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.

Fantasy Scenario 1

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

I knew I was gonna fuck the kid from the moment I laid eyes on him. He was in his late teens or very early twenties and very fit, his skin-tight black t-shirt and jeans highlighting his slim, muscled body. His carefully neglected black hair, his expensive sneakers and the gold chain around his neck all clearly showed his intentions. No white boy with that kind of money hung out on street corners in this neighborhood unless he was there to buy drugs. He was waiting for someone to drive up and offer him something.

So I did.

I could see needle tracks on his arm when I pulled up. He told me he wanted heroin, which was what I’d hoped for—I actually had some. I don’t do the stuff myself, but it helps my playtime by making the boys more docile. Some of them are looking for coke to shoot, but they can’t seem to tell the difference between one white powder and another. It’s more fun when they’re already used to heroin, though. The coke boys always OD. I still enjoy fucking their sweet, still, defenseless bodies, of course, but it’s not the same

I told the kid that I had a friend who could get what he needed and said that he’d meet us at my place. I had rented an apartment nearby. It was the type of complex where no one would notice a couple of addicts doing a minor transaction, which is what we’d look like. I sweetened the deal by offering a sample when we got there. He was eager. He jumped in and told me his name, like I cared—stupid little fuck.

He leaned back in the passenger seat and told me his plans. He massaged his crotch with one hand while describing his plans to find a whore after getting the drugs.

“Yeah, man, my bros wanted me to find some good shit so we can get fucked up hard tonight, but I ain’t goin’ back without findin’ a bitch to suck my dick. Can you hook me up, dude? I can pay.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” I said with a grin, knowing damn well that if anyone’s dick got sucked tonight, it wouldn’t be his.

It was stunningly easy after we got back to my place. I’d paid a small fortune for the small amount of heroin I’d bought because it was unusually pure—which was why cokeheads always ended up convulsing and dying in my arms before I could even get my cock out. This kid had more tolerance; he sank into a dreamy stupor, smiling at me with half-closed eyes in which the pupils were mere pinpricks.

He didn’t make a sound as I ran my hands down his hard, tight body and grasped his thick hard cock. Another disadvantage of cocaine: it kills erections. Might not have stopped this guy, though. He was rock hard.

He moaned when I held up a pair of handcuffs but offered no resistance during the process of having his hands bound behind him. No sense in taking chances. Drugged as he was, he would still fight hard.

I unbuckled his belt and pulled his jeans down to his knees. This made it easy to bend his legs with his knees pressed against his chest, exposing his ass. I spat into my hands a couple of times, lubed my dick with it and plunged into the boy’s quivering hole.

The kid gave a loud groan, almost a scream, and started crying. I had my head between his legs as I bent his body into a fetal position. I wanted to stare into his eyes while I raped him. My body was supported by his legs, leaving my hands free for other purposes.

The boy started begging. The heroin made it hard for him to speak and his sobbing didn’t help, but I could make out a few phrases.

“Please…stop…fuck, please…you’re hurting me…stop, dude, please, it hurts…”

Good. I wanted it to hurt badly. It was gonna hurt a lot more before we were done. It was time for the cord.

I looped the nylon cord around his neck. With my hands free, I could tighten and loosen it at will. This meant that playtime could be extended since I could allow my fuckmeat just enough air to keep him twitching.

I’ve seen strangling staged before but nothing ever recreates the reality of the desperation with which the victim struggles. The agony and the terror, the final moment of acceptance and release, all while riding my cock…

I tightened the cord down and he started to fight. A look of panic crossed his face and he squirmed violently. I shuddered; his ass slid up and down my dick—I didn’t even have to move. His ass was the only thing he could move, with his legs caught in his jeans and his hands cuffed behind him. That probably hurt. I slammed myself down on top him to make it hurt more.

His pleading eyes filled with mute terror as I shifted the cord so I could hold it tight with one hand. I ran my other hand over his smooth, hard torso, slick with the sweat of his death struggle. He twisted under my hand in a vain attempt to break free.

“Shhh,” I whispered to him, staring into his wide, panicked eyes, already starting to bulge from lack of oxygen, “Almost over now. Relax and let go. Enjoy the pain. You won’t get to feel me fuck you the next time because you’ll be dead.”

I eased up on the cord each time he was on the brink of losing consciousness, lengthening the time it took him to die. His beautiful tight ass squeezed my cock every time he thrashed. I stretched out his death throes as long as possible, his slow, painful fight for life meaning nothing more than a pleasurable sensation on my dick. I made sure he knew it, too.

His tongue protruded from his swollen lips, spittle ran down his chin. I dipped my finger in the spittle and traced patterns on his blackened, sweaty face as I continued to whisper to him.

“You’re just fuckmeat, you little bitch. You’re gonna die with my cum inside you and I’m gonna fill your dead body with more cum. No one’s gonna miss you after I finish using you. Your worthless, wasted life is over. You’re a useless sack of meat that I’m gonna throw out to rot after I fill you with my spunk. Death is gonna take you, punk, no matter how hard you fight—it’s gonna take you in a blast of jizz and sweat and piss. The harder you fight, the more I cum. You, too. Oh, yeah, bitch, you’re gonna blow your load in the end. Can you still feel your cock? I can. You’re hard, motherfucker. You know you’re dying and it’s getting you hard. All you little bitches are the same—you fight like your worthless life means something but you’ll shoot a huge wad at the end. This is what you want, isn’t it? Just accept it. You wanted a man to overpower you and fuck you to death. You always knew you were garbage, to be used and killed and tossed aside. You want this, bitch; you want to give me your load when you die…”

He was there. I couldn’t keep him going any longer by giving him air; the fear and desperation had drained from his eyes. His plans for a blowjob and a drug orgy were forgotten and confusion had been replaced by resignation.

I tightened the cord as much as I could. His tongue stuck out grotesquely as the pressure in his head increased. There was a distinct crunching sound as his windpipe collapsed and the hyoid bone in his throat fractured. I stopped whispering to him. His body was jerking rhythmically with approaching death; his brain was too damaged to understand my words.

His rectum clamped onto my cock and milked it brutally. It took all my restraint not to shoot then—not yet, not yet…

I crouched down on his body, staring deeply into his eyes. I wanted to shoot the moment I saw life drain out of him, the moment his eyes glazed over as he looked into the darkness of forever…there!

My orgasm was simultaneous with his. The moment I started filling his guts with cum, there was an explosion of spunk between his legs, spraying everywhere. His burning, dying semen splattered over my chest and his. It pooled on his face and got matted in his hair. The little shit’s final orgasm was probably the best one he ever had.

After a brief rest, I stripped him nude and climbed back into bed with him. I fell asleep with his corpse in my arms.

He was, of course, still there when I woke up. It was early morning, long before dawn. I always sleep for about twelve hours after playtime—it’s exhausting, but worth it. This time was no exception; the last stiffness of rigor mortis was fading from the fuckmeat as I started kissing and fondling it.

It was such a beautiful, still piece of meat, too. Now that the kid had been baptized into death by terror and agony, he was worth my love. I lay on top of him and kissed him deeply, his swollen tongue yielding to mine. I ran my hands down his firm, cold chest, still covered with the crust of his seed. His dull eyes were starting to turn milky with decay. Oh god, he was so beautiful…

I had to fuck him again, of course. His dead meat was so hot and just lying there, unable to resist. I threw his flaccid legs over my shoulders. His ass had tightened again with the rigor—it was like fucking a virgin.

His body jerked on the bed with the force of my thrusts. I bent forward, placing his knees against his chest again so I could kiss him while I fucked him. I licked the dried sperm on his face. His “bros” probably thought he’d skipped out with their money. If they could see him now, lying on my bed after losing the battle for his life, with my dick up his ass and my tongue in his mouth, such pretty, pretty meat…

I was kissing him violently, almost brutally when I came inside him. I lay on top of the body, gasping and panting, overcome with melancholy. It was time to say goodbye. He was so hot and so much fun, but soon he’d start to smell—he was already starting to turn green across his belly. Even in this shitty little dump, someone would complain.

Well, the bathtub was handy and the electric knife was even handier. A few garbage bags distributed in dumpsters around the city and that would be that.

And besides, there would be others. That was the nice thing about these hot punk bitches—there were always more of them, and no one ever seemed to care what happened to them. Well, no one but me. And I was very careful.

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 11–Emo Slut

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

It’s been a while since I’ve been hunting. There was a big fuss when they found my last two. Seems one of the worthless little junkies was related to some suburban alderman. I‘ve needed to lie low a bit.

I’m still staying away from the ‘burbs for a bit. Gonna run down to the ghetto and look for a rentboy; there’s never any outcry when a hustler turns up snuffed.

