Beach Party   By: Gay Slavemeat   Gsmeat2@gmail.com

 

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

 

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

 

1

The Beach Drive

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

2

Fond Memories

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Sure. That would be great!”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Yeah. I think that would be fun.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Then Jim revealed another surprise to Matt.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

3

A Whole New World

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

4

Transition

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

potential to be useful.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Do you think I’m one of them?”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“I understand.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Yes, Jim.”

 

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

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

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

 

5

An Interlude

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

6

Party time

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Adam In Control

Adam was pissed, and it was getting his dick hard.

 

The kid was openly leering at him, and that was infuriating enough; Adam hated being stared at by fags, feeling their eyes running over his hard, muscular body—it always kindled his lust/rage.  But there was something about this particular boy…

 

He was lean and tall, not quite Adam’s height, but close.  He was leaning back against the wall, one knee out with the foot on the wall behind him, watching the people entering and leaving the gym; it was almost as if he was cruising for a fuck.

 

Forget the “almost”, Adam thought, the little whore wants dick; lookit the way he’s dressed.

 

The boy’s black Adidas Chile 62 tracksuit had an eye-catching shininess similar to leather; the way it clung to the slut’s lithe young body was the first thing Adam had noticed. The jacket was open; under it was a white t-shirt with an Adidas logo just barely visible.  The little punk hadn’t been brand-loyal all the way down to his feet, though, Adam noticed—he was sporting a pair of black and white Nike Vapormax 97’s.

 

It was the faggot’s face that aroused Adam’s ire the most—handsome, arrogant, topped with a wavy mass of hair almost identical to Adam’s own shade of copper.  It drew the sexual sadist’s attention.  He had no idea what a homo dressed like a scally punk was doing here coming on to him, but he wanted to see that face, terrified and suffering, as it died.

 

So he swallowed his anger, the bitter taste somehow making his cock swell, and approached the homo scum with a smile on his own strikingly masculine face.

 

“Hey there,” the kid said once Adam was closer.  “I been scopin’ ya out for a coupla days.”

 

“Yeah?” Adam replied nonchalantly.

 

“Yeah,” the boy said, “And I think you’d be perfect.”

 

“For what?”

 

“A little breath control play.”

 

Adam paused for a moment.  “Yeah?  Sounds like faggot shit to me.  That what ya into, boy?”

 

The punk grinned, giving Adam what was supposed to be a come-hither look; it made the youth look somewhat moronic.  “I like a little danger—and Master’s away, so the pup will play…”  He leered hard at the muscle-bound stud.

 

Adam was intrigued and enraged.  Fuckin’ cunt was such a homo he needed a master.  “That explain yer getup?” he asked, giving the slut’s Chile 62 tracksuit a once-over.

 

“Hell yeah,” the kid said proudly, “Sir’s a skinhead; he likes to see me in this.  Likes to use me and abuse me while I’m wearing it.  Think you can do that to me too?”

 

Again, Adam paused.  He was used to hunting down and snuffing his own fuckmeat; even the stupid cunts who came onto him didn’t want more than an assfuck.  The psycho killer hadn’t had anyone begging to be hurt—this could be downright fun.

 

Or would be if it didn’t involve a cocksuckin’ fag pervert.  Little motherfucker wanted abuse?  It deserved it and Adam was more than willing to comply.  He hadn’t been trolling for meat, but he wasn’t about to pass up this opportunity to rid the world of another useless queer.  Especially one asking to be abused.

 

Still, he needed to be careful.  “Why me?” he asked.

 

“Cause you look like you’d enjoy it,” the kid said.  “See, Sir’s good—fuck, when he makes me lick his boots, I wanna cum—but that don’t mean I don’t wanna play sometimes…”

 

“So you want someone new to get ya off,” Adam finished the sentence.  “How long you been watchin’ me?”

 

“Since the beginnin’ of the week—once I found out Sir was gonna leave town today.”

 

“Didn’t waste any time, didja, ya horny little fuck?  Didja tell anyone about me, about yer plans?

 

The kid writhed happily.  “Nossir,” he said breathily, ginning wildly in pleasure.  He’d picked the right dude, no question.  Just the verbal abuse was getting him off; the bulge in his trackies was obvious to anyone within fifteen feet.

 

This might work.  Adam was suspicious of a situation which he hadn’t set up himself, but this looked legit—the punk fuck was seriously coming on to him.  “You got someplace to go?” he asked.

 

“Yeah,” the kid said, “We can go back to our place.”

 

“Whaddaya mean, ‘our’ place?”

 

“Well, Sir’s place.  But I live there too.”

 

Not for long you won’t, Adam thought.  “And what’ll happen if ‘Sir’ finds out you been playin’?”

 

“Aw, he’ll probably beat the fuck outta me.  But he ain’t gonna find out.  I’ll clean up good after.”

 

Adam had his own opinions on that as well, but he kept them to himself.

 

“Ok, cunt.  You wanna get treated like fuckin’ garbage, I can damn sure do that.”

 

“Fuckin’-A, dude!  C’mon, follow me.  I’m parked next you; I know which car is yours.”

 

“Lead the way, little boy,” Adam said contemptuously; the kid picked up on the tone.  Despite his desire for abuse, there was something in the alpha’s cold voice that momentarily disconcerted him.

 

“Connor,” he said decisively, “My name is Connor.  And I may be a pup, but I ain’t no kid—I’m twenty.”

 

“Yeah?” Adam said flatly, emotionlessly staring directly at him.  “So what?”

 

Connor’s dark hazel-green eyes widened slightly, but his cock twitched so hard it rustled the shiny polyester tent over his crotch.  Adam grinned and the kid relaxed somewhat.  “I’ll pull out first—the car, I mean, heh, heh—and you can follow me.”

 

Adam followed him back to where he’d parked.  He noticed the silver 2017 Mercedes E400 parked next to his car; it certainly hadn’t been there when he pulled in—he wouldn’t have parked next to it.  His doors and its were too long to be side-by-side in the gym’s narrow parking spaces.

 

He let Connor pull out of his space before getting into his own car, then got into his own and followed.  Once out of the parking lot, the kid headed east; it took about twenty minutes to reach his destination, a loft condo in a refurbished warehouse near the train tracks.

 

There was an open parking lot in the back of the building; Adam went to the far end to park.  He approached the building slowly, carefully scanning the entryway and the façade to confirm there weren’t any cameras.  There was surprisingly little security, although the door could only be opened by a chip card; it had to be used to activate the elevator, too.

 

Adam took note. That piece of info would come in handy later.

 

The condo was on the fourth floor—and it seemed to be one of only two on the entire floor that was occupied.  Inside, the place was very Urban Modern—brick walls, concrete floor, exposed piping and ductwork—and very new.

 

“You haven’t been here long,” Adam said; a statement, not a question.  Connor answered anyway.

 

“No—Sir’s, uh, not from here.  He’s got a job to do, then he’s goin’ home.  And he’s takin’ me with him.”

 

Adam knew better.  Connor had been turning on a lamp as he spoke; when the dim light flashed across the open space, the smile on Adam’s face was barely visible.  The kid was simply too far away to see the wicked glint in the killer’s cold blue eyes.

 

What he could see, even in the semi-darkened living room, was Adam’s phenomenal physique.  If Connor’s shiny Adidas tracksuit had been eye-catching, Adam’s own workout gear was not far behind.  He sported a white Lycra V-neck tank top that appeared to be painted onto his broad chest.  The deeply-cut neck allowed his abundant red-gold chest hair to spill out, while his powerfully muscled arms were admirably displayed.

 

Below the waist, Adam had on a pair of black polyester gym shorts that hung to just above the knee; Connor couldn’t see the stud’s thighs, but the thick slabs of muscles in his calves were obvious enough.  On his feet were a pair of Nike Air Max2 kicks in a bright, almost neon, yellow.

 

It wasn’t that Connor hadn’t noticed how Adam had been dressed earlier; he’d just been too wrought up by the anxiety of approaching the stud in person to take in the details.

 

Adam, in the meantime, glanced around the room.  He’d already assimilated what he needed to know about Connor—just another fuckin’ homo perv that thought it was worthy of his cock.  All he needed now was the right place to teach it its lesson.  A place where they could have…a little alone time.

 

“This y’all’s shit?” he asked abruptly.  Startled, Connor jerked.  “Uh, uh—no, not the furniture or the…well, the personal stuff is ours.  Sir ain’t gonna be here long.  This is one of the model units, I think…”

 

“So where’s the bedroom, faggot?”

 

Connor flushed, but his expression made it clear that it was with pleasure.  “This way,” he chirped happily, leading his killer to the place where he was going to die.

 

The bedroom—there was only one, it seemed—was partitioned off from the main living space by a series of pseudo-Japanese sliding screens.  Made of flimsy black plastic inset with squares of glossy translucent polyester and running on a track, they managed to connote an aura of cheapness while providing no privacy whatsoever.  Adam started to realize why so few units were occupied…

 

But that didn’t matter.  The room itself was surprisingly small, with a double bed against the far wall.  The right wall was solid glass, looking out onto the train tracks and the river beyond, sluggish, shallow, and stinking with algae in the summer heat.  The sun, finally setting after a sweltering day, glinted greenly off the thick organic stew.

 

To the left was a dresser; next to it was a closet with mirrored sliding doors.  In the far corner was a small desk with an empty laptop docking station and an adjustable high-backed desk chair on casters.

 

Connor had flicked on the lights when he came in.  There was a small lamp on the single nightstand, another one on the dresser, and the overhead lights in the ceiling fan.  The bulbs were evidently fluorescent; everything was dim at first but gradually became brighter.

 

The punk fucker took the initiative, his presumption stoking Adam’s psychotic rage.  Connor had already snagged something surreptitiously from a drawer in the nightstand; the dumbass cunt thought that Adam hadn’t seen it, but the clinking of metal alone was enough to tell the experienced sadist that the kid had brought out a pair of handcuffs.  Now, he grabbed the chair from the desk and wheeled it to the only open space in the small room, between the bed and the closet, which were separated by about six feet.

 

Sitting in the chair, Connor extended his right hand, the cuffs dangling from his index finger.  “You c’n put these on me if ya want…” he led off.  Adam waited, savoring his rage; he knew there was more to come.  The pansy was gonna suffer for this, big time.

 

“…but I gotta see whatcha got first.  Pull off those shorts, big boy; I’d bet my life yer commando under there.”

 

If he’d been less of a horny cockpig, Connor might have noticed the somehow chilling look of satisfaction that crossed Adam’s face.  He lifted his Lycra shirt just enough to grasp the waistband of his shorts and, jerking them down, kicked them to one side.

 

Underneath, he still wore the lining, also Lycra, in black and yellow—the same shade of yellow as his Nikes.  As Connor stared in awe at the massive shaft of manmeat so clearly outlined in every detail in Adam’s crotch, the sex killer grinned.

 

“You lose yer bet, asswipe,” he chuckled.  Approaching the eager slut, he grabbed the handcuffs and secured the homo’s arms behind the back of the chair.  Slowly turning the chair to face the mirrored closet door, Adam stood behind it and grinned at their reflection.

 

“Wait, wait!” Connor cried out, “I almost forgot—over there, top desk drawer…”

 

Adam wasn’t one to give into requests, but since this piece of meat was damn near snuffing itself, his curiosity was aroused.  Opening the desk drawer, he found a pair of leather gloves, thin, tight and smooth.

 

“Put ‘em on!”  Connor’s tone was more a plea than a command.  Smirking maliciously, Adam complied, slipping the tight, supple gloves onto his powerful hands.  Turning around, he stalked ominously back to the helpless kid.

 

The faggot was staring at Adam’s crotch again, his large dark eyes sliding up and down the length of the Lyrca-covered shaft and lingering over the well-defined cock head.  The hardbodied psycho felt the familiar bloodlust welling up within him, the desire to put this little fuck down, hard, and then own its corpse by filling it with cum.

 

But of course, before that happened, it needed to be made worthy to receive his cock.  All the faggotry had to be purged from the meat’s soul, and the soul could only be purged by suffering.

 

“Damn, dude, I can’t wait to service that dick,” Connor gasped breathily, “Sure hope a little breath control play will make you as hard as it does me!”

 

That was it; that was all that was needed to flip Adam’s switch.

 

“You wanna earn my dick, cunt?” he jeered.  “You ain’t worth it, ya fuckin’ faggot.”

 

“Nossir!” Connor chirped happily; he loved this kinda abuse.

 

Taking his place behind the chair again, Adam used the mirror to maintain eye contact with the fuckmeat.  “Ya wanna know what ya gotta do to earn it, bitch?”

 

“Yessir!  Please, sir!”  Connor squealed.

 

“You gotta die,” Adam said flatly, and slapped one of his big, strong hands over Connor’s face, closing off the boy’s nose and mouth simultaneously, the smooth leather making an air-tight seal.

 

It took no great effort to stand there and hold the kid’s head; the punk didn’t even start to struggle until near the one-minute mark.  His dick responded long before that, though; almost instantly, it was throbbing visibly beneath the shiny trackies.  After about two minutes, though, Connor’s muffled grunting increased and he began to jerk his head about.  Adam let go.

 

The meat wasn’t suffering; it was enjoying itself.

 

“Le-lemme go a s-sec,” Connor gasped out as he recovered his breath, “Th-that was so fuck-fuckin’ hot…”

 

“I’m gettin’ tired of you orderin’ me around,” Adam growled in a deep bass tone, but he unlocked one of the cuffs, leaving the set to dangle off the boy’s left wrist.  Connor wriggled with pleasure at the rough rumble of the top’s voice.  Swiftly pulling his hands around to his lap, he whipped out his long, pulsing boycock and began stroking his shaft.

 

“Call me ‘Ghost’,” he moaned, “That’s what Sir calls me…”

 

“You goddam piece a’ faggot shit,” Adam said coldly.  He reached down and grabbed Connor’s right wrist and jerked it violently upward, then back towards himself, bringing up his knee at the same time to use as a lever.  The sadistic alpha felt his own cock swell as he broke Connor’s arm; it happened so fast that the punk heard the wet splintering sound of his radius and ulna snapping before the pain hit him.

 

The kid’s pale face went even whiter as the shock hit him; he opened his mouth and automatically inhaled—but before he could scream, Adam punched him twice in quick succession.  This first blow landed in his soft flat gut and drove all the air out of his lungs with a loud squeak.  The second punch popped him in the face, splitting his bottom lip and bruising his cheek.

 

As the meat slumped back in the chair, moaning and stunned, Adam reached down and grabbed the collar of the kid’s t-shirt.  Twisting it tightly, he used it to single-handedly hoist Connor of out the chair.  Holding the dazed youth up to his face, his Vapormax kicks dangling in mid-air, the killer stared directly into the boy’s wide, scared eyes.

 

“Ghost, huh?  That’s about right, fuckmeat.  That’s exactly what the fuck you are—a ghost.  Yer fuckin’ dead, man—that’s what it takes to get my dick.  I gotta torture the faggotry outta ya before I can fuck yer meat, see?  So, yeah—yer gonna get ghosted.  ‘Ghost’ is fuckin’ great!”  He laughed, a deep, hearty sound.

 

Connor found it chilling, but he was in too much pain to know why.  He didn’t even know what the fuck had happened, but this fucker had broken his arm oh my god it hurts so goddam bad—

 

There was a shearing, ripping sound and Connor’s Adidas t-shirt gave way, the thin cotton unable to support the youth’s weight any longer.  As it tore open, the kid tumbled to the ground at Adam’s feet, still in his track jacket but now bare-chested under it.  The muscle-bound killer tossed the shredded piece of fabric aside.  Straddling the prone youth, he bent down, clamped a hand around his neck, and lifted the punk back up.

 

Connor screamed as his broken arm flopped about.  “Shaddap!” Adam snarled, backhanding the kid brutally, blackening his left eye.  “You need this, asswipe.  Pain’s good for the soul, remember?  An’ by the time I’m done with ya, yer soul is gonna be so pure it’ll even be worthy to receive my seed.”

 

He jammed the boy back down into the chair.  Stepping behind it, he again faced the reflection of the two of them in the mirror.  This time, he used both hands to seal off the punk’s nose and mouth.  Connor’s frantic eyes could just barely be seen over the top of his gloved hands.

 

This time, the kid’s reaction was much more immediate—as Adam expected; after all, this time the meat knew it wasn’t a game.  Connor twisted and writhed in the chair, trying to slip out of Adam’s crushing grip on his skull, but it was useless.  His legs kicked and drummed on the floor, the heels of his Nikes leaving scuff marks on the wood.

 

“Hey, fuckwad,” Adam whispered in the boy’s ear, “See how yer cock is twitchin’?  Means there’s still too much faggot left in ya, so we gotta keep going.”

 

Connor was long familiar with the erotic sensations of oxygen deprivation; he knew that as the crushing pain in his lungs and the pounding pressure in his head intensified, his dick would only get harder and harder.  This motherfucker was seriously gonna kill him—

 

Adam smiled as he heard the faint muffled squeaks that were the only outward signs of Connor’s screams.  “What’s that—ya wanna safe word?” he chuckled maliciously, “Ok, cocksucker—yer safe word is ‘die’.  Once ya do that, I’ll let go.”

 

The fuckmeat still hadn’t its proper position as Adam’s cumrag.  The room was filled with a loud jangling sound as Connor’s left hand, with the handcuffs still attached, clawed helplessly at his face, his scrambling fingers not finding any purchase on the smooth surface of the black leather gloves.  In panicked desperation, he slung his hand around to the right side of his face, where Adam was bent by his ear.  Adam was too far away for Connor’s hand to reach, but the handcuffs, swinging out with momentum, managed to clip the alpha on the chin.

 

The impact wasn’t severe; it didn’t even break the skin, but it startled, then enraged the psychotic killer.  Releasing Connor’s head, he stood up.  As the boy coughed and heaved, sucking in lungfuls of air, Adam grabbed his left hand and bent his index finger all the way back, snapping it at the first joint.

 

“WHA TH’ FUCK?!?” Connor screeched, lack of oxygen making his voice high and reedy.  Adam calmly popped him in the face, a single sucker-punch right from the shoulder into Connor’s nose, breaking it with a loud crunch.  Turning his attention back to the unlucky youth’s hand, he grabbed the middle finger and wrenched it brutally backwards.

 

Connor screamed again—no words this time, just a loud, inarticulate wail of agony.  “Ya still likin’ it, faggot?” he hissed, his cold eyes slitted in anger, “Does the thought of bein’ close to death still get ya off?  Cause you’re close, ya worthless human cumdump, you’re so close to death I betcha can taste it, cantcha?”

 

The boy opened his eyes and turned his strained face, gray with shock, towards his tormentor.  This wasn’t what he’d wanted at all; he just wanted a little play…Sir wouldn’t have actually hurt him…

 

“P-ple-please…” was all he could get out.

 

“Please what, homo?” Adam sneered.  “Already toldja, the meat don’t call the shots.  Looks like you ain’t as ready to be honored by my load as I’d thought.  You got faggotry rooted deep down in yer soul, motherfucker, an’ I’m gonna make damn sure I get it all out.”

 

He paused for a moment, then smiled grimly.  “This is gonna hurt you more than it hurts me, son.”

 

He took hold of Connor’s left arm in the same way he had his right, except this time, he placed his knee right on the kid’s elbow joint and bent the arm backwards from there.  There was a gristly snapping sound, like tearing a chicken leg form a carcass, and the arm hung limp at an awkward angle while Connor’s shriek spiraled into the upper registers, making his voice crack and leaving him to wheeze and gasp almost soundlessly.

 

Adam stepped in front of the chair, crossed his arms, and contemplated the meat.  Connor writhed impotently in the chair, utterly defenseless with two broken arms.  The meat’s slim, smooth torso glistened with sweat; the air was rank with testosterone and manscent.  As Adam watched the kid’s slick, flat abdomen heave with pain, he noticed a tattoo on the kid’s belly.  It looked like a robot, or maybe a cactus with a face.

 

Whatever, Adam thought dismissively; maybe it’d help ID the corpse later.  His own cock was pulsating on a regular basis, and that meant that it was time for the final act of purification.  He smiled broadly, a pleasant and friendly expression on his face.

 

“Hey, Ghost?  Ya still with me, man?” he asked kindly, stepping forward and patting the boy on the cheek.  Connor had stopped writhing and remained slumped in the chair, moaning quietly, his head hanging forward.  His bright copper hair was now dark with sweat—but so was Adam’s, so they still matched.  “Almost there, fucker.  But not yet.  Still too much of a fag, Ghost; my cock tells me so.  We ain’t done yet, asswipe.  Lessee—yer into gettin’ choked, huh?  Ok, motherfucker, lemme see if I can choke the homo right outta ya.”

 

Locked in a vise of physical pain, the lean pup in the trackies could only shudder and sob as the hulking alpha stud searched the room for something appropriate.  Connor tried to get up, but without his arms to brace himself, he inevitably began to roll off balance as he moved—and as he started to roll to one side or the other, the arm on that side began to flex at the break, grinding bones together.  It just hurt too much.

