycho bastard; I’m gonna fuck you up! GET FUCKIN’ OFF ME!!”

He’s yelling because there’s nothing else he can do. His legs are tied back up over his head, rope looped around his booted ankles running to the steel posts at the end of the mattress. The only part of his body he can really move is his ass—and I’m so deep in him that he can’t manage to squirm off my dick, hard as he tries.

I start pounding his hole as hard as I can, relentlessly fucking the living shit out of him. He screams loudly; it must really hurt since I’m not using any lube but my own spit. But this is only foreplay, of course. He may not know it, but this is the most fun he’s gonna have tonight.

I mean, the LAST fun he’s gonna have tonight.

I keep reaming him till he settles down. Good little whore; now he’s starting to enjoy it. I love him so much. It’s a shame he can’t be saved. Thanks ok, though; I’ll send him off right. He starts moaning with pleasure. And then—he’s working his ass in synch with my thrusts. He’s matching my rhythm. Damn—little spic whore is good!

He really wants me to cum. He’s working desperately to make me give him my load. He has no idea what it’s gonna take to get that—but I think it’s about time he found out. I pick up my knife from the floor beside the mattress.

It’s a black Ka-bar seven-inch serrated fighting knife. It’s a vicious, brutal tool that’s designed to kill. I let the fuckmeat get a good look at it.

“What, did you think I was gonna blow a wad into you and be done like one of your usual tricks? You’re gonna have to do more than that to get my sperm, cumpig. You’re gonna have to die like the worthless fucking faggot whore you are. I’m gonna cut your useless pig throat. Watching you bleed out and die in agony is gonna make me shoot. That’s how this ends for you, bleeding and dying on my cock.”

He looks at the knife and then back at my face, those amazing eyes wide with terror. He’s trying to process what’s happening. His brain isn’t able to handle it; the idea that his existence is about to end just won’t compute.

I make it compute. Without missing a stoke in my fucking, I lean down and kiss him, ramming my tongue deep in his mouth. Then I take my knife and start slicing into his throat.

Slowly.

He screams; oh my god, does he scream. Deep whooping shrieks. Oh, it’s beautiful. Each one resonates throughout his entire body and works my shaft life a velvet glove.

This takes some precision. I don’t want him dying too soon. I want to savor these precious moments. I have to grab his hair in one hand to hold his head still while I slice deeper into his tender, exposed throat, carefully avoiding the carotid and the jugular. The last thing I want if for him to bleed out too soon.

He’s still shrieking; the pain must be phenomenal. Let’s see if I can intensify the horror for him.

“Fucking die, you whore. You’re gonna leave this world with my dick in your worthless guts. You’re gonna scream and bleed and suffer and it’s gonna last as long as I want it to, to make me cum. I’m gonna dump my load into you and throw out your rotting meat like garbage. I want this to hurt, punk. The more you suffer, the more I enjoy it. Look into my eyes and see how much I want to hurt you, fucker.”

He obeys and stares into my eyes, but he doesn’t stop shrieking. His screams get louder as he realizes how much pain I can inflict on him at will. It’s incredibly erotic, how consumed with terror his is. As I lie on top of him, I feel a warmth spreading over my groin and belly. Thanks to his too-tight cockring, he’s still sporting a serious tent pole, but he’s lost control of his bladder. He’s pissing himself in fear.

Still screaming. I’m so glad I found this place; this isn’t something I could have done closer to town. The tempo of his cries increases with the speed of my thrusts while I’m fucking him. But I’m so close to shooting my wad. Time to grant my beautiful fuckmeat its release.

I plant one hand squarely on the Mexican’s face and slash into his throat as hard as I can, penetrating the carotid and the trachea simultaneously. Suddenly, my adorable cholo isn’t screaming any more; he’s gargling. The gout of blood that’s been pouring over my hand changes to a pink froth as the punk bitch struggles futilely to breathe. His head shudders beneath my hand as his rectum spasms against the engorged head of my cock. I cum explosively in his ass as I hear his last breath gurgle out of his mangled airway and see his eyes glaze over.

Oh, it’s the best one yet. And I wasn’t even able to save him.

What shall I do with my next true lost soul?

Fantasy Scenario 2

On June 28, 2015May 18, 2016 By m3mayhemIn Fantasy Scenario Series1 Comment

I looked down at the boy-whore I’d tied to the bed and wondered when he’d wake up. Or if; I’d hit him pretty hard. I hoped he would. I wanted him to be awake. It’s not as much fun if they don’t know they’re dying.

He’d been hustling as hard as he could. I spotted him turning the corner off the main drag and had followed him down a side street to pick him up, making damn sure no one saw him get into my car. It looked like he’d struck out so far tonight, which was surprising. He was short but muscular, very well built, with long hair worn in a kind of mullet. And there was no question he was on the make. Combat boots and jean cutoffs, with nothing but a leather vest above, showing his sculpted chest and abs—he might as well have had “slut” tattooed on his forehead.

Perfect. He’d probably fight, but there are ways to solve that problem. And no one misses the whores.

As it turned out, there was no fight. He asked me to pull up in an alleyway so he could run into a house about halfway down and buy some crack. The tire iron I keep in the back seat comes in handy sometimes; he was just turning to open the door when I cracked him in the skull with it. Instant ragdoll.

Not for the first time, I was glad that I’d rented a miserable little apartment in a bad neighborhood. As none of the exterior lights ever worked, no one saw me carry my latest fuckmeat inside. I laid him facedown on the bed and pulled his shorts off. He got to keep his boots and vest—they were no obstruction to my fucking him.

I locked him into place by looping lengths of rope around his boots and tying each one to opposite sides of the headboard so his legs would stay spread. While cuffing his hands in front of him so they’d be pinned under his body, I noticed a trickle of blood from his ear and wondered if I’d fractured his skull. I’d still fuck him, of course, but it’d be a shame if he didn’t wake up.

Fucking them feels good, but inflicting pain and terror gets me off. What can I say? I’m a sick fuck.

But I have a helluva good time.

And I was gonna make sure this kid had a helluva bad time.

My first thought had been simply to hold his face down in the mattress and suffocate him, but I decided that just wouldn’t hurt enough. I went to the dresser and pulled two items from the top drawer. One was a bottle of poppers. I use them on occasion, but they’re mostly for the fuckmeat. I’ve gotten very good at closing off their mouth and one nostril with only one hand. I hold the bottle in the other; with only one nostril to breathe through, I can force the fumes on them anytime I want. You’d be amazed at how much a nice strong rush helps at the end. Makes them really work my cock. I usually don’t use it if I’m strangling them; they’ll thrash and cum on their own. But if I’m doing something else, a good hit of the poppers helps them shoot, no matter how much agony they’re in.

And this little bitch was going to be in a lot of pain. The other item I removed from the drawer was a razor-sharp hunting knife.

I was stroking my shaft, getting warmed up when the fuckmeat started moaning. Good; he was waking up. I looked at the knife again and thought about the agony I’d be putting him though. The thought made the head of my dick drip. It also put me in mind of the thin walls in this fleabag.

He still hadn’t fully regained consciousness when I fastened the ballgag onto him. One of these days I’m gonna have to build a soundproof room somewhere. I like it when they scream.

He was just starting to struggle when I slammed my tool into his ass. The gag muffled his screams, but he still made a lot of noise.

“Shut up, bitch,” I snarled. “This is what you were looking for. Shut up and enjoy it; you’ll get paid well when I’m done.”

He calmed down. I could feel his firm, smooth body relax under me. Rough play was familiar to him; he’d probably whored himself out for worse. He was likely more pissed than anything else, but he’d take it if it meant more money to buy crack. Even having his hands cuffed in front of him wasn’t too uncomfortable so far since I hadn’t rested my full body weight on top of him yet.

I slammed myself down onto him, thrusting my dick deep inside as he let out another stifled scream. I reached up and pinched off his nose, counting out a good thirty seconds as he writhed and fought. Releasing one nostril, I brought up the bottle of poppers and held there for a count of twenty.

As the rush swept over him, I held the knife in front of his face.

“This is for you,” I whispered into his ear. “I’m gonna ram this into you the way I’m ramming your bitch asshole with my dick. I’m gonna stick you like a pig and fuck you while you bleed out. You’re gonna die impaled on my cock and my blade. It’s gonna hurt bad, fuckmeat; it’s gonna hurt so bad when I twist my cold hard steel inside your quivering flesh. My cum is gonna spurt inside you while your blood is spurting out.”

Excellent. He went into full wide-eyed terror. I controlled his panicked attempts to break free; the only result of his frenzied fight to escape death was the movement of his ass on my rod. Nothing feels so good on my cock like fuckmeat fighting futilely for its life.

“Work it, bitch,” I moaned, “work my dick. If you can make me shoot before I shank you, I’ll let you live.” A promise that I could give freely. Shanking him was what was going to make me shoot.

Damn, his little whore ass was good. He’d had a lot of experience. And the hope of staying alive was powerful motivation. Time for another blast of poppers.

Then it’d be time to kill that hope—along with the rest of him.

I held the bottle to his nose much longer this time. Almost too long—he passed out for a moment. His limp body bobbed on the bed in time to the thrusting of my hips.

As soon as he raised his head again, I bent down to whisper in his ear. “Guess what, ya little bitch? I lied—gonna shank ya anyway. Time to die like the useless garbage you are, you fuckin’ whore. Gonna bleed you out and let you die like a dog so I can blow my load. Gonna use your meat as a cumdump and throw you away to fester and rot.”

I filled his final minutes on earth with mind-bending terror and pain. Clenching his hair in my left hand, I forced his head down into the mattress. With my right hand, I rammed the knife through his leather vest into his kidney. I brutally twisted the knife in the wound, carving and slicing into his flesh and organs.

Oh god, how hard he rode my cock. The agonized writhing of his ass milked the spunk out of my shaft. I pulled the knife out and thrust it in again—and again, and again, each time grinding into the wound to inflict as much pain and damage as possible. Each thrust of the knife was accompanied by a spray of cum into the fuckmeat’s ass.

A pool of moisture was forming under the whore’s belly. Not blood; most of the bleeding was internal. It was spunk and it couldn’t have been a reflex. In the end, amid all the fear and pain, the meat had understood that he had always wanted to die as a fucktoy and had shot his final wad. They always do. Deep down inside, they all want to get fucked to death.

I stabbed him a dozen times, filling him with cum each time. I avoided the major organs at first, but at the end, I slammed the knife into his heart with all the force I could, shattering a rib on the way in. The kid went rigid with the death blow, his breath forced out of him in a long, low moan. He bent his body backwards, trying to draw in air; his cheek brushed against mine. It was a vain effort. His lung had collapsed and his quivering heart was slicing itself to shreds on the knife still buried in his back. His body jerked twice, squeezing the last few drops of sperm from my cock. Then he went limp.

I don’t do the whores again after I’ve wasted them. It doesn’t matter how pretty their meat is; they’re whores and death does not purify them. They’re fun for playtime, but they remain unworthy of my love. All that was left now was rotting meat, to be taken out with the rest of the trash. I don’t even bother dismembering them; I know a nice dry creek bed that’s completely secluded. By the time the corpse is found, rain runoff will have washed it miles from the point I dumped it and time will have taken care of the details.

Of course, by the next time it rains, there may be more than one body to wash away. Who knows? There are so many whores out there; whores who in depths of their sick hearts crave the death that I bring them. This is my true calling—to bring peace and rest to those in need.

Meat Chronicles 17–Carnivore Uncaged

On June 27, 2015February 8, 2017 By m3mayhemIn Meat ChroniclesLeave a comment

Finally. I’m back out on the hunt. It’s been too long; I’ve had too much shit to deal with recently to go prowling for prey, but I’m back.

I’m hungry for meat.

Among other things, I got a new van. Didn’t want to tool around too long in the last car; it coulda been recognized at a dump site. This one’s nice. Lotta nice features.

The plastic lining the back isn’t standard. Did that myself. Covered as much of the interior as I can; no sense in leaving trace evidence.

Although the way I’m feeling today, there’ll be more than just “trace” evidence. Gonna take more than that to sate the hunger and rage inside.

It’s a warm night for this time of year. I’m in a major shopping center; there’s lots of meat out and about. There’s also a fair amount of security in some of these stores, but at the moment, I’m way out in the middle of the parking lot. There’s the strip mall dead ahead, the big-box store on my left and more strip mall behind me. To my right, I can see the back side of several fast food places and boutique stores facing the main street.

It’s late afternoon. The sky is strange; huge low heavy clouds sit oppressively overhead, but the sun is shining through a break. It seems so much brighter contrasted with the dark, lowering ceiling overhead. Everything is suffused with a golden light.

There aren’t too many cars near me, so I have a pretty good view. Not much to look at, though. There are a few hot boys running around, but they’re all either too far away or accompanied by someone. So I wait.

As the bronze rays of the sun slowly begin to slant away, the security light behind the restaurant closest to me comes on. Just after it does, I see the back door swing open and my meat steps out.

He doesn’t know he’s my meat yet. He’s young; looks like he’s about eighteen or nineteen. Tall, lean and lanky but not scrawny. Above his full lips his face is angular but no more acne-scarred than the average teenager. Just below his smoky blue-gray eyes, his straight nose is interrupted by a swelling; it appears to have been broken at some point in the past.

Good. He’s experienced pain…

In this light, his long blond hair has an amazing golden glow. It’s very straight except for a slight curl at the ends, just above his shoulders. As he turns and I can see his profile, I also notice the haze of shining curls on his chin, a tuft of blond hair there catching the light.

He must be about six, six one. He’s in a black t-shirt that clings tightly to his boyish chest, his pecs two small rises with a shallow valley between. Below his flat belly tight skinny jeans hug his rounded ass and outline a long ridge in his crotch. As his denim-wrapped legs taper to his black leather hightop sneakers, I can imagine his firm thighs tightening around me in agony…

Ok, deep breath. Let’s see what it takes to get the punk. He’s smoking a cigarette and talking on his phone. I’m about twenty yards away, but with the window down I can just barely make out the gist of his conversation.

He’s yelling at someone who was supposed to give him a ride home but didn’t answer his texts. Sounds like he’s talking to voicemail. Poor little guy; maybe he needs a lift. I can do that. But I don’t just wanna pull up in my van and offer a ride; that’d most likely raise a red flag.