It’s a hot summer night and there are lots of boys out. Lots of whores, too. Might sound like a kid in a candy shop, but I can’t have any. There are too many witnesses out here on the main drag. I have to turn down the side streets.

I’ve done this before. For some reason, I always turn west off the strip. Tonight, on a whim, I turn east. I haven’t been back here in years; it used to be kinda a rough neighborhood.

It still is. There are more gaps in the rows of crumbling old houses, cut into shoddy apartments. More rubble-strewn vacant lots and fewer streetlights. Otherwise it’s exactly as I remembered it.

The further east I go from the bar district, the fewer people are out on the streets. Within three blocks, I don’t see anyone at all. Goddammit. I need to turn around and head west.

I take the next left and as I make the corner, my headlights swing across a boy on the sidewalk. I pull to the curb. He’s a whore; I can tell just by looking.

He’s wearing a ball cap backwards—looks like it’s made of gray suede. Dangling out from under it is a long fringe of straight black hair, long bangs nearly obscuring his large dark eyes, emo-style.

He isn’t wearing a shirt. He’s slim but with some definition—his torso looks like photos I’ve seen of a certain punk-ass pop star bitch I’d love to spend an hour or two with. It’s humid and beads of sweat glitter in the shadows on his chest and highlight the biceps on his smooth arms.

He’s wearing baggy jeans halfway down his ass. The look has never done anything for me but I can see his skin-tight boxers underneath, the waistband bisecting his flat, firm abdomen a good four inches above his thick but loose leather belt. On his feet are thick-soled skate shoes, large white laces untied and flopping loose.

As he approaches me, I can see a bulge forming in his groin—just below his belt; if his pants were any lower, he could use the waist as a cockring. There’s a streetlight about fifty yards away. It gives enough light for me to catch a twinkle from the studs in his ears. There’s a large, ornate cross tattooed on his left shoulder.

He hocks and spits as I roll down the window. Idly scratching at his dick, he leers in at me. “You can blow me for twenty,” he drawls. “For fifty, I’ll knock ya around. For one fifty, I’ll blow you. ‘Course, I’ll take it in kind, too. Crack or powder. You got black tar, you can do what you want to me. But you gotta gimme some first.”

Wow. Hardcore street cunt. This little shit is flat-out offering to get punkfucked for drugs.

I grin. “Guess it’s a lucky night for both of us. I got some tar back at my place. And I got a J here to get us there.”

His eyes light up and he immediately grabs for the door handle. He doesn’t look like a heroin junkie. Either he hasn’t been doing it long or has trouble getting it; probably a combination of the two. At any rate, he’s excited enough not to question what I’m doing to him until it’s too late for him to get away.

I don’t have any heroin. I won’t need it. The joint I hand him is laced slightly with a ground-up sedative. I think it’ll be enough. He’s a cheap street whore who’s probably had to fight out of some bad situations before, but he’s shorter, smaller, and nowhere near as built as I am. There’s enough to take the edge off him, at least. From there, I’ll have no problems putting the bitch down.

He leans back in the passenger seat. As he tokes away, he pops in earbuds attached to his cheap phone. Soon I can hear the faint sound of gangsta rap bouncing off his deadened eardrums.

He’s already kinda limp when we get back to the killing pit. I still haven’t even decided how I’m gonna off the little cunt and he’s already climbing out of the van and staggering behind me in the treacherous darkness of the sleazy apartment parking lot.

Once we’re inside, he turns to me—actually, it’s more like he swings in a wide half circle. “Where’s the shit, dude?” he says. I’m kinda surprised his speech isn’t more slurred—he must have a higher tolerance than most of the meat I find. But then, I haven’t sunk quite so low on the food chain as this before.

He’s hot, though. I’m gonna snuff him in his prime. I wouldn’t give him more than a year before his looks are gone and he’s literally worthless. And since he’s a cheap skank, he’s likely to end up on meth, the bargain-basement of drugs. That shit’ll eat you up from the inside out. If that happens, he won’t last six months. Worst-case scenario—he ends up in an alley, huffing paint behind a dumpster.

So really, I’m doing the little slut a favor. He’d thank me if he knew. But he’ll never know, of course; he’s just a useless little whore without much of a brain, anyway.

“In there,” I reply, nodding towards the bedroom. “But strip out here first.”

He shrugs. “Ok, dude. Tell ya what, you throw in some points and I’ll let you fuck me.” He unbuckles his belt and his jeans fall to the floor. They’re so large he can literally step right out of them.

He stands before me in gray. His cap, his skate shoes, his boxers that (in contrast to his jeans) are so tight they look sprayed on—all are gray. Not only can I see his balls, large gray sacks stretching the material between his legs, I can see some of the veins running along his thick hog; they must be huge.

“Get them off, too,” I snap. “You can keep the shoes.”

“And the cap?” he asked.

“You can keep that, too. Won’t stay on long, anyway, with what I’m gonna do to you.”

He peels off the boxers, his massive dong springing free and bobbing in front of him. I nod towards the bedroom door. He gets it. He goes in and I follow.

The room is dark as he enters and I keep it that way. He’s too fucked up to really care, so he keeps walking until he stumbles into the bed and falls on it. He flounders for a moment before I’m on him, dragging him to the head of the bed and handcuffing him to the headboard. Only then do I turn on the only light in the room and reveal the slaughter room, the blood- and sperm-stained mattress he’s lying on.

He looks around dazedly, trying to figure out what’s going on. His normally sharp street sense, dulled by the drugs, takes a moment to register the surroundings. I can tell when it finally sinks in; his eyes grow wide and the expression of fear is both unmistakable and erotic. He inhales deeply in preparation for a scream. I punch him twice, hard as I can, driving my fist like a jackhammer into the cunt’s firm but unsuspectingly yielding belly, then into his jaw.

He exhales in a mighty grunt, followed by another as the blow to his face registers. Just to make sure, I slam another one into his solar plexus, leaving him writhing in agony on the crusty mattress.

As pain curls him into a fetal position, I slip off my t-shirt. My jeans are tight around my legs and my ass. It fells good and I don’t feel like taking them off or removing my black leather harness boots. I simply unzip my fly, letting my cock flop out like a length of bratwurst, gleaming and oozing with precum at the thought of the suffering I was about to inflict on this slutboy.

As the punk rolls about in pain, desperately trying to breathe, I kneel between his legs and grab his right ankle. Gipping him tightly, I start slipping the thick flat white shoelace free from his jerking skate shoe. The moment it’s out, I grab his left ankle and do the same.
The laces are about ¼’ wide and about 18” long. They’re not really long enough for me to get a good grip, but the laces from his skate shoes are good enough to choke him with. I slip them behind his head and pull them tight.

He bucks and jerks as his air is cut off. My long cock, not yet fully hard, brushes against his taint as his pelvis flails. His arms pull frantically—and vainly—at the handcuffs chaining him to the headboard. He bends his back, thrusting his flat smooth abdomen upwards as his large velvety balls slap against my belly.

Straining his arms, the emo cunt tries to pull himself up towards the headboard, planting his laceless shoes on the bed for leverage. He succeeds in getting enough slack to bend his arms, letting him swing at my head with his elbows.

I’m not taking that shit. I yank violently on the laces. They sink deeper into his neck; his being to bulge—then they snap.

The whore inhales, a deep, sobbing gasp. Angry red lines still twist about his neck where the laces had dug in. He relaxes visibly, the desperation fading out of his struggles. I’m pissed. Grabbing the slut’s ankles, I drag him back into position lower down on the bed. He begins to beg in a ragged, rasping croak.

“Fuck, don’t, man, don’t kill me—oh fuck, please don’t, do whatever you want to me, anything, dude, just please don’t kill—uhh!”

I shut him up with a blow to the face, a piledriver straight from my shoulder into his jaw. After his grunt of shock and gasp of pain, he turns his face to me.

His full lips are swollen and bleeding. His straight black hair is plastered to his forehead by a slick film of sweat. His large dark eyes are wide with the awareness of how completely he’s in my control. I can do whatever I want to him and kill him anyway, and he knows it.

Time for him to realize I know it, too.

“Ok, here’s what’s gonna happen, you piece of shit. You’re gonna die tonight like the fucking whore you are, riding my hog as you kick away your last few minutes on earth.” I grin down at him as I lean over, gripping his legs behind the knees and throwing his shoes up on my shoulders. “Ya ready for it, meat? Ready for the last cock you’re ever gonna have slammed up your reamed-out hole? No? Tough shit, you fucking worthless slut, cause you’re getting’ it anyway.”