 

In the meantime, Adam had opened the closet and rummaged around in it.  It didn’t take him long to find something that suited his needs; when he returned, he was holding two items.  One was a straightstick baton, about eleven inches long.  The other was a belt of webbed nylon.

 

“Ya ready?” he asked as he approached the traumatized youth, “Ready to live up to yer name and get ghosted?”

 

Connor’s battered and swollen face was barely recognizable; the arrogantly handsome punk had been beaten to hamburger.  It hurt even to speak, but frantic self-preservation drove the cunt on in a vain attempt to plead for his useless life.

 

“O-oh god, p-please, n-n-no…j-us-just lemme go…wo-wo-won’t say noth-nothin’…te-tell S-Sir I got-got mu-mu-mugged…”

 

“Y’know,” Adam said reflectively as he stepped behind the chair and wrapped the belt around Connor’s neck, “Sir is probably gonna be the one who finds your corpse after I’ve given it the honor of bein’ my personal cumrag.  Wonder what he’s gonna think; don’t you?”

 

Laughing, he slipped the baton under the belt and began twisting.  It took a few seconds for him to twist it enough to tighten the belt around Connor’s neck, but once he had, it made a perfect garrote.

 

“Ok, ya worthless asswipe, only one way to get ya free of yer disgustin’ faggot lusts.  Only one way to make your dead fuckmeat clean enough to be my cumdump.  It’s buried deep in yer DNA, faggot—I gotta squeeze the spunk outta ya so I can replace it with my own manseed.”

 

As the tightly-webbed black nylon sank into Connor’s tender neck flesh, Adam leaned forward and hissed “Time to die, Ghost.  It’s gonna hurt, you worthless piece a’ shit; it’s gonna hurt so fuckin’ bad.  I promise, cunt.  I fuckin’ promise.”

 

The boy whimpered in fear.  He’d always loved being controlled by someone else, the hot erotic danger of having another man bring him to the point of death was what made him cum.  But he’d always known in the back of his mind that it wasn’t the real thing—no matter who it was, his Master or a casual hookup, he’d always known he wasn’t really gonna die.  Until now.

 

The glassy, white-hot pain of broken bones made it obvious that playtime was over.  Connor was young, healthy, and full of cum.  He didn’t want to die; as bad as the pain was, he still couldn’t quite believe it—until he heard Adam’s words.

 

And then the belt tightened further around his throat, the nylon digging deeply into his skin, and his windpipe was squeezed closed.  That tripped the trigger; as often as Connor had experienced the sensation before, this was different.  This time, it wasn’t coming off.  He panicked.

 

The lean youth attempted to lunge forward, his firm legs tensing in the glossy track pants as he tried to find leverage, in vain.  His hands flopped limply, utterly useless except for increasing the amount of agony the punk was experiencing.  He could hear Adam talking behind him; worse, he could see the sexy, gleeful face of his killer leering over his shoulder in the mirror.

 

And worst of all, he could see his face, already purple and swollen with the beating he’d endured, starting to go black.  He knew the stages, he knew what to expect.  And he’d see it all in the mirror; he was gonna watch himself die.

 

It was too much for the lithe young pup.  A dark haze of terror swept over him and somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt a moist warmth spread over him as well—or at least down his legs.  He wasn’t able to register the fact that he’d lost control of his bladder and that warm boypiss was trickling down inside his trackies and pooling in his Nike kicks.

 

As Connor struggled and thrashed, lubed by his own urine, he slid lower in the chair.  “No ya fuckin’ don’t,” Adam muttered.  Flexing his powerful biceps, he lifted the kid by the garrote and resettled him in the chair.  “You ain’t goin’ nowhere, fuckmeat.  Yer gonna watch the whole show, all the way to the end.”

 

Sweat trickled down Connor’s face and his ginger locks, rank with perspiration, plastered his forehead.  The slightest movement brought on nightmarish agony, but sheer asphyxia-induced panic was starting to overwhelm the young faggot; he grimly clung to rational thought—not in a brave attempt to figure a way out of his situation, but almost by mere instinct, as if he as subconsciously aware that he was doomed the moment he lost control.

 

Lucidity was a double-edged sword, though; it would take effort to avoid recognizing that he was doomed in any case—but Connor’ efforts were devoted to the most intense struggle in his life.  It was also the last.

 

The times Sir had bagged him had been nothing like this.  The tight, erotic feel of the rope or the cuffs, sometimes in his track suit, sometimes in footy gear and boots—the way he’d been left alone on occasions, Sir just watching and grinning, sometimes until he pissed himself, sometimes until the raging thumping of his pulse in his skull was overtaken by the swift pulsing of his thick boycock, pumping out gobs of cum—

 

—oh dear fuckin’ god no, this was nothing like that, so why the fuck was his dick so hard—

 

Adam gave the baton a half-turn; the belt sank in a little deeper.  Not much, but it didn’t need to be; even though his trachea had been compressed to the point that air could no longer pass through it, it was by no means incapable of being compacted further.

 

And it damn sure wasn’t numb.  In another of those moments of lucidity, Connor felt a dull surprise that he could feel the pain of the taut nylon digging into his throat and deforming his esophagus; he was in a bottomless pool of agony, but it didn’t merge, he could feel it all separately his neck his face his fingers his arms oh fuck my arms how’m I gonna get out oh shit oh fuck—

 

And with the realization of how seriously he’d been injured, terror swept back over him in a dark wave, leaving him to thrash and flail about in the desk chair, his piss-soaked legs kicking wildly.  Panic had flooded his body with adrenaline, overriding the pain impulses—for the moment, he was numb.  His legs kicked and flailed; he managed to scape one of his Nikes off, flinging it across the room, as his foot flexed and his toes curled in agony, still encased in a pair of piss-sodden no-show ped socks.

 

Again, Adam jerked the meat upwards and resettled it, holding in place until its struggles began to weaken.  He kept a careful eye on it, wanting to make sure that there was still enough of the fag left to understand his words.  The buff psycho caught a faint spark of light in the dying cockpig’s bulging, bloodshot eyes.  It was just barely there, but it was enough.

 

“Watch yerself die, faggot,” Adam hissed with vindictive glee, “Watch yerself choke and drool—an’ remember how much you need this, ya fuckin’ pansy.  You know it.  You want it.  You fuckin’ asked for it, cunt, so enjoy the pain, ya worthless pile of meat.”

 

Connor could barely see; his eyes were bulging horribly from his head, huge black explosions forming in his field of vision as blood vessels hemorrhaged, turning the whites of his eyes red.  The frantic pounding of his pulse in his ears nearly drowned out all other sounds.  But “barely” and “nearly” didn’t mean completely.

 

There was still enough of Connor left to recognized his own form in the mirror, jerking uncontrollably.  A long streamer of foamy drool had oozed from his mouth, past his bulging black tongue, and trickled down his chin, where a long strand had trailed down to his smooth, flat belly.  His face was congested and swollen, a thick puffy caricature of his arrogantly handsome countenance, with grotesquely protruding eyes.

 

And even though his vision was rapidly fading, the homo cunt could still see the trickle of precum oozing from the purple, pulsing head of his achingly erect cock.

 

And he could see the buff alpha as well; some little corner of his faggot brain still lusted over that muscle-bound torso wrapped in white Lycra so tight his large hard nipples cast shadows over his broad pecs.  Wiry strawberry-blond hair spilled over the deeply-cut neck, but Connor’s eyes were drawn to the thick biceps, glistening with sweat and bulging with the effort of ending his life…

 

He knew he was dying and Adam knew he knew it.  “I hope it hurts, Ghost,” the fully-erect, hardbodied killer hissed, “Hope it hurts a lot.  You thought you deserved my dick, ya perverted piece a’ shit?  This is what cocksuckin’ pansies like you deserve!”  With that, he gave his improvised garrote a swift, vicious full 180-degree turn.

 

Connor was young and healthy; his lean and lithe body could endure a great deal of trauma, but there is a point beyond which human tissue can’t be stressed without enduring permanent damage.  Up to now, the boy’s windpipe had been squeezed shut.  Now, it collapsed completely, crushed beyond repair.

 

There was a loud wet crunch.  “Fuck yeah!” Adam crowed triumphantly as the punk slut shuddered in nightmarish agony, his slim body wracked with excruciating pain.  The searing pain of having his trachea and larynx crushed into a bleeding mass of mangled cartilage was too much; it would have shattered whatever was left of the pup’s mind—but nothing was left.  He’d been without air too long; the brain damage was too severe.

 

This was the point Adam had been waiting for.  He wanted to try something.  He’d always like his meat fresh…

 

The hulking alpha quickly spun the baton in the opposite direction, loosening the garrote.  He had to grab a hank of the kid’s slick coppery hair with one hand so he could jerk the embedded belt out of his neck with the other hand.   Ghost—there was no Connor left anymore—convulsed rhythmically, his limbs flopping limply as his muscles responded to the erratic signals of a dying brain.

 

Adam tossed both the belt and the body to the floor.  He looked down at the shuddering fuckmeat, considering it calmly, despite the way his huge manshaft throbbed visibly beneath the Lycra shorts.  He bent down, picked the meat up, and dragged it to the bed.  Tossing its torso face-down across the mattress so that its knees were on the floor and it was bent forward at the waist, Adam reached out and pulled the track pants down, exposing the smooth golden globes of the corpse’s ass.  As he watched, the meat continued to shudder and tremble, the convulsions twitching and puckering Ghost’s pink fuckhole.

 

Now the meat was acceptable.  The faggot was dead.  Whatever happened, Connor wasn’t coming back—but Ghost was worthy of receiving Adam’s manhood.

 

He didn’t even bother to take the black and yellow Lycra shorts off.  Adam just reached down and whipped out his cock and balls, stuffing the latter into the dead punk’s quivering asshole.  He felt some resistance at first, a pressure on the engorged, precum-slick head of his cock, but his enormous shaft tore open the dead boy’s sphincter with minimal effort and was soon buried deep in Ghost’s warm and still-convulsing rectum.

 

His fluorescent yellow Nike Air Max 2’s tensed on the laminate wood floor, one on each side of Ghost’s feet, keeping the homo punk’s from slipping and spreading.

 

The hyper-masculine sex killer fucked his prey deeply and brutally, synching the timing of his thrusts to the rhythm of the slowly-dying meat’s convulsions, letting the pup’s death throes milk the hot sperm out of his pulsating tool.  As he felt his seed starting to seethe in his puckered balls, Adam began increasing the tempo of his pumping until he knew he was within seconds of unloading; he’d saved this next move for the very end.

 

Placing one hand on the meat’s shoulder, he reached down and grabbed the chin with the other.  Without missing a single perfectly-timed thrust of his hips, Adam jerked Ghost’s chin around backward until he was staring directly into the dead punk’s black, swollen face.

 

There was a loud popping sound as the first five cervical vertebrae in Ghost’s spine shattered like glass under the inexorable strength of Adam’s muscles.  The abrupt trauma inflicted on the youth’s spinal column as razor-sharp shards of bone sheared through it at random sent a massive electrochemical shock throughout his entire nervous system.

 

It all happened at once. Ghost’s body went rigid as its muscles locked in a violent convulsive spasm.  The torn sphincter was still able to tighten around Adam’s pulsating rod; in fact, the muscles in Ghost’s lower rectum collapsed in a cascading rhythm, rippling along the thick, cum-filled channel that ran up under the thick swollen shaft to the velvet-soft head.  At the same time, the ginger fag’s own cock began to spasm uncontrollably as the penile muscles convulsed.

 

They both spewed simultaneously; Ghost, unconscious, unknowing, literally brain-dead, pumping his faggot boycum uselessly into the thick duvet cover as the overpowering alpha hosed him down internally with scalding manspunk.  Adam could feel the meat’s involuntary orgasm as the muscular spasms rippled though the body and tightened the sphincter around his cock again.  The sudden tightness triggered him.  “FUCK!” he screamed, “Goddam fuckin’ CUNT!!”

 

As his huge scrotum clenched and his massive shaft spasmed, gushing out his manload in a solid spurt of cum, Adam drove his fist into the corpse’s face twice in quick succession, rendering the once-handsome boymeat even less recognizable.  He felt himself pumping and cumming and cursing and pounding the meat over and over again, caught in the depths of a violent sexual release.

 

Once he shuddered to a pleasurable release, he slumped, shuddering and sighing, onto the meat’s still-trembling back, taking a moment to catch his breath as the last few pearly drops of cum oozed from his receding cock.  When he finally disengaged from the pile of quivering boymeat, he felt relaxed and refreshed; finding his way to the bathroom, he moistened an ornamental handtowel at the sink and wiped down his dick.  Tossing it into the toilet, he grabbed the matching towel off the rack and used it to swab out his reeking pits before reuniting the pair in the commode.

 

Adam stepped back into the bedroom and observed the scene with the satisfaction of an artist.  Ghost was on his knees, bent over the bed.  One foot was still tightly laced into its Nike Vapormax 97; the other seemed kind of exposed in its thin, piss-soaked knit ped sock—even now, the toes were still twitching, helplessly and vulnerably.

 

It didn’t matter.  The thick wads of spunk leaking out of Ghost’s ravaged asshole told the story—and if they didn’t, the look of horror on his gruesomely twisted face certainly did.  Adam shoved his enormous tackle back into the Lycra shorts and slipped the polyester gym shorts back over them.

 

As he left the room, the plastic sliding door jammed on its track.  Adam kicked it out, snapping it off and shoving it to the side.  The last thing he did on his way out of the condo was retrieve the magnetic card that operated the elevator and the front door.  He kept the card in his hand as he got into his car and drove off, heading in a different direction that he’d arrived, just in case.  His route took him over the river; as he crossed the bridge, he tossed the card out the window and had the satisfaction of seeing it wafted in his wake over the railing and into the murky depths below.

 


 

Sir arrived back much earlier than expected; the deal had fallen though and he’d seen no need to stay on.  He made good time; given what he’d paid for his Ducati Panigale V4, he’d expected to. The constant vibration in his crotch had him stirred up, though; he had a lot of energy to work out on his pup when he got back.  Ghost better be up for some play…

 

He parked in an empty space not far from the Benz; that was a good thing—it meant the kid was home.  He strode across the lot, his hard, firm body tightly encased in a one-piece black leather motorcycle suit that fastened directly to his black leather AMU long riding boots, and a black helmet with a dark visor over his head.

 

He crossed the lobby and accessed the elevator; there were no issues with his key card.  The fourth floor was quiet—as was usual—and when he opened the door, there seemed to be nothing out of place, at first.  It was only the silence in the unit that seemed odd.

 

“Ghost?  You here?  You better get yer gear out; yer ass is mine tonight, cunt!”

 

His voice seemed to echo in the dim flat.  That was when he noticed the broken sliding panel lying on the floor.  Darting into the bedroom, he was brought up short by the sight of Connor’s corpse.

 

Part of him had always expected this; the immature punk hadn’t known how set the proper limits to his play, and his Master had felt that one day the cunt would take it too far on his own—but this wasn’t on his own.  Even from here, Sir could see that the Ghost had been strangled and raped, probably in that order.

 

And the only way in was with a card.  There were no signs of forced entry.  The stupid motherfucker had gone out to play and brought home a killer.

 

The thing that pissed Sir off the most was that someone else had fucked his property.  It was obvious that the worthless little fuck had suffered for his wandering lust, but that still didn’t erase the fact that Sir’s property had been violated.

 

He needed to take it back.

 

Without removing his helmet, he reached up under it to the zipper at the collar and pulled it down—all the way down to his crotch.  Reaching in, he pulled out his thick purple manshaft and with no hesitation at all, started fucking Ghost’s corpse.  His leather-clad body bent over the dead boy, heaving and pumping, as his thick-soled motorcycle boots gave him the necessary traction.

 

As Sir grunted and thrust, his face, inscrutable behind the darkened helmet visor, stared directly into Ghost’s.  Even though the dark purple lividity had drained, leaving the kid’s face a pale violet color, the sheer agony and suffering of the kid’s death were still clearly marked in his face.

 

“Ya fuckin’ deserved it, didn’tcha,” Sir grunted, knowing what a slut the boycunt was, “But yer mine, ya worthless fuck, mine, ya hear me?  I’m the one who gets to use ya up and throw ya out like fuckin’ garbage!”

 

His taut, muscled body jerked and shuddered inside his leather biker gear as he unloaded again and again, marking the dead boy as his property.

 

Walking into the bathroom to clean himself up afterward, he noted with disgust the towels in the toilet.  He got a clean one from the linen closet to wipe himself down before returning to the bedroom.

 

After a moment of contemplation, the hardbodied biker skinhead dragged Ghost off the bed and wrapped his corpse in the duvet cover.  After all, it wasn’t like it was his property anyway.  Lifting it in his arms, he carried it out of the condo and managed to make it down to the lobby and out to the Benz without being seen.

 

His first idea had been to drive over the bridge and drop the corpse in the river, even though he recognized that its sluggish flow left it less than ideal for body disposal.  But the same bridge also crossed the train tracks, and that inspired him.

 

Pulling over to the side, Sir hoisted Ghost’s corpse out of the trunk and lifted it over the parapet.  He let it go, keeping hold of the duvet cover as it unrolled and left the trackie-clad corpse to drop unceremoniously into an uncovered coal car.  In the dark, it was almost invisible.

 

Sir headed over the bridge, but he did stop one more to toss the stained duvet cover into the scum-covered river before turning back and heading to the condo.  He needed a good night’s sleep.

 

The next day, he changed his flight so that he’d be out of the country by evening.  It wasn’t difficult.  He’d only ever purchased one ticket anyway.

Brody: Taking Out the Trailer Trash

Travis could hear the crunch of gravel out on the drive and could almost feel the rumbling throb of the huge engine as the 4X4 pickup lurched its way nearer.  The sound made him shudder and tense up; it meant Brody was home.  And that meant…

 

…well, there was no way to know what that meant tonight.  Some nights, it meant fantastic sex.  Brody was thirty, a good seven years older than Travis, and he was hotter than fuck.  That hadn’t changed in the two years since they’d met—Brody’s job as a construction foreman kept his towering, six-foot-four frame fit and incredibly muscular.  His dick was more than eight inches long and an inch and a half thick, and he knew how to use it.

 

But those nights were few and far between—and becoming fewer.  Some nights, Brody was half-drunk (at a minimum) and in a foul mood.  Those were bad nights.  If Travis was lucky, he might get slapped around or a black eye.  If he wasn’t lucky, Brody wanted to fuck.  And that wasn’t fantastic sex, it was punishment sex.  Brody wasn’t just a mean drunk, he was a mean fuck.  On bad nights, Brody would fuck Travis like he wanted to hurt him.

 

Lately, there were a lot more bad nights.  Lately, Brody was escalating the violence and inflicting more severe injuries.  Lately, Travis was scared.

 

He wondered what would happen if he told Brody no.  Tonight he was gonna find out.

 

It took all the nerve he could muster to remain sitting calmly on the couch as he heard the truck’s door slam.  He didn’t love Brody—probably never had—but he was still overwhelmed with lust every time he looked at the older man.  He simply hadn’t been able to bring himself to leave, but dammit, that was gonna change.

 

Completely left out of his calculations was the fact that he had nothing; Brody owned the aged mobile home they lived in and the plot of land it was on.  And Brody’s job paid all the bills; Travis worked twenty-four hours a week as a clerk at the convenience store three miles up the road.  Brody had to drive him there and pick him up.

 

It wouldn’t have mattered anyway.  Travis wasn’t gonna let himself be bullied into abusive sex anymore, no matter how much of a stud Brody was.  At least, that’s what he told himself as he pulled a cigarette from the pack on the battered and scarred coffee table in front of him and fumbled with his lighter.

 

The lithe young fag jumped when he heard the truck door slam.  He didn’t know if he had the courage to follow through on his plans.  He was fit but not overly developed.  He stood a good half-foot shorter than Brody did and at a hundred and twenty pounds was outweighed by his brutal lover by a good sixty pounds, all of it muscles.  His broad face and large blue eyes gave his face an innocence that was highlighted by his short, curly hair that shined like spun gold.  Across the lower part of his face was the bare beginning of a beard of the same color.  Just starting to grow in, the facial hair somehow made him look younger than his actual age.

 

Since he’d been off today, he hadn’t bothered to dress.  He sported a pair of white cotton briefs that cradled his firm, rounded asscheeks and barely contained his decently-hung package; otherwise, his lean, taut body was bare, his smooth skin uncovered.

 

Of course, it wasn’t just that Brody outclassed him physically—if push came to shove, Travis had no doubt he could get away before anything really serious happened—but the redneck homo knew how attracted he was to the aggressive top.  To put it bluntly, he just wasn’t sure he could give up Brody’s hot, hard body and his massive cock.  After all, tonight might be a good night…

 

There was no mistaking the thumping of Brody’s boots on the front steps, but once the door was slammed open, Travis would have known his lover was in the room even had he been blind and deaf.  Brody’s distinctive musk of sweat and pheromones filled the room.  Tonight, it was blended with the sharp tang of alcohol.