This is what it means to be a hunter. It’s a gamble, literally; you’re betting that you’ll get a better shot at your prey while risking allowing him to escape. I wait.

He hangs up, tosses his butt aside and paces angrily for a couple of minutes. I continue to wait, wanting to see what he does. The length and force of his strides decreases as he walks off his frustration.

I settle back, waiting for my cue. It’ll come soon. My heart is pounding with anticipation; I know it’s coming soon. My cock is hard and oozing already but I’m focused and ready to pounce.

The lithe blond punk pauses and glances around. He slips his cigarette pack out again, but what he pulls out is slimmer and more irregular then a cigarette. He lights his joint and inhales deeply, closing his eyes in pleasure. It’s the opening I’ve been looking for.

I start my van and ease out of my parking space. I slowly coast down the row and turn right. The kid is facing away from me; good—he doesn’t hear me until I’m right up on him. He turns, startled, hiding the weed behind him with a guilty expression.

I grin nonchalantly. “Dude, you got another of those?” I ask him casually. “I’ll give ya five bucks; my guy can’t find any right now.”

He gives me a startled glance, but there’s no suspicion in his naïve boyish face. “Yeah, I got more,” he says slowly, eying me very closely. Is the little cunt cruising me? Goddam faggot—I knew it. “Ya wanna buy some? Gimme a lift and I’ll make ya a deal. My ride bailed on me.”

“Not a prob,” I chuckle, “hop in, dude.” He strolls around to the passenger side and climbs in. Fuck, his jeans are clinging so tightly to his slim, firm legs—it’s all I can do to resist jumping him right now. But I don’t; not yet. I need to get someplace private.

“Where we goin’?” I drawl. He gives me directions to one of the suburbs on the east side of town. Kinda a low-rent district. “Ok, I can do that,” I reply. “So whaddaya got to sell?”

“Dude,” he grins, his young, eager face framed by his long blond locks, “I gotta half-ounce tucked down inside my shoe right now.”

“That’ll work,” I smile back, “but I gotta run by my place and get the money first. I don’t tool around with a lot of cash.”

He agrees cheerfully. Perfect. I pull over in a residential area. “Get in the back,” I tell the kid, “I don’t want my girl to see ya; I got enough explainin’ to do as it is.” His beautiful cloudy gray eyes rest hesitantly on mine for a moment, but the punk is too stoned to pick up on any danger signals. He gives another big goofy grin. “Sure, dude,” he lilts, “don’t wanna cause a problem.”

“Don’t worry,” I say as I unbuckle my seat belt and start to follow him into the rear of the van, “you won’t.”

“Huh?” he grunts confusedly, turning his wide, slightly unfocused eyes towards me, “what’s that—unhh!”

He gives a loud grunt as I drive my fist into his face. The sound makes me hard.

The kid falls to his knees, mewling in pain. I grab a fistful of his long blond hair and yank his head back until I can look into his stunned eyes. “Welcome to hell, cunt,” I whisper, smiling into his vacant, horrified face before I slam my fist back into it, putting out his lights. He drops to the floor with a thump.

Well, I ain’t gonna do him here. Too exposed, too much traffic. But I can do a little prep work so he knows what to expect.

Stripping him isn’t difficult but I take a little time—not too much; I’m still on a main street—just enough to enjoy myself. I pull off his black t-shirt, still damp and reeking with boysweat, and toss it to one side. Rolling him flat on his back, I sit on his crotch, facing him, feeling his thick dick pressing against my ass through my tight jeans—and his. He moans thickly, his long eyelashes fluttering as I run my hand down his smooth, firm chest. After fondling his flat belly, I drive my fist into it violently, just to hear that erotic grunt again.

I like to fuck my meat with its shoes on, so his don’t come off. His jeans are too tight to pull off over them. Well, I wanted to get my knife out anyway…

I haven’t used it in a while. It’s so fucking hot; I’m already hard, but holding it makes me drip. It’s a Ka-bar knife with a seven-inch black steel blade. The last three inches towards the hilt are serrated. It’s vicious and clearly designed to inflict maximum damage. It slices through kid’s denim like it was butter, laying bare his muscled legs, covered with a faint fine down of blond hair.

Little motherfucker is commando under. Figures. Stupid bitch probably wants to get used. Well, fuck, guess he’s in for a good time, then—cause I’m damn sure gonna use him good and hard.

In fact, I’m gonna use him right the fuck up.

I was right about his cock, a long snake-like tube of flesh coiled in the golden nest of his pubic hair. I flip the limp slut over and admire his smooth taut bubble butt. Goddam, I can’t wait to plow that tight fuckhole. But I gotta get somewhere private, so I restrain myself—and restrain my meat. His hands go behind his back; I make sure the zip tie is painfully tight.

Later on, I’m gonna spread his legs and rape his smooth teen ass, but right now, I don’t need him kicking around in the back of my van, so I loop his belt around his ankles—a thick black leather strap. I cinch it tight, just above his hightops and white tube socks. I need to keep him quiet; just before climbing back into the driver’s seat, I ball up his reeking t-shirt and shove it in his mouth.

I also make sure to leave the knife where he can see it if he wakes up.

I’m not too far from one of my favorite killing grounds, a semi-deserted industrial area where I know I can get some privacy for at least an hour. That should be enough time to fuck and waste the meat.

It takes a couple of minutes to find the right spot—an enclosed yard containing the loading dock for a defunct factory. Isolated and dark, it hasn’t been used for years for any legitimate purpose. Judging by the amount of broken glass strewn across the cracked, streaked asphalt, it hasn’t been used for any other in quite a while too. Which makes it perfect, but I have to drive carefully.

The meat is awake. I can hear him struggling and jerking, a series of frantic muffled grunts and cries coming from his plugged-up mouth. Good—hope he’s seen the knife.

If not, that’s okay. He’ll see it soon enough anyway.

I ease my van in and shut off the ignition. I step into the rear and turn on the overhead light I had put in, attached directly to the battery. There’s a curtain I can draw to close off the front; with the tinted windows in the rear, no one can see in—not that there’s anyone within at least a mile.

I stand over the meat, looking down at him in the dim light. His face is smeared with tears and snot; he’s clearly terrified. His fear exudes from his hard nude body like an erotic musk. It’s time.

I bend down and snatch the sweaty t-shirt, now soaked with drool, out of the teen’s mouth. It doesn’t matter if he screams now; there’s no one to hear. And I want him to scream.

I like it when the meat screams.

The punk looks up at me, his long blond hair in disarray. When he speaks, his voice quavers in fear. “What-what ya doin’ man? What ya goin’ to do to me?” he whines.

I don’t say anything. Looking down at him with a leer on my face, I pull off my shirt. His smoky eyes slide over my hairy, muscular chest before returning to my face with obvious trepidation. He still doesn’t get it.

Without saying a word, I unzip my fly and let my long, thick, dripping hog flop out.

The kid’s eyes become large round circles and his face pales visibly. “No,” he whispers shakily, “please, fuck, no. Oh God, no, please, don’t do this…” He trails off into broken sobs.

Still not saying anything, I pick up my knife. The meat sees me and gasps, then begins blubbering incoherently. Ignoring him, I bend down and cut the belt binding his legs. Deep in the iron grip of terror, the teen doesn’t try to move; he shudders and trembles as I run my hand up his smooth firm thighs, parting them forcefully so I can get at his fuckhole.

As I kneel between his legs, the boy writhes on his back, his hands bound agonizingly under him. He knows what’s coming; grimacing, he turns his head to the side, tears slipping out from under his long pale lashes.

I move slowly, caressing his smooth boytaint with the oozing head of my dick, letting him feel the massive mushroom tip that’s about to get jammed up his ass. I make sure he doesn’t miss the point. “Yeah, cocksucker, feels good, don’t it? Think how it’s gonna feel when it’s reaming your guts out through your asshole!”

He gasps in fear—or pleasure. It sounds the same. But it’s not his gasping I wanna hear; it’s his screaming. I know how to get it.

Without warning, I plunge my swollen cock into his hole, ramming my vein-wrapped dong as far in as I can, grinding my dark pubic hair into the cunt’s smooth asscheeks. His shriek is loud and piercing—and beautiful. There’s no one for miles, so he can scream as much as he want. Fuck, it’s so goddam hot, the way his body tenses and his silky rectum tightens on my dick like a velvet glove…

The punk takes a deep, shuddering gasp and screams again. The vibration begins in his vocal cords and runs the length of his taut body. I moan out loud. “Fuck yeahhhhh…..”

He turns his head back towards me, his innocent teen face staring into my eyes in pain. “You like hurting me…” he whispers faintly as he pales with horror.

I grin down at him. “Yeah, you fuckin’ faggot. And trust me, you ain’t begun to start hurtin’ yet.”

He glares up at me defiantly. “I ain’t no faggot. And I ain’t gonna help you get off, fucker. You wanna hear me scream? Tough shit. Rape me all fuckin’ night, but I ain’t gonna scream.”

I piledrive my fist into his face, straight from my shoulder. The feisty teen fuckmeat gives another deep grunt of pain and shock as his head rocks back violently. I don’t say a word—I don’t need to. I just pick up my knife and lay it on the cunt’s flat, heaving belly.

My cock remains buried in the bitch’s hole the entire time. His colon massages my swollen, sensitive shaft as he jerks and claws his way back to consciousness. He lifts his head up off the floor, looking down at the knife resting on his abdomen. His left eye is already starting to swell and darken. He’s silent. Stupid fucking teen, but he knows what it means. I can see it in his face.

“Don’t think I can make ya scream, motherfucker? Wanna bet? You’re gonna be screamin’ like the bitch you are, you worthless homo piece of shit. You’re gonna scream and scream but the only way the pain is gonna stop is when I cum. Know what it’s gonna take to make me cum? You gotta die. That’s all there is for ya, pain and death. You’re gonna be a meat puppet filled with my spunk and left to rot in a ditch. How ya like that, you fuckin’ stoned-ass punk cunt?”

Fear rendering the queer punk unable to hold his rebellious glare, the boycunt ducks his head and whimpers. He’s coming to understand that his lithe, lean, smooth body is mine to use as I want. Understanding, however, is not acceptance. And it’s not compliance.

I lay down on top of him, the weight of my muscles holding down his slim teen body, forcing his hands agonizingly into the small of his back—I can see his pain in his eyes. It’s beautiful. It makes me want to hurt him more.

I slowly pump my engorged shaft deep within the youth’s quivering, traumatized rectum. The meat responds to each thrust with faint gasp, almost a moan, his pain-wracked face taut with panic. I can feel his warm, firm body twist and press against me as he seeks to escape from the penetrating agony of my huge cock reaming into his guts.

“Yeah, you worthless little fuck, ya like that, dontcha? Goddam faggot cunt, you love that massive fuckin’ tool plugging your hole, huh? Is that it? You like the way it hurts, fuckmeat? Fuckin’-A, yeah, dude, the way you’re ridin’ my cock, you gotta love it. And I know it hurts, bitch, cause I’m makin’ it hurt. So don’t worry, you worthless pain pig, I’m about to amp up the agony—fuck, meat, I’m gonna hurt you so motherfuckin’ good!”

I grab a fistful of the boy’s hair and pull him down to the floor, forcing my full weight on top of him. As he whines and struggles under me, I slip my other hand down his side, the knife gripped tightly in my fingers. I raise my head up slightly, clenching my fist and pulling up on his hair painfully. His lashes part and I meet the plea in those smoky blue eyes with a cold stare.

I sneer slightly just before I insert the knife into the kid’s flank, slowly inching the sharp, serrated blade into his liver.

The kid’s mouth opens. His face draws back into a rictus of pain; his slim, lithe body contracts around me, his tight legs gripping me tightly in a desperate reflex to trauma. I shudder and gasp as his asshole clamps down on my dick. Fuck, this one’s good. This one is responsive.

This ain’t just meat, this is steak. I need to savor it.

I let go of the knife, leaving it buried up to the hilt in the boy’s heaving, sweating flesh. I don’t want him to bleed out. I let him know.

“Goddam, you’re good fuckin’ meat. Lucky motherfuckin’ cunt, I ain’t gonna kill ya right away–gotta say, bitch, you really know how to enjoy the pain. Holy fuck, if this is getting’ ya off this much, I can’t wait to see what kinda reaction I’ll get from the nightmarish agony I got planned…”

The teen’s face is white but for the huge dark rings of shock forming around his eyes—on his left, it merges with the swollen, bruised skin from his earlier tenderizing. Even a good cut of meat needs some preparation. But he’s hitting the peak of the pain reaction; his body is relaxing, he’s gasping for air in a high-pitched squeal, his teen fuckhole is loosening on my cock.

“Yeah, faggot, that was good for me. Was it good for you? No? Didn’t hurt enough? Geez, dude, you really are a sick fuckin’ pain perv, aintcha? Ok, then, here ya go, ya worthless piece a’ homo shit, ya like this?”

As I lean over and spit into the kid’s face, his look of terrified incomprehension is beautiful. I’m about to recall him into the moment…

Grasping the knife tightly, I begin twisting it inside the youth. The razor-sharp steel slices effortlessly through his liver and spleen. I jerk the hilt brutally upwards, slashing into the teen’s kidney. The serrated edge comes in handy when I encounter some gristle. I look deep into the meat’s eyes as I saw through the obstruction.

He reacts exactly as I’d hoped, black sneakers kicking against my back as his legs grip me again, tightly, desperately, his firm chest slipping over mine on a sheen of cold, agonized sweat leaking out of his abused body. He tightens up even on the inside and I feel my cock swell as if his rectum was forming a vacuum.

“God-fuckin-dam, you motherfuckin’ pain whore! See, I knew it. Ya like that, yeah? How ya like this, meat—I’m about to waste your useless ass. You are about to die in screaming agony and they’re gonna find your body rotting in a ditch full of my cum. Ya like that, ya fuckin’ stoned-ass faggot pig? If not, ya got ten seconds to learn to love it, cocksucker, cause it’s time to die…

…eventually.”

It’s my favorite way of offing my meat with a knife, because I can take my time. The pain the meat endures is excruciating if I do it slowly, and they remain aware of what’s happening for a long time.

I like that.