I hock and spit the same way he’d done when he approached me—except mine was for lube. And it was all the lube there was gonna be. I just wanna make sure I’m comfortable. I could give a shit about the meat; he’s only here to die.

I shove my fat, dripping head in, feeling it push forcibly past his sphincter. His groan rises into a shrill scream. I don’t want too much noise, so I pop him in the face again and he quiets into a subdued moaning. I shove in another inch and he begins to build into a squeal. This time, I bust his nose, feeling it crunch under my knuckles.

I shove in another inch. His moaning and snuffling rises in volume, but not to unacceptable levels. Little bitch is starting to learn his place.

Let’s see how well. Enough inching in. I plunge the rest of my dick into his hole in a long, sustained thrust, feeling his tight asshole being stretched out of shape around the base of my cock, skin splitting, making the whore bleed. And scream.

Good. I punch him again. “Shut up, you useless pussyboy. Take my cock, slut and learn to love it, cause it’s gonna love you to death. When you die, I’m gonna hose your guts with cum.”

I rise up on my knees. His legs remain thrown up over my shoulder; I can feel them trembling. He’s clenched his muscles so tightly in the agony of having his ass split open that his thighs and calves have locked in a cramp. Much as he might want to, he can’t stretch them far enough to get them off of me; he’s stuck there.

I look down at him, his snot- and blood-smeared face, tears trickling down from the corners of his huge eyes—eyes that look so innocent even though they’ve seen every perversion under the sun…

I start unbuckling my thick brown leather belt. “Little piece of shit broke your own laces, huh? Bad move, dude, seriously bad. See, now you’re gonna have to deal with whatever I can improvise and it looks like it’s gonna be my belt. Now, you’da ended up just as dead with the laces, but they’d have hurt less. I’m gonna fuck you up so bad with this belt you’re gonna welcome death as a merciful escape from your own private hell. You think it hurts when I stick my dick in ya? Wait’ll you see what it takes to make me cum, whore.”

I’m a sick and cruel bastard, I know, but this worthless little street tough isn’t worth anyone’s sympathy. And I love raping their minds as much as their assholes.

Which gives me an idea; I may try that literally at some point…

But not now. The kid is where I want him. He lies still, quivering and sweating in physical and mental shock. His hard, lean body is my toy, waiting for me to use it as I wish. Beads of sweat trail across the elaborate cross tattoo on his shoulder. From between his swollen, parted lips comes a faint keening sound, somewhere between a moan and wail.

Grabbing a handful of his hair, I raise his head to slip the belt behind it. He must know what’s coming, but he doesn’t resist. I’m a bit surprised how acquiescent he is; I’d’ve thought a cheap junkie hustler would put up a fight. After all, these types will go into any situation, no matter how sketchy, for the sake of their high. They have to have a certain innate sense of danger to survive long.

Of course, this one won’t survive long. Maybe that proves the point.

I slip the belt back through the buckle, pulling up into a simple loop around the kid’s neck. As I tighten it around his throat, I slip the buckle around to the front so that it’s placed directly over the Adam’s apple.

“Time to get down to business, fuckmeat. Don’t worry, dude you don’t have to do much, just lie there and die in nightmarish pain. And, see, I don’t have to do anything either, cause as you die you’re gonna work my cock like a good little whore. You might even get off yourself, but your brain will probably be too damaged for you to enjoy it. But this way we both win. I get a load of spunk milked outta me by a dying cumpig and you get the death you deserve, you fucking slut.”

I wrap the belt around my right wrist and place my left hand on the cunt’s jaw. I pull towards me with my right hand and push away from me with my left, maintaining a rhythmic pumping in the whore’s ass the entire time.

The belt tightens instantly, cutting off all sound from the whore. He’s registered his last protest. From now on, he dies in silence; mute, unable to cry out in pain or fear. He can only communicate with his body. And he makes his message clear right away.

He fights, oh my god, how he fights. Fuck acquiescence, this kid doesn’t wanna die, judging by the way his body twists and writhes under me. The loud rattling of the handcuffs testifies to the frantic flailing of his arms. I can feel his belly slide under mine, friction eased by a sheen of slick perspiration.

His agony is beautiful. It gives meaning and purpose to his useless, wasted life. This is his reason for existing, his raison d’etre. He was born just so that I could drain my seed into his corpse.

The steel buckle sinks below the surface of the skin, compressing the larynx into the back of the esophagus. My left hand is clamped over the kid’s face, fingers spread so I can still see the look in his eyes…

He’s in excruciating pain, his eyes swelling and protruding from their sockets. I can see the skin on his face darken with each passing second. I remove my hand from his face, slipping it down to his throat, just above the belt. I continue to apply a string downward pressure, just as I continue to pull up on the belt, as brutally as I can.

“How’s that feel, motherfucker? Hurt enough for ya, bitch? How ya like dying? Feels pretty fuckin’ good to me, cunt, I gotta tell ya. You’re jackin’ me really good, whore. See, this is what all of ya really want; it’s why you’re out there on streets. You want an alpha male to come and fuck ya to death. Well, guess what, you cockpig—it’s your lucky night.”

His face is growing distorted as the pressure builds above the constriction in his throat, but I can still make out an expression of denial and disbelief. He’s getting away from me by retreating mentally. I need to bring him into reality.

I sit up on my knees again. My jeans tighten around my ass as I pull up, but even though my dick pulls back out of the whore’s ass, it’s long enough that the head still stays inside his rectum. I’m far enough down the bed that my boots dangle over the end.

The leather belt is still wrapped around my right wrist. I lean back, pulling my arm tight as I do. The slut’s head rises off the bed, pulled up by his neck as I yank on the belt. His arms, cuffed to the headboard over his head, twist behind him as he rises.

I keep pulling, staring deeply into the boy’s eyes, waiting for the moment he comes back to me. I know it when I see it.

“Fuck yeah, you piece of shit, you don’t get to take an easy way out. Suffer, motherfucker, feel every second of the pain I give you. It keeps your ass tight. As long as you can do that, you live. The moment you stop, you’re useless to me and I make you into meat. Understand, you worthless rentboy scum? Take the pain, bitch, or die. Your choice. I’m willing to bet you’ll take all I can give you and more, just to keep clinging to another second of your wasted life. I hope so; fucks like you always make me cum so hard when you fight the inevitable…”

I violently yank the belt, pulling the meat close to me. There’s a sound like the ripping of gristle as his shoulders pop out of joint and the tendons tear apart. His eyes, even bulging as they are, swell to the size of hubcaps in horror; he’d be screaming in agony if he could push air past his throttled larynx.

“That’s it, bitch, now you’re working my dick like a good little whore. See how easy it is with the right motivation? I can do this all night. Sounds like fun, huh, you slut? Was this what you wanted when you went out tonight to get fucked? Isn’t this what you’ve truly desired in the depths of your disgusting fucking pig soul?”

His face, black and puffy, stares back at me, his protruding, bloodshot eyes locked helplessly onto mine. He can hear me; he knows what I’m saying. I think he’s turned on; at any rate, his cock is erect and glistening. It pokes into my belly; he’s up against me at an angle that makes it stick into my abdomen like a heated metal bar.

His legs thrash violently, slipping off my shoulder to kick aimlessly at the mattress. His physical condition is so extreme that it overrides his leg cramps, tearing muscle tissue in the process. As he flails, the right skate shoe flies off, ricocheting off the far wall and landing in the middle of the floor. The left shoe stays on. It continues to kick at me as his rank right foot, scraping at the mattress, soon frees itself from its reeking sock and I can see his toes curl as he dies.

As damage from lack of oxygen progressively destroys his brain, the cunt’s ass convulses along with the rest of his body controlled by his increasingly unstable nervous system. I can feel it spasm, the seizures flowing along my shaft like—god, there aren’t words. He’s dying on my dick. These are the last seconds of his life and he’s still working my dick like the fucking cumwhore deathpig that he is.

I stop the mindfuck. He has no mind left to fuck. He’s nothing but spasming, jerking meat, squeezing my cock in his death throes. Drool oozes down his chin and drips onto his chest, forced out of his mouth in a bubbling froth by his thick, black tongue, protruding from between his lips. The tip wriggles in an obscene manner; the fucking piece of shit is such a whore that he’s coming onto me in the extremes of death.

I’m ready to end it—ready to blow my load. But the slut hasn’t earned it yet. He’s worked hard and given his all, but his worthless fucking hustler all wasn’t good enough to deserve my wad. I need one last physical reaction out of his fucked-out meat.

I yank up on the belt as hard as I can. Simultaneously, I bring my left hand up, driving my hand directly back into his face. Fuckin’ A, it’s exactly what the slut needed.