 

Tonight wasn’t gonna be a good night.

 

“Go get me a clean shirt,” the hulking alpha demanded.  “This one’s still damp.”  Reaching down, he grabbed the hem of the dirty, sweat-soaked t-shirt and pulled it off over his head.  It caught for the moment in the chain of thick gold links that hung around his neck.  It took a further moment for Brody to free his shoulder-length black hair from the collar of the shirt.

 

When Travis returned from the bedroom with a clean t-shirt, Brody was rummaging in the fridge.  “Long goddam day,” he grumbled, “Fuckin’ niggers and wetbacks don’t fuckin’ listen to a word I say.”  Grabbing a beer, he stood up, closed the door of the fridge and popped the top of the beer can.  He started guzzling it, the overhead fluorescent illuminating his awesome physique.

 

His broad hubcap pecs were covered with a forest of black fur that intensified as it ran down his hard ripped abs, the body hair almost seeming to flow in waves over the muscled abdomen only to disappear beneath the waistband of his distressed, faded jeans.  Around his tight waist was a thick black leather belt, with a huge oval belt buckle made of elaborately wrought silver, with a large agate in the center.  Below, the jeans were tucked into the wide shafts of Brody’s well-worn Red Wing construction boots, which were laced but left untied.

 

Travis laid the clean t-shit on the back of the couch, watching Brody gulp down the beer so eagerly some of it dripped from his chin, leaving white trails of foam in his chest hair.  Finishing his brew, the alpha crumpled the can, belched loudly, and opened the fridge again.

 

“Why dintcha restock the fridge so I’d have some more cold ones?” he demanded.

 

“There ain’t no more,” Travis replied sullenly.  Seeing Brody’s hard, masculine face start to scowl, the young man knew he’d made a mistake.

 

“And so why dintcha text me that, so I could stop and get some more, you dipshit?” Brody growled.  His eyes, already bloodshot with alcohol, narrowed with anger.

 

“I-I didn’t think about it,” Travis warbled nervously.  He could feel his nerve starting to slip.  If he didn’t do something now, he’d never do anything.  “Brody, I, uh—we need to talk—”

 

“You didn’t think about it?  You don’t ever think about jack shit anyway,” Brody sneered drunkenly.

 

“That’s enough, Brody,” Travis said sharply, mustering all his courage.  “You can’t keep hurting me or talking shit to me, or—or I’ll leave.”

 

If anger made Brody’s face intimidating, the way it darkened with rage now was positively terrifying.  “You think yer gonna leave if you don’t get your way, ya little sack a’ shit?” he hissed, his tone low and dangerous.  “You ain’t goin’ nowhere till I say you can go, you got that, boy?”

 

Travis gulped loudly but stood his ground.  “I’m serious, Brody.  You—you hurt me, man.  You can fuck me all night long, but ya don’t have to be mean.  You don’t have to hurt me.”

 

Brody stared Travis straight in the eyes.  “But I like hurtin’ you, ya stupid little faggot.  I like hearing you squeal.  I like seein’ ya in pain.  It gets me off, motherfucker.”

 

Drunk as Brody was, Travis was hit by the realization that he was speaking the truth.  The youth wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed so it took a moment for the full import of the alpha’s words to sink in, but once they did, he understood with stunning clarity that he needed to get out.  Now.

 

“I’m goin’, Brody.  I gotta.  I gotta friend I can stay with, but I need to go…”

 

Brody flushed, rounding on Travis with lightning speed.  “You gotta friend, huh? You been fuckin’ around on me, is that it?  I ain’t good enough for ya now?  You ain’t leavin’ me, faggot, till I get my money’s worth outta ya.”

 

“Brody, please, don’t make this any harder than it—”

 

Travis’s plea was interrupted by loud smack as Brody’s swift, vicious backhand made contact with the kid’s face.  Travis staggered back, holding his hand up to his throbbing cheek, noting with dismay the sly, malicious grin on Brody’s face—and the swelling bulge in the top’s groin.

 

Brody hadn’t been kidding.  He really did get off on hurting Travis.

 

The air was thick with menace. Travis, nearly nude as he was, couldn’t simply flee out the front door.  He needed clothes, or he needed to call for help.  Problem was, his clothes and his cell phone were in the bedroom—and Brody was between him and it.  Still, he needed to chance it.  Travis ducked down and shot to one side, trying to dodge Brody and get past him.

 

A violent impact to his flank told him he didn’t succeed.  Brody had punched him in the side as he went past.  “No ya don’t, cocksucker,” the alpha growled as Travis stumbled, groaning in pain.

 

Trying a new tack, Travis circled around into the living area, moving to the front of the couch as Brody slowly stalked after him, rubbing his swelling crotch.  “Good thing yer undressed, boy—I’m in the mood to plow yer ass good and hard.  Stand still, ya fucking twat so I can put my dick in ya—”

 

This was followed by a grunt of surprise as Travis launched himself over the sofa, stepping up onto the cushions, then leaping over the back.  As the younger man dashed for the wall-mount phone in the kitchen, Brody tried to follow over the back of the couch.  Travis was lucky; in his semi-drunk state, the aggressive muscleman misjudged how high the back of the sofa was and tumbled over it, slamming to the floor behind and momentarily knowing the wind out of himself.

 

It gave Travis enough time to reach the phone and dial 911.  “Hello?  Yes?” he cried into the mouthpiece,  “Yes, police—it’s 1805 County Road 83 west—the trailer at the end of the drive—please, get here quick, he’s gonna hurt me—for fuck’s sake, get someone here—”

 

With a roar of rage Brody leapt at him.  Travis hadn’t even realized the stud had regained his feet; with a screech of fear, the young punk jumped back and watched in stunned fear as the well-built construction worker grabbed the phone and wrenched it off the wall with the sheer power of his muscled arms.  The metal plate and wiring to which the phone had been attached was ripped out of place, leaving a gaping hole in the drywall.

 

“You dumbass,” Brody hissed, “You’re gonna pay for that, in so many different ways…”

 

Travis, his never-robust courage now completely evaporated, began backing away, moving slowly down the hall to the rear of the trailer, where the back bedroom was.  He had no plans and was moving instinctively, but once he got the open door of the spare bathroom, he dived into it and locked the door behind him.

 

The door knob rattled.  “Let me in, Travis,” Brody said in low tone.  “Let me in or I’ll break the door down.”

 

“Leave me alone,” Travis said, trying to sound brave and despising the tremulous warble in his voice.  “I ain’t stupid.  I ain’t comin’ out till you go away.”

 

“Let me in, Travis,” Brody growled through the door, “Or I really will break the door down.  And I hafta do that, I’m gonna take the cost outta yer hide.”

 

Terrified by the sense of being caught in a trap, Travis whimpered.  He glanced at the window, but it was a tiny opening for ventilation, far too small for him to fit through.  If Travis actually came through the door, he couldn’t imagine what would happen to him…

 

That was when he heard the siren in the distance.  Faint, but getting increasingly nearing—and thus louder—each passing second, the sound brought instant relief to the trembling young fag.  And within seconds, Brody could hear them too.

 

“Damn you,” he muttered through the door, “You’re gonna pay for this, you little asswipe.  You’re gonna pay so fuckin’ bad.”

 

Within a few seconds, Travis could hear the crunching of the tires on gravel and the banging of car doors, followed by a loud knock at the trailer door.  “Police!  Open up!”  Still muttering beneath his breath, Brody went to let the cops in—he had no other choice.  Cautiously unlocking the bathroom door, Travis finally came out.

 

Brody was talking to two cops—sheriff’s men.  One looked like he was in his mid-forties, the other was about Brody’s age. Both were nodding as Brody tried to explain what was happening, but Travis knew if he didn’t say something, they’d leave—and he’d be in danger.

 

“He hit me,” the younger man said, interrupting the conversation and silencing it.

 

“Are you sure about that, son?” the older cop asked.  “That’s a serious charge, after all.”

 

“See the mark on my face?  Yeah, I’m sure.  Now what are ya gonna do about it?”

 

The older cop sighed, his face clearly indicating his displeasure at whiny little faggots who increased his workload.  “Do ya wanna file charges?” he asked wearily, already picturing the amount of extra paperwork that was going to be involved.

 

“Fuck yeah, I do,” Travis rejoined.  He kept his eyes averted from the look of smoldering rage that Brody directed at him.  If he could get the top arrested, he’d have at least the weekend free and clear to arrange for something else.

 

“Ok, let’s do this,” the older copy muttered, defeat dulling his voice as he unclipped the handcuffs from his belt and approached Brody.  “Turn around, buddy.  Hand behind your back.”

 

Brody complied, still glaring at Travis.  “You’re takin’ me just on his say-so?” he asked, outraged.

 

The younger cop spoke up for the first time.  “Gotta do it, mac.  State law—gotta take in the aggressor in a DV case if the victim decides to file charges.  That way, she—er, he—ain’t beaten into withdrawing the charges.  After a cooling-down period, you’ll be allowed to post bail.”

 

“Son of a bitch!” Brody swore.

 

“C’mon, buddy, let’s get ya in the car,” the older cop said after securing the cuffs.

 

“What, just like this, half-dressed?” Brody demanded.

 

“Aw, it’s just to the county lockup,” the older cop said.  “Tell ya what, if it makes ya feel better—Bates, pick up that shirt there on the couch on your way out.  This guy can put it on when we get back to town.”  With that, he aimed Brody at the door and left, leaving the younger cop to take Travis’s statement.

 

It didn’t take long for the young homo to recount the evening’s events.  Travis practically gushed at the young, hard-bodied cop in his tight uniform.  “Y’all saved my life, man—how’d y’all get here so quick? He asked.

 

“We were pickin’ up some coffee at the Kum N Buy up the road when we got the call,” the cop said coldly, his disgust at dealing with fags obvious.  When he was done, the cop made a few follow-up notes and turned to leave.  Once he reached the door, he looked back at Travis.

 

“Don’t forget,” the cop said.  “You gotta come down in the mornin’ and sign the official charges.  Plus, if ya want, you can file a restrainin’ order.  Make it so he’s gotta stay at least five hundred yards from ya, legally.  I always think they’re more trouble than they’re worth, but the law says I gotta advise ya about it.”

 

Leaving Travis pondering on the possibilities of a restraining order, the cop descended the steps that lead to the front door of the trailer.  He got to the car just as his partner finished getting Brody settled into the back seat and closed the door on him.

 

“I tell ya, whole country’s gettin’ too damn liberal,” he grumbled as the younger man came up.  “Way I see it, if a man works a long, hard day, he’s gotta right to expect things to be a certain way at home and there ain’t nothin’ wrong with knockin’ a little sense into the bitch if she can’t keep the place right.  Not like I give a shit what these two fags were doin’ to each other, but it’s the principle of the thing, ya know?”

 

“Yeah, I hear ya,” the younger cop grinned.  “Had to tell that little cocksucker about gettin’ a restrainin’ order.  Fuckin’ makes me sick.  That little buttfuck back in the trailer could do with a good beatin’, if ya ask me.  C’mon, let’s go—I gotta fine piece of ass waitin’ for me when I get off shift.”

 

They climbed into the front seat of the car and headed out to the county road.  Travis watched them go out of the window, then retrieved his cell phone.  “Hey, Eric?  Yeah, man, I need a favor.  Can you give me a lift into town and back tomorrow mornin’?  Yeah, I know it’s short notice, but I gotta get to the police station.  Naw, nothin’ bad—I’ll tell ya about it when you get here.  Just text me when yer on the way.  Thanks, man.”

 


 

At eight-thirty on a Friday evening, the Plaza Bar & Grill was starting to fill up.  Not as busy as it would be later in the evening, there was still a good throng of locals getting tanked and loading up on burgers and the grill’s specialty—huge baskets of fries, cooked in peanut oil.  It was actually a crowded, dirty dive housed in what had once been a hardware store; it took its absurdly grandiose name from the fact that it was on the town square, facing the courthouse.

 

It was also within walking distance of the police station, which was how Brody got there without his truck.

 

Once he’d gotten booked, he called his boss, who showed up the next morning to post bail; he’d agreed to advance the money out of Brody’s pay.  It took several hours for the bond to go through and even longer for the police clerk to process it, since he was the only full-time staff the department bothered to hire.  As a result, Brody wasn’t actually let out until somewhere around four that afternoon.

 

That was when he learned that Travis had not only filed charges against him, he’d also applied for—and got, with surprising speed—a restraining order.  Reading the paper handed to him at the discharge desk, Brody couldn’t go back to the trailer.

 

That when he walked over to the bar and started drinking.  And kept it up all evening.

 

Brody was a hard drinker—it took a lot to get him sloppy drunk, and he wasn’t anywhere near that point.  But as the sun set and the lights came on in the bar, the buff, hardbodied redneck sat and stared at the cigarette burns and the circular marks of moisture where his numerous bottle of beer had been placed, and he simmered.

 

That goddam little cocksucker.  Think he could kick Brody outta his own property?  He’d see about that.

 

Over the past couple of years, Brody had experienced certain…desires.  His imagination had bubbled with things he’s wanted to do to Travis, things that would cause a lot of trouble, but would be so fuckin’ hot…

 

They all came back to him now, but this time was different.  The alcohol had lowered his inhibitions, but it was more than that.  Do them was right.  It was fitting.

 

It was justice.

 

Goddamit, he deserved justice, after all.

 

The waitress appeared suddenly beside him, collecting his empty bottle.  “Hey, hon, I think we’re gonna hafta cut ya off.  You had too many to drive safe, Brody.”

 

He glared at her.  “I ain’t drivin’, Darlene, I ain’t got my truck with me.”

 

“Ya need a lift?  Ol’ Earle over there is about to head out, he lives out past yer place, right?”

 

Brody thought for a moment.  “Yeah, he does.  I can get him to drop me at the foot of the drive.  That way he won’t hear me comin’.”

 

“Who won’t hear ya comin’?”

 

Brody shot her another look, his slightly bloodshot eyes glittering with malignity.  “No one, darlin’.  Just a bitch who’s gonna learn a major lesson the hard way.”

 


 

Travis signed off on his online chat with Eric.  Usually they communicated via texts, which Travis immediately erased so Brody couldn’t see them.  With Brody in jail, though, Travis felt free to sit at the desk in the spare bedroom and use the computer.

 

He’d made arrangements to meet Eric at The Well, a small dive on the west side of Main Street near the train tracks with a clientele split equally between a small group of gays and a group of shiftless white trash that came simply because it was the closet bar to their squalid homes.  Wilton, the guy who lived on the next plot of land east, was a regular every Friday and Saturday night.  Travis never could figure out why; he wasn’t gay and the Plaza was actually closer.

 

Not that it mattered—the point was that Wilton was there by midnight like clockwork, so all Travis had to do was walk down the drive to the road and hitch a ride with Wilton when he came by.  He’d done it several times before.

 

Travis slumped back casually in the desk chair, savoring his sense of freedom.  He’d already dressed to go out, his black t-shirt tucked into a new and very tight pair of jeans with boot-cut cuffs to display his dark-gray ropers.  The boots weren’t new, but he considered them dress wear and took as good care of them as anything else that captured his shallow fancy.

 

Travis’s indolent reverie was interrupted by a faint rattling sound from the living room.  He stood up and stretched, the deep blue denim of his jeans following the contour of his perfectly-rounded asscheeks like a second skin.  He grabbed his denim jacket from the back of the chair and, slipping it on, went to investigate.

 

The faint rattling had a familiar sound, but Travis couldn’t place it and it had ceased before he reached the living room.  Looking around, he couldn’t detect anything out of place.  He turned to go back when it started again behind him—it was at the front door.

 

He just had time to reach into his pocket and dig out his phone—which took a moment since his jeans were so tight—when he realized with horror that he knew exactly what that sound was.

 

It was a key in the lock.  And the only other person with a key to the trailer was Brody.

 

“No…” he whispered, his face ashen as he whirled to see the door burst open and Brody’s hulking, powerful form filling the doorway, rage emanating from the muscled alpha in almost visible waves.

 

He raised his hand so Travis could see the piece of paper crushed in his clenched fist.  “You fucked up, bitch,” he hissed, “You fucked up so bad…”

 

With a womanish screech, Travis pawed at his phone, frantically trying to dial 911.  He managed to get a 9 and a 1 input before Brody bore down on him.  The slim young fag resorted to his usual maneuver of diving over the couch, but he dropped his phone when he did.  As Travis sprinted for the master bedroom, Brody ground the heel of his Red Wing workboot into the phone, shattering the screen.

 

Then he turned and head towards the master bedroom.  His thick heavy footfalls were those of a hunter relentlessly stalking his prey.

 

The door to the bedroom wasn’t completely closed, but in his amped-up state of terror, Travis had managed to shove the dresser so that it partially blocked it.  As a desperate attempt to buy some time, it failed abjectly.  Brody shoved the furniture aside with ease, entering the room to find Travis popping the screen out of the bedroom window and trying to dive out headfirst.

 

Brody took two giant strides across the room, grabbed the young punk’s ankle and yanked him back into the room.  Stumbling backwards against the bed, Travis fell to his knees involuntarily.  Overcoming an obvious reluctance, he turned his large blue eyes up to Brody’s face, his pale face wincing at the sheer rage he could see there.

 

“B-Brody…” he whispered, “You-you weren’t sp-sp s’posed to b-be…”

 

“I wasn’t s’posed to be outta jail yet, huh?” the hulking redneck alpha growled.  “An’ you had plans to keep me out, yeah?”  He brandished the paper still clutched in his hand; despite the way it had been wrinkled in his fist, it was still obvious that he was holding the restraining order.

 

“You were gonna try to keep me off my property, were ya, you cocksuckin’ little faggot?” Brody snarled.

 

“No, Brody, no!” Travis cried in terror, “I wasn’t—but the cop said—an’ I was gonna leave, you coulda come back—”

 

Suddenly Brody’s anger seemed to implode from a roaring, red-hot rage into a quiet, focused point of white-hot fury.  “Oh,” he said quietly and calmly, “You were gonna leave, were ya?  That’ll all?  Nothing else?”

 

“No…no…” Travis whispered, partially in agreement with Brody’s comment and partially in an instinctive, almost totem attempt to ward off the danger that was literally palpable.  He’d never seen this cold, hard anger in Brody before.  He didn’t know what it meant—but he damn well knew it wasn’t good.

 

“Get up,” Brody demanded brusquely.  “Get up or I’ll get ya up.”

 

“Pl-please, Brody,” Travis began but was unable to complete his plea before the powerful top grabbed a handful of the kid’s golden curls and pulled upwards, his bicep bulging with inexorable force as Travis squalled in pain and came up off his knees, knowing his scalp would be torn off if he didn’t.

 

“Lemme tell ya somethin’, cunt,” Brody said with a sneer as he got Travis to his feet.  “Ain’t nobody leavin’ me till I’m done with ‘em.  You wanna leave?  Fine, bitch.  But yer leavin’ my way.  Ain’t like anyone gonna want ya now that I’ve reamed out yer fuckhole anyway.”

 

Travis had time to notice how the hem of the short sleeve on Brody’s white t-shirt was drawn taut around the circumference of his massive bicep as the abusive top pulled his arm back.  It mesmerized him to the point he almost didn’t notice the arm shoot forward again; he certainly never had time to try to block the vicious gutpunch that hit him like the kick of a horse.  The blow was so violent Travis was jerked back hard enough to pull his head free of Brody’s grip, at the painful cost of a handful of hair being ripped out.

 

Travis kicked as he fell, his ropers making contact with Brody’s legs—not hard enough to cause any pain, but in combination with the sudden shift in his weight once he was no longer holding Travis, the alpha staged backwards a few steps to regain his balance.  Unable to breathe, Travis nonetheless found himself doing an astonishingly stuntman-like tuck and roll across the bed.  Hitting the floor on the other side, he hurled himself around a corner into the master bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind him.

 

Putting up a hand to brace himself against the wall, Brody dropped the restraining order; the crumpled piece of paper floated to the floor like a leaf.  Watching it, the muscle-bound hick felt the red flush of anger rising in his face again.  He turned towards the bathroom door, an expression of grim determination coalescing on his feature.

 

The little fuck had to learn.  Brody knew he was hot; he knew he could stick his dick in anything he wanted.  This lazy little homo leech brought nothing to the table; it needed to learn its place in the scheme of things.  And its place in Brody’s scheme had hit rock-fuckin’-bottom.

 

He started slowly, with an almost casual knock at the bathroom door.  “Travis?” he called gently.  “C’mon out, man, I wanna talk.”

 

The leech in question was huddled on the bathroom floor, his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms clasped around them.  Tears were running down his face and despite the oppressive heat in the small room and his sweatiness from his recent acrobatics, Travis pulled the denim jacket tighter around his shoulders.  His abdomen was still throbbing from the punch and he’d just managed to get his breath back.