I swiftly jerk the knife out of the kid’s side, managing to elicit another physical contraction. I have to hold him and shudder for a moment; fuck, that sensation around my shaft… Ok, ok, I need to maintain control. The best part is yet to come—so to speak. I hold up the blade, watching it glisten in the dim overhead light, before I point the razor-sharp, crimson-stained tip at just about the punk’s Adam’s apple.

Rotating the knife ninety degrees and holding it parallel to his throat, I shove the tip up under his jaw, near the rear of the mouth. As the tip penetrates the skin, releasing a thin trail of blood from the wound, the meat begins the greatest sexual performance of his wasted young life.

Again, he clamps his hard, sweaty legs around me in an unconscious, reflexive embrace. I can feel the heels of his sneakers digging into my thrusting ass as I continue to pump my thick, engorged shaft into the dying teen’s fuckhole. He jerks and thrashes in mortal pain and fear as I slowly insert my steel shaft into his head.

As the blade moves upward, I make sure to describe what’s going on to the meat; I want him to enjoy this as much as I do.

“Ok, cunt, can ya feel that? That’s my knife slicing up through the base of yer tongue. Y’know, like ya can get sliced tongue at the deli? Think of it like that. But I’m doing it to your tongue while my dick is up yer ass. That get ya off, ya pain pig? No? Fuck, ya coulda fooled me, the way your tight fuckin’ teen ass is suckin’ down my cock as I off ya. So let’s kick it up some, huh?

He’s thrashing violently, his face purple with strain and twisted by pain into an almost unrecognizable mask. But I can still see the occasional pimple on his teen face, the golden tuft of fur on his chin, now stained with the blood leaking out his gasping mouth—he’s still my stoned teen meat, writhing against me as I put his flesh to its highest and best use…

I tighten my large bicep, shoving the blade further into the kid’s head as I shove my massive rod deeper into his helpless guts.

“Hell yeah, dude, I bet your tongue is almost cut in half by now and the tip of my blade is goin’ up through the roof of your mouth. Fuck, bitch, that’s gotta fuckin’ hurt—good thing you’re a worthless pain pig, huh?”

Suddenly, the smooth progress of my knife is interrupted. The vicious tip of the blade jams into something solid. I make sure the meat knows that I won’t let it stop me.

“Damn, looks like I hit somethin’—must be the bottom of your sinuses. Goddam, you lucky fucking piece of shit fuckmeat, you get to hear my blade getting’ rammed through the bottom of your skull while you get to feel my dick shred your punk fuckhole.”

His eyes are huge and frantic. I’m not sure how much comprehension remains behind those amazing blue-gray orbs, now bloodshot and staring fixedly. But I haven’t touched his brain yet, so there’s nothing neurologically wrong. The pain, the knife will cut through his terror. He’ll be there for the money shot.

It begins as I press down on the boy’s head with one hand while I drive the knife upwards with the other. As the cunt struggles in my hands, I’m rewarded with the deeply erotic crunch of steel penetrating bone while my dick simultaneously penetrates the meat’s quivering teen rectum.

“What’s it feel like, motherfucker? What’s it feel like to have a serrated blade rammed up though your sinuses? What’s it feel like to ride both my cock and my blade down into agonizing death? I know you’re still in there, you fucking homo piece of shit, I know you can still hear me the same way you can still feel my dick up your ass.”

I smile sweetly into the punk’s crazed, horrified face, releasing the top of his head to stoke his strained, tear-streaked face before resuming my grip.

“You won’t feel your death; you’ll just feel your body and your senses shut down. But at some point, I’ll hit the point your brain that controls orgasm. At the moment of death, you’ll cum uncontrollably. When they find your discarded rotting corpse, they’ll find your own DNA.

Everyone is gonna think you wanted this, you fuckin’ cunt. They’re gonna think you wanted to get fucked to death—and you do, dontcha? This is what ya really want. So just enjoy it. I’m gonna fuck yer ass with my dick and yer brain with my blade; I’m gonna use your body to get off and I’m gonna throw your cum-filled body into the gutter like a used rubber, and ain’t no one gonna give a shit. So get ready to spunk and die, you faggot; get ready to have your fuckin’ pain pig death left in the street for everyone to see.”

I slide my knife up slowly, lovingly, though the teen’s sinuses, holding him down and maintaining control as his body convulses rhythmically, pumping his sphincter along my shaft as it clenches my rod like a cock ring. He rocks violently side to side, his eyes staring deeply into mine, conveying his complete surrender to the overwhelming assault on his body…

And then I hit the point I’ve been seeking—the point at which the teen is truly made into meat, the point of the brain that makes the punk blow his load despite the pain and fear and trauma.

I have no idea if he even knows what’s happening at this point. His eyes roll back in his head as his legs dig into me painfully, convulsing to the point of pulling me in and driving my swollen purple shaft even deeper into the meat’s torn and damaged rectum. As the faggot fuckmeat jerks under me, I feel a hot blast of fluid across my flat, hairy abdomen.

The cunt is shooting uncontrollably, just like I promised. I always make sure the meat blows a load. This one’s no different. His long thick glistening cock stands up and presses firmly into my belly so I can feel his shaft swell and spunk as he dies.

I ream his ass and his skull, one with a hot, hard shaft—the other with a cold, hard shaft. I pump his guts full of spunk as the dying meat drains his semen over my furry belly. Gasping deeply, I hold the youth tight, stroking and kissing the shuddering corpse tenderly.

I slowly regain my composure. Pulling my still-oozing tool out of the body’s torn colon, I wipe my dick (and my knife) off with what’s left of the meat’s jeans. I get dressed and, shutting off the light, slip past the curtain into the driver’s seat. I slowly ease out of the yard, glad there’s enough of a moon that I don’t have to turn on the lights.

I keep them off till I reach a main road. Long before then, though, I pull over to a storm culvert. There’s been a lot of rain lately, so it’s pretty full.

I drag the meat out of the van. Hands still bound behind its back, its black sneakers drag over the pavement as I lift it over the railing and dump it into the runoff. I quickly toss the cunt’s shirt and jeans in behind the meat and take off.

Damn, it feels good to be back in the saddle.

Meat Chronicles 15–Getting the Point

On June 27, 2015February 8, 2017 By m3mayhemIn Meat ChroniclesLeave a comment

I’m angry tonight. I don’t know why and it really doesn’t matter. What matters is finding some young stud and working out my frustrations. There’s a burning rage inside me and I can extinguish it only with the blood and cum of some teen punk.

I need to find fuckmeat and find it soon. Doesn’t matter if it likes dick or not; by the time I’m done with it, it won’t care anyway. It’s getting dick, like it or not. It’s getting dick and a lot more.

Goddam, I’m dripping just thinkin’ about it.

I’ve been so intent on every punk I’ve seen on the street that I haven’t been aiming my van towards any specific locale; I’m just kinda driving around at random. When I first notice the kid, he’s just leaving a convenience store. I catch a glimpse of him under the bright orange glare of the sodium vapor lights under the gas pump canopy.

He’s just coming out of the store with fresh pack of cigarettes; he pauses to open the pack and light one. The store is on the corner of the avenue I’m on and a side street; I’m stuck at a light.

He just bought the pack; they card in this state, so he must be eighteen. Looks younger from here, but I’m a coupla hundred yards away. But it’s dusk, so he’s well-lit.

He’s at or just under six feet tall. He’s shirtless, so I can see his slender but muscled torso. For a moment, he turns in my direction; I can see a tattoo on his left pectoral, broad and hard like a hubcap. He’s too far away for me to make it out, though. His upper body is smooth, his clear skin flowing like silk over his thick biceps and flat, firm belly. The lower part of his abdomen appears shadowed; he might have some hair flowing downward. But I can’t tell what color; his hair must be cut short, since it’s completely hidden under a red ball cap, brim turned to the left.

He reaches into the pocket of his tight black denim shorts to replace his lighter; I catch the glint of a chain that drapes from a belt loop to his rear pocket; obviously his wallet. Beneath the short I can see his thick muscular legs. He’s got a pair of white leather hightops on his feet and tight black socks with white stripes and a sports logo wrapped around his lower calves. He’s perfect.

And I can’t take him, goddammit. He’s right under a security camera. And my light has turned green; I’m heading away from him. I’m gonna run around—I woulda anyway; if ya want good hunting, you don’t go to the suburbs after dark on a weeknight. But the punk probably lives in this neighborhood. There was no car in the lot, so he (and the clerk, too) must be walking.

I could catch up, but not if he lives here. This neighborhood is too well lit. Well, fuck. If I turn around, I can hit the highway. I haven’t grabbed a whore in a while; it’s still warm enough for plenty of them to be out…

I pull a U at the next light and head back towards the highway. As I approach the light, I peer into the distance in hopes of catching sight of the teen bitch, but there’s nothing. He’s not in front of the store anymore and I can’t see him within the radius of the dull orange glow of the lights. Shit. Well, I hadn’t really counted on it. Highway is only a few more lights down.

The neighborhood becomes more commercial as I approach the highway, but about a half mile from the store there’s a patch of greenbelt. Railroad tracks run through the center of it; a good quarter mile of trees deaden the sound and preserve property values.

And that’s where he was, walking. He’s heading towards the highway, too. Wonder where he’s going and what he’s doing.

No, I don’t. I wanna fuck him and kill him. He’s meat.

I pull up alongside and roll down the passenger window down. Yeah, it’s a big creepy van. Bet the little fuck gets in anyway.

“Need a lift? Where ya headed?” I call out.

He stops and turns to me. “I’m headed to a club. Club Polo, ya heard of it? Down east of the highway on Eighth. Dude, I’d love a lift.”

He opens the door and I get a good close-up under the dome light. I can see his eyebrows and his slight stubble; his hair is nearly platinum blond. The tattoo on his beautiful chest is Roman numerals; “XIII” in block letters on that thick pec. His eyes are deep emerald green with long thick lashes—and the whites are red. Little fucker’s higher than shit.

Good. Let’s help that along. Nothing gets meat in the mood like getting wasted—before getting wasted.

He hops in. I leave a half-smoked joint in the ashtray for occasions like this; the teen punk notices it and grins. I notice him and grin. “Dude, you wanna hit? Finish this off; I’ve had enough.”

He beams with joy and snatches up the jay, lighting it instantly and sucking damn near half the thing down in one long hit. It’s strong shit, a little too much for him. He starts coughing, his hard body shuddering and jerking he tries to keep the smoke in while his lungs and diaphragm fight against him.

As he gasps and emits a huge, sweet-smelling cloud, he lies back in the seat, choking and coughing. Fuck, look at that body shudder and twitch; enjoy it, cunt, cause soon you’re gonna be shuddering for real…

I know where to go. I used to work around here; I know a place to park where I won’t be disturbed. A business that’s closed for the day—the rear lot backs onto a drainage canal. No one ever goes there after dark.

As I drive, the meat starts talking. He’s going to the club because his favorite DJ is there. That’s all I hear. The rest of it is just the bleating of the meat; the only reason I haven’t cold-cocked the little fuck is because his voice turns me on; the deep voice of a stupid teen jock.

Can’t wait to hear what it sounds like when it screams.

Only a couple more blocks to go. Time to bait the trap. “Hey dude, if ya liked that, I got something that’ll really fuck ya up. See that other joint down in the console? I got some prime peyote mixed with that. If you’re into music, it’ll open a whole new world for ya.”

The meat’s eyes light up redly at the thought. Punk’s already so fucked he doesn’t know which end is up. Well, he’s gonna find which end is up his ass soon enough. This is almost too easy. Poor little fuckwad has no idea of the hell in store for him.

“Dude, if you’re gonna burn that, get in the back. Don’t wanna show it off to the 5-0.” He gives me big, goofy, happy grin and squeezes past me into the rear of the van. His smooth back and firm ass press against me as he moves.

Can’t wait to plug that fuckhole. My weapon is back there, but he won’t notice it, high as he is. And getting higher by the second, judging by the smoke that fills the van.

I’m nearly there; good thing, too. Starting to smell like a pot farm. Motherfucker must be huffing the goddam thing. There’s no peyote in there but it’s really strong shit. I don’t want him out—I just wanna dull his reactions and slow him down. Never occurred to me that the kid would smoke himself to incoherence during the short drive.

Well, he’s certainly gonna be slowed down. May not even have to bind the cocksucker.

I pull behind the low dark building and shut off my lights as I park in the rear, backing into a space at the very far end of the lot. I slip into the back to join the boy, who’s so fucked up I don’t think he’s realized we’ve stopped even though no one’s in the driver’s seat. He’s sitting cross-legged on the carpet lining the floor. Before I join him, I quickly check the surrounding through the small windows in the rear doors.

It’s a commercial/warehouse district. The closest buildings in this direction are a quarter-mile away, on the other side of the ditch and floodplain. Bright security lights illuminate empty parking lots. This neighborhood is deserted at this hour.

I sit next to the punk. He smiles at me happily and hands me the joint. I take a small hit and pass it back; I don’t need to be too stoned for this, but it’s making him relaxed. After we pass it back and forth a couple of times, I put my hand on his thigh.

“I ain’t inta other dude,” he mumbles.

I smile broadly at him. “No? How about another dude in you?”

He grins at me, too fucked up to get it. I grin back and slam my fist into his jaw with a swift sucker punch.

He grunts loudly, flying backwards, splaying his arms and legs. I get up quickly, but there’s no need. He’s not completely unconscious, but he’s way too stunned to do more than lay spread-eagled on his back and gasp.

I bend down and grab the waist of his shorts, roughly jerking them down his legs. Fucking cunt is commando. Yeah, he was either gonna fuck or get fucked tonight. Well, I guess that cliffhanger has been resolved. Bitch is gonna regret the easy access.

I drag him, nude but for his sport socks and leather hightops, to the center of the floor. The kid moans as I stand over him and unzip my fly, letting my hog flop out, swollen and dripping in anticipation of the pain I’m gonna inflict on this worthless teen slut.

My chest glistens with sweat—like the boy, I decided it was too warm for a shirt tonight. And there’s no AC in my rape van.

I like it when the meat sweats.

I kneel and pull the boy’s legs up, placing his shoes on my shoulders as I run my hands down his smooth, muscular thighs. His cock, short but massively thick, lies limply in a nest of golden fuzz, a nest containing two huge, wrinkled eggs. Propping him up, I spit into my palm and use it to moisten the oozing purple head of my cock before bending down and gently placing it against the youth’s pink fuckhole.