As his head snaps back under the force of my blow, the belt tightens around his neck, jerking forward and rupturing his vertebrae. At the same time, his larynx collapses into his esophagus with a loud cracking sound, like a large tree limb breaking.

It’s massive, fatal trauma to the central nervous system, and his entire musculature reacts in a death agony. As his torn sphincter tightens uncontrollably around the root of my dick like a cockring, his own dick suddenly rises up like a cobra. I can see it spasm visibly as it expels a phenomenal amount of semen in thick, ropy strands, shooting up to splatter and mat the hair on my chest. Before too long, my hard pecs, straining in the effort to waste the whore, are covered in his cum.

At the same time, I can see he finally knows his place by the way his colon vacuums the seed out of my tool like a Hoover. He’s nothing but an emo-style meat sack designed to hold my load and he’s finally realizing that. I had to destroy his brain to show him. It’s a shame that it’s the last thing he learns, but it had to happen at some point. As I fill his rectum with a boiling froth of spunk, I’m giving him the best exit he could have from his wasted life; after all, he’d probably die of an overdose soon enough, after a brief, unpleasant, degrading life.

At least I didn’t lengthen his suffering when I gave him a brief, unpleasant, degrading death. It’s what he’d have wanted, anyway.

Like most guys, I fall asleep after blowing a load. I as I drifted off, I marked the corpse as my territory by leaving my dick in its ass, letting my sperm continue to leak into the colon.
.

After a couple of hours, I woke back up, stiff as a board. There must be something wrong with me; maybe I produce too much testosterone. All I know it that I still wanted to claim the dead whore.

After freeing his hands from the cuffs, I drag him off the bed by the belt, pulling his flaccid body across the floor to the closet. I let the meat slump to the floor as I opened the door, but it wasn’t there long. I lifted it by the belt, grunting in effort, as I looped the thick leather strap over the hanger bar. I pulled the belt back after it crossed the bar, lifting the body up and, in effect, hanging it. I pulled the belt back out the closet door—the body hanging on the other side of the bar, facing away from me.

I’d thought this out beforehand. There’s already a nail hammered into the doorframe. I didn’t know it was gonna work out like this with this particular whore, but I’ve done this before.

Anyway—I pin the belt to the frame by the nail, sticking through one of the holes on the belt. The whoremeat is left dangling. The meat was slightly shorter than me, so his asscunt is right at the level of my hard cock as he dangles several inches off the ground.

I fuck his dead ass for several minutes. As his legs flop limply against mine, his other shoe comes off. His feet, one in an ankle sock and one bare, now kick in the air as I bang the corpse’s hole.

I grip his cold, firm thighs, my nails digging into his helpless, vulnerable flesh as I cry out and spew another load into his slowly stiffening ass.

I pull out, dripping, and stagger back to bed, seeking sleep. The street cunt can hang around like an old salami; I’ll take out the trash tomorrow.

Meat Chronicles 10–Nothing Like a Good Screw

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

I’m angry tonight, in a bad mood. I’m also horny. That combination usually gets someone killed. It damn sure will tonight; I’m hunting for meat I can hurt before I waste. I wanna make a fucktoy suffer.

Y’know, I love watching nature shows. Does that sound off-topic? It’s really not. I learned a lot about the use of protective coloration to hide and attractive coloration to reproduce.

In other words, camouflage helps you hide; bright colors draw a mate. Or, at least, bright colors let others know you’re fuckable.

I’m reminded of this right away when I see the kid. My attention is instantly drawn to his skin-tight jeans. I’ve never seen jeans that color and I don’t really have a word to describe it. The best I can say is that they’re somewhere between cherry-red and burgundy.

Having caught my eye, I look over the rest of him. He’s in his early twenties at most; probably no older than twenty-one. Just under six feet, he has an untidy mop of curly red-gold hair and his cheeks glitter with light reflecting off stubble of the same color. His eyes are kinda wide-set with long lashes. His face isn’t bad; it’s not the prettiest I’ve seen, but by the time I’m done with him, it’ll look a lot worse.

He’s also wearing a tight black t-shirt that’s molded across his well-defined chest. I can see, even from halfway down the block, that it’s a bit too small for him, the hems of the short sleeves bisecting his biceps. On his feet are tightly laced black and white Air Jordans.

He’s lounging against the wall of a building—the side of one of the gay bars, actually. But he’s not in the back with the rest of the whores and he isn’t under one of the streetlights. Despite the unusual hue of his snug jeans, I probably wouldn’t have noticed him in the shadows if he hadn’t lit a cigarette.

He doesn’t know the first thing about selling himself. Which means he’s either a newbie hustler or an amateur. The latter seems more likely. He just wants to get laid.

Poor randy little slut. He’s gonna get laid like he’s never imagined.

I pull my van up right in front of him. No one’s around; this side street is little used during the day and deserted at night. He must be new in town not to know that. He’d have been standing there all night if I hadn’t shown up.

Actually, that’s even better. Less of a connection for the police when they finally find his rotting corpse.

When he opens the door of my van, the dome light illuminates his long golden eyelashes. He looks at me for a split second before shyly dropping his eyes and sliding silently into the passenger seat.

I know what that means. He’s willing. It doesn’t matter what I do to the bitch; he wants my cock enough to suffer what I will inflict on him. The momentary gleam of lust I glimpsed in his face is clear enough evidence.

I’m ready. I feel like a coiled spring, ready to erupt in an orgy of violence. I need to find someplace close to vent my frustrations on this slutty little piece of shit. He’s eyeing me in sidelong glances, one hand rubbing the bulge in his jeans.

Oh yeah, little fucker wants it bad. He’s breathing deeply. He turns towards me, lust painting his eyes brightly as he admires my body. Evidently I’m his type; so much the better.

There’s a rent-by-the-hour motel half a mile west on the interstate frontage road. I’m there in less than ten minutes. As usual, I give the meat the money to get room; it helps if the strung-out desk jockey never sees me. I make sure to park out of sight of the office, too.

The room is small, filthy and stifling. I turn on the AC and am rewarded with a gentle puff of fetid air. The boy has already turned down the stained sheet and is sitting on the bed, untying his hightop sneakers.

“When you’re done, put them back on,” I tell him. “I wanna fuck you while you’re wearing them.”

He blushes and grins. He’s adorable; I want to hold him, kiss him, make him suffer unbearable agony…

He wants it. I said it before, but when he peels off the whore jeans, he’s commando underneath. And he’s hard; it’s huge and springs out like a javelin.

Little fucking deathpig knows what’s coming. On some deep, instinctive level, he knows that he’s about to experience the ultimate sexual experience. He may not know what form it will take (which is probably for the best, since he’d back away from the greatest orgasm imaginable if he knew what it would take to reach it) but he knows he’s about to experience something that will alter everything.

It’s a hot night. I wanted to wear my leather biker jacket, so I have nothing on underneath; it swings open over my bare chest. My faded jeans, torn at the left knee, are tucked into a worn, dirty pair of old lace-up black leather boots that come halfway up my calves. A black leather belt, two inches wide with sharp metal studs covering most of the surface, cinches tightly around my waist. It’s warm and a sheen of sweat is already glistening on my muscles; I remove the jacket and toss it in the corner.

As I move towards the bed, the kid, now nude, quickly slips his shoes back on, forgetting his socks in his haste. Long before I reach him, he’s face-down on the cum-stained bed with his ass in the air. Jesus, he really is a horny fucking pig.

I don’t bother to undress any further. I unzip the fly of my jeans, still tucked into my high leather boots, letting my thick, oozing hog flop out. I’m already dripping at the thought of wasting this horny little slut, so I don’t waste any time. I bend over the bitch and stuff my thick mushroom tip up his tight fuckhole. He screams in pain/pleasure as I force my shaft past his clenched sphincter.

“Fuck yeah, slut,” I whisper into his ear as I lie on top of him, pressing him down onto the filthy mattress. “I know you want my cock. But you know I can give you so much more.”

“Please,” he moans, “do it. Do whatever you have to. I don’t care. I want your load. Whatever else happens, I want your load. No matter how loud I scream, no matter how much I resist, I want you to cum inside me.”

“Yeah,” I snarl back. “I thought so, you little fucking cumslut. You wanna know what it feels like to get fucked for real? Get ready for this, you cunt; my cock ain’t the only thing I’m gonna shove into ya!”

He’s face-down on the bed, his firm muscular legs pressing against my thighs, his Nikes kicking against my thick boots. I’m pinning him down, spearing him to the mattress with my long hard cock, my left hand on the back of his neck, forcing his face down into the thin, smelly pillow. I slipped my right hand into the pocket of my jeans, feeling the open zipper rasping around my sack with each thrust into the kid’s fuckhole.