 

“B-brody?” he quavered, “Just—just let m-me go, dude.  Huh?  Ok?  Can I just go?”  He didn’t know what to make of this conciliatory tone, but he knew it’d be a very bad idea to go out there with Brody just outside the door.

 

“You filed this order,” Brody’s voice came silkily from beyond the thin, hollow-core door.  “We need to talk about it.  C’mon, man, open up the door.”

 

“I-I’m sorry, man.  P-p-please just lemme go,” Travis blurted, barely able to keep his incipient sobbing down.  “I’ll—I’ll do any-anything ya want, but please, Brody, for fuck’s sake, just lemme go.  Ok, Brody?  Huh?”

 

“Open the door, Travis.”  Brody’s voice wasn’t quite as smooth now.  “I wanna see ya.  How do the wetbacks always say it—mano a mano?  Yeah, face-to-face, like a real man.  C’mon out, Travis.”

 

“No, not-not yet, Brody,” Travis whimpered.  “Back off a bit, man.  Tell ya what—if you’ll go out in the hall and close the bedroom door, I’ll come outta here.”

 

“Ya know what?” Brody snapped, the softness in his voice replaced with a tone that seethed unmistakably with cold, hard rage, “I’m sick of fuckin’ with yer dumb ass, you worthless little faggot.”

 

There was a loud crunching sound and Travis saw to his horror that Brody had put his steel-toed construction boot through the door, smashing open a large hole in the center with a single kick.  The leg was withdrawn and was instantly replaced with Brody’s face.  The long-haired stud had the countenance of a god, but tonight he looked like the god of hell as he grinned at the terrified punk.

 

“Heeere’s Brody!” he shrieked with insane glee.  The remains of the hollow-core door were no obstacle to the powerful white-trash sadist; he tore the pieces out with his bare hands, the screws coming out of the thin wood fascia as easily as if they’d been screwed into butter.  In less than five seconds, Travis was face-to-face with the one person he’d hoped he’d never see again.

 

That was bad—very bad.  Cowering at the base of the toilet, the lean, lithe youth saw death in Brody’s eyes.  Travis screamed and pissed himself in terror, the hot wet warmth spreading over the crotch of his tight jeans.

 

The hard-bodied alpha chuckled malignantly.  “You scared, asswipe?  You should be.  Time for you to learn a lesson I should taught ya a long time ago—and learnin’ it’s gonna hurt bad, bro.  It’s gonna hurt so fuckin’ bad.”

 

With the feral grace of a tiger attacking prey, Brody lunged at Travis.  In a single, lightning-fast maneuver, he grabbed the terrified punk by the throat, whirled around, and flung him back through the open doorway into the bedroom.  Travis hit the ground on his back just short of the far wall, the impact driving his breath out and stunning him but not knocking him out.

 

As he shuddered on the floor in shocked pain, gasping for air like a dying fish, Travis could only watch helplessly as Brody strode out of the bathroom with a calm that belied his boiling rage.  The quivering homo stared as the hard-bodied stud towered over him.

 

His tight jeans tucked carelessly into his laced but untied construction boots, his wide leather belt with the huge metal belt buckle fastened just above the massive bulge in his crotch, his ripped abs and massive chest, emphasized by his too-small white cotton t-shit that was stretched so tightly across his broad pecs that his large firm nipples seemed about to tear through the fabric, above all his hard, almost arrogant face with two days’ worth of scruff darkening the cheeks and chin—even in his pain and fear, Travis was still mesmerized by Brody’s sheer masculinity.  The head mix of pheromones emitted in the alpha’s sweat added to the pansy’s confusing mix of lust and terror.  He wanted Brody so bad—no, that wasn’t right; he wanted to get away from Brody so bad…

 

In any event, he didn’t have a choice.  Before he could recover, the muscle-bound top bent down and clamped his hand around Travis’s throat again with a brutal vise grip.  Hoisting the writhing homo into the air, this time the vindictive sadist let the boy dangle, gagging and choking.

 

Travis’s mind was engulfed in terror like a solid sheet of flame.  He couldn’t breathe at all.  No matter how hard he kicked, his piss-filled ropers were flailing uselessly inches off the floor.  And Brody—Brody was more pissed than Travis had even seen him.  Brody was gonna hurt him worse than he ever had before.

 

Travis’s panic went nuclear when he realized it wasn’t the kinda hurt he’d get over—it wasn’t the kinda hurt he’d survive.  The rational part of his mind slipped away and he became a feral animal, scratching and clawing in his desperation to survive.  He realized—without any conscious thought involved—that he wasn’t making any headway clutching at the incredibly powerful hand Brody had clamped around his throat.

 

With nothing else to cling to, Travis began flailing wildly, his hands snatching at anything within reach.  The first thing he came into contact with was the collar of Brody’s t-shirt.  With a mighty (and completely instinctive) jerk, the thrashing youth tore the collar, yanking back until the thin cotton shirt was in shreds.

 

“You fuckin’ asswipe!” Brody barked, “Goddam shirt is new!”

 

Travis never saw the blow the hardbodied top aimed at his face; he only felt a phenomenal blast of pain and sank instantly into darkness.

 


 

Travis’s ascent back to consciousness was marked by a distinct ache that seemed generalized at first, throbbing throughout his body, but finally localized on his left eye.  He tried to open it, but it was swollen and he could only manage to peer out of a blurry slit.  There was nothing wrong with his right eye, though.  It popped open to see Brody looming over him.

 

He felt like he’d been out for hours, but it had been less than fifteen minutes.  In that time, Brody had managed to strip him nude and lay him out crossways across the bed.  Groaning, the twink raised his head, his shaggy blond hair glinting like gold under the bare overhead light.  Tenderly clutching his blackened eye, Travis watch Brody out of his good one as the stud tore the remains of the t-shirt off his back and tossed them to the floor.  His huge furry chest and washboard abs exposed, the alpha finally deigned to look down and notice the boy.

 

“Good, yer awake,” Brody said, almost conversationally.  “I was jist wonderin’ how to wake yer stupid ass up.  See, ya can’t learn if yer asleep—an’ it’d be jist like a dumbass motherfucker like you to sleep through the most important lesson of yer life.”

 

Brody reached down and unzipped his fly.  Reaching in, he extracted his tackle like he was hauling a bucket up out of a well.  Travis was already familiar with the top’s huge shaft, but there was something sinister about how hard the massive cock already was.  The slut was so focused on the pulsating rod of manmeat that it took him a moment to notice that Brody had undone his belt buckle and was slowly sliding the belt out from around his tight waist.

 

Travis knew he was trapped.  There was no way out; his only hope was to try to appeal to Brody, hoping for some mercy of perhaps memory of affection.

 

“N-no, please,” he begged, his right eye wide, blue and sparkling with tears, “For God’s sake, Brody, don-don’t do anythin’ yer gonna be sorry for!”

 

The moment he said it, the flash in Brody’s eye told his he could have phrased it better.  “Gonna be sorry for?” the vicious redneck hissed, “Is that some kinda threat, boy?  You think you can threaten me, you sorry-ass little cumsucker?  Here’s a threat for ya, faggot!”

 

Brody doubled his belt over and held it at the bend, leaving both ends—including the one with the huge metal buckle—free.  Travis saw him swing but didn’t even have time to wince as Brody brought the thick leather straps down across the tender flesh of the kid’s smooth, flat belly.  The loose end of the belt stuck the skin with a loud slap, leaving a wide red weal.  The buckle, on the other hand, slammed down violently and left a bruise nearly the size of a palm print.

 

Both hurt like all fuck.  Travis screamed and Brody grinned cheerfully.

 

“That got yer attention, huh?  That got yer mind off suckin’ dude’s dicks?  Yeah?  Good, cunt, cause there’s a lot more where that came from.  I’m gonna teach ya the same way I saw my pappy break a horse—with pain.  Only thing a dumb animal like you understands is pain, boy.  So saddle up, motherfucker, cause it’s time to rodeo!”

 

Through his tears, the sobbing youth looked up at Brody.  The muscled stud had turned away for a moment; Travis heard the door latch, then a click.  Brody had closed and locked the bedroom door.  He returned and leaned over the writhing homo, his head momentarily eclipsing the overhead light, giving his black, shoulder-length hair a glowing aura as an arrogant, cocky grin crossed his unshaven face.

 

“Ain’t no way out, boy.  See, that’s what ya gotta learn—you ain’t goin’ nowhere till I’m done with yer ass.  Ya feelin’ me, son?  Ya catchin’ what I’m pitchin’ at ya?  Naw, I don’t think you are.  Like I said, it takes pain for a dumbass motherfucker like you to learn a damn thing.”

 

 

Travis shrank back as Brody brandished the belt again, raising it up over his shoulder.  Throwing up his hands, Travis had time to shout, “Please, no!” before Brody swung.  It turned out putting up his hands to block the blow was an extremely bad idea; while the belt lashed his right arm painfully, the buckle struck his left hand squarely, snapping all but Travis’s index finger and thumb.

 

The agony was as sudden and unexpected as it was searing.  Travis immediately rolled onto his side and curled into a fetal position, cradling his wounded hand.

 

“Oh no you don’t,” Brody growled.  Grabbing Travis by the shoulder, he rolled the kid onto his back again.  The weeping punk saw with horror that the alpha’s huge cock was dripping precum.  Raising his eyes slowly from the erect, straining rod, Travis scanned Brody’s furry abs and the wiry mass of body hair that spread over his chest, the large dark nipples jutting from the swelling pecs like volcanic peaks above a dark forest.

 

Above that, the look in Brody’s handsome, masculine face told Travis what he already knew but was afraid to admit to himself—inflicting pain was getting Brody aroused.  The unmistakable glint of lust in his eye, normally a turn-on on its own, was transformed in something terrible and disturbing when it was combined by the grimace of contempt and hatred that twisted Brody’s face.

 

And that was when it finally sank in for Travis.  For a brief moment, lucidity cut through the pulsing agony in his hand and the sharp ache radiating from the bruise on his belly, and he understood the symbolism of Brody closing and locking the bedroom door.

 

It was because he was gonna die in here tonight.

 

“Oh god, no,” he protested, but fear had frozen his voice into a barely-audible croak.  “No, Brody—for fuck’s sake, don’t…”

 

“That’s it, you stupid sack a’ shit,” the cruel alpha chuckled, “Beg for yer worthless life, cunt.”

 

Some perverse corner of Travis’s mind sealed his lips, not wanting to give Brody the satisfaction—not that it mattered.  With a convulsive grunt, the muscled top swung the belt again, the edge of the oversized buckle slashing a long gash across the kid’s smooth chest.  This time, though, Travis didn’t get the chance to react to the cold, sharp pain of torn flesh before the belt struck him again.  And again.

 

Brody was working himself into a frenzy, his face contorted with hatred and rage as he lashed the slim young boy with the leather belt.  Each agonizing blow that landed forced a scream from Travis; suddenly, the blows were landing too fast for him to separate them.  It was like he was in a hail of knives—he simply couldn’t tell where the welts from the belt were forming or if the buckle had struck him on the leg or on the elbow.  All he knew was that he was in an unholy grip of pain that clutched his entire body remorselessly.

 

At one point, Travis was aware of a single blow of the buckle—it hit his right knee edge-on, shattering the kneecap.  That sensation tore right through him, a flash of agony that would have seared his soul had the shallow youth possessed one.

 

The brutal whipping lasted for almost twenty minutes before Brody, sweating and panting with exertion, tossed the belt to one side.  Travis kept screaming, his cries deafening—to himself.  In reality, his voice had cracked five minutes earlier and all that was coming out of his gaping mouth now was a hoarse gasping sound.  He was rolling about and jerking on the bed as if he was still being whipped—an involuntary reaction to the pain.  His smooth skin was no longer unblemished; barely an inch was visible that was not marked with the brutal violence he’d just suffered.

 

“Like I said, dumbass, you ain’t goin’ nowhere till I’m done with ya,” Brody panted, stepping back from the bed a moment to admire what he’d done to the writhing kid.  “An’ all this fag-bashin’ done got me horny.  Tell ya what—lemme drain my balls and I’ll be done with yer useless ass.  I’m gonna load ya up with my hot mansperm and then I’ll let ya take a nice long dirt nap.  How’s that sound, asswipe?  Ya cool with that?  No?  Tough fuckin’ shit, ya goddam motherfucker.”

 

Before Travis could process the words that had been spoken to him, Brody had climbed on top of him and forcibly spread his legs apart.  His pain- and fear-stunned mind moved slowly; it wasn’t until cue-ball-sized head of the muscled alpha’s dick pressing against his sphincter that Travis realized his murderous lover was treating him to one last fuck.

 

The young fag had worshipped Brody’s monstrously huge cock and had loved the sensation of being filled with manmeat—it had hurt, but it had hurt so good.  But Brody had always gone in slowly, and with lots of lube.  This time it was different.  This time it hurt bad.

 

Wrapping his large hands around Travis’s smooth thighs, Brody rammed his shaft deep into Travis’s rectum, his oozing precum the only lube.  Despite the nightmarish level of agony wracking the punk’s lean body, the sudden, searing pain of having his sphincter literally torn open  took Travis’s breath away.  He could only lie still, his body rigid and trembling, his eyes, wide and circled with gray rings of shock, riveted on the figure of Brody.

 

The hardbodied redneck grinned.  He brushed a lock of his long hair out of his face; his bulked-out torso glistened with a slight sheen of sweat under the overhead bulb.  The beating had been a good workout; Brody’s muscles tingled and he felt energized.  His big throbbing cock was buried balls-deep into boymeat—the sadist was pumped and primed, ready for a good time.

 

Still overwhelmed by the pain in his rectum, Travis’s jaw had clenched closed tightly, forcing him to breathe loudly and deeply through his nose.  His close proximity to Brody’s sweaty, masculine body meant that the unfortunate youth was more or less huffing the overabundance of pheromones that were being emitted in the musky tang of Brody’s mansweat.

 

The impact of the adrenaline and testosterone on the always-horny homo was as involuntary as it was immediate—Travis’s own six-and-a-half inch dick began to stiffen and rise above the kid’s flat, badly-bruised belly.  He was in too much pain to notice it at the moment…

 

Brody noticed it.

 

“Fuckin’ faggot,” he snarled.  “All I gotta do is shove my cock into ya and yer homo ass gets all horny—even though I toldja yer gonna die tonight.  Ya like that idea, huh?  I shoulda offed ya a long time ago.  In fact—”

 

Before Travis could blink, Brody’s arms had darted forward and clamped around the boy’s throat.  As the buff top leaned over, the weight of his bulked-out body pressing Travis down into the mattress, he began to squeeze, his grip intensifying slowly but inexorably, as he cocked his thumbs and pressed them remorselessly into the kid’s larynx.

 

“—every time I came in yer worn-out asshole, it was cause I was fantasizin’ about snuffin’ ya, you useless pansy.  Remember Tuesday night?  I was thinkin’ about huntin’ you through the woods like prey, seein’ the terror on yer stupid fag face when I finally blocked yer path and blew ya away with my shotgun.  But you wouldn’t suffer enough—I’d want ya still alive while I gutted ya like a deer…”

 

Travis croaked loudly, his hands gripping Brody’s wrists but the broken fingers on his left hand flopped limply, utterly powerless to move the top’s hands a fraction of an inch from his compressed throat.  His air was completely cut off.  This couldn’t be happening yet, he thought; knowing he was going to die, he still refused to recognize the imminence of death.

 

“Remember how good I fucked ya on your birthday?” the alpha whispered vindictively to the choking youth, “You said it was the best fuck you’d ever had.  I was dreamin’ about cuttin’ yer throat and fuckin’ ya as you bled out and died.  That get ya off, you sick fucker?  Yeah?”

 

Travis shook his head frantically, as much in denial of the entire situation as in denial of Brody’s words.  His face was starting to swell and darken and the crushing pain in his throat was a strong new sensation in the kid’s overpowering wave of suffering.  But it wasn’t alone—there was a pounding, too, a hot, burning pounding in his head and his chest…

 

“I even planned out how to dump yer body, fuckwad,” Brody chuckled cruelly at his dying bitch.  “I’m just gonna drive ya out and dump ya in the swamp.  By the time yer corpse floats up outta the muck, it’ll be so bloated and rotten, ain’t no one gonna know who you are.  If anyone finds it in the first place.  Ain’t no one gonna be lookin’—I’m gonna tell ‘em you ran off with some rich dude who was passin’ through.  Everyone knows what a lazy whore ya are—and no one’s gonna care.”

 

Travis could still hear Brody speak, but the words seemed to have an odd echo effect inside his head.  It was cloudy in there and it was only with difficulty that the choking faggot could focus his attention.  He was still lucid enough to realize that pulling at Brody’s wrists wasn’t helping and tried clawing at the alpha’s fingers instead.  His entire body seemed to be pulsing with pain; some part of him wondered how he could still be conscious while suffering such agony—and why his cock was so strainingly erect it hurt as well…

 

When Brody spoke again, Travis absorbed the words.  They seemed to melt into the relentless, overwhelming pounding in his head and his chest; the rapid jackhammering of his pulse that beat out the last few moments of his wasted life in double-time…

 

“Die, you fuckin’ piece a’ shit!” the heaving, pumping top growled, his hulking form, covered with sweat-matted fur, enveloping the kid’s slim, lithe body.  “Choke and fuckin’ die, you goddam sack of cum-gobblin’ scum!”

 

Brody could feel his hot manseed seething in his balls; he knew he was gonna erupt into a boiling geyser of sperm at any moment.  Even now, trembling on the edge of orgasm, he was so pissed at the worthless little fairy he was bangin’ that he didn’t want the cunt to enjoy his hot manload.

 

Brody’s hands tightened, his fists clenching closed in his rage.  His thumbs pressed forward inexorably, shoving Travis’s larynx out of place.  As the cartilage of his voice box reached the point of ultimate stress, the lithe young faggot kicked and flailed frantically, the terror of knowing that he was gonna die if he couldn’t stop the powerful sadist overriding the nightmarish agony he experienced every time he bent his shattered knee.

 

And he couldn’t.  He simply wasn’t strong enough to prevent the alpha’s muscles from clamping down on him and ending his life.  The point was driven home painfully as Brody crushed his larynx, the fragile cartilage construction shattering loudly into mangled gristle.

 

Travis’s swelling, blackening face assumed a horror-stricken expression, but the kid’s features were so bloated and congested with asphyxia that it was hard to tell the difference.  The grotesque, excruciating agony in his throat was just the latest in a long line of horrific sensations that were wreaking havoc on his nervous system.  The pounding in his chest was so intense the dying homo was sure his body was pulsing visibly in the same tempo.  Deep inside, he was still painfully aware of how full of manmeat his guts were; the horny faggot corner of his mind that still kept track of such things held no memory of Brody’s cock being so thick or buried so far inside him.

 

And as some part of him screamed inwardly at his missed chance to flee, another part acknowledged that he’d have missed this insanely intense fuck—and that part seemed to be the one in control of his cock as it swelled and oozed, its tender flesh viciously abraded by Brody’s rough, wiry belly fur as the swollen member slid between the writhing, intertwined bodies.

 

Things were fading for Travis, and growing cold.  Was the heat on?  He couldn’t remember.  All he could remember was that there was pain beyond the icy chill, pain and cock.  He was full.  Brody had filled him with manmeat.  Beyond that, the pounding in his head was too much; it was like he was being beaten by a prizefighter…why?  What—his dick, his ass, his entire lean smooth body—it had given him such pleasure; now there was nothing but pain everywhere…

 

“Yer dyin’, faggot,” Brody jeered.  “How’s it feel, huh?  Does it hurt?  It don’t hurt bad enough, fuckwad.  No matter how bad dyin’ hurts, it ain’t anywhere near as bad as you deserve, asswipe.  C’mon and start kickin’, boy.  Lemme feel yer hot lean body jerk an’ kick under, motherfucker; lemme feel yer asshole convulse and jack me off.”

 

The hardbodied top gave the dying youth one last squeeze, feeling with profound satisfaction the cracking sensation as he crushed Travis’s trachea into a bloody pulp, permanently sealing off the punk’s airway.  In the shock of mortal pain, Travis literally lost his mind; the animalistic mid-brain took over and Brody found himself dealing with a wild, clawing beast that beat at his chest and ripped his chest hairs unconsciously.  Not that that got any pity from Brody; having his chest fur pulled out hurt.  With a loud grunt, he drove two roundhouse punches straight into Travis’s face, breaking the fag’s nose with a pulpy sound.

 

“Ain’t you dead yet?” Brody snapped.  “Fuck, I ain’t gonna need yer worthless ass once I use it as a cumrag.  Fuckin’ die, motherfucker!”  He placed his right palm on Travis’s chin, feeling the wispy golden curls of the homo’s blond facial hair.  At the same moment, Travis’s hands were fondling Brody’s harsh scruff, the dying boy’s fingers–the unbroken ones–involuntarily caressing the rough, steel-wool-like growth covering the alpha’s hard, masculine cheeks and strong chin.