I grasp his thighs, digging my fingers into his firm flesh, and shove my mushroom head as deep into his guts as I can in one thrust.

That woke the little cunt up. He’s wailing like a banshee, his hands snatching at my skin at random, his legs jerking and twisting in my arms. I draw my legs up, feeling the soles of my combat boots finding traction on the van’s carpet. Applying pressure to my legs, I push up and on top of the bitch, pinning him to the floor with my dick and my body weight. I’m larger and better built—no matter how hard he struggles, he can’t get out from under me.

He can’t escape my cock. And he can’t escape anything else I wanna stick in him.

I settle down on top of him, letting my thick cock slide all the way up his tender rectum. He’s yowling like a cat in heat as I split his virgin hole, feeling the flesh tear and blood trickle as my engorged shaft sinks into him inch by inch. It’s hard to tell if he’s yelling in pleasure or in pain, but it’s too loud.

Plus, he’s starting to scratch and fight now. Need to tame the little fuck. I grab a hank of his hair with my left hand and draw my right fist back. He doesn’t see it coming. He gives another loud grunt as the blow lands on his jaw. His whole body contracts with the impact; I can even feel his sphincter clench slightly.

Good. If that’s how the meat reacts to pain, this is gonna be lots of fun.

For me, that is.

I’m pumping his smooth ass with long, deep thrusts. He groans, his eyelids fluttering as he fights to retain consciousness. I keep fucking his hot, sexy, limp body as he starts stirring. Suddenly his bright green eyes open wide and he remembers. He opens his mouth and inhales; he’s gonna start screaming again.

I’m still holding his hair. I draw my fist back and he flinches, throwing up his arms to block. I smack them out of the way as I twist his head around painfully by the scalp.

“Shut up and take my cock, you little motherfucker,” I snarl at him. He looks at me, his face etched with pain and fear, tear-filled eyes wide as he whimpers. “You’re making too much noise, you cunt. Either shut the fuck up or I’ll make ya shut up. Ya want that, fuckwad? Want me to shut you up? I can shut ya up for good, whore, ya want that?”

He shakes his head in terror, his lips pressed together as hard as he can to prevent any sound from escaping. He knows what I mean.

He doesn’t know it’s gonna happen anyway. I wanna play with him a bit first. I spit in his bewildered face.

“Yeah, you just thought you were gonna get high and party tonight, you stupid asswipe? Guess what—you are. You’re already higher than fuck and now we’re gonna party my way. Most intense party of your worthless fucking life, meat.”

His beautiful emerald eyes, framed by his long golden lashes, stare up at me uncomprehendingly, beseechingly. He’s desperate for the pain to end but is too cowed to speak.

He has no idea that what he’s experiencing now is like a mother’s kiss compared to the nightmarish hell that awaits him.

I make sure to give him a hint. I’m still pumping up his ass, rough, hard and raw. Even wallowing in fear, he’s unable to keep silent; faint mewling sounds burst from his lush, full lips.

His face is moist with tears; the rest of him is moist with sweat. So am I. It’s hot in here in more ways than one. I can feel the beads trickle down through the matted hair on my chest to drip on the meat’s abdomen, heaving in agony. It lubes our writhing, intertwined bodies as we slide over each other in hot wet forced mansex.

He’s starting to accept it. It usually happens. Most of the time, the meat has to be forced to acknowledge its true desires; it never wants to admit how much it gets off on what happens. This cunt is slowly relaxing into the fuck, enjoying it. As he does so, his ass starts to go slack.

It’s a fatal mistake. He’s too relaxed for his colon to suck out my spunk.

Not good enough, bitch, not by a long shot. I think it’s time the meat knows what’s in store. I reach into the shadows on the right, groping with my hand while still rhythmically thrusting my tool into the punk’s inflamed fuckhole. I keep his attention by sneering at him and spitting in his face. When I hold the weapon in front of his face, it’s a total shock. He’d thought he was getting raped. Now he knows he’s getting raped and murdered.

It’s an M1 Garand Springfield bayonet. Not a vintage one—although it’s identical to one made in 1942. The grip is plastic, but the rest of it is sixteen inches of sharpened stainless steel, ready to penetrate the boy’s body like a hard dick.

He sees it, his eyes focusing on the glint of the razor-sharp blade, the pointed tip, so ready to rip into his tender, defenseless body. He’s quiet, but it’s because fear has overloaded his drugged brain. He doesn’t scream, he whispers. “No, please, no, no, don’t, please god no don’t no no no…”

“Yeah, ya little cocksucker, ya see it? You’re gonna more than see it, cunt, you’re gonna feel it in yer guts. This is what happens to useless whores like you when ya get into stranger’s cars. You’re gonna get fucked in every way possible. You think gettin’ my cock stuck in ya hurt? Wait’ll I stick this in ya too. You’re gonna hurt so good you’re gonna spunk uncontrollably.”

He shakes his head speechlessly, retreating into denial in his attempt to preserve his sanity. No ya don’t, meat. I want it to know exactly what’s happening.

I place my left hand over the meat’s forehead, pressing it forcefully into the shag carpet lining the van’s floor. With my right, I drag the bayo blade over the cunt’s face. Even though it’s a replica, I keep it oiled to prevent rust; I make sure to wipe it over the meat’s nostrils.

“Smell that, fuckmeat? That’s oiled steel. Imagine what that’s gonna feel like slicing through your stomach. Imagine that sharp tip stabbing its way up through your intestines into your ribcage. It’s gonna be excruciating. Pain like you never felt in your short wasted life, bitch. But you’re a fucking pain pig cunt, I can tell. It’s gonna hurt so fuckin’ bad you’re gonna blow yer wad, you stupid whore.”

He looks. He can’t help it. The blade is long and dark, except along the cutting edge, where it’s been ground down to a point; the razor edge reflects the faint glow from the parking lot security lights.

He’s breathing deeply, timing it perfectly to the stokes of my dick. His eyes seem mesmerized by the bayo; I can feel his sphincter tighten as his brain unwillingly follows my words and starts imagining. He’s already caught up in a whirlpool of lust and drugs and pain and fear.

“Time to rock ‘n roll, motherfucker. Time to get it on. Are ya ready for the burn, cunt? Ready to ride my cock and my blade into agonizing death? No? Heh, tough shit, you worthless cocksucking piece a’ shit, cause it’s gonna happen anyway. And you’re such a fucking useless faggot motherfucker, you’re gonna spunk as I end your worthless life, cocksucker.”

His eyes break away from the blade, turning frantically up to mine. His face is crazed with pain and panic, his arms clawing wildly at me, scratching my arms, my chest, scrabbling at my face. His legs flail in his terror, the rubber soles of his pricey leather hightops scraping my heaving, sweaty flanks in his instinctive attempt to escape. His head is still forced down onto the floor by my left hand pressing onto his forehead. I rise up on my knees—and my hand on his head, my shaft still spearing his ass mercilessly.

I look down into his youthful pig face, streaked with tears of pain and strain. He looks up to me, eyes filled with a silent plea that only makes me want to hurt him more.

So I do. I place the tip of the blade against his smooth, flat belly, and slow increase the pressure.

It takes two minutes to get the first inch of the blade in. It’s all I can do not to cum; the meat’s colon reacts to pain beautifully. He’s gasping and moaning, but not screaming; he’s too overwhelmed. I’m overwhelmed, too, overwhelmed by lust. I pull my dick out of his ass, leaving just my fat mushroom tip inside his quivering fuckhole.

“You want it, meat, you know you do,” I whisper to the boy. His pale, creamy skin highlights his platinum blonde hair. His smooth, firm body trembles under me, still sliding frictionlessly on a sheen of cold sweat, forced out by sheer terror. It’s nothing next to the sweat and pheromones he’ll be pumping out as he dies.

“Ready, meat? Time to die, cunt. Time to waste your worthless ass so I can cum. Ya like that, dontcha? You know it’s what you want. You wanna die on my dick. You know it, meat. Just accept it. You’re gonna die in agony taking my load up your ass and you’re gonna like it, you fuckin’ piece a’ shit, aintcha?”

I smile beatifically into his face as I watch him absorb my words. It’s that moment of realization I’m looking for; the moment he realizes I’m serious.

I see it. His eyes widen slightly. It’s all I need. As I slam my thick purple cock deep into the cunt’s fuckhole, I shove the bayonet into his belly, feeling no resistance as the sharpened steel parts his flesh like soft butter.

He inhales deeply, his body pulling upward, fleeing my cock and my blade—like the fucker can. He’s trapped and he knows it. He’s dying. All he can hope for is an end to the pain; he can’t imagine the explosive, agonizing orgasm that’s awaiting him.

“Enjoy the pain, cunt. You deserve it, you fuckin’ whore. I saw ya out buyin’ smokes; didn’t know that was gonna end up costing ya your life, didja? Thought you were gonna go get fucked up and rock out and get laid, huh, you fuckin’ punk?”

Blood seeps from the wound in his abdomen, but I’m nowhere near done. It’s gonna take the meat some time to die; if I’m gonna get him to jack me off as he dies, I’m gonna need him to be in a lot more pain. Time to put the hurtin’ on.

“Yeah, that’s a good start, fuckmeat, but you ain’t jerkin’ my shaft enough yet. Guess I gotta hurt ya more, yeah? Gotta make you jack me good, cunt, gotta make yer loose fuckhole get tight again. Only one way to do that. You know what that is, you useless pain pig, don’t ya? I gotta hurt ya. You love it, you fucking cunt. You love the pain, I can see it in your hot sweaty face.”

He’s still denying it, even to himself. He’s sobbing openly as the bayonet slices upwards through his stomach. I don’t want him dead yet; I need him to jack me off a little longer. I angle the blade to the side and slice his liver in half.

As much as I’d hurt the meat before, the damage to a major organ had a significant impact on my dick. The kid spasmed violently, his arms going rigid, his smooth, firm legs contracting tightly around my body as he gasped deeply, reacting to the steel piercing his liver.

I don’t give a shit. He’s not in enough pain yet. “Fuck, cocksucker, ya gotta work harder than that to get my load. And my boiling sperm is the only thing that’s gonna end this for ya. You want it over? You wanna sink into the cold dark release of death? You gotta make me cum, you cunt. And the more pain you’re in, the sooner I’ll shoot. So get with it, motherfucker, the more it hurts the better it feels. Fuck yeah, meat!”

I spit in the teen’s frantic face before I punch him again. This time, I’m rewarded with a satisfying, deeply erotic crunch as I break the meat’s cheekbone. Again, I can feel his pain on my cock as his rectum writhes along my swollen shaft.

It’s still not enough. I’m ready. I wanna cum. Time for the cunt to truly become meat so I can cum.

I don’t know how fast I’m fucking him; I’m ramming the bayo into the fuckmeat in time with my thrusts. Oiled steel punctures the motherfucker’s guts and lungs; I avoid his heart—I don’t want him to die instantly; I want him to enjoy this.

And the pig does enjoy it. I can tell by the way he writhes and groans in agony, by the way his rectum collapses on my cock, applying involuntary suction. I can tell by the way his short, thick rod stands up straight and spews a jet of sperm three feet into the air as sixteen inches of sharpened, oiled steel spears his heart, letting it pump itself to shreds on a razor-sharp blade.

The meat’s sphincter contracts uncontrollably in death, tightening around my shaft like a cockring; I blow my wad up the dying meat’s fuckhole as I ream my long sharp hard bayo deep into his guts.

It takes me a few minutes to recover after unloading into the fuckmeat. I pull my dripping cock of the corpse’s ass and rise shakily to my feet. I zip my dripping tool back into my jeans before I open the rear door of the van.

There’s a flash of lightning as I open the doors. Looks like the unusually warm weather is about to break; there’s gonna be an intense storm here soon.

Good.

I dump the meat into the ditch and throw his clothes in afterwards. There’s a nasty storm coming. Enough rain, and the cunt’s body will be halfway to the ocean before anyone finds him…

Meat Chronicles 12–Slutchoke

On June 27, 2015February 8, 2017 By m3mayhemIn Meat ChroniclesLeave a comment

It’s an unusually cool night for this time of year, but I’m not cool at all. It’s been a rough week and I need to work off some frustration.

That tends to be bad news for somebody. Now, who’s gonna be my fucktoy tonight?

I see him. Over there, in the alley behind the bar, half in shadow. He’s staring at me as hard as I am at him. He steps out into the bright circle cast by the streetlight.

Wow. He’s beautiful. Green eyes with long golden lashes. Red-gold scruff of beard across his jaw. He’s dyed his hair fire-engine red, probably to advertise himself; it certainly grabs the attention.

He’s shorter than I am; no more than five-six. But he’s very well-built and dressed to show it off. He’s wearing a leather jacket over a white wifebeater that stretches tightly across his broad chest, highlighting the large nipples on his hubcap-like pectorals. His biceps bulge and the tribal armband tattoo flexes each time he moves his arm. His “skinny” jeans, revealing thick thighs and calves, like slabs of marble, are bloused into the top of combat boots with both laces and a zipper.

I know his type. Hanging out in the alley behind the gay bar; I know what the little faggot whore wants. And I’m ready to give it to him. But I need to be smooth; the rentboys can be skittish. I need to go slow until I’m ready to establish control…

He knows I’m looking. I’m dressed to catch the eye, too. I’m wearing a brown suede jacket over a black t-shirt. Unlike the whore, I didn’t bother to tuck my jeans into my harness boots.

I can put my boots back on when I’m ready to fuck him. He’ll never get the chance to take his off.

He’s still staring, his right hand rubbing the long, well-defined ridge in his crotch. Fuck yeah, the little bitch wants it.

I don’t even have to speak. I jerk my head and turn away, walking back to my car. The cockslut will follow me. He’s too horny not to; I can hear the sound of his boots on the pavement behind me long before I get to the parking lot.

I get in and unlock the passenger door. He slides in beside me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him look at me nervously, but I don’t say anything. I don’t look directly at him, either.

I pull out of the parking lot, heading towards a cheap hourly motel a few blocks away. The whore clears his throat and starts to speak. I cut him off before he can utter a syllable.

“Shut up, bitch,” I snarl. “You ain’t here to talk. You’re here to take my dick. I’m gonna get a motel room and fuck you to death.”

He looks at me, eyes wide, for a moment or two, then relaxes, evidently deciding I’m exaggerating. Bad mistake. Worst mistake of his life, in fact. And my cock is hard at the thought of showing him that.