Deep in the pocket, I find what I’m looking for; it’s an ordinary screwdriver.

I’ve always wanted to do this; I figure it’s gonna hurt like fuck.

I place the screwdriver by the boy’s head, jamming his head into the pillow so he can’t see it. Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out a pair of black leather gloves. I want to make sure I’ve got a good grip, whichever hand I use.

I hold the screwdriver up, looking down and admiring the boy’s broad, smooth back, muscles flexing with each pump of my dick, gleaming with perspiration, choosing the perfect spot.

There. The kidney. I slam the sharp-edged tool down, punching through his back and embedding the steel shaft directly into his organ.

The kid stiffens and shrieks. It’s a quick exhalation; an instinctive contraction of the diaphragm.

In other words, it’s not his fault. But it’s still too loud. I need to make sure it doesn’t happen again. Wrapping my hand in his shining halo of hair, I jerk his head to one side and brutally shank him through the throat, having to tense up to puncture the screwdriver through the tough cartilage. It grinds its way down, ripping out his vocal cords, rendering him helpless to cry out as he endures the unspeakable agony.

I twist the screwdriver ninety degrees before yanking it back out of the pig’s throat; it may not have been as broad as the knives I was used to using, but it was still capable of inflicting more damage. And with each extra assault on the nervous system, the meat’s colon would contract around my dick, applying that suction of which only a true deathpig is capable.

He gurgles and gasps as he jerks violently, thrusting his ass back up along my shaft, massaging my cock in his agony. There’s a bubbling, wheezing sound coming from the hole in his neck, it oozes out with the blood. He’s got his arms and legs up under him now, pressing back up against me as hard as he can in an attempt to escape the pain.

But I know that he really doesn’t want to escape; it’s a reflexive reaction that he’s unable to control. I help guide him back into submission by stabbing the shank into his back again, ramming it between his ribs and tearing through the latissimus muscles to rip a hole in his lung.

The boy squeals like the deathpig he his, his tight fuckhole flowing along my thick swollen shaft as his pelvis bucks in the ecstasy of pain. Thick mewling sounds erupt from his mangled larynx as his arms scramble feebly at the bed in a futile and half-hearted attempt at escape. He doesn’t really want to get away; deep in his disgusting little soul, this is what he’s always wanted.

I ram the tool into his back again. Blood leaks from the neat hole I’ve already torn though his smooth skin. Again, he stiffens and squeals, squeezing his ass tightly around my cock, making it swell and ooze precum deep in his guts.

“Fuck yeah, you worthless piece of fuckmeat, ya ready for my load? Your boycunt is stroking my rod like it wants me to shoot, pig. Ya know what that means by now, don’t ya? It means that if you think you’re hurtin’ now, you ain’t seen nothing yet. Get ready for pain so intense it’ll make you cum, you piece of shit.”

I stab the screwdriver down into the back of the pig’s neck, just at the top by the skull. I have to lean on it to get through the skin, then bounce up and down on the handle to force the by-now dulled steel tip through the meat’s intervertebral disc between the second and third cervical vertebrae.

The kid went rock-hard rigid as jagged steel tears its way through his spinal column. His asscheeks clamp down on my dick, straining in the final death throes, a rhythmic motion that milks the semen out of my throbbing purple shaft. A loud gargling sound bursts from the hole punched through the kid’s neck as a large moist spot spreads outward on the mattress, emanating from his crotch. I hadn’t even needed to touch the motherfucker; the little bitch was such a deathpig, he’s cum with no manipulation of his dick.

I grip the sides of the bed as I ride his bucking, flailing ass like a rodeo bull, letting him squeeze the last drop of spunk out of my tool. After a while, he slows to a stop and lies still, jerking and quivering. I pull out and stand up.

I quickly get dressed. Grabbing the bag out of the trashcan—doubtless reused many times—and stuffing his clothing into it, carry it out to my van. No one is about; perfect. I duck back into the room and, leaving the key on the dresser for the maid in the morning (or whenever), carry the pig’s nude, twitching body over my shoulder and toss him in the back.

There’s an industrial drainage ditch a couple of miles west of here. I’ll dump him there. They’ll never even connect him to the motel, much less me.

Hope I didn’t damage my screwdriver.

Meat Chronicles 9–Hands-On Solution

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

The whores are back. I knew the raid wouldn’t have kept them cleared out for long. They’re like rats; the moment you turn around, they come swarming back in.

I do my little part to keep the population down.

I’m horny. I want a meat puppet to dance a jig of death on my cock and jack me off with his death throes. I want to drain my cum into a quivering, brain-dead sack of flesh before I throw it into a ditch to rot like garbage. I may or may not fuck the corpse before I dump it.

Y’know, my boss was right. It’s a lot easier to focus on the job at hand when you have a mission statement.

I’m focusing on one of the hustlers right now. He’s about a hundred yards away, under a streetlight, looking rather forlorn.

I’m in the parking lot behind one of the larger gay bars in town. The side street behind the lot is the main drag for cruising rentboys. I usually don’t hunt here; it’s so crowded and busy, I can never count on not being seen. But it’s hotter than fuck tonight; over ninety degrees at ten in the evening. Most of the boywhores are in the bars, getting themselves hot and sweaty with drugs and dancing.

The one I’m looking at is just plain hot and sweaty. Poor thing. I know how to cool him off—permanently.

He’s young, no more than twenty or twenty-one, and seriously inexperienced; I can tell by his appearance. Long black hair, almost shoulder-length. Maybe his hair is naturally that curly. Maybe it’s a perm. Do guys still do that? Is it coming back?

It’s the clothing that sets him apart, though. Kid is dressed like an extra from an 80’s hair metal video. Black vest of distressed leather, with no shirt underneath—not a bad choice; the punk is short but well-built; his outfit shows his bulging pecs, abs and biceps to advantage. His incredibly slutty short shorts do the same to his legs; his muscled thighs and calves glistening with sweat, like the rest of him. Even at this distance, I see glint of light reflecting of a bead of sweat as it navigates its way through the dark fur on his legs down to the white tube sock that ends just above his tightly-laced combat boot.

He’s putting it out there on a platter. Jesus, he wants it bad. And I’m gonna give it to him.

I start my van and pull out onto the street. I slow by the curb where he stands, looking around. Even though I can hear the hard driving thump of the bass from the bars, there’s no one in sight. Perfect.

He’s eager. Glad to get out of the heat, glad to be making some money, glad I’m not a weirdo—he says he can tell by looking at me.

Wow, he is seriously naïve. Just in from the sticks, most likely. Bad judgment call, dude, majorly bad. And he only asks fifty bucks to get fucked. With his body, he could get much more. I wonder why he’s selling himself so cheaply–then he whips out a glass stem with a bowl on then end and I get it. Meth freak. Man, that shit’ll destroy you; completely fuck your brain and body up. Rentboy is hot, but he ain’t gonna stay that way.

Well, then. I’ll be doing the faggot whore junkie a favor by ending his worthless life. A good deed is its own reward, they say, and offing this fucker is gonna be very much a reward. I don’t know if the hustler will appreciate the kindness I’m doing him.

I’ve gotten used to the fact that some of those I help show an appalling lack of gratitude.

It’s too far to the apartment and there’s nowhere near here where I can count on being undisturbed in the van. I head west, towards the highway. There are some sleazy motels a few blocks over on a major cross-street—places built sixty years ago when that road was a state highway. Now they’re rented for cash by the hour as fuck pits; sheets so stiff with cum they crackle when they’re folded back. I’ve been there before, but it’s been years.

I pull up to the first place I find. I don’t want some observant clerk to ID me, so I hand the whore some cash and send him to the office. He evidently expects this. He’s naïve but not completely inexperienced; he must have serviced married guys who were concerned about being recognized. I make sure he sees the large wad of cash in my wallet. He won’t take the money and run if he knows there’s more to be had.

He’s back within three minutes with a key. The room is out of sight of the office—very good; I hadn’t want to ask for it in case it aroused the rentboy’s suspicions. The room is small, sparsely furnished, and filthy—exactly what I expected. I’m sure they hafta get a truck in here on Mondays to haul out the bodies of all the whores who OD’d here over the weekend.

Just the thought gets me hard.

The kid tells me his name, shyly, bashfully. He really is kinda new at this. I ignore him, staring coldly into his face as I start to undress. He flushes red in the face and starts to strip himself.

I’m not wearing much; a white wifebeater and denim shorts that let me step out of them without having to take off my black canvas hightop Converse sneakers. I’m commando underneath. He follows suit by stepping out of his shorts with his boots still on. He’s wearing red bikini-cut briefs. I look at them and sneer slightly. He blushes again and looks down.