 

Brody shoved.  With a loud cracking sound, Travis’s skull was forcibly separated from his spine, the thick spinal cord shearing apart at the second cervical vertebra with instant, violent, and traumatic impact.

 

As Brody recalled it later, it was like Travis suddenly developed a moist, pulsing suction in his ass, solely devoted to swallowing the vast load of sperm that the top had built up in his balls.

 

The dying faggot wrapped his arms and legs around his killer and squeezed—everything.  His limbs, his chest, his rectum; it all contracted as a searing bolt of agony swept like lightning through Travis’s central nervous system.

 

At literally the same moment his brain was shorting out and dying, the battered and abused youth shot a stream of hot semen from his hyper-stimulated scrotum.  Brody grunted and screamed “Fuck!” repeatedly as Travis’s lean form writhed and jerked under his weight, milking his sensitive, engorged shaft.  For Travis, the world ended in a searing blast of agony and cum.

 

As the dead kid kept pumping out his death load, reflexively smearing and matting Brody’s chest fur with pearly white boyspunk, the muscled alpha hosed the cunt’s guts with his boiling wad.  It took a moment for Brody to regain control, but when he did, he found himself staring down into Travis’s face.  The young slut’s bulging, half-lidded eyes had a thousand-yard stare and thick, white, foamy drool trickled down his chin, soaking the golden curls.  He head was bent backwards at a grotesque angle.

 

Brody slowly withdrew his throbbing tool, pulling against the suction that somehow remained in the corpse’s rectum.  With a loud sucking sound, his massive rod came free, swaying and bobbing, dribbling pearly drops of spunk on Travis’s smooth, flaccid thighs.  Standing up, the cum-covered alpha passed his hand across his brow to keep sweat from trickling in his eyes and admired the scene.

 

Travis had learned a lesson he damn sure wouldn’t forget—the little fuck wasn’t ever forget anything ever again.  His smooth lean body shuddered in its death throes, his bare toes curling and uncurling as random nerves fired along the shredded remains of his spinal column.  A thick, glutinous wad of semen was slowly seeping from his still semi-erect dick.

 

“Now you can go,” Brody whispered, grinning, at the trembling corpse.  “Now I’m done with yer worthless ass.”

 

After cleaning himself up a little—washing the sweat and cum off his torso and his dick, then stuffing the latter back into his tight, worn jeans—the buff alpha took some time to take what was left of the ruined bathroom door off its hinges.  He’d get a new door tomorrow.  After dumping the splintered pieces of wood into the bed of his truck, Brody turned back to the trailer.  He’d finished clearing away the door, but he hadn’t finished taking out the trash yet.

 

Striding back into the bedroom, he leaned over the bed and picked up Travis’s body.  The dead kid was still quivering and since Brody hadn’t bothered to clean the corpse, he suddenly found himself covered with the homo’s cum again.

 

Well fuck that, he thought and decided not to bother with putting on the shirt; he was dumping garbage and would need a shower once he was done anyway.

 

The hulking, muscled redneck threw the dead boy over his shoulder, Travis’s head and hands hanging down Brody’s back.  As he left the trailer, the alpha’s boots sounded thick and heavy on the wooden steps and the extra weight he was carrying made the gravel crunch loudly under his heels.  Jerking his shoulder, he tossed Travis into the bed of his pickup; the corpse landed face-up with a thick, meaty thump.

 

Brody hopped into the cab and threw the truck into gear.  Twenty minutes later, he was pulling off the county road onto a trail that would have been impossible to see if he hadn’t already known where it was.  The rutted mud track he was following put his 4X4 through a workout, but eventually he reached the edge of swamp, pulling over beside a large pool of sickly water, dotted with tree stumps and covered with slimy green algae.

 

Climbing out of the driver’s seat, Brody walked around to the rear, opened the tailgate, and dragged Travis out by the feet, letting him fall to the ground like a sack of potatoes.  Standing over him, Brody looked down at the murdered corpse of his lover of two years.

 

“Y’know, fuckwad,” Brody mused speculatively, “That fuck was the best one yet.  Ever.  I shoulda done that to ya the first day I met ya…”

 

His Redwing construction boots sank deep into the soft ground as he dragged the faggot’s body to the water and rolled it in, watching bubbles rise up under the green film on the surface.  The he headed back to the truck.

 

On his way back to the trailer, Brody kept the windows down; it was a chilly night, but he was warm from exertion and the cool breeze across his chest kept his nipples achingly erect.  His mind was still running on the last thing he’d said.  If he’d offed Travis right away, he’d have gotten some great sex—and he wouldn’t have had to deal with the whiney little bitch for two years.

 

That was it, man.  That was how to do it.  Work ‘em out, use ‘em up and get rid of ‘em before they start to rot.  Fuck yeah.

 

Brody had a sudden sensation that he had experienced a major sexual revelation.  He knew now what he wanted to do, what would get him off, and get him off right.  He just needed a victim.

 

Wondering if there was anything on the computer back home that would lead him to the faggot cunt that have been helping his bitch try to run away, Brody grinned and turned on the radio.  His dick was getting hard again…

Camping with Chris By Gay Slavemeat Gsmeat2@gmail.com

 

Chris is a real person who reads this site and sent me an email.  It turns out his fantasies are as fucked up as mine, so I wrote a story for him about how it all might turn out.  I had some “happy endings” as I wrote it, and he reported a large one as he finished reading it.  So, mission accomplished.  I hope others have the same reaction.  Let me know your thoughts, and remember that feedback and ideas are always welcome.  (BTW, I’m the character “Matt” in the story, as with many of mine, which is my real first name.  Loki I leave to your imagination.)

 

The Eagle Bar in Pittsburg had changed a lot since Loki purchased it a few years ago, remodeled it, and started hanging out there.  But in many ways, it had returned to its heritage, the days when it was the premier gay S&M bar in Pennsylvania.  There are lots of gay leather bars named “The Eagle,” but Loki had turned this one into something special, something exceptionally kinky and extreme.  It was a commercial success he was proud to own, attracting patrons, both masters and slaves, from all over the Northeast and beyond.

 

Of course, Loki was always proud, and he had a lot to be proud of.  He was especially proud of his pure Nordic heritage, believing it to be the master race.  He was named after the smartest of the Norse gods, and the one who was often evil, and he viewed himself in many ways as the god Loki.  It started with his gorgeous, muscled, Nordic body.  He was 23, recently finished with college, and recipient of a massive inheritance.  Buying and fixing up the bar was a trivial expense to him.  Loki was into extremely dominant gay sex, so the bar was primarily a way to attract other guys he could dominate, torture, and fuck, and to show off his phenomenal blond physique.  He also attracted a group of like-minded masters who shared his lust and joined in the fun. But he only associated with those who were also rich, fit, and good looking.

 

Loki always wore leather, but he was usually shirtless, sometimes with a masters’ leather harness to highlight his dominance.  Unlike other leather bars, nudity and public sex were encouraged, and sometimes he wore nothing but his steel-toed leather boots, especially when he was but-fucking one of the slaves.  That way he could show off how utterly massive his cock was.  The boots were the etiquette at the bar – dominant males wore at least leather boots; submissive fags were barefoot and naked except for a possible slave collar, cock ring, nipple clips, or weights attached to their balls.  There was a fully equipped torture chamber in the back complete with fuck stations, whipping posts, a rack, slings, and lots of other fun equipment with which a submissive could be restrained, tortured, and gang-raped.  There was also no rule against having a slave bend over a bar stool to get its ass pummeled, which happened a lot, often with Loki doing the initial drilling before the rest of the bar joined in.  All this required an “understanding” with the local cops, who got free drinks and admission along with the use of the subs of their choice.  Loki had struck gold in the market and was attracting gay S&M enthusiasts from near and far.  He charged a bundle and had already recovered his investment along with a tidy profit after only a couple of years.  His bar was now well known nationally as the best place for intense gay S&M, with no limits.  Loki wasn’t into limits.  If a patron damaged one of the slaves Loki kept available as waters and sex objects, the patron just had to pay Loki a fine and cover the veterinary bill to get the animal repaired.    The fine was a lot larger if it had to be replaced.  Loki viewed himself as a deity entitled to punish his subjects however it pleased him to do so.  And it pleased him a lot.

 

On this night, Loki was holding forth to some of his favorite fellow leather masters.  He’d been gone for a few days and was describing a camping trip he’d especially enjoyed.  He signaled to a nearby waiter, who knew the signal and quickly brought Loki a large stein of beer.  At a second signal, the “waiter,” who was a sex slave named Matt (one of the ones Loki kept naked and confined to the bar) knelt under the table and unbuttoned the fly on Loki’s leather pants.  The slave used its mouth to gently remove Loki’s hardening cock from his pants and swallow as much as it could of the giant penis.  As soon as Loki felt the slave’s tongue on Loki’s dick, Loki released a load of piss down the slave’s throat, commenting to his buddies, “gotta make room for the next load of beer.”  Everyone laughed, and the slave was soon occupied draining piss and getting beers for Loki’s audience.  As each master finished his load, he kicked the slave in the nuts with his steel-toed boots to signal that the slave should now service another master.  The slave’s balls were swollen from the multiple kicks, but it still maintained the required erection.  Matt liked being kicked in the balls and used as a human urinal.  Later, they’d get around to using Matt sexually, enjoying how utterly appreciative the animal was for the pain and humiliation it received – and deserved.  But for now, they wanted to hear about Loki’s adventure.

 

“So. Master Loki, what were you up to?  We know this was your annual renewal retreat, and we’re all dying to hear your story.  From the way you’re celebrating, I am guessing it’s a good one.  They always are.”  (Loki’s buddies had long ago learned that flattering him helped keep them in his circle of sycophantic favorites.  And, in fact, he was a great storyteller and his S&M activities were extreme and awesome.  They inspired his entourage to some intense public orgasms.)

 

“Well, you’re not dying as much as the guy I just finished with. His name was Curtis, or Carl, or Chris or something like that.  I think it was Chris.  But it doesn’t matter.  He didn’t really deserve a name.  He was a total loser, but an entertaining and eager one.  I’ll go with Chris.  Or cum-slut.  It actually began a couple months ago.”

 

Loki described how he had met Chris at the bar of a hotel in New York City.  Chris was in New York marketing some product or other, and Loki had just closed a deal to buy the hotel.  “The Eagle is really profitable, but I have a lot of money to invest, and renovating medium-quality hotels is a terrific investment.  I’m going to turn that one into the best gay S&M hotel in the world, complete with a no limits bar modeled after this one.  I was in the existing hotel bar having a drink with some fellow investors after we closed the deal, and I noticed this geeky-looking young dweeb staring at me.  I get that a lot from gay guys, given my body and command of the room, so I wasn’t surprised or offended.  I like being admired, and so do my buddies, who are all also major studs.  We deserve it.  The twink looked kind of interesting.  He wasn’t a movie star or anything, but he wasn’t altogether bad looking and those geeky types frankly appeal to me as prospects for torture and sex.  I invited him to join our group, which he did.

 

“I noticed you were staring at me and my buddies.  Are you some sort of fag?”

 

“Sorry., sir.  I didn’t mean to offend you.  I am gay and yes, I think you guys are amazing looking, especially you.  I was fantasizing about you tying me up and fucking me.”

 

That started a conversation Loki especially enjoyed.  He interrogated Chris as to what he liked to do in terms of sex, and learned that the fag was very submissive and, at 28, a bit older than Loki.  But he was not very experienced other than at sucking cock.    Loki unzipped his fly and invited Chris to strip naked in front of everyone at the bar, kneel in front of Loki, and suck his dick.  A bit to Loki’s surprise, Chris did so immediately and quite expertly, fully accepting Loki’s giant cock in his mouth all the way to its base and after a great suck session eagerly swallowing Loki’s gushing load of cum.  It didn’t seem to bother Chris at all to have people staring at him while he degraded himself.  Indeed, Chris quickly achieved a full erection.  (Loki owned the bar, so he didn’t have to worry about rules.  After all, this would soon be the norm for conduct there.)  As Chris used his tongue to clean Loki’s dick and then thanked him for the honor of serving him, Loki asked what sort of limits Chris had. “I don’t think I have any, sir.  For someone like you, I’d let you do whatever you want with me.  I’d be happy to suck off your buddies, or if you prefer I could bend over a table and you could all butt-fuck me.”  Loki was now truly interested, getting a full view of the dweeb’s body.  It really wasn’t bad, and included a very appealing butt.  Chris might be his kind of frag.  He clearly had a promising attitude and sure knew how to suck cock.  Loki ordered Chris a whisky without asking what Chris wanted, and continued the conversation with his naked guest.  He learned that Chris was staying in room 558 in what was now Loki’s hotel, and that he was heading back to central Pennsylvania, near Pittsburg, after making some sales calls the next day.

 

“That’s probably bullshit about no limits, but I’ll give you a test and an offer.  I’m staying in my penthouse, and my buddies and I are going to head there and have an orgy.  We’ll want some slave fags to play with, and it will be very rough.  We’ve arranged for some, but you can join the fun as a slave if you prove yourself obedient enough.  So, stay naked and stay hard, put on this slave collar (Loki handed one to Chris),  and go back to your room.  Pack your shit and leave it in the room.  Walk out with nothing but the collar, not even your room key, and be sure to maintain an erection.  Then go to the elevator by walking completely around the floor so lots of people see you and ride to the penthouse.  If you get arrested or thrown out of the hotel for being naked, that’s your problem.  If someone asks what you’re doing, tell them you’re a worthless slave reporting for punishment and invite them to punish you.  There will be a blindfold on the table by the door to enter the penthouse.  Put that on and ring the doorbell.  You’ll be used by my friends, including some very important people.  I don’t want you able to blackmail them for the awful things I and hey will do to you.  You also won’t know what is about to happen to you as you get tortured and fucked.  I’ll decide what to do with you and your shit after I’m done with you.  Understood?”

 

Chris was shocked, and a little afraid, but he was mostly excited and turned on, so he quickly agreed.  He had lots of extreme fantasies and this fit perfectly with some of them.  He couldn’t hide his reaction anyway, as his cock was now intensely hard, pointing toward the ceiling from all the pressure of his arousal.  One of Loki’s buddies commented and they all laughed at Chris as he put on the slave collar.  That made him blush but turned him on even more.  He returned to his room and did exactly as instructed.  He encountered about two dozen guests during his naked stroll, and was yelled at and threatened by all of them.  He responded as instructed, and several of the guys decided to start the slave punishment early. Two punched him in the nuts, one spat on him, and another kicked him in the butt as he passed, sending Chris sprawling on the floor.  Chris thanked them, offered to let them hit him, kick him, or spit on him again, and continued on his way when they were finished.  (They all accepted a follow-on that involved punishing his exposed genitals.).  To his surprise, none of this made him lose the erection.  The humiliation and pain made it stronger.

 

After he put on the blindfold and rang the doorbell, Chris was dragged into the room and participated in an amazing orgy that lasted through the night.  He had no idea how many guys were in the room, but he was sure each of them raped him at least once.  He did know Loki had been the first, not only from comments being made but from the intense pain in his asshole as Loki brutally rammed him, laughing at the fact Chris was bleeding from his torn flesh as Loki enjoyed raping him.  He was bent over the back of a low chair with his wrists and ankles tied to the chair’s legs to make it more convenient for them to enter his butt-hole and to highlight his vulnerability.  That also made it easy to whip his butt and back, which were severely lacerated by early morning.  He could feel the whip laying on his back between beatings, inviting the next tormentor. He also had lots of cocks inserted in his mouth, some to clean off after he’d been fucked, some to relieve themselves with a load of piss (no point leaving the room to use a toilet when a human urinal was available right there), and many were after a blow job – Chris’s favorite thing to do and his best skill.  He loved sucking cock, especially in public.

 

Chris heard others screaming besides himself, so he knew he was not the only sex slave.  But he also heard Loki encouraging the guests to be especially brutal to Chris.  Chris felt honored.  Late in the evening, one guest, who sounded particularly drunk, asked Loki if it would be OK to drag Chris to the balcony and throw him off so he could watch him fall to his death on the street below.  Loki considered the idea, and acknowledged that would be fun.  But he pointed out the death would be very quick and scum like Chris deserved longer and more painful sessions.  Loki finally decided against the idea because it was too dark to get a clear view of the fall and the broken body on the street, and it might be bad press for the hotel. The conversation was another turn-on for Chris, which Loki noted.

 

After the rapes, Loki thrust a large, electrified dildo up Chris’ torn ass, which sent a stream of electricity through his body.  It was astonishingly painful, and Chris provided very satisfying screams to entertain Loki and his guests.  Loki had a remote control to vary the voltage, but soon grew tired of that and just left it on full power.  They laughed as they watched Chris’s body writhing in pain.

 

Eventually Chris was released from the chair and tied to a rack.  The guests took bets on which setting of the rack would result in Chris’s arms being pulled out of the shoulder sockets, and there was lots of cheering when that happened, after very slow increases to make sure Chris felt all the pain.  This also allowed easy access to whip his chest and torture his nipples and genitals.  The electrified dildo up his ass assured there were no breaks in the pain inflicted on the group’s newfound sex toy.  The constant writhing from the dildo and other sources of torture assured everyone had a chance to enjoy his suffering, but they also noticed and some were even impressed with his continued erection.  Loki thoughtfully helped keep in hard by inserting a metal rod down the piss-slit, although he also attached the rod to an electrical source that heated it up and burned the inside of Chris’s cock.  The screaming from that caused Chris to go hoarse.

 

The evening ended for Chris after he was released from the rack and ordered to masturbate for the guests.  That was nearly impossible with his dislocated arms pretty much useless, but he was eager to do so.  As he began his orgasm he felt a massive pain in his balls.  He had been hit hard by Loki, who used a pair of brass knuckles to enhance the effect.  Loki was exceptionally strong as well as exceptionally beautiful, and Chris’ orgasm turned to agony.  He vomited form the pain, which was followed by a succession of beatings that left him unconscious and covered in his own cum and vomit, along with his own piss that was released as he passed out.  The guests cheered Loki and most added their own piss and/or cum to further drench Chris’ body in waste.

 

When Chris awoke later that morning, he was still naked and realized he had been dumped in a trash bin on the street, as had been his luggage.  His arms were still mostly useless form the dislocation, and he wasn’t sure if he would be able to climb out.  Worse yet, he realized he had been dumped on top of another naked young male, but this one was dead.  The corpse had been emasculated and was a mess of broken bones and ripped flesh, with a gaping wound in its belly.  Chris was now not only covered with the vomit, cum, and piss from his own torment, but with the blood of his trash-mate.  He further realized that someone had taken a shit on him.

 

Loki had made sure there was a videographer to record the fun of watching Chris deal with his situation, and a cop to arrest Chris for indecent exposure and sleeping on the streets.  Loki later arranged for the photos and video, clearly showing how messed up Chris’ body was, to be sent to Chris’s Facebook friends (there weren’t many) and to his boss.  Loki had had one of his assistants go through Chris’s stuff and get all his personal data.  These included Chris pissing and masturbating.  Chris desperately needed to empty his bladder, but being stuck in the dumpster he wound up mostly pissing on himself.   Chis also needed to release some of the sexual tension he still felt.  The sight and touch of the mutilated naked corpse had done nothing to turn that off.  He correctly concluded that the party had indeed wound up with a fag being dumped over the side of the penthouse balcony, and he found that sexually exciting, if messy.  A part of him wondered why he had not been selected.  It took him a long time to stroke himself to orgasm, given the dislocation, but his cock was super hard and he added fresh cum to the fresh piss, which spewed over his body and added to the dried waste with which he was covered.

 

The cop waited before arresting Chris to enjoy the show and allow for a longer and more embarrassing video.   The photos and video featured the welts on Chris’s body along with the fact he was covered in vomit, cum, shit, blood, and piss.  They also showed his rock-hard cock, which remained hard after he had the orgasm in the trash bin, reflecting his sexual arousal even after all that had happened – or maybe because of it.

 

As Loki had requested, the cop did not let Chris dress before taking him to the police station, although he did use a nearby garden hose to wash Chris off so the cop wouldn’t have to smell him.   Once Chris was out of the dumpster the local garbage service picked it up and hauled it away.  The corpse would never be found, nor its disappearance likely noticed. Who would possibly give a shit about a dead fag?  Chris remained naked through the brief hearing, after which he was put in jail.  There were a dozen or so other guys in the holding cell, who gang-raping him as the cop invited them to do.

 

Chris had a lot of explaining to do when he paid his fine after a night in jail (where he again got gang-raped this time also including the guards) and finally returned home.  Bad as all that that had happened was in so many ways, however, Chris knew he’d make the same choice all over again.  Indeed, his main regret was that he had no idea who Loki was or whether he’d ever see him again.