We’re there in less than fifteen minutes. I give the slut some cash and tell him to get the room. He probably has a frequent flier account here anyway. And he won’t run with the cash; he wants to get banged too badly to skip out.

The boy comes back and hand me the key shyly, looking up at me like a puppy. He’s ready to be used. He may not be ready to be used as hard as I’m gonna use him, but I’m willing to bet he’s gonna have a good time anyway.

The room is hot and disgusting. The AC merely moves the fetid haze about in a desultory fashion, the funk of smoke and crack and mansex hanging heavy in the air. The boy strips off the torn bedspread to reveal the stained sheet underneath. He pulls off his shirt and bends down to unzip his boots.

I’m on him before he can do so. He looks up as I come at him—perfect timing to take my right across his jaw, splitting his lip. The whore staggers back, stunned, and falls onto the bed. He twists as he falls, landing face-down. Before he can recover, I’m on top of him, digging in my pocket for this zip tie I have hidden there. His hands are bound behind him before he can turn over.

He’s still gasping in pain as I pull out my knife and start cutting his jeans. He thrashes for a moment, but a poke with the tip of the blade reminds him that I’m the boss. He lies still as I cut away his shorts, leaving him in his boots and socks only. I grab his shoulder and flip him roughly onto his back.

I look down at him as I unzip my fly. I’m commando under these skin-tight jeans; my thick, dripping hog flops out instantly. He breathes deeply, lust gleaming in those amazing green eyes. He lays his head back, bright red hair fanning out on the yellowish sheet, and raises his legs, hoisting his boots in the air. Scared as he is, he’s still a little fucking whore at heart.

I move in, plunging my mushroom head into his quivering pink rosette fuckhole. His moan escalates into a cry of pain—too loud for my taste; I punch him in the face, hard. “Shut up, fuckwad, and take my cock. Keep your cunt mouth shut or I’ll shut it myself, slut.”

His cries fade to an annoying whimper. They increase in volume and pitch as I slam his raw fuckhole, his face contorting in a rictus of pain. His legs are wrapped tightly around me, trying to force me off of him. I wrap my arms up under the backs of his knees and raise his ass in the air.

I start pounding his soft cunt brutally as his boots kick at my sides. He begs me to stop, his voice rising into a shrill shriek as my swollen cock splits his sphincter and makes him bleed. Those green eyes peer beseechingly up at my under the long gold lashes, then fill with tears. He squeals in agony like a pig.

Good. Time for him to die like a pig.

I’m still full dressed, even in my brown leather jacket. I sit up on my knees, my cock still buried in the whore’s ass and shrug the jacket off. From the deep left pocket of the jacket, I pull out a little toy—a garrote I’ve improvised out of a thick wooden dowel with holes at either end and a length of nylon cord knotted in each. The slut’s eyes grow huge as I wrap it around his neck and begin twisting.

His cries are abruptly choked off as the cord sinks into his neck. I continue to twist the rod, tightening the cord around his throat.

The whore becomes frantic as his air is shut off. He twists his neck desperately as the cord sinks below the level of his skin. There’s nothing he can do to escape.

He’s thrashing violently now as panic takes over. His ass slides up and down my tool as he struggles to break free of the iron grip of strangulation. It’s like a satin glove massaging my swollen shaft…

As more and more of his brain dies from lack of oxygen, his body responds in a desperate attempt to keep going. Muscles tighten involuntarily and blood flows into the dying punk’s cock, causing it swell and grow erect.

“Fuck yeah, that’s it, you fuckin’ faggot whore,” I bend down and whisper into the boy’s ear. “Die on my cock. Jerk me off with your convulsions as you choke to death, you worthless slut. You’re just a sack of meat, good for nothing but soaking up my spunk as you die, you piece of shit. Ya like it, fuckwad? You like riding my fucking cock into your grave, you useless faggot?”

The kid’s face darkens as he begins to die. His eyes bulge from the sockets as the pressure in his head builds. The panic of imminent death is strong; as he thrashes, his ass squeezes my dick like he means it.

“That’s it, bitch. Fight it, whore, keep working my cock. The longer you struggle, the better it feels on my tool. Fuck yeah, die on my dick, motherfucker, jack me off with your death throes.”

His tongue, dark and thick, protrudes grotesquely from his swollen lips. Foamy drool erupts from the corners of his lips and trickles down the sides of his blackening face as his body jerks and convulses, his rectum fluttering along my dick, his boots beating a rhythm of death against my back.

I can feel his cock, stiffening and swelling as he dies. His huge purple head pokes against my belly and leave a trail of precum like a snail as it bobs aimlessly in pain of death.

The whore convulses wildly as life ebbs away. His head swings wildly side to side as his bright red hair spills out wantonly. His firm legs wrap around me as he goes rigid with extreme brain damage. He writhes under me, his body slipping on the film of death sweat that lubes his skin as his nervous system collapses from lack of oxygen.

I continue to twist the rod, digging the cord deeper and deeper into the slut’s neck. Suddenly, I’m rewarded with a crunching sound as the punk’s esophagus is crushed, the cartilage cracking and shattering. The boy’s eyes open wide in shock and horror as his hyoid bone breaks. Even if I let up now, it wouldn’t matter. The rentboy is dead meat.

I sit up and close my eyes, feeling him die. His ass bucks repeatedly, flattening itself against the root of my cock, sweat matting my pubic hair. I open my eyes and lean forward, spitting into the dying slut’s face.

“C’mon and die, motherfucker. Shoot your wad and die, bitch, you know you wanna. It’s all you got left, you fuckin’ piece of shit, so blow your load and fuckin’ die!”

He hears me. It’s probably the last conscious act of his traumatized brain. Foam erupts from his mouth and flows down the sides of his black, twisted face as his cock stands straight up and spews a steady stream of spunk for a good thirty seconds, jetting into the air and splattering back on his smooth chest and gruesomely discolored face.

As he cums, his colon wraps around my cock like a vacuum, sucking sperm out of my shaft in a screaming orgasm, so intense it’s almost painful. I jerk the cord embedded in the fucker’s neck as I shoot. There’s a loud crack, like the sharp snapping of a green limb, and the slut’s head flops back on a broken neck as I pump what feels like a gallon of sperm into his guts.

It takes a few minutes for me to regain composure. I pull out of the whore’s ass and step into the bathroom to clean up as best I can with the filthy washrag and used soap.

I leave the key in the room as I go. The maid will find the corpse in the morning—presuming they clean this place daily, which I doubt. At any rate, I’m really not worried about it. They haul dead rentboys outta here all the time; most of whom have OD’d. I’m not worried about DNA evidence. They probably won’t even check.

After all, it’s just another dead whore.

Meat Chronicles 6–A Cut Above

On June 27, 2015January 26, 2017 By m3mayhemIn Meat Chronicles4 Comments

Been a while since I’ve been out hunting. I’ve had some shit to deal with. Not very fun. But ya gotta do what you gotta do. But tonight I’m free. And speaking of what ya gotta do…

My dick is tingling. I need to stick it in some meat, but I gotta find some first.

Luckily, I never have to look far.

I’d stopped off at a convenience store when I spotted him. Young, about eighteen or so. He’s wearing a black and white check sleeveless shirt with white cargo shorts. His sneakers are black, white, and red and come up over his ankles.

He’s slightly shorter than I am. The sides of his head are shaved, with short gold fuzz on the top. He’s slim, but muscles bulge on his arms and furry legs–to say nothing of the enormous bulge in his crotch. He’s got a strong jaw, narrow blue eyes and a propensity for shoplifting.

I can see it while we’re both at the register. He buys a pack of gum and slips a pack of cigarettes out of the counter rack while the clerk is working the register. I watch as he leaves; he’s riding a bike. He heads west down the street.

I leisurely make my purchases. I’m in no rush; I can catch up to him. And I want to do it away from here, where we’re both on the security footage.

I exit the store lot heading north and circle the block. When I get back onto the main street, he’s still ahead of me, but not by much. Suddenly, he veers off in a strip center parking lot.

It’s a large center with a department store and a supermarket. Large parking lot with plenty of cars. If I can snatch him at the back end of the lot, I’ll be far enough away from the cameras up at the entrances…

He obliges by circling his bike at the back end of the lot. I pull into a spot a couple of rows away, where I can keep an eye on him.

He’s lit one of his stolen smokes. I think he’s sizing up parked cars to break into; he appears to get peering into windows as he rides by, his head turning this way and that, the sunlight glinting off his short golden hair.

An image of the boy screaming and writhing on my cock flashes across my mind and I have to grip the steering wheel and breathe deeply for a couple of minutes.

He’s moving my way. Good. And he’s clearly trying to break into cars. He’s trying the doors, but not finding any open–wait, there’s one. He’s inside. And right back out, empty-handed. Luck of the draw, I guess, but I’m relieved. He’s moving my way again.

I picked a good parking spot. There’s a Lexus next to me. When I look out my passenger window, I can see packages on the back seat and an iPad in the front. Even if the car is locked, he’s gonna want to take a bit to try it out. And that’s when I’ll get him.

The little fuck is getting sneaky. Every time he spots someone walking out to their car, he pedals off and rides around in big, lazy circles until they’re gone–then he’s right back at it.

Hang on, he’s noticed the Lexus. He’s coming over–perfect. He dismounts, leaving his bike on the median between the rows of cars. I watch as he approaches the Lexus. As he bends down to look in the window, his shorts ride up, stretching tautly over his ass.

I wait till he moves around to the driver’s side. As he tries the handles, I slide the door of my van open, carefully and silently. Once I have enough room to swing my arm. I go upside the punk’s head with my tire iron. He grunts and drops, and I quickly grab him under his arms and drag him into the back of my van.

He’s breathing deeply and bleeding from a cut in his scalp. I’m not worried about him; he’ll be out till I get back to the apartment. If I have any worry at all, it’s that I hit him too hard and he might not wake up.

Not that that changes anything. I’ll still fuck him and waste him, but it wouldn’t be as much fun. But I don’t think I’ve caused any permanent damage.

At least, not yet.

It was early evening when I caught the meat; it’s dark by the time I get to the apartment. As usual, most of the exterior lights are out and there’s no one around to see me drag the kid into my unit. I bypass the living room and toss him directly onto the blood-stained mattress. He’s still out as I cut him out of his clothes, leaving him nude except for his sock and shoes.

I sit beside him for a bit, fondling his firm, smooth flesh, running my hands over his flat belly and his broad chest, playing with his nipples, before I grab the long tube of meat dangling between his legs. It’s a thick, veined root emerging from the cloud of honey-colored pubic hair. The same fine, golden fur runs down his muscular legs–I slide my hands down them, all the way to the top of his sneakers as my dick gets hard.

I’m ready to fuck the meat now, but I need to make a couple of preparations first. I flip the boy over and bind his hands behind him with a zip tie. I leave him lying in his belly; I’m gonna fuck him from the back.

But I still want to see his face as I rape and kill him, so I prop a mirror against a chair at the head of the bed. Now, I’ll get to look into his eyes as he dies. Sexy little fucker. Can’t wait to start hurting him…

He’s gonna scream. I like it when they scream; it makes my dick so much harder. But even though I know none of the other units in this building are occupied, I still can’t take the chance. I pick up the slashed remains of the kid’s briefs and stuff them into his mouth. He’s stirring and moaning, staring to waken–I got them in just in time.

Now I can set out my toys.

I have a low table set next to the head of the bed. Not only can I reach it easily, it’s right in the meat’s line of sight. He gets to see every sharp object I’m gonna stick into him; I’ll make damn sure he does.

First up is my knife with the serrated blade, my favorite. I’ll off the meat with it, but I’ll have a little fun first. I had some trouble deciding between the staple gun and the nail gun, but eventually decided on the latter. There’s an outlet on that side of the room, so it’ll be easy to use. Plus, I’m almost out of staples.

I have lots and lots of nails.

The meat is becoming more active. I need to start.

I mount him from behind, feeling the fine hair on the backs of his legs press against mine. My cock is already engorged and dripping; I take a moment to position myself, then shove as hard as I can. There’s a brief, intense pressured, then I can feel it give. The meat’s sphincter tears and I can feel blood lubricating my shaft as it sinks full-length into the kid’s ass.

He screams. It’s muffled by the underwear gag, but it’s definitely a scream. I lie flat on top of the boy and grab his head with both hands, turning it so I can whisper in his ear–and so he can see the table with the toys.

“Fuck yeah, you piece of shit, does that hurt? No, not enough? Ok, bitch, there’s more coming. See all that shit on the table? I’m gonna stick it all into you. The more you jerk and squeal like a little fuck pig, the better it feels on my dick. So get ready for a hard ride, fuckwad, it ain’t over till I cum. And the more pain you’re in, the sooner I shoot. Got it, meat? This is hell and you’re about to get fucked to death. Now let’s start this off right.”

I pick up the nail gun. I spent a little extra for this model, but it’s worth it; it’s so lightweight I can use it with one hand. That’s handy when you have meat to control.

After all, sometimes the meat resists, like this kid. He’s fighting me, struggling and squirming as he tries to crawl out from under the agonizing onslaught of my dick–not that he’s getting anywhere, of course, but it’s pissing me off.

And that’s bad news for the meat.

“Goddam bitch, ya like squirmin’ around? Let’s see ya squirm some more, motherfucker.”

I hold the meat down with my hand on his head, place the nail gun on his back and gently pull the trigger. The gun fires with a loud metallic punch and the meat jerks violently, his rectum closing up on my rod.

“Fuckin’ A, that’s what I’m talkin’ about! Shake that ass, fuckmeat. Work my dick!”

The mirror is perfect, just the right spot. I can see the meat’s face, flushed red up to his scalp, tightly drawn in pain. His clenched teeth and slitted eyes show how much it hurts.

“Ya think that’s bad? We’re just getting started. You’re gonna hafta be in a lot more pain than that to get me off, you worthless fuck. Gonna be a long night.”

The head of a single nail protrudes from the boy’s smooth, hard back, a thin trickle of blood winding away to spill down his side. His back is an open canvas, waiting for me to create art with steel and flesh and blood.

I move the gun slightly and fire again. The meat twists and writhes; this nail shatters a rib and doesn’t go in quite as far. “Damn, fuckpig, that’s gotta hurt. Let’s see if it can hurt more.” Using my fingers, I slowly push the nail into the wound. As it slides smoothly in, the boy’s pelvis rises and falls, massaging my dick.