“Get on the bed, bitch,” I say levelly. “Get on your back with your feet in the air, you fucking slut.”

His eyes wide, he turns to obey. Just before he gets on the bed, I stop him. “Get those panties off your ass, faggot.” Bright red, he complies with his face aimed at the floor; he’s almost in tears with embarrassment—but when he gets the briefs off, he’s completely hard. I can see his pulse throbbing in the veins around his straining cock.

He wants to be used. I doubt he wants to be used as much as I’m gonna, but he wants this.

“On your back, whore. Spread those legs. C’mon, bitch, open up that fuckhole, if you wanna get paid.”

He’s looking at me with a paradoxical mix of lust and apprehension. I’m pretty well-built myself and I’m taller than this punk. Little cunt wants to get fucked by a real man. But I’m not responding as he expects. He’s really fucking hot himself and I bet most of his johns—the few he’s had—have showered him with love and money. I’m the first one to treat him like the fucking slut he is.

There’s something about him—that curious mix of innocence and experience—that makes me want to take my time with him. I want to savor the experience of ending his life, and I want him to savor it too.

I’ve seen his type before. He’ll fight it to the bitter end, but deep within his pig whore soul, he craves the agony of death during sex. In the end, I’m only giving the rentboy what he truly wants.

I’m only semi-erect when I force myself into him, but he grimaces and cries out in pain. “Shut up, fuckwad,” I snarl, “I ain’t even all the way in yet. What kinda fucking whore are ya, asswipe, if you can’t take my soft cock?”

He turns his head to the side, tears leaking down his face. “Please, oh god, please go slow,” he snivels, “You’re too big…”

Look, I ain’t given to boasting. I’m not small, but I ain’t inhumanly huge, either. This bitch is tight. He’s not a virgin; I’ve seen him before, getting into other guys’ cars. Maybe he just did handies and BJs. But young as he is, I ain’t buying him as an ass virgin.

I grab his chin and turn his face back to mine. I’m deep inside him by now, with his legs wrapped around my flanks. I look deep into his hazel eyes, flecked with green and surrounded by long, dark lashes as he mewls in pain.

“Quit squealin’, pig,” I snap. He gasps—then, with the next thrust of my hardening cock, lets out a high-pitched squeal, literally sounding like a pig. My dick snaps to attention and I reward the whore with a sucker-punch directly to the face.

His head rocks back into the cheap, stained motel mattress. I feel the blow resonate through his hard, firm body. The dark fur on his taut asscheeks tangles with my pubic hair as his rectum lovingly strokes my shaft, despite the slut’s fear.

Every voluntary reaction he has resists me; every involuntary reaction shows his pleasure. I have to kill off enough of his brain to destroy the voluntary nervous system. Then the involuntary will take over, giving him the greatest orgasm he could ever experience. And he’ll get me off as it happens. Shame that it kills him in the process, but it’s an occupational hazard for whores. And it spares him a more drawn-out agony. He could spend a decade or more as a druggie on the streets…

As I said, I don’t expect gratitude from him. I do, however, expect a good time. And I want it now. I reach down and wrap my hands around the whore’s throat. His eyes grow even wider as I squeeze. I brace my sneakers against the spunk-stained mattress, the soles of my canvas hightops gaining traction to help me pin the rentboy down, my cock pinning the lower part of his hard, tight torso to the bed as my hands force his neck down.

The cuntboy’s chest and abdomen arc up against my belly as his eyes bulge in panic. He reaches up and claws at my hands, his eyes pleading with me mutely. I hock up a massive wad of phlegm and spit it into his face. Repositioning myself so that I can pinion him with one arm, I free my other arm so that I can continue to express my opinion of whores by repeated blows to his face.

Adrenaline and testosterone boil over in my bloodstream as the kid’s body reacts to each impact with a short but intense contraction of the muscles. This reaction causes his colon to clench and release rhythmically, squeezing my tool like a fist.

“That’s it, bitch,” I whisper, “work my fucking cock, you whore. Choke and die while I punk-fuck you, you worthless fucking cumpig.”

I gotta admit, the little slut is strong. He straight-arms me as best he can, the muscles in his forearms popping out through the forest of fur that covers him nearly to the elbows as his adrenaline increases as well. The testosterone is obvious too as his cock swells into a fireplug, five inches long but nearly two in diameter.

His hands are flailing violently, scratching at my chest and my face. I’ve had enough of this shit; worthless little cunt needs to take what’s coming to him. A line drive straight from my shoulder to his nose results in a satisfying crunch and gives the slut something else to think about for a couple of minutes.

As blood leaks from the rentboy’s broken nose, I clamp down on his throat with both hands again. Leaning down and squeezing his throat, I pin him to the mattress as I ream his ass mercilessly. His eyes bulge from the lack of oxygen as his face begins to turn blue.

“That’s it, slut, now you’re gettin’ it. Let me feel you kick your life away. Die on my motherfuckin’ cock, you little cunt. I’m gonna wring your neck when I cum and you’re gonna be so glad, bitch, you’ll shoot your worthless slut load like the helpless little deathpig you really are.”

He resists, of course; they always do. Deep inside, he knows that this is what he wants; he needs to be used as a sex toy and thrown out like a soiled tissue. He wouldn’t be whoring himself out to get his drugs if he didn’t. But they never admit it, even to themselves, until the last minute, when they experience the orgasm that death brings them and come to understand that this is what they needed to give meaning to their useless, wasted lives.

It’s that moment of comprehension, that moment as their body reacts with the ultimate orgasm and they feel their soul empty out through their cock, that makes it worth the risk. Well, that, and it feels good on my cock. They aren’t the only ones experiencing an ultimate orgasm. Ordinary sex is nothing compared to the erotic intensity of a snuff.

The rentboy is losing it, slipping into blind panic. He’s beating and clawing at me violently. His mind is aflame with panic as the realization hits him that this is far worse than getting beaten in some kinky S&M game.

I tell them they’re gonna die, but the stupid little fucks never believe it until they feel it themselves. This is, of course, why I make sure they do feel it.

His face contorts in a rictus of agony as I squeeze harder, feeling his larynx sliding around in his throat under the pressure. He digs at my hands, his fingers bent into hooks, as he tries to pry my rigid arms away from his neck. As his desperate body writhes under me, his combat boots slapping at my ass, I can feel his erect dick prodding my belly.

As I throttle him, I pull downward on his neck, pulling him back until my thick purple shaft is half-buried in his panicked, fluttering rectum. Now it’s time to really show the whore who’s boss.

I stop pumping my tool. I’m gonna make the meat work my cock for a while. By varying the amount of pressure on his esophagus, I can control the amount of oxygen he receives and the amount of pain he’s in. As I clamp down on his neck, he thrashes and convulses, sliding around on my swollen, leaking mushroom tip. I can slow him down by easing the pressure.

I spend the next thirty-five minutes jacking off with the meat, strangling him to and past the point of unconsciousness, watching his face darken and his tongue protrude. His arms flail against my body; I’m gonna be covered in scratches, but he’s already too weak to do much damage. Same with his legs; I’m gonna have some bruises shaped like his bootheels, but nothing worse.

I enjoy watching his face, watching his expression as he regains consciousness each time. It’s a curious mix of relief and desperation; relief that he’s still alive and desperation because the nightmare is still going on.

“Wakey, wakey, you little fuck,” I leer into his tear-stained face, “you ain’t done working my cock yet, whoremeat. C’mon, get your fucking slut hole all the way down on my cockroot, punk. Next time I choke you out, I wanna feel your sphincter spasming in my pubic hair. Get it all the way down, you worthless pig!”

There’s resistance about three-quarters of the way down my shaft. He’s still just a little too tight to take all of me. “Goddammit,” I mutter, “you’re gonna take it all, whore. You’re here so I can use you like the piece of pig meat you are. Doesn’t matter how much damage you suffer, cause I’m just gonna throw you out after I’ve finished using your corpse as a cum dumpster.”

“Besides,” I whisper, smiling down into his wide, shock-rimmed eyes, “I know that deep inside your cumslut soul, you want to be hurt, you piece of shit whore. You know you deserve the pain; you need it to complete you. Don’t worry, motherfucker, I’ll complete you so hard they won’t find all the pieces.”

Gripping the kid’s throat tightly, I force his thick, wriggling muscle-body body down into my crotch, feeling the pressure around my rod increase painfully. The whoreboy is struggling heroically, in extreme agony as he’s impaled on my cock. Suddenly the pressure eases and my dick plunges in completely, slipping in on a warm moist film of blood. The boy’s eyes, pleading mutely up at me, roll back in his head as I tear his ass open.