 

“I enjoyed torturing and fucking Chris, as did my friends.  He was the most submissive fag I’ve seen in a long while – even more pathetic than Matt here.”  Loki had just gotten another refill from his bar slave.  As Matt left the table Loki kicked him in the butt, causing Matt to stumble and drop the tray of empties he was holding.  Loki made it clear to Matt that he’d be severely punished later for being so clumsy.  Matt sincerely apologized and acknowledged he deserved severe punishment. That began immediately as one of the other patrons amused himself by whipping and kicking Matt as he cleaned up the mess.  But that would only be a start.

 

“I left the little shit alone for a month or so, so his cuts and shoulder would heal.  I don’t like using damaged goods.  But I kept track of him and was amused to see his life fall apart.  He lost his job, of course, and his friends all “unfriended” him.  He had about two months’ savings, and I arranged to ruin his credit rating to get his credit card cancelled and keep him from getting loans.  I waited until his money was gone.  I also made sure that any employer he applied to got a copy of the video.  He was totally broke and isolated.  I’d even managed to fuck up his ability to get unemployment payments, so he was down to nothing.  He had to sell his car, and sell the cool electronic gadgets he owned on eBay.  About all he had left was some clothes and his phone, and he was at the point where he had to vacate his apartment in a day or so.  I’d read his medical records and knew he tended to get depressed, which is what I wanted.  Then I texted him an invitation to contact me, telling him the next encounter would be a lot worse for him.  I was pretty sure he would respond right away, and the dumb-shit did.  That’s the encounter I just returned from.”

 

Loki turned philosophical.  “There are lots of submissive scum out there, like this parenthetic bar slave.  I enjoy torturing and fucking them, but the problem is they enjoy it too much.  I’ve provided a wonderful place for Matt at the bar.  He likes being beaten and humiliated in public, and he loves sucking cock and getting butt-fucked.  Piss and cum are his favorite drinks these days, and he gets to drink a lot of each.  Being displayed naked in public is another turn-on, and it’s in my best interest to let him work out a lot so he stays attractive and fit.  I let him eat left-overs from what he serves at the bar, although I piss and shit on it to be sure it’s disgusting.  He even accepts that as his due, eating and drinking from a dog dish.  When I decide to snuff him, he won’t resist at all, knowing it’s my right and he deserves as horrible a death as I can dream up.  I’m starting to plan that, by the way, since he’s not able to hold an erection as long as he could before we all started kicking his nuts.  They are now damaged and the vet says it would cost a lot to repair them.  He also is showing the scars from all the whipping.  And that’s also part of what I provide him.  He has no decisions to make.  He doesn’t have to worry about whether it’s worth it to repair his nuts; I do that for him.  And he doesn’t have to worry about his career, or what to wear (the group laughed as Matt’s naked body came into sight), what to eat, where to sleep, when to piss or shit, or how to make or keep friends – he isn’t permitted any so it’s simple.  And all I ask in return is total obedience and the right to do whatever I want with him while he’s alive, and to snuff him whenever and however it amuses me to do so.  Oh, and I get to fuck his dead body and use it for food or fertilizer, or both.  For a worthless piece of shit like Matt, it’s a great deal.  In fact, sometimes I think I’m too generous to these slaves, but that’s just how I am.

 

“But Matt has a flaw.  He’ll shoot a great final orgasm as he dies, which we’ll all enjoy watching.  But he doesn’t YEARN to be killed.  He has a place and purpose in the world.  It’ll be fun to torture him to death, of course, but it’s more fun when a scum-bag begs for it.  That’s what I saw as a potential with Chris.  He deserved to die a horrible death, he knew it, and he desperately wanted it.  I just pushed him along a little faster to those realizations by destroying everything in his life that might matter to him.  I was doing him a favor.  Like I said, sometimes I’m just too generous.

 

“That’s why I didn’t let my buddies throw him over the edge at my party.  Chris not only had the right potential attitude, but he’d showed some courage in pursuing it.  It’s a rare twink who will strip naked in a public bar, let alone accept the challenge of my invitation.  I liked the look of his body, and he intrigued me.  So, I vetoed throwing him off the edge.  That would have been a waste.  My buddies weren’t too happy about my decision, as we all had a whole lot of blood lust as we kept partying.  By early morning, as it started to get light, I realized the party wouldn’t be a success unless my guests and I got to snuff one of the fags.  So, we played a variation of “Non-Survivor” where the slave fags vote to decide which of them literally gets thrown off the island – that is, the balcony.  They get into it big time, and it’s fun to watch them maneuver to not be selected.  They’re all prostitutes who know each other well, and old grudges surface fast.  And since the alternative is that we’ll throw them all off the balcony, they enthusiastically play along.  It was fairly soon when one of the fats was selected, despite all his begging for mercy.  So, we beat the shit out of the “winner” and then I cut off his cock and balls.  He was still alive, but not by much.  The point was that he was alive and aware enough to scream wonderfully as we carried him to the edge of the balcony and tossed him into thin air. It was light enough to give us a pleasant view of him flaying wildly as he fell 15 stories.  The most fun, though, was the fact he hit the top of the flag pole in front of the hotel, which impaled him right in the belly.  When we remodel I’m going to add some sharp spikes at various points so we can play target practice.  The goal will be to impale the fag in the butt or nuts.  That will be a lot of fun.

 

“Chris responded to my text as I expected, saying he wanted to see me again, no matter what was planned.  He said he was at the end of his rope and he really didn’t care what I did to him.  I found that pretty amusing my plans – and promising.”

 

Loki had texted back, telling Chris about a secluded camp ground 7 miles out of town that Loki owned and enjoyed.  “I am sending an Uber to pick you up.  Once again, you must be naked.  It adds to your humiliation.  The Uber will arrive in 14 minutes.  Be out front.”

 

Chris was thrilled and did as instructed, not even bothering to bring the keys to his apartment.  It wasn’t his anymore, and he sensed he would not be returning.  The Uber driver made fun of him being naked, especially since Chris had developed an erection thinking about Loki and what might be in store for Chris.  Being ridiculed didn’t bother Chris.  He was excited sexually and emotionally.

 

When Chris was dropped off at the designated spot he saw Loki standing at the trail head next to his Lamborghini.  Loki was naked except for his signature steel-toed leather boots, and Chris literally gasped at the sight of him.  Chris was aware Loki had been named to a god, but now realized that Loki was indeed a god.  No mere mortal could have a body that spectacular, or that dominant.  Every aspect of Loki’s blond frame was perfect, from his chiseled Aryan face to his broad, sculpted shoulders, massive chest, exceptional abs, and powerful legs.  But it was Loki’s manhood that generated the gasp.  Chris had realized its size when he sucked Loki off, and felt it when he was raped.  But now he saw it in its full splendor.   He had assumed stories of 12 in cocks were just bragging fiction, but this was a weapon at least that long, and equivalently think.  No wonder Chris’s ass had hurt so much after the orgy and was still bleeding the next day.  Loki’s balls were similarly huge, with a scrotum that hung halfway to his knees.  As Chris recovered from encountering this male deity, he did what seemed natural to him. He knelt in front of Loki and begged him to take and use Chris however Loki wished.

 

Loki said nothing.  He pointed to the hood of his car, and Chris instantly understood what he was to do.  He quickly went and bent over the hood so that his ass would be conveniently available.  The hood was very hot from the recent journey and burned Chris’s chest, but that obviously didn’t matter.  When Loki rammed his hard dick into Chris, Chris was in ecstasy with both pain and pleasure.  He had no doubt his innards were again ripped open, but that was what he wanted.  Anything to please Loki, and the more pain Chris endured the better.  Loki was in no hurry, and the fucking lasted for over 30 minutes before Loki shot a massive load into Chris.  After emptying his load, Loki inserted the electrified dildo into Chris that he’d used during the orgy.  This time Chris did not scream, recognizing that he deserved to be in constant, extreme pain.  Chris was then permitted to again kneel in front of Loki, who used his boot to kick Chris hard in nuts.  Chris was then permitted to use his tongue to clean the dick and his mouth to accept a load of piss.  Chris was struggling not to shoot his own load, but knew he was not permitted even to ask permission to do that.  Loki was in control of all aspects of Chris’s body.  Chris had become the totally dominated animal he always knew he should be.

 

Loki spoke for the first time, pointing to a large backpack on the ground next to the car.  “You are to carry that and follow me.  It cantinas the implements I will use to restrain and torture you, plus what I wish to have for my comfort for the night.”

 

The two men hiked silently for about six miles to a beautiful campsite next to a pristine river.  There was a supply pf wood next to the campsite, among other implements, and Loki pointed to it as where Chris was to put the backpack.  It was late afternoon and Loki took a flint form the backpack and used it to start a fire.  He also instructed Chris to bathe in the river to clean off his sweat and properly prepare is body for Loki’s use.  The water was ice cold, but even that did not dampen Chris’s erection.  After Chris was done, he next fetched water in a pail that Loki then placed over the fire.  In due course, Loki bathed himself with fresh, warm river water.  Both men were refreshed form their hike.

 

Loki next reached into the backpack and pulled out a series of implements, including a rope with a noose tied at one end.  “Put this around your neck and toss the loose end over the branch on that tree.”  Chris did as instruct, and Loki then grabbed the loose end of the rope and pulled on it slowly until Chris’s feet were slightly off the ground.  The noose did not tighten so it did not completely cut off Chris’s breathing, although in time the pressure on his neck would strangle him.  Chris realized this, but also knew it was OK so long as that is what Loki wanted to have happen.  He only hoped Loki would get more use out of him than just a simple hanging.

 

Loki was not ready for Chris to die yet.  “I do not plan for you to die tonight, although I may change my mind.  But I do plan for you to suffer.”  With that Loki picked up a whip and sued his great strength to brutally began lash his victim, starting with the chest and abs so he could enjoy the look of pain on Chris’s face, but proceeding to the back and butt to be sure every part of Chris was in pain.  As the body swayed back and forth under the whip strokes, it had the desired effect of making it even harder for Chris to breath.  Loki was expert at torture, and made sure Chris did not suffocate.  He also monitored the lashing so that he did not break the skin.  He had other uses for this body.

 

Loki noted with satisfaction that Chris remained erect.  Part of that was, of course, the effect of being hanged, but mostly it was Chris’s sexual needs being met. Loki approved, since having the cock stick out like that made it more fun to whip.

 

“What do you have to say for yourself, slave?”

 

“Thank you for using me, Master.”

 

“What do you want me to do with you?”

 

“Whatever you want, Master.  I have no will of my own any more.  I am your property to use and dispose of as you wish.”

 

“And does that include killing you?”

 

“Yes, Master.  Being killed by you would be an honor.  It is more than I deserve.”

 

“That is correct.  I will consider your fate.  But tonight, you must prepare yourself.  As you know, I am Loki, and Loki is a god.  You are but a piece of meat.  But you may achieve the wisdom to fully embrace your fate as the great God Odin once did.  To achieve wisdom, he allowed himself to be tied naked to a tree and endured the elements.   That is your task between now and tomorrow morning, and you are to consider how great the honor would be if I take your life to enhance slightly one of my orgasms during my annual contemplative retreat.  I return to this place each year to reconnect with my heritage and with Odin, and I sacrifice male meat as Odin requires.  You are to beg for that honor, realizing how utterly worthless your life is.  And you are to suggest ways in which I might make use of your body before and after you die.”

 

“But first, you must be labeled for what you are – my property.”  Loki proceeded to the fire, where he had placed a branding iron.  It was now red hot, and he retrieved it and approached the beaten body hanging by its neck.  The lettering was small and the message was simple: “Property of Loki.”  He branded Chris in two places, enjoying the aromatic smell of burning flesh and the inhuman screams of his victim. One was on his right pec just above the nipple, and the other was on his back just below the neck.  Despite the extreme pain, Chris was thrilled and grateful.  “Thank you, Master.  It is generous of you to accept my body as your property.  I know this includes your right to end my life as you wish.”

 

Loki continued to torture Chris for several more hours, enjoying not only whipping him but also using his brass knuckles to once again attack Chris’s balls, which swelled considerably from the blows.    “I want you to remain in pain throughout the night.  Some of that can be achieved through the dildo, which I will leave inside you at full power.  But I want your whole body to suffer.”  With that statement, Loki lowered Chris to the ground and released the noose.  He had observed the youth was starting to lose his ability to breath, and didn’t want Chris to die so easily.  The twink collapsed, choking.

 

“I have worked up a sweat punishing you.  And so, have you.  Once again cleanse yourself in the river, and fetch me some water so I can heat it up and cleanse myself.  Then you may have the honor of sucking my cock and drinking my piss.”  Chris, of course, did exactly as instructed, and greatly enjoyed sucking the massive cock.  He choked on it a few times, of course, and Loki kicked him in the balls for doing so, but he was overall very successful, and the hot cum streaming down his throat was totally satisfying, as was the piss that soon followed it.

 

“Stand by that tree with your back to it.  Then spread out your arms and legs.”  Loki approached Chris with long strands of rope.    He tied both the hands and the feet so that the rope reached around the tree and firmly held each in place.  Chris was now spread-eagled, firmly fastened to the tree.  Loki next attached a rope around Chris’s neck, which was also strung around the tree to further secure his body.  Loki was quite pleased with the arousing site of this young willing victim standing naked, fastened to a tree, branded for what he was, with his cock massively erect.  Loki at times believed himself to actually be one of the Norse gods, and felt this is what his father Odin would want by way of sacrifice.

 

But there was not yet enough pain.  Loki approached Chris and reminded him that he was to spend the night in extreme pain throughout his body.   Chris understood and once again thanked Loki for assuring he suffered adequately.  As he finished, Loki again used his great strength, this time to bend Chris’s right arm so that he completely broke the elbow. Chris screamed, but again expressed his thanks.   He did so again three times, as his left elbow and both knees were also rendered forever useless.  The body was now in total pain as Loki had planned.

 

“It is now time for my dinner, and for you to begin your night of pain and contemplation.  You will contribute here as well.  While I have brought other meat to cook, I wish to start with something entirely fresh.  You have no further need to produce sperm, so I am removing your testicles.  You will watch me eat them.  If I decide to let you have a final orgasm, the sperm you already have in your body will suffice.”

 

Loki cut very slowly into Chris’s scrotum to prolong the pain.  He removed each testicle slowly and had Chris lick it clean.  Then he consumed it in front of its prior owner.  Loki finished by cauterizing the wound so Chris would not bleed to death overnight.  But that was only to keep his victim alive for further tortures.

 

Chris was mostly overcome by pain at first, but as the evening turned into night he recovered enough to contemplate what was happening.  He was now castrated and his limbs were broken.  He had anticipated meeting with Loki would be fatal, but had no idea there would be this much pain.  But he also had no idea it would be this thrilling.  He was fulfilling Loki’s need to dominate, and that was far more important than Chris’s life and a wonderful use for Chris’s body.  He genuinely looked forward to completing his contribution the next morning by dying some sort of horrible death, hoping it would meet Loki’s expectations.  As he watched Loki finish his meal and settle down for a good night’s sleep on a comfortable air mattress under the stars, the sense of gratitude was far greater than the sense of pain.

 

. . . . .

 

Chris was unable to sleep that night due to the combination of pain and excitement, so he had the thrill of watching Loki wake up as the sun rose.  The human deity stretched his beautiful body and stroked his enormous cock.   He rose, pleased to see his human sacrifice still alive but clearly without any rest.  That was how he wanted it.

 

Loki left Chris tied to the tree while he enjoyed a hearty breakfast he retrieved from the backpack and from several coolers that had been placed near the fire pit before the two men had arrived.  Only then did he turn his attention to the broken animal he was enjoying so much.  So far, this piece of meat had greatly exceeded his expectation, and he felt confident it would also do so as it died.

 

“So, meat, what have you to propose for the use of your worthless body?  And are you still anxious to forfeit your pathetic life for my fleeting pleasure?”

 

“I am, Master.  I am just hopeful you will inflict a death that fully pleases you through its length and cruelty.  As for my body, I suggest you consider me as food.  And there is no reason you should not enjoy fucking me after I’m’ dead and before my flesh cools.  Perhaps, by way of an ongoing use, you might find use for my skin as a source of leather for you attire.  But perhaps that is too forward on my part.  I know I do not deserve that level of honor.”

 

Loki was completely pleased.  This was exactly what he wanted to hear, and it was also how he had planned to use the twink.

 

“you finally got something right, slave.  You will have the great honor of me torturing you to death this morning, And I will use your body as you suggest, since that is what I planned.  Indeed, from the time you stepped naked in the bar to get to suck me off, I concluded that your skin would convert nicely to leather.  You will be preserved as my new leather jacket, something vastly more important than your life.  The branding I did yesterday was strategically placed and will survive the leathermaking process, and everyone will know the jacket is mine.”

 

Loki untied Chris from the tree and led, or mostly carried, the body over to the branch where it had been hanged the afternoon before.  He attached a different noose around Chris’s neck, but this time didn’t raise Chris above the ground.  The noose just held him upright, as this was one designed to tighten under the weight of a body, which meant it and that would fatally choke Chris when Chris was lifted by the rope.  Loki needed the youth to breath, at last for a while.  He didn’t bother to tie Chris’s wrists behind his back as is traditional for a hanging.  He knew there would be no resistance.  And even if Chris tried, his arms were no longer functional.

 

Loki began by gutting Chris just above the cock, inserting the knife deeply and slowly cutting upward.  This was a favorite method of torture for Loki as he knew how amazingly painful it was for the victim.  Chris was no exception and Loki especially enjoyed the screams as they took on more of the sound of a n animal than a person.  After all, that’s what Chris always was.

 

“I like to start by opening up the guts and removing some of the innards that aren’t very eatable,” Loki explained as he slowly cut upward toward the base of the rib cage.  He made a sideways cut at the top and then peeled back the skin to reveal the organs inside.  Loki cut out and removed various organs, showing them to Chris as he pulled them out.  But he was careful to tie off the arteries and veins to keep the bleeding to a minimum.  Loki was quite expert at this, having majored in human anatomy in college so he could be a more effective torturer.  He put the organs in one of two coolers. Things that could be prepared for a delicious meal, like the liver, were in one cooler.  Other parts that weren’t suitable went into the other cooler.  “I personally like liver, and I’m confident yours will be delicious,” he explained.  “But I don’t want to be wasteful, and I’ll feed parts like your intestines and stomach to the slaves who work in my bar.  It will be fun to watch, and it’s probably even nutritious.”

 

Loki next turned to skinning Chris alive, which was a skill and task Loki also enjoyed and was very good at doing.  His knife continued to Chris’s chest, but this time not at all keep.  Loki peeled off the young skin he’d admired so much, and in a brief time Chris’s chest and belly were skinless.  His back, legs, and arms soon followed, with Loki carefully assuring the skin came off in large sections to make it easier to prepare the leather.  It was a tribute to Loki’s remarkable skill that Chris remained alive, albeit missing a lot of his insides and all the skin on his body.

 

But now it was time for Chris to die.  Loki pulled on the rope so that Chris was now off the ground, with the noose tightening as he continued to writhe in utter agony.  But there was no sudden fall of the body to break the neck as in a traditional execution.  Loki wanted Chris to die as slowly as possible, and this would happen due to being suffocated as the noose tightened around his neck.  While the vivisection and the skinning were enough to prove fatal, Loki enjoyed the look of terror on the face of a victim who was slowly deprived of oxygen.

 

“you’ll be dead pretty soon, and I’ll enjoy watching you suffer until then.  When you die, by the way, you will have an orgasm.  I didn’t let you cum earlier while you were alive not only because I don’t want you to feel pleasure, but because you wouldn’t have had any sperm stored up after I ate your balls.  No one knows if there’s any sexual satisfaction form an orgasm that is triggered by death, as it’s mostly a bodily function of blood flow to the cock.  I hope there isn’t any, as you don’t deserve it, but I am confident the agony and terror of death will be the greater reaction.  I do know it’s a whole lot of fun to watch a young male body cum and go at the same time.

 

The blood loss form being gutted, skinned, and robbed of internal organs meant Chris did not last much longer.  But there was some entertainment as his survival instinct kicked in and his useless arms tried to reach the noose.  Loki hadn’t expected that and laughed out loud.  It was really amusing.  Chris also didn’t disappoint on the orgasm front.  His cock had remained hard, as usually happens with guys getting hanged, and as his body began the final death spasms the cock erupted, squirting out a massive and powerful load of cum.

 

Loki was quite pleased.  He was also thoroughly aroused, and quickly cut down the body for its sexual use.  He entered the asshole for the last time, enjoying the warmth and the pressure generated as the fag completed its final death convulsions.  Fucking guys as they died was Loki’s favorite sex act.  The intensity of his orgasm more than justified the trivial sacrifice of Chris’s young life.

 

. . .  .

 

Loki finished his story to the appreciation of his audience just as dinner was served.  As the group began their meal there were lots of questions.