“Now you’re getting it, meat. Your ass feels good on my cock–but not great. Think you need a little more incentive…”

I work the fuckmeat over. In quick succession, I fire five nails at random into the kid’s back as I work out the rhythm. The meat bucks his hips backs as a reflexive reaction to the pain, so I fire a nail, then thrust forward as the fuckpig pumps backward. I get a long, smooth stroke that plunges my swollen mushroom tip deep into the meat’s satiny colon. Fire and fuck, fire and fuck…

I grin at the sobbing teen. “Guess I picked a good fucktoy. Keep working it, you piece of shit, I ain’t done yet. I’m gonna ream you out and throw your torn, bleeding corpse in the garbage. Alive, you’re a worthless little thief. Dead, you’re gonna make a good cumrag. You’re useless for anything but fucking and killing.”

His face, smeared with tears and snot, is reflected back to me from the mirror. It’s contorted with fear and pain. His jaw is working as if he’s trying to speak–and I’m sure he is, most likely to plead and beg–but the briefs I jammed down his throat are preventing him from making any audible sounds.

I hunch down over the kid, feeling my chest slide over his sweaty back. I hold the nail gun against his side while I reach my hand underneath him to grab his thick cock. I press the gun hard into his right side and fire. As I do, I feel his dick jerk and swell in my hand.

“That’s what I thought,” I whisper into the boy’s ear. “Little fuckin’ pain pig, ain’t ya? I could see it in your face. You like gettin’ hurt, bitch. It gets you off. You’ll snivel and blubber, but it makes you hard to have a real man on top of you, plowing your ass as you submit to the erotic agony. Yeah, you love it. Don’t worry, fuckmeat, I’ll make sure you’re in pain you never dreamed possible. I’m gonna hurt you so bad you’ll scream and die–and blow your load like a good fuckpig.”

The nail gun is small, but my nails aren’t. They’re a good three inches long. If that doesn’t sound like much, imagine a steel spike inserted three inches deep from the surface of your skin.

The meat doesn’t have to imagine it.

I fire a series of nails into the punk’s right side, below the rib cage, filling his intestines with holes. Each blast of the gun causes the meat to tense his muscles in misery and squeeze my rod. I almost don’t have to pump his hole; I can work his rectum just by torturing him.

The meat is shuddering under me, making a high-pitched whine as he struggles to free himself from the ordeal he’s undergoing. It’s hopeless, of course; my huge tool is pinning him to the mattress as if he’d been impaled.

“Shut up, fuckmeat. Quit fighting it. You want this. You love my hard cock and hard steel inside you, you fucking whore, don’t ya? You went out looking for trouble and you found it. Too late to stop now, motherfucker, you’re gonna ride my dick all the way to the end as you choke on your own blood. Shit, dude, you’re hard already. Goddam pig. There’s more where that came from.”

His struggles become more violent. I can feel his hands, pressed between our bodies–he’s clenching and unclenching his fists in desperate futility. I move the gun to his left side and continue to hit the trigger. Now I’m spearing his spleen and liver.

Suddenly, the kid tries to fight back. I can feel him bucking and twisting, trying to rise up on his knees, despite having his arms bound behind his back and my weight on top of him. I clock him on the back of the head with the nail gun, hard.

“Lay still, asswipe, I ain’t done with you yet. Just keep still…” I fire another nail into the meat, shattering another rib. “Goddam, that’s it, motherfucker. Keep milking my rod, boy. Feels so fucking good to hurt you, bitch.”

I reach under and grab his cock again. It’s fully erect now; my hand, sticky with the meat’s precum, slides along the veined shaft. His balls, huge and soft to begin with, have shriveled to hard wrinkled walnuts. Little fucking pain pig is gonna shoot soon.

I’m surprised; most of the time, the meat doesn’t react until it’s in the extremity of its death throes. Excruciating pain makes this one horny. I love it.

By now, we’re both sweating and breathing heavily. An audio recording would sound like ordinary sex.

If you edited out the metallic clank of the nail gun, that is. And the agonized bleating of the fucktoy.

I run my hand along the kid’s flanks, slick with the cold sweat of torment. His golden hair is dark with sweat as well. It trickles down his forehead to merge with the tears on his face. I catch his expression in the mirror–still contorted with pain and effort, eyes shut hard, streams of drool leaking from his blocked mouth. His eyes open and catch mine in the reflection.

His eyes are blue, huge and beautiful, with and expression of anguish and despair so erotic I almost blow my load. Gorgeous little punk, wasting his beautiful body until I grabbed him and put it to its best use. But his struggles are slowing and his colon isn’t stroking my rod as firmly as it had been. I think the meat is wearing out.

“Fuck, whore, you’re getting loose on me. You’ll never get my spunk like that. Guess I need to tighten your hole up. I know how much you fucking love getting shit stuck in ya, meat, but I don’t think you’re enjoying the nails any more. Think it’s time to turn the pain up to eleven. Whaddaya think, fuckwad, sound like a plan?”

I toss the nail gun to the side and pick up the knife. I hold it down in front of the teen’s face so he can see what’s coming for him.

“If the nails made you hard, you worthless fucking pain slut, this’ll make you cum so hard you bleed. It’s a Ka-bar utility knife. Look at it, motherfucker. Ain’t it sexy? See these serrations on the blade? When I stick this in you and twist it, those little pieces of metal are gonna shred your guts to hamburger. Ready for it, punk? No? Tough shit!”

I start thrusting my cock into his ass, pounding it mercilessly. The teen moans and writhes under me, but his eyes are fixed on the mirror, where he can see my upraised arm holding the knife. He has a fraction of a second to brace himself before I plunge it into his back.

It slips between his ribs, sinking like butter. It works, too. The fuckmeat goes completely rigid in his suffering. His asscheeks grasp my cock like a fist, his soft, creamy innards caressing the throbbing, oozing head of my tool. As I promised, I twist the knife brutally in the wound before jerking it back out.

The meat thrashes in agony. His eyes, wide and ringed with shock, stare frantically into mine as he tries to process the wave of agony sweeping over him. He’s sweating even more now; it runs off his body and makes a wet spot on the mattress.

It’s not the only thing making a wet spot. The punk’s dick is leaking. Throughout the entire ordeal, I manage to keep one hand underneath, jacking the meat. I want to make sure he stays hard; they usually go soft once the knife is used.

Not this fucker, though. He really is a masochistic little death pig. For all his crying and moaning, he’s enjoying this on some deep level. The fear of impending death—to say nothing of the pain itself—is not having any noticeable effect. I stab him again in the back and then in the side, reaming and twisting the knife each time. The meat shudders and trembles against me as I keep fondling his swollen shaft.

“It’s time, fuckmeat. I can feel my cum starting to boil in my balls and I’ll bet yours is too, you useless fucking whore. Get ready for it, motherfucker, I’m gonna cut your cut your throat wide open. I’m gonna fuck you as you die and fill you full of my sperm as your life drains out along with your blood. You want this. You know you do. You know you’re a fucking worthless piece of shit and you love being treated like it. You’re useless for anything but raping and killing and you’re gonna cum like a worthless piece of shit when I slash your throat because you know that’s all you deserve, motherfucker. Get ready to shoot the most intense wad of your short, wasted life, bitch.”

I sit up on my knees. Grabbing the kid by his chin, I pull him up with me. Our hard bodies slide against each other, lubed not only by sweat but by blood. The punk is yanking his head around, trying to break free of my grip on his jaw. Stupid fuckwad, must be an instinctive reaction. The boy wants it—my knife, my load, everything.

The long, hard, dripping cock I see bobbing in the mirror tells me so.

“Shhh,” I whisper in his ear. “Let go. It’ll be over soon. Enjoy it while you can. Feel the razor edge against your tender flesh? Picture it slowly slicing through, those sharp serrations starting to saw into your trachea—that’s a rubbery bit, so it’ll take some time. You’ll get to enjoy that. At some point, I’ll reach the jugular and the carotid. If I leave the knife in your neck, I may be able to stretch it out a little. Make it so that you don’t bleed out as much as you drown in your own blood. Sound fun? Sure the fuck does to me. Fuck yeah, bro, let’s get the party started!”

I dig my fingers into his face as I lift his chin. I’ve got an excellent view in the mirror. I move the blade up and down his neck, looking for just the right spot. I stop right on the bulge of the Adam’s apple.

And start sawing.

The high-pitched squeal the teen makes really is that of a pig. He grimaces, lips pulled back, revealing his briefs still wadded in his mouth. With his bound hands between us, his fingers scrape and claw at my belly.

There’s resistance on the blade as I cut through the larynx. It’s a tough piece of cartilage, and it took me a good fifteen seconds to slice through it—long before I could reach any major blood vessels.

The meat liked pain—and he got it. And I made sure he knew it.

“What’s it feel like, meat? Does it burn? Does it hurt your sorry ass good? Yeah? Ya liking that, you sick fucking death pig? Fuck yeah, you must be. God, your ass is jacking me off so good right now. This is why, fuckmeat. This is why I do this. This is why you have to die, so I can feel it on my cock. You’re no good for anything else, you fucking piece of shit, so you may as well make me cum as you die!”

And he does. He gets it. As the resistant tissue gives way to softer flesh and his trachea parts as if it’s been unzipped, the meat gives a last, despairing squeak and starts gargling blood. Pink foam bubbles past the knife out of the wound.

The meat has gone utterly stiff. I don’t know how he does it, but in the throes of orgasmic death, he’s creating suction in his colon. At the same time, I can see in the mirror a fountain of jizz rising from the fuckpig’s straining, purple cock. There’s no penile spasm; it’s just a steady jet of semen shooting up and splattering back on the dying teen’s face and chest, where it turns the blood pink.

Oh my god, the way his ass sucks my dick dry… It’s incredible. It seems to go on forever, my seed flowing into the dead kid’s ass as I curse him and keep sawing at his throat.

At some point, I become aware of myself again. I’m still kneeling on the bed. My cock is still spasming, but nothing is coming out. It isn’t in the meat anymore; at some point, the meat has fallen back down on the bed. But I haven’t let him go…

And then I get it. My knife is in my right hand. The meat’s head is in my left. I’d cum so hard, I didn’t realize I’d just kept sawing until I’d decapitated the meat.

Man, I’m tired. I shove the meat onto the floor and jump into the shower. After I finish, I fall asleep on the couch.

When I awake, it’s the early hours of the morning. I’m hard again. No idea how that happens; I thought I’d spewed out several days’ worth of spunk. But here I am, ready to go again.

I stroll back into the bedroom to get the meat and find myself disappointed. I’d wanted to fuck it again, but it has landed badly, with the legs splayed. Rigor mortis has set in and it’s kinda unfuckable.

But the head is still there. I pick it up and go back out to the couch.

I sit down and, opening the mouth, remove the blood-soaked briefs still crammed in the back of the throat. The huge blue eyes are open and a little cloudy; they’d rolled slightly up.

I position the open mouth over my erect dick and lower it. I spend a few minutes literally skullfucking the dude, using his head as a jackoff toy. If I hold the head just right, the eyes are looking directly into my own.

As I blow my wad, I spit into the boy’s blue-tinted face, calling him a fucking piece of shit whore and watching my load ooze out of the ragged stump.

I put the head in a garbage bag. The rest of the meat goes in another and they both go into a plastic tub and then out into my van. Eventually, the body will end up in the landfill and the head—I dunno, maybe into the river.

Doesn’t matter, really. Just a rotting piece of meat.

Meat Chronicles 5–Doublecunt Cum

On June 27, 2015January 26, 2017 By m3mayhemIn Meat ChroniclesLeave a comment

He’s only about eighteen. I’ve got a great view of him as he crosses the street. Damn, he’s hot. Broad, muscled chest in a tight brown t-shirt. Khaki cargo short shorts cradle his firm ass and show off his tight calves, covered in a fine dark fur. A long, unruly mop of black hair hangs down, nearly obscuring his eyes, but the strong sun brings out the golden highlights in the hazel shaded by long lashes. Yellow construction boots with white socks rolled just above the black leather ankles…

He strides along confidently. He has no idea at all that I’m watching, planning, anticipating his agonizing death.

I think it’s about time to get that idea into his head. The question is, how do I lure him? I’m in the parking lot of a strip mall on a major street. I’m not hunting. I need to be very careful; it’s the unplanned situations that lead to mistakes and exposure. Dammit, this kid is almost up to my van. I really, really wanna fuckin’ hurt him. I need some time…

Hang on. He’s slowing. Right here, right beside my van. I crack the window; he’s talking to someone. As I listen, I adjust the side mirror until I get a glimpse of the other guy.

He’s about the same age as the kid I’ve been watching. His short brown hair is carefully sculpted and probably stiff with product. His face is pointed, with a sharp chin, but he’s compensated for this with a rigidly groomed goatee and a haze of brown stubble on his cheeks. His brown eyes are enormous and give an unexpected vulnerability to his arrogant expression.

He’s wearing a blue polo shirt that shows of his broad, firm pecs. The short sleeves bunch at his bulging biceps. His ‘skinny” jeans, straining tightly around his junk, outline the muscles in the kid’s thighs. He’s got on a pair of running shoes in a startling shade of neon yellow.

They called each other by name, but I never pay attention. As far as I care, they’re walking fuck toys. And when I’m done, well, rotting piles of meat don’t need names. But since there’s two of ‘em here, I’ll tell ya that the kid I’d first noticed was called Steve and the alpha punk was Kevin.

I think. Like I said, I don’t really give a shit. Most of the time, I don’t learn what the name is until they ID the body on the news.

I’ve run the numbers. I know the name of 13% of my victims. Most of them, I’ve learned after the kill.

Anyway, Steve and Kevin are looking to get high. Seems they haven’t had any luck. Nobody wants to sell these two poor little meat sacks any joy–what a shame. Perhaps I can help.

“Hey, you dudes lookin’ to have some fun?” I shout out the window. They both practically jump out of their skins. Stupid shits hadn’t realized I was here. Kevin gives me the hairy eye while Steve blushes and looks away. He’s embarrassed that he’s been caught looking for drugs. Kevin doesn’t care.

“I got whatever you need. Weed, crack, X , meth—what ya want?”