I remove my hands from his throat and sit up on my knees, looking down at his limp unconscious body, glistening with a sheen of panic sweat. Drool runs across his face from the corners of his lips, parted in labored breathing. I’m waiting for him to wake up. He’s out from the pain; I’ve torn his sphincter and split his rectal lining. Every throb of my cock is gonna make him feel like he’s getting’ fucked with a razor.

His eyelid flutter and he starts moaning. Just as his eyes open, I grab his neck again, tightening my hands and wringing them together. He bucks and jerks under me, shaking his head violently from side to side. I hold myself still, enjoying the sensation of his mangled, bleeding colon contracting on and sliding over my oozing mushroom tip.

I sneer down into the dying meat’s face. “Time to say goodnight, bitch. Time to ride my hog down into a nice long dark dirt nap. Yeah, I know, it hurts like fuck. And you love it, you fucking pig; look at how hard your dork is. Damn, you’re dribbling more precum than I am right now, and I gotta tell ya, the thought of wasting your punk ass has got me dripping.”

His face, growing darker by the second, is covered with snot and tears. His tongue is peeking out from between his lips again and his bulging eyes are becoming bloodshot. His thrashing has slowed, his hands slowly trailing along my sides and my chest, his boots twitching and kicking spasmodically. As his pelvis bucks, his dick generates a slapping sound as it bobs between his writhing, firm abdomen and mine.

Time to wring the whoremeat out for good. I clamp down on his throat, feeling the resistance of the rubbery tissue of the trachea running like an inner tube on the inside. Squeezing so hard my biceps bulge and the tendons stand out in my neck as I clench my jaw, I’m rewarded with the erotic, satisfying crunch of his esophagus collapsing. His hard meat body goes rigid in exquisite agony as I increase the pressure, feeling the cartilage in his voice box crack and crush beneath my hands.

He arcs violently against me and I feel a warm flood spew over my chest as his cock spunks with the orgasmic pleasure of extreme pain; a true death load. His eyes roll back in his head, bloody white visible behind the half-open lids. A fount of foam boils out past his thick black tongue and slides down his purple cheeks.

I give one last squeeze, twisting my wrists backwards—and get one last snap, severing the spinal column between the third and fourth cervical vertebrae. The young whore’s body stiffens in massive neurological shock. His bleeding rectum folds around my cock and sucks my load out like it had applied a vacuum. His arms and legs hold me in one last iron embrace before he sinks into the flaccid passivity of death as a final spasm in his drawn-up balls forces the last drops of semen out of his thickly-veined tool.

I spend another ten minutes gasping for air, my shaft still firmly planted in the dead whore’s ass. When I finally pull it out, it’s glazed with blood and dried cum.

The bathroom is disgusting, but it’ll have to do. All I really need to do is wash off my dick anyway; I can deal with my own sweaty manfunk till I can get to a real shower.

I need to find someplace to dump the meat. I could leave it here, since no one’s seen me, but there’s DNA evidence. It’s high summer; I just gotta keep the meat from being found long enough to go putrid.

I feel bad about not being able to fuck the corpse like I’d promised; I know, deep in his little pig soul, the whore would have wanted me to. But it took me longer to off him than I expected. I’d really enjoyed beating off with him, using him as a human sex toy before I killed him. But I only paid for the room for so long, and I’m too far from home to risk driving around with a fresh kill.

I know! There’s a culvert under a train trestle a mile and a half up the road. Homeless people camp there in winter, but it’s overgrown and empty in the summer. By the time anyone finds the meat, it’ll be more like soup.

And anyway, they’re not gonna look real hard when they ID him and find out he was a meth head whore. No one’s gonna care.

Like I said, I’ve spared him a long, drawn-out, agonizing death by addiction. But do you think anyone will thank me? Not a chance in hell…

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 3–Dicked Down Douchebag

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

I typically don’t hunt in the suburbs. There’s too much heat, too many people paying attention. Too many cameras, as well.

Of course, they’re also full of fuckable douchebags begging to be hurt.

Take this kid in front of me (please! But only if I can watch). I’ve been watching him for a while now. The back end of the mall parking lot is a great place to find little fucks like this.

He’s about twenty—just a couple of years out of high school. Still has lots of contacts in school, though, by the look of things.

Little piece of shit is a small-time drug dealer. He’s been hanging out in this back corner of the mall lot, selling out of his car. It’s far enough from the cameras at the entrance and obscure enough to avoid much notice. I just happened to be parked here already when he showed up. I was in the back of the van, so he must have figured it was empty.

I suspected this would be a good locale and I was right. My van is acting along the lines of a duck blind.

The boy pulled up a couple of hours ago. He’s in a red convertible—a Nissan 350Z. Rich kid. Undoubtedly still living with mommy and daddy.

Cocky and arrogant, he’s hot as fucking hell and he knows it. The type who got laid continually in high school. Even laid his buddies’ girlfriends—but since he was rich and had all the drugs, no one protested.

Now he’s out here, still peddling to the high school crowd. Some of the kids I’ve watched climb into his car aren’t old enough to drive themselves. They’re arriving on bikes and skateboards.

In between customers, he occasionally lounges against the rear of his car, glancing around casually. He’s not in the least worried about any consequences of his actions. Evidently mommy and daddy have paid his way out of any trouble he’s had in the past.

His hair, carefully spiked, gleams blue-black in the sun; it’s almost brighter than the thick chain of gold links around his neck. He’s wearing a tight gray sleeveless t-shirt that stretches across his amazing chest. His muscled arms bulge with tattoos so clichéd that the kid almost seems to be parodying a douchebag. I mean, who the fuck still does both tribal bands AND Chinese characters these days?

He’s got on white cargo pants and simple—but expensive—white leather skate shoes. I picture them kicking and jerking as the fucker dies and I’m instantly hard.

I’ve been considering how to approach the meat, but really, the simple, direct approach is usually best. I roll down my window and call out to him.

Piece of shit damn near jumps out of his skin. He still thought my van was empty. The realization that I’ve been watching his every move hits him like a ton of bricks. He’s not scared, though; he’s annoyed.

He calms down when I indicate I’m more interested in buying than reporting him. I beckon him over and unlock the passenger door. This is one transaction that doesn’t need to happen in his car.

I tell him I want weed. He doesn’t have any. He’s got coke. meth, heroin, and ecstasy.

I’m surprised. Weed is harmless, but this motherfucker is selling some pretty hard shit to some pretty young kids.

I’m gonna have fun punishing him. Don’t get me wrong; I’m no moral hypocrite. I’m a monster. My punishment will not fit the crime in any way, shape, or form.

It will, however, fit my dick perfectly.

I offer to buy his X and excuse myself, saying I keep my wallet in the back of the van. I do, and I get it. I also get the tire iron. Guess which one the little shit gets upside his head.

I drag the douche into the back, binding his hands behind him with a zip tie. I shove a rag in his mouth and slap duct tape over it. I cut off his pants, shorts and t-shirt. The boy is lying nude except for his socks and shoes—and his gold chain–on the plastic sheet on the floor of the van. There’s a small pool of blood forming from the cut in his scalp where I hit him. He isn’t going anywhere.

At least, not on his own. Stick with me, kid, yer goin ‘ places. I grin as I pull out of the parking space and head for the highway. The only place this kid was going with me was to take a dirt nap.

I liked the place I found last time and it’s only a couple of exits down the interstate. That’s one of the good things about industrial blight. Middle of a Sunday afternoon—that area will be deserted. Cops will be out after dark, mostly looking for vandals, but it’ll be nice and peaceful now. And so far they haven’t found the last sack of meat I left there.

I kinda suspect they won’t find it, either; at least not there. There’ve been a couple of severe storms and lots of flash floods since then. Wherever that little fucker’s corpse got washed to, they ain’t found it yet. Which means that neighborhood is still a safe killing ground, for at least one more playtime.

This time, I have even better luck. I spot a dark opening on the shady side of one of the abandoned warehouses. I pull in and find myself in a small loading bay attached to a much larger warehouse. The space is covered in graffiti and litter, but it’s so dark, I have to use my headlights to see it. I reverse into the space and kill the engine.

Clearly this place is party central at night. During the day, however, it’s as empty as the rest of the building. I have a nice secluded parking spot to kill an hour or two–and a douchebag.

I’m not sure why I’ve been so horny lately. It just seems to go in cycles. Recently I’ve had to find little nooks like this because I’m too impatient to get the meat back to the apartment. But I’m ready at any time; you never know when you’ll run across a prime cut of meat, waiting to be snatched up. Like this punk.