 

“So how did the jacket turn out?”  Loki reached down and showed off his new attire.  It was expertly done, and he pointed out how well the branding had worked out.  Chris was now clearly “property of Loki.”  And Loki also pointed out a feature he’d added.  “I thoroughly enjoyed watching the meat burst into its final orgasm, so I kept the cock, and used it as the pull for the zipper.”  Everyone admired the preserved cock hanging down from the zipper, the only part of Chris that would generate a memory.

 

“And what about the meat?  Did the slaves enjoy the intestines?  And did the choice parts cook up well?”

 

“We’re going to feature a ‘feast’ of the slaves eating the loser’s innards right after dinner as a start to tonight’s sex and torture fun.  We can add some piss and shit to enhance the flavor.  As for the prime cuts, please let me know.  Personally, I think the meat did indeed turnout to be delicious.”  And with that, Loki cut himself a second large piece of twink breast meat.

Adam Anew

Toby glanced down at Mike’s thick, swollen cock.  Turning his long-lashed, emerald green eyes back to Mike’s face, he grinned happily, then lowered his head and began to suck the oozing shaft.

 

“Fuck,” Mike moaned, running his hands over Toby’s smooth, firm body.  He clutched the cocksucker’s arms, feeling the biceps moving under the sleeve of tattoos decorating both arms.  One of the things that had attracted Mike to Toby when they met at the gym was the latter’s skater punk look.  Not that Toby wasn’t as into working out as Mike; but Mike’s was a more conventional buff fag attractiveness.

 

If it wasn’t love, it had been immediate lust at first sight for both.  Within a month, they’d moved in together; that had been more than nine months ago—and the sex was still as hot as ever.

 

Mike grunted, his sweat-streaked face twisting into a grimace.  “Fuckin’-A, dude, I’m gonna unload in yer mouth,” he panted and Toby, anxious for that hot spurt down his throat, redoubled his efforts.

 

Neither one of them had any idea they were being watched.

 

They’d left the blinds open; no reason they shouldn’t have—the window looked out onto a small yard surrounded by a privacy fence.  Powerful as he was, Adam had been able to vault himself over the fence and land silently on the inside.  Now he crouched outside the window, watching, his muscled body inflamed with desire for the young well-built bodies of the twinks and overwhelming disgust for the pathetic homos having sex in front of him.

 

Mike and Toby still had a daily routine at the gym, but they varied the times they went.  Unluckily for them, two weeks ago, they’d been spotted there by Adam.  He’d had an idea, a desire, a need—but he also needed a couple to help him fulfill it, and he felt like he’d just discovered the perfect pair.

 

The idea of pollution had been building in the back of his warped mind.  He’d already accepted that fucking a living fag would tarnish him as a homo himself; he needed to purify the meat by snuffing it first.

 

Recently, though, he’d worked out his necro philosophy in more detail and decided that there were levels of purity.  The meat that suffered the most was the most pure; suffering purged the faggot taint out of whatever boycunt he fucked.

 

That being said, how could he know how pure the meat was unless he offed it himself?  Restlessly, his mind turned back to all the corpses he’d plowed that he hadn’t killed.  There was no way to know how much they’d suffered—well, except for that last one, the one in the pool locker room; he’d witnessed that snuff and knew he had nothing to fear there.

 

And that was when he’d had the idea.  It rose up in him, a great urge that had to be satisfied if he was going to feel cleansed again.

 

He needed to recreate those kills—but this time, he’d be the killer.  That was the only was he could purge himself of the infection of faggotry.  And this time, he’d make goddam sure the meat suffered.

 

His first necro fuck had been the two dudes in the condo; the day after coming to this conclusion, Adam had been on the hunt for a couple of pansies that he could snuff simultaneously.  And the day after that, while finishing up some squats at the gym, his eyes lighted on Mike and Toby, the former doing some bench presses and the latter spotting him.

 

At one point, Mike had set the barbell back on the rests and, glancing around to see if anyone was looking, reached his hand up the leg of Toby’s shorts and fondled the smaller dude’s cock for a moment.  Despite his careful scoping, Mike never caught sight of Adam’s eagle-eye stare; from then on, he and Toby were marked for death.

 

They appeared to be about the same age—Mike was twenty-three and Toby twenty-one—but Mike was the larger and better-built of the two, by quite bit.  At six-foot-one and a hundred and sixty pounds, he certainly wouldn’t have been Adam’s equal in any physical contest, but he was still muscular enough to turn some heads.  His short strawberry-blond hair capped a broad, good-natured face which lodged a pair of deep, emotive brown eyes, a short straight nose, smooth cheeks and full, red lips.

 

Toby was more of a twink at 5-foot-nine and just over a hundred and forty.  His long brown hair was straight and shoulder-length; beneath his green eyes and slightly humped nose (evidence of a skateboard mishap that had broken it), he sported a soul patch of thick brown fur on his chin.

 

After that, Adam started tracking them, stalking the two fags as his prey.  He managed to catch them in the locker room a couple of times, giving him the chance to get a better look at the meat he wanted to fuck.  The skater punk maintained him image; the writhing patterns and designs of both tattooed arms continuing over his shoulders and down to the tops of his pecs, leaving his small brown nipples free.  There was a very faint brown haze of body hair on his flat belly that vanished under his waistband, but otherwise, his lean, lithe body was smooth.  Despite the elaboration of the tattooed sleeves, Adam was amused to note that a single open star had been rather inexpertly inked on the back of Toby’s right calf.

 

Mike’s muscled body was almost as smooth; his bulging pecs and ripped six-pack glistened with sweat under the gym’s fluorescent lights.  The size of his hog was obvious in the skimpy shorts he chose to wear, as was his near-constant state of semi-erectness.  Again, Toby followed him in this, but the skaterboy’s six inches couldn’t compare with his buff buddy’s long, thick cock.

 

And again, Adam smirked contemptuously.  Neither one of them had a dick as big as his—but then, that was only to be expected from faggots.  Might as well put ‘em outta their misery and put their meatsacks to some good purpose.

 

All of which was why Adam was crouched outside their rented condo.  He wasn’t going in tonight; he’d simply been taking a look at the layout and hadn’t actually expected them to be home—they usually went out on Thursday nights.  And Adam wanted them both together in the bedroom they shared, not down here.  But despite having to watch their vile homo sex, the evening hadn’t been a total washout; the sick necro killer had learned that none of windows looking into the private fenced yard were kept locked.  When he was ready, he wouldn’t have any problems gaining access to the interior of the unit.

 

Two days later, he was ready.

 

Mike and Toby had plans to go clubbing with some friends on Saturday night but the moment they’d paid their cover charge, Tyler had gotten into a bitchfight with his latest trick and it was easier to just split than listen to the squabbling.  Besides, Mike would have preferred to stay home and lay pipe up Toby’s ass all night anyway; it was the latter who’d wanted to go out.

 

At any rate, they were home by about eleven that night.  Half an hour later, both were in the bedroom.  Mike was seated on the unmade bed wearing nothing more than a pair of American Eagle boxer briefs and a pair of Nike Vandal hightops.  Both the kicks and the briefs were gray; the latter had a thick black waistband that stretched tautly around Mike’s narrow waist and black seams down the front that outlined the muscle twink’s huge package.

 

He was leaning back against the headboard, his left leg drawn up with the sneaker on the sheet and his right leg dangling.  With one arm bent back behind his head as a sort of cushion, Mike toked on a freshly-lit joint and ogled Toby, who stood the center of the room.

 

The slim, tatted skaterpunk had slipped out of all his clothing.  Completely nude except for his black Adidas Baseline kicks, he was returning from the attached bathroom, his own dick hard and bobbing in front of him as he approached Mike.

 

Reaching the bed, he stood next to it.  “Here, gimme a hit,” he grinned, reaching out for the joint.  Mike relinquished it but reached out himself, grabbing Toby’s shaft and jacking it as the younger punk inhaled deeply.

 

“That’s it,” Mike said approvingly as Toby exhaled a cloud of fragrant smoke, “Get yourself nice and high.  You’re gonna need it before your ass goes off duty for the night.”

 

“Yeah, I bet,” Toby replied with stoned grin, “I know you’re—”

 

With a loud crash, the bedroom door was kicked open, a single, powerful kick that literally broke the door in half.  A hulking masculine figure, dressed in black, strode into the room, raw power obvious in every step he took.

 

Adam had given up his usual gym attire for this one.  He’d wanted to take the pansies by surprise and anyway their condo wasn’t a public place—he’d have no excuse for being seen near the place, so it was best not to be seen at all.

 

To that extent, he’d made sure that his long-sleeve t-shirt and tight-fitting cargo pants were matte black, nearly impossible to see under the cover of night.  His bright copper hair was likewise covered with a close-fitting black knit cap.  And he’d forgone his sneakers.  While he’d been able to clear the fence the other night, his feet had nearly slipped; he wanted better traction.

 

He’d found it in a pair of Magnum Response III tactical boots, custom ordered with steel toes.  He’d bought them for another reason, but thought they’d work perfectly for what he had in mind.  He’d been right.  He planted his big black lace-up boot in the middle of the door and kicked his way into the homos’ bedroom with almost no effort at all.

 

For Mike and Toby, the violence seemed to explode like a bomb.  Their different personalities were obvious by their actions once the “fight or flight” instinct kicked in.  Toby shrank back into a corner in fear as Mike leaped off the bed and came at the intruder.

 

He never stood a chance.  Adam, seeing him coming, drew back his powerful arm and swung wide, driving his balled-up fist into Mike’s face with the force of a semi hitting a brick wall.  The unlucky faggot spun in a half-circle, staggering back and falling, stunned, against the bed.

 

Filled with rage and lust, Adam turned to Toby, who crouched whimpering in the corner of the bedroom.  Seeing that he’d attracted the intruder’s attention, the lean skater punk began babbling.  “No, man,” he whined, holding up his hands, “Whatever you want, dude, just take it—please don’t hurt us, man, please don’t!”

 

Striding towards him with a homicidal gleam in his eye, Adam laughed coldly.  “Yeah, I’m gonna take what I want, you fuckin’ pansy.  I’m gonna take the fag right outta you, cunt.  When I’m done with you, you ain’t ever gonna suck another cock again, cunt.”

 

By now, he was standing in front of Toby, looming over quaking homo.  From behind, he could hear the long, slow groans of Mike regaining consciousness, but he wasn’t particularly worried about him.  He’d handle the stronger fairy when he needed to.

 

Toby looked up at Adam, trying to understand his words.  He was still terrified; this huge, powerful stranger had burst into the room and punched out Mike with a single blow—what the fuck was going on?

 

“Is-is this some kinda hate crime?” the long-haired punk quavered, his eyes starting to tear up.

 

“Hah!” Adam spat out, “Lookit the little queerboy, already startin’ to cry.  You bet it’s a hate crime, you punk-ass bitch.”  And here he reached down, unzipped the fly of his black cargo pants and hauled his enormous, dripping dick out.

 

Toby gasped at the size of Adam’s member; even Mike, big as he was, wasn’t that well-hung—this dude was some kinda freak.  Despite himself, he could feel his own cock respond—limp with fear, it was now stiffening and standing erect.

 

Adam noticed it too.  He laughed coldly.  “Ya want it, dontcha?  You think you deserve this cock?  Fuck you, faggot.  You’re fuckin’ scum.  You want this shaft, this real man meat, you gotta earn it.”

 

Reaching down, Adam clamped one large strong hand around Toby’s throat and lifted him bodily off the ground.  Holding him out at arm’s length, he chuckled as the skaterboy gagged and jerked, his black Adidas kicks swinging helplessly a foot from the ground.

 

Looking directly into Toby’s eyes, Adam smiled—a thin smile, sharp as the edge of a knife—and said, “Only one way to earn my cock, faggot—you gotta suffer.  And you don’t know the meaning of that word yet, but don’t worry—I’ll teach ya.  And yer little fairy boyfriend there too.  You’ll both learn how to suffer real good.”

 

Staring into the cunt’s eyes, Adam caught a flicker of movement.  Slamming Toby into the wall and dropping him like a sack of potatoes, the muscular killer wheeled around and caught Mike full in the face with another powerful punch, just as the buff young homo had regained his feet and launched himself for an attack.

 

With a loud grunt, Mike fell to the floor, bleeding from the corner of his mouth.  Dazed by this second impact, he stared dully up at Adam.  “Stupid piece a’ shit, aintcha?” Adam sneered.  “Don’t know when to stay down, do ya?  Here, maybe this’ll learn ya.”  Stooping, he punched Mike in the face yet again.  This time he was rewarded with the satisfying crunching sound of the faggot’s nose breaking, the cartilage crushed under the force of his fist.

 

Pausing for a moment, Adam unzipped one of the pockets on the left thigh of his cargo pants and withdrew several long zip ties.  “You win the grand prize, you lucky cocksucker,” he smirked.  “You get to watch.  Pay attention, asswipe, so you’ll know what to expect when it’s your turn.”

 

The well-built homo was flipped onto his belly; he could feel a thin plastic tie cinch inexorably around his wrists and another around his ankles, but the two powerful blows to his face had rendered him incapable of any physical activity for the moment.  By the time he recovered enough to attempt any resistance, it was too late.  Strong as he was, Mike wasn’t able to stretch the zip ties so much as a quarter of an inch, much less break them.

 

Adam kicked the faggot’s prone body viciously, using enough force to roll him onto his back.  Much like he’d handled Toby, the hulking, muscle-bound killer bent down and grabbed Mike by the throat, lifting him into the air.  Gagging, his Nike Vandals kicking uselessly inches above the carpet, the hardbodied twink was manhandled back to the bed, where Adam tossed him down.  Snatching a handful of hair, the sadist dragged Mike upright, propping him into a seated position where he could take in the entire bedroom in a single glance.

 

Mike was gonna have a perfect view of Adam snuffing Toby.

 

In the meantime the long-haired fairy had crawled back into the corner, his young face etched with bewildered terror.  He’d always expected Mike to defend him if the need arose, but this huge, bulked-out psycho who’d burst in on them so unexpectedly had overpowered Mike like he’d been a little girl.  Now the man was rounding on him, and he was helpless.  Whatever was gonna happen, there was nothing he could do to stop it.

 

“Oh God, no,” he sniveled, cowering as Adam loomed over him.  Glancing hesitantly up at his attacker, he watched mesmerized as the towering madman unexpectedly gabbed the hem of his own t-shirt and pulled it off over his head in a single, fluid motion, revealing his hard, furry torso that descended in a V-shape from his broad shoulders and firm, rounded pecs to his narrow waist.  The knit cap had come off, tangled in the shirt, and revealed a slightly tangled mass of bright, coppery hair.

 

The dude was a serious stud.  Toby felt himself getting hard.  But that was despite of his terror, not because of it, and even though he could see a large translucent bead of precum oozing from the piss slit of the intruder’s cock, fear was taking more of his attention at the moment than horniness.

 

The fear was well-deserved.  Adam bent down and grabbed a hank of Toby’s long hair.  Wrapping it around his palm he jerked the squalling twink up onto his feet.

 

“C’mon, faggot, let’s get started,” he growled, grabbing Toby by the throat and hoisting him in the air again, “I gotta load to drain and I can already tell it’s gonna take a while to beat the queer outta a pathetic little homo like you.”

 

Toby only kicked in Adam’s grip for a moment before his face and his world exploded in pain.  Adam punched him vicious in the face, then hurled him across the room.  The skater’s lean body slammed into the front of the dresser. The force of the impact rolled him up over the top of it, scattering everything—their cell phones, their wallets, piles of loose change and receipts, all of it went flying as Toby smacked into the wall, then rolled back forward off the dresser and onto the floor.

 

Groaning in pain, the tattooed twink opened his eyes.  To hurt to move, all he could see of his assailant as he approached were his laced-up boots.  They came nearer, then one drew back.  By the time Toby realized what it meant, it was too late to avoid it.  With one single brutal kick from his steel-toed boot, Adam broke Toby’s jaw.

 

The lean, lithe punkboy spent the next minute or so writhing on the floor, gurgling and mewling in agony as Adam watched him with erect, throbbing satisfaction.  The buff killer didn’t get to enjoy the view in peace for long, though—the other faggot began to squawk.

 

“You sonovabitch!” Mike screamed, “I’m gonna fuck you up!  You hurt him, I’m gonna fuck you up bad!”

 

Adam looked around the room and soon saw what he’d expected to find.  Ambling over to a pile of dirty laundry near the closet door, he bent down and picked up a reeking, stained jockstrap, stiff with cum.  Turning back to Mike with a grin, he said, “You’ll get yer chance to squeal like a pig yerself later, cunt, for all the good it’ll do ya.  In the meantime, keep your fuckin’ trap shut and enjoy watchin’ yer bitch suffer.”  Rolling the jock into a ball, he forced it into Mike’s mouth, leaving the muscled top gagging and mute, but still able to see everything that happened.

 

While Adam’s attention was diverted, an instinct for self-preservation kicked in deep inside Toby’s craven soul.  Even though the slightest movement of his head caused him terrible agony, he managed to rise to his hands and knees and crawl.  By the time Adam had silenced Mike and turned back to Toby, the latter was halfway to the door.

 

“Oh no you don’t, asswipe,” Adam growled and headed for him.  Toby could hear him approaching from behind; desperate tears leaked from his eyes as he realized he’d never make the door before the powerful psycho had reached him, but he had to keep going, he had to try…

 

When Adam got to him, he merely stood over the cringing, crawling twink for a moment, chuckling gutturally.  Then he delivered another vicious, lightning-fast kick, this one connecting with Toby’s left elbow.

 

The force behind the steel-toed boot didn’t just dislocate the joint, it snapped the ball end off the humerus, tore the tendons and completely severed the ligaments.  Despite the pain in his jaw, Toby screeched involuntarily as he collapsed and rolled onto his left side.  Adam walked around the sobbing, trembling punk until he was facing him.

 

“Didja really think you were gonna get away, you stupid sack of shit?  Fuck, dude, here I was tryin’ to make ya worth my dick, and now it looks like I’m gonna hafta kick the dumbass outta ya, you worthless faggot bitch.”  Still sobbing incoherently, Toby didn’t even notice Adam raise his foot up.

 

He damn sure noticed when Adam stomped on his chest, the deep tread of his thick-soled boot grinding into Toby’s soft flesh.  The loud snapping sound that accompanied it, like the splintering of a green limb, showed that one of the punkboy’s ribs had caved in under the sudden force—and if it didn’t show it, the sudden, high-pitched squeal forced from between Toby’s split, bleeding lips did.

 

“Fuck yeah!  That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” Adam crowed, his huge, stiff cock pulsing visibly while he drank in the image of the tattooed skate punk writhing in nightmarish agony.  He was really getting off on hurting the little homo, seeing the fear and pain in his eyes.  And he still had another fucktoy in reserve—tonight was gonna be so fuckin’ hot…

 

Toby was wrapped in torment like a flaming blanket.  Every part of him was throbbing with pain, from the dull ache of bruised flesh to the glassy torture of broken bones.  He’d stopped trying to think; he could only endure.  An involuntary muscle jerk had pulled his head slightly to the side—from where he lay on the floor, he could clearly see Mike on the bed.  The idea that Mike might rescue him was long gone.  Mike was on the other side of the room, but he might as well have been on the other side of the world.  Toby could see that his boyfriend was crying, but it meant nothing.

 

Pain was the only thing that had meaning for Toby anymore.  And Adam knew it.

 

The relentless sadist sneered at his prey.  “Does it hurt, bitch?  Yeah?  It ain’t enough, you worthless sack of faggot shit; you ain’t hurt anywhere near enough yet to deserve my grade-A manmeat.”  He raised his boot again.  This time, Toby knew what was happening.  As Adam stomped, the fit, lean youth swung his right arm up and knocked the alpha’s foot away with all the force he could muster.

 

“You stupid pansy,” Adam barked and planted his foot in the middle of the kid’s right forearm, his big black boot covering a large section of inked flesh.  With a swift, smooth motion—so casual it almost looked rehearsed—the powerful psycho bent down, grabbed Toby right wrist, and pulled it violently upward.  There was a quick double-snap as both the radius and the ulna splintered; when Adam let go, the kid’s arm flopped uselessly back to the floor.

 

Toby didn’t react to this new source of pain.  Deep in sensory overload, he was starting to go into shock.  Lying on his back with his smooth chest heaving in shallow, irregular gasps, the tortured twink stared the ceiling, his bright green eyes wide and vacant.  His short, thick cock had gone limp, but that didn’t bother Adam.  He knew the punk would get hard again by the time he was done with him.

 

After all, the meat would be even more pure if the worthless fag sperm was drained out of it before Adam fucked it.

 

“Hey, queer-boy,” Adam called out to Mike, “It’s time.  Watch this shit, dude.  Watch me waste your cocksuckin’ homo boyfriend.”

 

As Toby continued to shudder and tremble on the floor, Adam waked around him until he was facing Mike on the bed.  With a wide, deliberate grin, he raised his right foot and planted his boot on the young faggot’s neck.  The sadistic killer stared directly into Mike’s disbelieving, tear-filled eyes.  “Look, ma,” he whispered.  “No hands.”  The hulking stud slowly began shifting his weight onto the foot on Toby’s neck.