Kevin’s huge eyes are still slitted in distrust. “You ain’t a fuckin’ cop, are ya?”

“Fuck no, dude. I’ll take ya back to my place and let you sample whatever you wanna buy. Does that sound like a cop, showing ya where he lives?”

He’s still suspicious, but he agrees. I open the passenger door. I notice he lets Steve sit in the passenger seat while he crouches in the back of the van. That’s ok. Steve is hot and clearly well hung: I don’t mind him being my eye candy for the drive back to my killing pit.

Both boys follow me willingly into my apartment. Kevin wants coke, and he wants it now. He wants to mainline, to shoot it directly into his veins.

I know the feeling. I used to do it myself. Christ, it sucked getting off it; I went cold turkey. I shook for two straight weeks. This kid can’t have been doing it for too long; his body is too good to have been exposed to years of drug abuse.

On the other hand, he’s not likely to be able to get off this by himself, statistically speaking. Better for his sake to end it now. Same goes for the other punk. Trust me, I’ve been there. I know what I’m talking about.

Killing these two little fucks will be an act of mercy. And as long as I’m helping them out, what’s wrong with having some fun myself? After all, no matter how agonizing and drawn-out I make their deaths, it’s better and less painful than letting them live in such conditions.

Of course, this is still gonna hurt like fuck,

I’ve added ground-up diazepam to the coke they’re injecting. That’s generic Valium, by the way. I watch—and find myself getting harder by the second; I can feel precum oozing from the head of my cock as I watch the fucking punks get high.

It’s hard for me. Once an addict, always an addict. I don’t deny that I want to join them. I know what it feels like, after all, when the train hits. That’s what it’s called when the coke rush hits you; it’s the train. You can tell when the metallic taste hits your mouth. Your tongue sticks out as the rush begins. After that, no matter what happens, you’re ready to cum—you just need the proper physical stimulation. Problem is, you can’t get physically stimulated enough.

At least, not in the usual way. I’m gonna have to tinker with the meat. A steel shank embedded in the nervous system is a good way to override cocaine droop. There are other ways, too…

Once glance at the boys tells me it’s party time. They’re both leaning back on the sofa, eyelids half open, tongue sticking out. Steve is drooling slightly. They’re riding the train, all right—riding it straight to hell.

A box cutter makes quick work of their clothes. Kevin gets dragged back first. He moans incoherently as he’s sucked under by the cocaine. I tie him to a chair and duct tape his mouth after I remove from his left arm the strip of rubber that he’s used to tie off. At the same time, I place another small strip of duct tape on the back of the chair—that’s for later. He’s completely nude except for his white athletic socks and those day-glo yellow sneakers. His thick cock, four inches flaccid, lies on the black cloud of his pubic hair. He stares dully at the bed, so caught up in his coke rush that he has no clue what’s happening.

I grin. Kevin is going to be fun to play with. I can’t wait to fuck him.

Steve is young, dumb, and full of cum. Since I’m gonna fuck him first, I drag him to the bed. I bind his hands behind his back. I’m also gonna off him first, and I’m gonna make Kevin watch.

I think Kevin will be ready to die on my cock after I make him watch me kill Steve. He’ll feel responsible. Of course, that means I’ll have to make Steve’s death as painful as possible. I can’t fuckin’ wait.

It’s hit them both by now, worthless little fucks. They’re drooling, tongues protruding, eyes bulging, both of them—higher than kites. The coke may make it difficult for them to get off, but I can help them with that. A little breath control, a little pain, some manipulation of the nervous system and I can make these little punks cum no matter how much pain and fear they’re in.

So Steve is on his back on the bed—on the blood-and cum-soaked mattress. Kevin is bound to a chair and forced to watch. Steve’s arms are bound behind his back by a zip tie. He moans as I shove my engorged cock into his quivering asshole, but he’s still riding the coke train. He can’t resist, even if he wants to. It feels too good.

It’s about to feel a lot less good. Steve—or whatever the meat’s name is—is about to learn that I’m a lot less interested in getting him off than in getting myself off. That means that it doesn’t matter to me how much pain he’s in as long as it makes me cum.

In fact, the more pain he’s in, the more he’s gonna work my cock. And I’m gonna make sure Kevin sees it so he’ll know what to expect when it’s his turn.

Steve moans as I thrust the engorged head of my cock into his tender asshole. The pain is more than he’d anticipated. He’d wanted to be fucked; I can tell, but he didn’t know it would hurt this bad. I smile, knowing that it’ll hurt much more than this before I’m done.

They won’t admit it and may not consciously know it, but I’m giving them what they truly desire. They long for death; they show it by abusing their young, strong bodies. And they have a deep need for control or else they run wild like these two little shits. I can fulfill that need. The one thing they lack to complete their task on this planet—is me.

I am the missing father figure they’re yearning for, the adult male who can dominate them like the dogs they are and put them out of their misery. I’ll fill the void in their worthless souls by showing them just how worthless and empty they truly are.

And then I’ll fill that emptiness with cum.

Steve’s ass is so soft and smooth, it’s like fucking velvet. His eyes are wide with pain and shock; it’s clear that he never expected this. He’s on his back and his boots clamp tightly on my head. I can feel the soft leather on my ears as the meat stiffens in pain…

Kevin is squirming and trying to free himself from the chair. I can ignore him for the moment and focus on Steve. His eyes open wide and I can tell he’s about to scream. Good; I can stop that and show these pieces of shit that I’m not fucking around.

Steve inhales deeply, as if he’s about to scream. Before he can do that, I ram my knife into his throat. It’s a Ka-bar seven inch utility knife with a serrated edge. I stick it straight into his Adam’s apple and watch his face react to the pain.

His face contorts in agony as my blade punctures his larynx. I twist it, shredding the little fuck’s vocal cords, but I leave it in the wound. The hilt bobs in the air, matching the pace at which I’m fucking the meat. No matter how hard I make him work my dick, he won’t be able to cry out.

Kevin is conscious. I can tell that he’s watching, so he’s the one I speak to.

“How’s this look, fuckwad? Your buddy ain’t ever gonna speak again, not that it’ll matter. Neither one of y’all will need to speak by the time I’m done fucking you. Watch him die, asswipe. Whatever I do to him I’m gonna do worse to you. Watch him ride my cock until he dies, so you’ll know what I want you to do. Do it good and you won’t hurt as much. Watch, bitch, watch him die.”

The bedroom in this apartment is small. This mattress is already soaked with blood and cum. This is a nightmarish place to live your last moments, to suffer the pain that will be your last physical sensation on earth. The pain and fear that overwhelm Steve as I fuck him, as he tries to breathe with my knife embedded in his throat, must be unbearable.

“You wanted to get high?” I snarl into the teen’s tear-stained face. “How’s this feel, bitch? Are ya fuckin’ high enough? No? You’re fuckin’ loose, I can tell ya that, you worthless whore. Gotta tighten your ass up, bitch. Lessee what we can do about that.”

I yank my blade out of his throat and thrust it into the whore’s left flank. He writhes and massages the head of my cock, but Kevin doesn’t seem to be paying attention. I suppose I need to get a little more—dramatic, shall we say.

“Enough, you worthless fuckmeat,” I whisper into Steve’s ear. “You’re not gonna get me off. I’m gonna have to waste you just to get hard again. Maybe you’ll get my dick stiff as you die, fucker, but I doubt it. You really are a useless piece of shit.”

“Hey, dude,” I call to Kevin. “Wanna see something really fuckin’ hot? Watch this, asswipe, cause this is what I’m gonna do to you.”

As I say this, I grab a handful of Steve’s unruly black hair and jerk his head back. He gasps and grunts as this unexpected position makes it difficult for him to breathe. I could give a fuck; I yank Steve’s head back and slash his throat because I know that it’s gonna clench his sphincter around my cock.

Kevin stares wide-eyed as his buddy bleeds out on my cock. It takes a bit for Steve to die. I make sure both know what’s happening. The knife passes beneath Steve’s larynx. The tender flesh of his throat parts like it was butter. A fount of blood erupts from the punk’s throat. His eyes widen in shock—he’d thought he was gonna break into a car or two today, mug somebody, do whatever it took to get high. The muscular teen punk had thrown on his tight clothes and boots, prepared to break the law, but had no idea that it would lead to his agonizing death. He’d pulled on those tight cargo shorts and tied on his boots without realizing he was going to die in them.

“That’s it, you fuck, work my cock as your blood drains out. Come on, fuckmeat, you can do better than that. You’re dying, bitch, not taking a nap. I can make it hurt worse if I have to.”

Steve hacks up gouts of blood as he chokes and gasps. His sphincter spasms on my cock; a cockring that adjusts to the agony of my meat. He paws relentlessly despite the zip tie that renders his desperate flailing useless. His ass bucks and thrashes against my thick, swollen tool.

Suddenly, Steve’s dick begins to spasm. The meat’s brain has been deprived of oxygen too long. As his blood pressure drops, his consciousness fades and his struggles become more disjointed. The meat shudders and twitches and its cock, suddenly swollen, begins to expel seed. He’s not exactly shooting a wad; he’s just leaking a steady stream of semen. I don’t think I’ve seen anything like it.

It feels so fucking good on my cock. Despair and fear—those who have never experienced it have no clue of the pleasure in store when these emotions are given full reign. But it’s over too soon. Steve has managed to give up his death load and escape my grasp without getting me off.

I’m very angry. I want to hurt someone very, very badly. Kevin is still awake. He’s the one I want to hurt; this cunt I’m fucking now is dogmeat.

I place my boot in Steve’s face—as always, I wear combat boots when I fuck; they give me a better purchase—and shove the meat onto the floor. “Fucking useless piece of shit,” I snarl at the corpse. “Couldn’t even make me fuckin’ cum.”

I stand in front of Kevin, my arms crossed and my legs spread. I’m nude except for my white socks and black combat boots. Blood glistens along my hard body as I look down into Kevin’s pleading, upturned face and hold the knife up. I can see it reflected in his huge, stunned eyes. On the floor behind me, visible between my legs, the huddled corpse of his buddy quivers, his boots making faint scuffling sounds on the floor.

The boy can’t bring himself to look at the knife—his eyes turn down and he’s confronted with my dick, engorged an angry red, dripping in readiness for him. He looks back up, and I can see in his face, that beautiful furry face with the huge brown eyes, that he knows what’s about to happen.

I cut him free from the chair. I leave the duct tape on his mouth, but I don’t bother to restrain him in any other way. I lead him to the bed by hand and lay him down before climbing on top of him. The mattress is still slick with Steve’s blood. I lift Kevin’s feet up as I had Steve’s, and placing his shoes on my shoulders, plug my cock up his ass. Kevin’s face clenches into a grimace as his cry is muffled to a loud grunt by the tape. He opens his eyes wide and they well with tears. I bend down and lick his tears as they run down his cheeks.

No, they’re not sweet. They’re salty.

I talk him through it. “You know what’s coming, boy,” I whisper as I stroke his face. “Your buddy couldn’t hack it. My fault, really, cutting his throat like that. I should’ve known he’d croak too soon. With you, it’s gonna take longer, at least a little.”

The meat flinches and turns his face away, excepting the sharp, cold pain of my knife. But that’s not what he gets. Remember that piece of duct tape that I’d put on the back of the chair? This is why. It goes over his nose.

He fights. They always fight, even the ones who’ve accepted the inevitable beforehand. They can’t help it; it’s physiological, part of the involuntary muscle system. The body fights to live under any circumstances.

Thank god it does; that’s what gets me off.

The meat—it doesn’t need a name anymore—reaches up, hands scrabbling desperately at its blocked-off orifices. The kid’s brown eyes grow larger still, revealing a world of hurt panic that nearly makes me as hard as the soft sponge-like texture of the fuckmeat’s rectum massaging my swollen tool.

I grab the boy’s flailing arms by the wrist, forcing them to the blood-stained mattress. The furry-faced twink bucks and jerks in a futile attempt to throw me off. I straddle him, feeling his thick, limp rod slapping against my belly with every thrust of my cock. I spit in the meat’s face as I sneer down at him.

“That’s it, boy. Good little death pig. Yeah, you’re getting’ it. Fuck yeah, does it hurt? I hope it does, you fucking piece of shit. My cock is killing you. I’m fucking you to death. Your buddy died to get my dick hard; now you’re gonna die to make me cum. Worthless little punks, had to waste two of ya to get off. Goddam, I’m going through meat like it was Kleenex. You better be worth it, fuckwad.”

The kid is shaking his head violently from side to side. His bright yellow sneakers drum against my back, my ass. His hands clench and unclench as I maintain my grip on his wrists; his chest heaves upwards, pressing against mine, sliding along on a thin film of sweat.

His eyes are no longer beautiful; they’re grotesque, bulging horribly from his purple face. There’s a bulge in the duct tape over his mouth as well, accompanied by a mewling sound; it’s his tongue, swelling but unable to protrude, backing up into his throat.

As the meat’s brain begins to die off from lack of oxygen, its dick starts to grow erect. I can feel it pressing into my belly, hard and hot. He’s finally giving in; I’ve brought him to the point of ultimate surrender.

“Die, you fucking bitch,” I scream, spitting into the meat’s face again, “die on my fucking cock. Make me cum, fuckmeat, die for me. I want your death throes to jack me off. Come on, you useless piece of shit, work my cock until I pump your guts full of spunk and throw you away like a used rubber.”

The embrace of death is hard and tight. He grabs me convulsively, entwining me with his arms and legs. His face is close to me; I can barely recognize the beautiful teen with the furry face and the brown eyes. Bloodshot and swollen, his eyes now convey nothing but the resignation of eternity. His lithe body, slick with perspiration, undulates beneath me and I suddenly feel a sticky warmth spread across my abdomen. The meat has unloaded his death wad all over my belly.

I moan and curse as I cum, fucking whore piece of shit fuck drain my load you worthless fuck oh god oh fuck you fucking shit meat…

The meat has stopped twitching by the time I come to. I have to yank my dick out of his ass; my spunk has dried to a crust inside the colon. He’s lying there on his back, arms at his side, legs spread, flaccid cock still lying thickly on his belly on top of a glaze of deathseed. The blood has drained from his face; it’s no longer black but a pale blue. His eyes have glazed to the point of opacity; he stares milkily into space.