I lie next to him and stroke him, waiting for him to wake up. I’ve already stripped. I scrape the sole of my boot along the meat’s calf. I scrape something else along his smooth chest—an ice pick. Amazing how hard to find they are nowadays, with ice makers practically universal, even in cheap apartments. But they’re so versatile. I can stick them anywhere…

It’s twenty minutes before the meat starts stirring and moaning. I go ahead and mount the fucker before he’s fully awake. By the time he comes to, my erect cock is buried in his ass, my pubic hair flush against his smooth cheeks.

His large eyes—dark green, a beautiful shade—stare into mine in confusion. I’d hit him pretty hard; he may not remember getting into my van.

Well then, this is probably gonna be pretty traumatic for him. Downright terrifying, in fact.

And I’ll do my best to make sure it is.

“Hey there, dude,” I whisper to him, as I ream his hole brutally. My “whisper” has to be kinda loud for him to hear over his own muffled screaming. “How’s that feel, motherfucker? Ya like my cock tearin’ open your butthole, fuckwad? This is what happens when ya sell drugs to kids, bitch.”

I lean back, grab a fistful of his spiked black hair—the product in it “crunches” in my hand—and jerking his head back, spit in his face. Then I punch him in the mouth, hard, right on top of the duct tape, never missing a stroke in his ass.

“Don’t get me wrong. I don’t care what you’re selling to whom. But it is why I chose you to experience my personal tour of hell. You see, when your mangled, fucked-out, rotting corpse is finally found, everyone will already know what a scumbag you are. Even your rich mommy and daddy won’t be able to buy any public outrage about your murder. In other words, you punk-ass bitch, I can do what I want to you. You been sellin’ drugs to kids. No one’s gonna give a shit when I torture you to death.”

I hold up the ice pick. I always like to make sure the meat sees what I’m gonna stick into him. It helps him appreciate the situation, shall we say.

I run my other hand down the meat’s finely chiseled chest. A trail of black fuzz starts below his sternum and, growing in density as it moves down his flat, firm belly, finally merges with the dark cloud of his pubic hair.

His balls, large pale orbs, bounce against my crotch as I fuck him. His own dick, while not tiny, isn’t as large as the meat liked to imagine it is. Thick, but short, it quivers in response to the head of my dick massaging the meat’s prostate. In spite of himself, he’s growing hard.

And I know it’s in spite of himself because his attention is focused firmly on the ice pick. He’s imagining the pain that it could inflict. I really see no need to keep him in suspense, so I stick it into his left side, low down in the back. The steel shaft skewers the meat’s left kidney.

“Oh yeah,” I moan, as the meat writhes and grunts, “Work my cock, bitch. Let me feel how much it hurts. Remember, motherfucker, ain’t no one gonna care how many holes I stick in ya. You better work my tool good or I’m gonna hafta hurt you again.”

The kid looks up at me in panic. He can’t understand what is happening to him physically. I understand, of course; he’s going into shock. This was what I was aiming for.

As adrenaline overrides the meat’s voluntary nervous system, he loses the ability to resist. I yank the duct tape off, knowing he can’t cry out now, at least not loud enough to be heard outside the van. I notice some drops of blood on the meat’s lips; the little douchebag had been trying to grow some facial hair. I’d torn it out by the roots. He starts sticking his tongue out, trying to rid himself of the rag still in his mouth. It soon slips down the side of his tear-stained face.

But I’m done with the punk’s body. I turn my attention to his head, lying full length on top of the meat and kissing him, thrusting my tongue into his helpless mouth. As I do so, I slip the pick into place and slowly insert it.

The spot I’ve chosen is on the side of the meat’s neck—below the jaw, in front of the spine and behind both the carotid and the jugular. The fuck’s eyes widen in agony and he gasps for air raggedly as I slowly shove the pin-point tip of the ice pick through the base of his tongue from right to left.

“Fuck yeah, you worthless piece of shit, even your own parents are gonna hafta say you deserve this–in public. Getting’ grade-school kids hooked on the hard shit? I love it, dude. Fuckin’ Tea Party dickwads gonna wanta give me a medal for fucking you to death. So let’s make sure I deserve it. Let’s see how bad I can hurt you before you die, fuckmeat.”

I yank the pick back out of his throat. It’s time to try another approach anyway; the meat’s hole could use some tightening. He’s assimilated this pain and needs more.

I grab another handful of his hair and spit in his face again. His large green eyes look up at me in misery, pleading silently. His biceps bulge as he struggles against the plastic ties that bind his hands behind him, the tribal band flexing in the light.

I stab the shaft into his right ear. The sharp steel tip tears agonizingly though his eardrum, spearing the delicate, fluid-filled structures of the inner ear and filling the punk’s world with a sick sense of vertigo just before the shaft slides deep inside his skull.

I look deep into his eyes, fucking him steadily. I can see the damage I do reflected within the meat’s eyes–they dilate and well with tears. I can feel it clenching his sphincter involuntarily around the base of my cock, causing it to swell.

The little fuck stiffens as the thin shaft of metal burrows into his midbrain. This bit of tissue has several important functions that I’ve just shorted out. My fucktoy begins to twitch and convulse as he loses his fine motor control. The midbrain also controls temperature regulation. The meat starts dripping sweat.

I love a good fuck that lubes itself.

Again, I yank the pick swiftly out of the wound.

I kiss the boy on the lips, stroking his black hair, running my hand down the light stubble on his cheeks as I insert the ice pick into his right nostril. A quick, brutal, sensual thrust and I am rewarded with a faint crunching sound as the pick pierces the back of the sinuses to lodge within the frontal lobe.

This was where I give the meat a good time. Granted, the little fuck is wallowing in massive brain trauma, but the libido is located in the frontal lobe. It takes a little finding, though. I’m forced to grab the pick and wring it around viciously in the meat’s skull, mangling those sections of brain tissue that hold the personality and emotions. By the time I rake my cold steel tip through the pleasure center of the brain, I’ve ground the useless little bitch’s cerebrum to paste.

I know the moment I’d hit the right spot, though. The fuckwad’s rectum goes into spastic overdrive, massaging the swollen head of my dick. Worthless little drug dealer, getting’ grade-school kids hooked on heroin ‘cause the allowance mommy and daddy was giving him wasn’t enough—the meat spends the last few moments of his wasted and utterly useless life quivering and trembling on the end of my cock. He thought he’d been hot shit because all the high school boys looked up to him as a drug dealer and the chicks let him pop their cherries so they could get free coke. A small steel shank in his brain and my cock up his ass showed the motherfucker what a piece of useless shit he really was.

In the end, I think, that’s all he really wanted. Someone to control him, to show him what it was like to have every moment of your greatest orgasm carefully orchestrated. Someone who can guide you through pain and death to the most explosive sensation you’ll ever experience…

At any rate, the meat pumps what seems like a quart of cum out of his thick, short dork of a cock. As I spew hot loads of cum up his ass, the meat shudders uncontrollably as his brain shorts out and his body spasms; meat without any guiding program to control it, it milks my dick, making me cum violently.

As I cum, I curse the meat and keep mangling the brain, making sure I’ve completely fucked him over and destroyed the tissue inside his cranium. What’s left is still alive, technically. I haven’t touched vital areas in his brain stem. But I don’t think the motherfucker is gonna be around long.

I fall asleep right away. It happens a lot after I blow my load inside a meat puppet. It usually dies during the night. I’ll fuck it again before morning, but I’ll be fucking a corpse.

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

That didn’t happen this time. Not that I noticed any difference right away. I was surprised, however, to find a pulse. The meat was still just that, meat in a vegetative state, but it was still alive.

I’d fucked the meat—and cum in its guts—several hours earlier. I’d fallen asleep with my cock still stuck deep in the meat’s ass and could feel my own cum dried to a crust within the fucker’s colon. There was still some life within the meat, though. I could use it again.

I leaned back and started fucking the dealer’s cooling corpse again. His green eyes, milky in obsolescent death, gaze into mine, expressing Weltzschmertz so evocatively that I almost forget to end his life. I don’t, though. Just before I cum, I slash the fucker’s throat. As he gasps for air, gurgling unconsciously, his body trying to stay alive despite the obvious uselessness of the effort, his ass clamps down onto my cock in a last-ditch effort to retain control of his bodily functions.

As the useless drug dealer sink into death, the last sensation that filters through his ravaged brain is my semen being pumped into his intestines. He dies like the worthless little deathpig douchebag that he is, with my cum filling his guts.

That drainage ditch I used to dump the last meat sack is right around the corner. I think it’ll be a good garbage pit. Just a quick stop to take out the trash on the way home.

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.