God, I’d love to fuck him again, but I can’t take the chance. I gotta get rid of two of ‘em now, and it need to be done before they get stiff. It’ll be nearly impossible to dump them then.

Now, where the fuck am I gonna dump all this meat?

Meat Chronicles 2–Grab ‘n Go

On June 27, 2015January 26, 2017 By m3mayhemIn Meat ChroniclesLeave a comment

It’s time. I’m out hunting again. But tonight I’m not fucking around.

It’s been weeks. I came too close last time. Got pulled over for having a tail light out, for Christ’s sake. I’d already dumped the meat. As far as I know, they haven’t found it yet—but when they do, they’ll have a record of my van in the area.

So I don’t have that van any more. I traded it at a used lot way out in the ‘burbs, then laid low for a while. And I won’t be using that dump site ever again.

I registered the new van in the name of my ex’s new boyfriend.

But it’s been too long. My balls are so full of cum they’re about to explode. I’m not playing any games tonight.

I’m grabbing the first punk bitch I see and fucking him to pieces.

I’m in one of the suburbs now; it’s closer to the city than where I dumped the last one. Run-down neighborhoods, mostly lower class white and Hispanic. It’s a long way from the apartment.

I’m too horny tonight. I won’t be able to control myself long enough to get back to the killing pit. I’m gonna end up tearing the meat to shreds in the back of the van; I’ve already lined it with plastic sheets–my mobile killing pit. Luckily, there’s a couple of half-empty industrial blocks on the other side of the highway. I can park there without being disturbed—at least, for as long as this will take.

I don’t think it’ll take long.

It doesn’t take long to find some meat. He rides up on a bicycle, stoned out of his gourd and offering to sell me a dime bag. He sticks his head in the window while I’m stopped at a stop sign. It’s past dark and no one is on the street. The timing is perfect.

I have just a moment to notice his appearance. Hair is a mop in a shade of dirty blond, partially covered by a ball cap worn backwards. Late teens, I’d say, no older than twenty. He’s got a large nose and a big grin. Combined with the long lashes of his blue eyes, they give his face a vulnerable look that begs to be hurt. He’s tall and thin but not scrawny. A simple white t-shirt stretches tightly across his chest, outlining large nipples resting on broad pectorals. Denim shorts show that his legs are covered with a light golden fuzz. He’s wearing dark blue hightop kicks with black laces.

I pop him in the face and put out his lights. As he goes limp, I manhandle him in through the open window, dragging him across both myself and the center console to stuff him in the passenger seat.

I roll up the window and accelerate through the intersection, leaving his bike propped up on its kickstand in the middle of the street.

The highway is behind me; I need to turn around. I make two rights to get on the next major cross street and so reach the industrial lots. I’d forgotten that this street had more lights. It takes me a couple more minutes than I expected.

The meat begins to stir. As he grows more awake, he starts to make more noise. I want him out till we get where we’re going.

At the next stoplight, I grab his hair in one hand—his cap is lying back in the road by his bike—and clip him in the jaw with the other. One swift sucker punch straight from the shoulder shuts him up good.

I’ve already scoped out this neighborhood. It’s what I do when I can’t actively hunt. I already know the perfect spot; it’s an empty lot between two abandoned factories. There’s a warehouse across the street that’s still functioning, but it’s closed on the weekends. There’s a security guard who never gets off his ass and since his guard shack is on the other side of the building, I figure I’m good.

I climb into the back of the van and strip until I’m wearing nothing but my rubber-soled combat boots. They’ll help me keep my traction on the plastic I’ve placed on the floor.

I drag the meat into the back and pull out my favorite knife, the Ka-bar. It’s seven inches of steel, partially serrated, and just looking at it makes me hard.

Using it makes me cum.

But I start slowly, cutting the punk’s shirt and shorts off. He starts moaning again as I’m slicing through the elastic waistband of his briefs, revealing a thick plug-like cock and large nuts like goose eggs resting in a nest of golden down.

Before he can fully awaken, I bind his hands behind him with a zip tie and slap a piece of duct tape over his mouth. My dick is already dripping in anticipation; I’m not waiting any longer.

I spit on my hands a couple of times and lube the head of my cock. I grab the bitch’s legs, prop his expensive kicks on my shoulders and shove my rod into his ass. His moaning increases in pitch and intensity. By the time he’s fully conscious, I’m plowing his ass mercilessly. His eyes suddenly focus on me as the center of his world of pain.

“That’s right, motherfucka, I’m all up in your ass–ha! Feel the burn, bitch, feel my cock tearing you open. Piece of shit small-time dime bag dealer—think you’re hot shit? Guess again, fuckwad. You’re gonna learn your place tonight. Your place is on the end of my dick and you’re gonna spend the rest of your life there.”

As I whisper, I lean forward and stoke the meat’s youthful, innocent face. His eyes are wide, but I don’t think it’s fear; not yet. He’s angry.

That means he won’t accept his place willingly. I have to teach him. I have to tenderize the meat.

“You think this is bad? It hurts when I stick my cock in ya? What if I stick something else in ya?” I hold up the knife. Matte black, the serrations catch the lights. It’s so clearly designed to cut and slice, to inflict maximum pain—it’s so fuckin’ sexy. “How about I stick this into ya, bitch, and see which ya like better—my long hard hot cock or my long hard cold blade? Does that sound fun? It does to me, fucker, it sounds hotter than fuckin’ hell. And I gotta promise for ya, meat—sometime before I off ya, you’re gonna cum. I may have to fuck your brain to do it, but you’ll blow a load before you die. Well, technically. It may be kinda hard to tell you’re still alive at that point.” With this I leer into the meat’s face.

The boy’s eyes gaze up at me uncomprehendingly. He’s being raped, physically assaulted and traumatized. His brain isn’t really processing my words. He sees the knife, but he doesn’t understand what it means.

I help him understand what it means. I sink it up to the hilt in the punk’s smooth, firm belly.

His eyes, already wide, expand to saucers. His whole body tenses and shudders—holy fuck, the way his asshole tightens up and clenches my cock—as a loud squealing erupts from behind the duct tape.

“That’s it, pig, squeal as you die,” I smile down as him as I reach down and grind the knife into his abdomen. Seven inches of razor-sharp steel slash their way through the kid’s tender innards. Now his eyes are frantic; rimmed by dark circles of shock, they’re almost insane in their intensity.

He’s starting to understand. I don’t anticipate his reaction.

In retrospect, I should have. I mean, he’s a small-time suburban pot dealer. He’s soft. I thought he just looked vulnerable, but it turns out he actually is. He can’t handle pain.

He vomits.

I don’t realize what’s happened until I see his face turn red and fluid leak from his nose. He’s choking on his own puke.

Quickly, I pull him upright and rip the tape off his mouth. I grip his head tightly and turn it to the side, letting the stream of vomit spew harmlessly onto the plastic. His throat is clear, but not his nostrils.

I can fix that. I clamp one hand down over his mouth, hard, and punch him in the solar plexus. His head, still pointed to the side, expels a vast amount of snot.

I lean back, pulling him up with me by his hair. He struggles for air, gasping deeply, two, three, four times, then I plant the tape back over his mouth. His nose is clear.

“Bad pig,” I snarl. “No easy way out for you. You’re gonna suffer till I cum and the only thing that’s gonna make me cum is hurting you. Do you get it now, meat? You are only here so I can get off by hurting you. That’s your only purpose here, to make me spunk by dying in excruciating agony.”

My dick has remained firmly in the meat’s hole the entire time. I decide it needs some attention—some stimulation.

I thrust the knife into the bitch’s right side, just under the ribcage. The meat jerks to the left, trying to escape the burning tip of steel that tears through his intestines. I made sure to stay above the liver and spleen; I don’t want the little fuck bleeding out before I’m ready.

He thrashes violently, his brightly-colored kicks flailing around my head. I’m holding both ankles, though, leaving the knife stuck in the meat’s flank. Every time he tenses up and jerks in pain, he moves the knife within himself, causing even more pain—which make him writhe in agony and repeats the cycle.

I sit up on my knees, holding the fuckmeat’s legs, watching him twitch and massage my tool. But I’ve been waiting too long to remain this passive.

I yank the knife out, twisting it on the way to cause maximum pain, before I hold it in front of the meat’s face. His eyes are dilated with adrenaline as he goes into physical shock. He’s helpless and immobile, completely and utter under my control, his smooth, taut flesh mine to abuse and desecrate.

I hold the knife so as to make sure he can see his own blood dripping from it, shreds of his own guts caught in the serrations.

“Made up your useless waste of a mind yet, motherfucka? Which ya like, my cock or my blade? Gotta tell ya, dude, I’m having fun with both. ‘Course, right now, I’m havin’ more fun with the knife ‘cause your worthless pig hole is all stretched out already. You must be takin’ it up the ass every day, you fuckin’ whore. Little fuckin’ suburban shit thinkin’ he’s a bad-ass gangsta dealer. See where that got ya, fucker? Thought you were ready to play with the big boys? You’re gonna end up squealing your life out on my dick, you worthless little punk. I’m gonna blow my load into you and toss your sperm-filled corpse into a ditch for your momma to find. How’s that sound, meat? Fuck, yeah, sound pretty hot to me!”

Nothing like pain to tighten a loose hole. I slam the blade into the right side of the meat’s chest, slicing neatly though his bulging pec, between his ribs and burying the razor tip seven inches below in the fucker’s lung.

His entire body seems to contract and clench in agony. It’s like a fist grabbing my cock and squeezing, a fist of satin.

I lean over the meat. I spit in his anguished, tearful face. Twisting the knife slowly but brutally in the wound, I start whispering.

“How’s that feel, bitch? You’re dying. It’s too late for anything to save you; the only question is how long it’ll take you to actually die. And, of course, how painful it will be.”

I kiss the tip of his large nose and stroke his face, feeling the stubble that was so light it’s nearly invisible, as I ream and crank the blade into the boy’s chest, carving chunks of lung tissue.

“The answer is that it’s gonna be as painful as possible, you little fuck. Welcome to hell. The last few minutes of your life are gonna be worse than anything you could have imagined.”

I pull the knife out of his chest. His lung collapses almost instantly. His breathing grows labored and irregular; his face takes on a slight bluish tint.

Oh well. He’ll live long enough.

I’m ready. I want to ease my way into orgasm; I need to time this right. There’s a certain artistry in manipulating the meat to make it cum at the right time, despite the pain and fear. It involves increasing the stimulation in the central nervous system to the point of overload, accompanied by a certain amount of physical trauma to the system itself…

I tell him about it.

“Time for the finale, fuckwad. Ready for the big one? The big blast of horrific pain that’s gonna overload your brain and give you your last and best cumshot? No? Tough shit, bitch, I control your hot little body now. I’m gonna hurt you so fucking bad and you’re gonna spunk your biggest load ever anyway. Time to die, asswipe. Enjoy it, meat; this nightmarish agony will be the last thing you feel on earth and it’s gonna make me fill your jerking, twitching corpse with semen. Here we go, motherfucker!”

I press the tip of the knife against the underside of the meat’s jaw. The meat is turned to the side, eyes clenched closed, sobbing relentlessly. Not fighting. He’s finally submitted; deep within his terror, he’s eagerly awaiting my load and my blade, awaiting the ultimate release of his life and his seed.

I slowly increase the pressure on the knife. The boy grunts as I break the skin. “Shh,” I mutter, “Almost done. A little more pain and then it’ll be over.”

He shudders. It feels like a shudder of pleasure to me. His unruly blond hair, dark and rank with the sweat forced out by the torture the boy has endured, clings to his face, itself shiny with agonized perspiration.

The knife has punctured the jaw and is slicing upwards through the thick, muscular base of the tongue. I don’t have words to describe the sound he’s making. It blurs the fine line between agony and ecstasy.

The kid is starting to resist. He jerks and flails as he experiences a pain he’s never known was possible; a pain which he struggles vainly to escape. One last show of independence. I lean forward, one hand planted flat on his face, pinning his head to the floor as I continue to insert the knife into the punk’s head slowly—oh, so slowly…

The knife creeps upward, the tongue now utterly pierced and the steel tip of the blade spearing the soft palate at the roof of the mouth. A bit of force shatters the septum as the blade continues up through the sinuses.

The meat is still conscious, still aware of everything that’s happening. He feels the tempered razor edge tearing its way up behind his nose. He can tell when it passes behind his eyes as his optic nerves are severed and he’s plunged into a screaming blackness of indescribable suffering.

And he responds to it all by tightening his colon on my dick. Each millimeter of agony, of sharp steel slicing though tissue causes the meat to contract his sphincter around the base of my cock, to massage my thick, oozing head with uncontrollable convulsions of his rectum.

I’m ready.

“Die, motherfucker,” I snarl as I push the knife further into the fuckmeat’s head. I hear the crunching of the blade shattering the cranial cavity behind the orbit of the eye. The meat hears it, too—it must be deafening in that howling vortex of pain and panic, the sound of death that he has been both dreading and desiring his entire wasted life.

As my long hard blade slides into the punk bitch’s cerebrum, his personality is gone. Whatever happens with his body, this kid, whatever his name was, is gone.

This is what I wanted. A jerking, twitching puppet of meat dancing on my cock. As it spasms, the sphincter tightens even further on my dick. The convulsions caused by massive brain trauma make the meat’s hips buck and twerk like a stripper. The fuckmeat’s dying convulsions are jacking me off.

Just before I cum, the meat goes rigid. His knees lock together, clamping my head tightly in the soft leather embrace of his blue kicks. His fireplug cock rises like a cobra and begins spitting hot venom. A jet of cum rises between us to fall, splattering the punk’s face and bleeding chest. Semen pools in the dilated, unseeing eyes, matting those long, seductive lashes.

It’s too much; I’ve waited too long not to enjoy this moment. I don’t understand how I can unload so much spunk inside the little fuck’s ass without having it leak out his mouth. As I shoot I find myself screaming curses at the meat while cranking my blade in great circles within the corpse’s cranium, grinding the brain to hamburger.

I don’t know how long it takes me to recover after I cum. I lie there for a while, stoking the meat as it cools and stiffens. When I get up, I roll the meat in the plastic that covers every surface. Glad I kept my boots on; it’s slippery in here.

After I get dressed, I drive away from the highway. I kept my promise to the meat, too, tossing his body in a drainage ditch on the west side of the industrial area.

I’m sure that once they find him, they’ll notify his momma.