 

The tattooed skaterpunk could only stare helplessly up at the huge, muscle-bound figure towering over him; there was no way for Toby to defend himself.  His broken arms jerked and flopped aimlessly, like dying fish; he had no way reach for the heavy black boot that was slowly—oh, so slowly—crushing his throat.  If he kicked, he bent his abdomen, causing his snapped rib to dig agonizingly into his guts, threatening to puncture his lung and pancreas.  If he tried to cry out, the jagged ends of his broken jaw ground together, causing hellish pain in his mouth…

 

Every movement bristled with torture, but Toby’s air was gradually being cut off.  He couldn’t keep still.  The tread on the killer’s sole was deep and intricate; as it sank into the tender flesh of his throat, what little lucidity the long-haired power bottom still possessed began to melt away in the face of impending asphyxiation.

 

Adam bent his head and spat in Toby’s face.  “Gettin’ harder to breathe, ain’t it?” he chuckled.  “See, as you choke an’ die, yer dick is gonna get all hard—and then yer gonna cum.  Happens almost every time I choke out a faggot.  You perverted little pansies empty your fuckin’ balls every time I waste ya—nothin’ turns ya on like gettin’ put down hard.  You wanna suffer even more than I wanna fuck you up.  Disgusting sack a’ shit—I gotta squeeze your load out and drain your sick fag seed outta yer meat to make it worthy of my cock.  Don’t worry, motherfucker—I’ll fill yer worthless corpse with my sperm.  I’ll baptize yer guts with hot manspunk before I leave you to rot.  And best of all, your fairy-ass boyfriend gets to watch you die!”

 

The words hit Toby’s ears like a dull ache, utterly swamped in the rising tide of instinctive terror as his oxygen was cut off.  He began to shudder and kick, helplessly flailing his firm, smooth legs and jerking his broken arms aimlessly.  Air.  He needed air.

 

And that was when it finally hit the lean twink—the realization that he was gonna die finally sank through the multiple layer of pain that had wrapped him like a cocoon.  Panic set in, a terrifying white panic the left him conscious and aware but still unable to control his actions.  Smirking, Adam watched Toby lose his shit as the boy choked under the alpha’s booted foot.  The pathetic little homo thrashed, his Adidas Baseline kicks carving furrows in the carpet as his inked arms flailed limply and helplessly.

 

As he struggled, Toby’s long hair became tangled and dark with sweat.  His entire body, in fact, was slick with sweat, the cold rank sweat of physical suffering.  The brutalized faggot’s smooth firm flesh glistened in the light, even as his face began to swell and grow dark.  “Hey, man,” Adam called out to Mike, “Lookit this shit.  See how his eyes are bulgin’?  That’s cause pressure’s building up in his head.  Damn, motherfucker, that’s gotta hurt like shit.”

 

Staring coldly into Mike’s bottomless brown eyes, the cruel alpha laughed, the sound slashing at Mike’s soul like a knife.  “Remember that, asswipe,” Adam hissed viciously.  “Dying hurts.  It hurts like nothing you’ve ever suffered in your useless faggot life.  Remember that when it’s your turn.”

 

From his position on the floor, Toby found that he couldn’t look away from his killer’s tall, powerfully-built form—quite literally.  As Adam had pointed out, his eyes were bulging; he couldn’t close them.  Toby had no choice but to stare up at the stud who was snuffing him.

 

The most immediate part of Adam in Toby’s field of vision was the shaft of his boot, the black leather rising from the bottom of his line of sight—he could clearly see how the extra-long laces circled the top of the shaft and were tied in front.  Above it, he could trace the line of the alpha’s thick calf and thigh muscles, outlined in the leg of his cargo pants.

 

Then there was the cock–the huge, throbbing shaft, jutting arrogantly in from, clear precum oozing in an almost steady stream…but Toby had to block that out, he couldn’t follow the link of pain and death and lust…

 

Beyond the webbed nylon belt circling his tight waist, the curly, golden fur that rose above the waistband, running up the killer’s ripped abs, spread out lushly on his broad, jutting pecs.  Heaving with exertion, Adam’s chest glittered as he moved and beads of sweat caught in his body hair caught the light.

 

Above that, there was a face, a beautiful, cold, contempt-filled face surmounted by red-gold curls like a copper nimbus, but it was too far away.  Toby was starting to have trouble seeing; darkness exploded in his sight light the blooms of huge black flowers.  His tongue was swelling, causing the dying twink horrible pain as it forced aside his broken jaw, but there was nothing he could do.  White, foamy drool leaked from his swelling lips, running down his chin and pooling around the treads of Adam’s utility boot.

 

The pounding in his heat was swift and intense; Toby could feel that it coincided with his speeding, panicked heart.  Despite the pounding and loud ringing in his ears, the slowly choking youth could hear the sadistically mocking words of his killer.

 

“How’s it feel, dying like a fuckin’ insect, havin’ yer useless life ground out under my boot, faggot?  Ya like gettin’ put down like the garbage you are, huh?  Fuck yeah, you piece of shit, I toldja you’d get hard again.  Disgustin’ little pervert, you just fuckin’ love it when a real man finally ends yer worthless existence.  C’mon, homo, time to drain yer sick faggot sperm so I can fuck some clean meat.”

 

With a snarl, Adam leaned forward, throwing all his weight on his right foot.  There was a loud crunch and the steel-toed boot suddenly sank a good two inches into Toby’s throat as the punk’s windpipe collapsed.  The young fag’s attention, momentarily diverted to the bizarre phenomenon of his throbbing, painfully erect cock, experienced the blast of horrifying agony that accompanies a mortal injury.

 

Adam steadied himself as the lean, lithe body beneath his feet began to shudder violently.  Toby’s huge green eyes, stained red by numerous ruptured blood vessels, rolled back into his head as he convulsed, his legs drawing up, then straightening as he kicked his life away with such force the Adidas sneaker was pulled off his left foot.  The buff alpha knew what was happening; shifting his body to one side, he applied more pressure to the boot embedded in the twink’s neck, twisting his foot sideways.

 

With a loud cracking noise, Adam snapped Toby’s neck like a dead twig.  As the sudden electrochemical shock flooded the dead kid’s nervous system, his erect shaft pulsed visibly and sent a solid stream of boyjizz up in a four-foot geyser.  Disgust on his face, Adam managed to dodge the fountain of spunk, letting it splash back on Toby body as it continued to jerk and flail in its death throes.

 

“Fuck yeah, man, there we go,” the sick top gloated at the dead boy’s sobbing boyfriend.  “Once that worthless fag spunk is unloaded, I’ll fill the meat with real manseed.  Finally givin’ this useless pansy a purpose—it died so I can have a cumrag.”

 

Adam stalked across the room, retrieving a chair that was standing behind the closet door.  As he did so, Mike, aflame with panic and anger, writhed violently on the bed.  Unable to loosen the zip ties binding him, the muscle twink increased his efforts until he managed to rise up vertically on the bed.  Once he was upright, though, he had no way of balancing himself and instantly felt himself falling over sideways.

 

His thick, muscular body hit the nightstand with a crash, causing him to start bleeding again from his already-broken nose.  He fell to the floor, accompanied by the lamp.  The bulb didn’t break; still lit, the light cast surreal shadows across the room from its low angle on the floor.

 

Adam had watched it all happen.  He wasn’t worried about Mike; there was no way for the meat to break free of its bonds.  And the dude had landed on the floor in a great position for a close-up of the next act.

 

The buff killer placed the chair upright in front of Mike, a few feet away.  Then he bent down and grabbed Toby, manhandling the still-quivering corpse until he’d draped it face-down over the back of the chair.  Then, without another word, he brandished his huge, dripping cock, grinned at Mike, and mounted the dead kid, his shaft penetrating Toby’s sphincter and sinking deeply into the meat’s guts.

 

“Fuck yeah, nice and smooth, just like I like ‘em,” Adam smirked as Mike burst anew into hot tears of outrage and terror.  The bound punk struggled to protest, but the soiled jock had been shoved too deeply into his mouth for him to be able to force it out; all he could do was watch the violation of his boyfriend’s corpse in silence.

 

The chair creaked loudly as Adam gripped the meat’s narrow waist and plowed its still-spasming asshole.  His furry, sweat-streaked flesh slapped loudly against Toby’s cooling skin as the alpha brutally pumped his shaft into the dead boy’s rectum.  As he fucked the corpse, Adam reached up and grabbed a handful of the punk’s long hair and jerked it back, raising Toby’s head.

 

“Look at him,” the vicious sadist hissed at the crying, struggling boy on the ground, “Look at his face.  See the pain and terror he endured?  See how the horror of his last few seconds of life are etched into his face?  Disgustin’ little faggot deserved to suffer so much more but he was weak.  You ain’t.  You can take what I’m gonna give ya—and it’s gonna be so much worse than what he went through.”

 

Adam never missed a single stroke of his brutal necro fuck as he spoke, slamming his gigantic rod into the corpse with a virulent power that was equal parts lust and hatred.  Through his tears, Mike watched Toby’s body jerk and flop with every intrusive thrust of Adam’s hips.

 

Suddenly Adam’s face tightened.  He gave a loud grunt, ramming his shaft home as his hulking, muscle-bound form went rigid.  There was a loud crack and the chair began a slow-motion collapse under the weight of Adam’s orgasmic thrust.  The killer had time to slide one booted foot forward and keep his balance as the chair bent forward and fell to the floor.  Toby’s body fell with it, slowly sliding off the alpha’s still-shooting cock.  Adam finished up by spraying his load onto the corpse’s back.

 

Snorting with contempt, Adam glared at Mike.  “Fucker was totally worthless.  Even dead, he couldn’t take a real man’s load.   My balls are still fulla cum, motherfucker—now it’s yer turn.  He was just the appetizer—you’re the main course, fuckwad.  And I like to linger over my meat.  Ready to dance, asswipe?  Yer gonna die clawin’ and pissin’ yerself in agony, faggot.”

 

Mike shook his head frantically, the stained jockstrap protruding from his mouth.  His already large brown eyes were huge with stunned shock; the sheer horror of watching his boyfriend’s snuff and necro-rape was reflected in his taut, pale face.

 

Bending down, Adam wrapped both hands around Mike’s throat.  Hoisting the jerking, struggling youth into the air, he slammed him against the wall on the far side of the dresser.  The terrified fag had a brief lucid moment to comprehend the sheer power of his assailant as Adam drew his right arm back, keeping Mike pinned with his back to the wall, several inches off the ground, with just one hand—and this with a loose enough grip to allow the beefy punk to breathe.

 

The he noticed that Adam’s hand had curled into a fist.  He saw the dude’s massive bicep twitch—and then his world exploded in pain as Adam drove his fist into the pansy’s face with the force of a steam hammer.

 

Mike’s head rocked backwards, punching a hole in the drywall as his left cheekbone and the thin bone behind his left eye shattered.  His hands, uselessly bound behind him, clawed at the wall, peeling off strips of paint with his fingernails.  His loud cry was muffled by the reeking fabric shoved into his throat.

 

He didn’t need to worry about the gag for long.  The bruised, battered homo was so stunned by the blow to his head that he never saw Adam’s thick arm draw back again.  He felt it, though; the muscular sadist pounded his huge fist straight into Mike’s solar plexus, at the base of his sternum.

 

The writhing fag’s diaphragm spasmed, his well-built chest collapsing in as the air in his lungs was expelled violently enough for him to blow the jockstrap out of his mouth; it dropped to the floor in the few inches of no-man’s-land between the vicious killer and his helpless prey.  Mike was unable to take advantage of his sudden freedom to speak—his entire attention was focused on being able to breathe.  For several terrifying seconds, the buff young queerboy was unable to inhale, his lungs refusing to inflate.  His eyes, wide and round, the left one blackening and swelling, were dulled over in sheer panic as he savored a foretaste of suffocation.

 

Suddenly the bulging groin of his American Eagle boxers darkened.  Struggling and terrified, the well-built youth had pissed himself in terror, the yellow urine running down his legs and flowing into his Nikes.  His one lucid thought was that however he was gonna die, he didn’t want to choke or suffocate.  Anything but this, he begged silently in the dark empty corners of his mind.  Anything but this.

 

Adam read the terror in the kid’s eyes and his grin widened and became shark-like.  His thick, swinging dick stiffened as he contemplated the bound, helpless faggot in his grasp.  The fucker was his do with as he pleased—and what pleased him damn sure wasn’t gonna please the homo.

 

Jerking and sweating, Mike suddenly inhaled deeply, managing to force oxygen back into his lungs.  With no warning, Adam delivered a brutal gutpunch to the suspended boy, sinking his fist deep into Mike’s firm, flat belly and driving out the air again.  This time, he released the kid, letting Mike fall back to the floor, shuddering and gasping like a landed fish dying on the deck of a trawler.  As the fag’s face went purple, Adam stood over him, sneering.

 

“Lookitya, you pathetic piece a’ shit,” he drawled contemptuously.  “Got yerself all buff an’ muscular, but yer still a worthless fuckin’ fairy.  Your muscles ain’t no match for mine, asswipe; they ain’t gonna help ya now.  I’m gonna fuck you up even worse than I did yer pansy-ass little boyfriend.  Hey, remember when I did this to ‘im?”

 

With a swift kick of his powerful leg, Adam’s steel-toed boot smashed into Mike’s flank, shattering two ribs into multiple pieces.  Once again, the handsome young homo had just regained his air, only to suffer a brutal impact that drove it back out.  This one was worse, though.  This one did major damage.

 

For the rest of Mike’s life—that is, for the next few minutes—the fit young punk desperately tried to breathe, never knowing that bone shards from his broken ribs had punctured his left lung, causing it slowly to deflate.  He only knew the creeping terror of slow advancing suffocation—and pain.  He became very familiar with pain.

 

Leaving one boot planted firmly on Mike’s chest, Adam leaned down and casually spit in the youth’s strained, agonized face.  “Naw, man, I ain’t gonna kill ya with my feet like I did yer fucktoy,” he jeered.  “That was fun, but I got somethin’ more…intense planned for you.  But first, I wanna know—did he ever fuck you?  Or were you always the top?”

 

Mike looked up at the alpha, his eyes running from the tightly laced boot on his chest up along the well-fitted black cargo pants to the huge, engorged shaft of manmeat that jutted out in front of Adam.  Huge and oozing, it added an emphasis to the sadist’s questions that intimidated the fuck out of Mike.  Wallowing in pain, he looked away, gasping and heaving.

 

“I asked you a question, motherfucker,” Adam said, a cold, hard tone in his voice.  “You got three seconds to answer it.  One.  Two…”

 

Mike opened his mouth, but in his panic, he could only croak incoherently.

 

“Three,” Adam concluded, with evident satisfaction.  “Ok, fuckwad, guess I gotta beat it outta ya.”

 

“…no…” Mike gasped faintly.

 

“What was that, fuckmeat?” Adam grinned.  Bending down, he clamped his left hand around Mike’s throat.  The bulked-out psycho was strong enough to hoist the buff young homo into the air single-handedly.  His windpipe was almost completely closed off this time and his left flank burned with pain where his ribs ground together but the attractive young punk unfortunately managed to remain somewhat lucid.  Lucid enough to comprehend the sheer power of the man who had him so completely at his mercy.

 

He needed a way to fight back.  Despite the pain, he needed to fight back or the same thing would happen to him that happened to Toby.  Toby—oh fuck, Toby, what the fuck happened…they were just gonna have a fun evening and this fucker showed up…

 

With a lightning-fast lunge of his arm, Adam snatched at Mike’s piss-soaked briefs and tore them off him, the elastic at the waist snapping back painfully on Mike’s bare flesh.  Nude except for his Nike hightops, the queer hunk dangled in mid-air, slowly choking as he struggled and squirmed, causing the zip ties binding his wrists and ankles to dig even deeper into his skin.

 

“Did that dead piece a’ shit lyin’ over there ever fuck you, asswipe?” Adam demanded.  “Ever had a cock up yer boyhole?  Answer me, fuckwad!”  Adam punctuated his demand with another blow to Mike’s face, this one splitting his lips and knocking out one of the kid’s canines.  “Can’t talk, motherfucker?  Ok, just nod or shake yer head.  Or I’m gonna beat ya to death right fuckin’ now.”

 

Mike’s lucidity was fast drowning in a rising tide of terror; he knew the hulking stud wasn’t kidding.  Eventually, he forced himself to shake his head—not very well, but enough for Adam to feel it.

 

And when he did, he grinned.  “Excellent.  Ain’t nothin’ sweeter than fuckin’ a virgin corpse.”

 

Mike would have pissed himself again at the words if he hadn’t already emptied his bladder—and if his dick hadn’t grown unaccountably hard.

 

Adam noticed it too.  “Fuckin’ fag pervert,” he snarled, “Ya like that, dontcha?  You want my fuckin’ rod in ya so bad yer willin’ to die to get it, aintcha?  Disgustin’ piece a’ shit—see, this is why I gotta waste ya.  Doin’ the fuckin’ world a favor, I am, by clearin’ it of sick fucks like you.”

 

Mike could feel his pulse racing—it pounded in his temples and in his rigid cock.  His eyes felt like they were gonna pop right out of his head; tears streamed down his cheeks.  Pain and terror fought for control within him and he wondered if he was going to die like this, suspended in mid-air, shuddering and jerking.

 

And then he was sailing through the air.  It happened in the blink of an eye; there was no warning—Adam simply tossed him across the room with no more effort than if he was a rag doll.  The buff homo slammed violently into the wooden headboard.  It broke in half vertically with a loud crack as a hundred and sixty pounds of muscled boymeat smashed against it and fell back limply onto the tangled pile of sheets covering the bed.

 

Barely conscious, Mike rolled onto his back and stared blankly up at the ceiling as well as his swollen eyes would allow—particularly the left one.  His entire face was bruised and puffed up, aching horribly from the broken bones in his face.  It hurt bad, but his side, where the snapped ribs were grinding against each other, hurt worse.  His wrists and ankles were raw and nearly bleeding from the way the zip ties had cut into his flesh during his useless struggles.  Fuck, it all hurt so bad…and then there was Toby…

 

The hardbodied young punk was losing his will to live.  Mike had endured a ruthless mindfuck.  Despite his impressive build, he wasn’t emotionally strong; he simply couldn’t handle the combination of mental and physical trauma he’d been forced to endure.  Adam could see it in his eyes; the homo was starting to check out.  He needed to move fast.

 

Suddenly Mike felt a weight on him.  Adam was climbing onto the bed—and onto him.  His blank stare no longer focused on the ceiling; now his killer filled his field of vision.  Seeing the hard face, so cruel and so handsome, topped with copper curls, Mike knew he was looking into the face of the man who was gonna kill him.  For the first time, he really knew it.

 

The power of the muscle-bound sadist was obvious; it was expressed in everything about him from the wiry, sweat-matted fur covering his broad hubcap pecs to the powerful tang of adrenaline and testosterone that was blended in with his musky perspiration.  Mike knew he was strong, but he was helpless before this bulked-out hypermasculine stud.

 

Adam knew the score.  He lowered himself down, letting his massive cock make contact with Mike’s flat, smooth belly.  The thick, engorged head was oozing precum steadily; it acted as lube, letting the pulsing shaft of manmeat slide up Mike’s abdomen.  As Adam lay full-length on Mike, belly to belly, their erect dicks were pressed between them, side by side.

 

“Look at me, faggot,” Adam whispered quietly, almost seductively, as he wrapped both hands around Mike’s throat.  “Look me in the eyes as I put yer worthless ass down.  I wanna watch your wasted life drain outta ya.  I wanna see death in yer eyes.  You feel me, bro?  Last thing yer ever gonna see is my grinnin’ face as I wipe yer fag ass off the face of the earth.”

 

And then he started squeezing.

 

Mike had panicked as he’d been held up and dangled but Adam hadn’t been trying to strangle him then.  This was different.  This hurt a fuck of a lot more.  He was low on oxygen as it was, his left lung having slowly collapsed over the last few minutes, but Adam was literally crushing his esophagus.  The cruel killer had wrapped his fingers behind the boy’s neck but had placed his thumbs in front, right on the larynx.  As he clamped his hands down with the force of steel trap, Mike’s voicebox was remorselessly shoved back into his throat, the cartilage deforming past its limits.

 

It hurt, Jesus, it hurt so fuckin’ bad.  But as bad as it hurt, the pain receded into a loud buzzing in the background as white, blinding tide of terror rose within Mike.  He was suffocating.  He couldn’t breathe.  Worse, he couldn’t fight it.  He was helpless, pressed under the heavy mass of his killer’s muscles, his hands and legs excruciatingly bound.  This was it, oh fuck, this was for real, no, no, he wasn’t gonna die, not now…

 

Adam knew the faggot was too far gone in fear to pay attention to anything he said.  And while that was a good thing—fear was excellent for purifying faggotry—the little (compared to Adam) fuckwad needed to be brought back into the now.  Applying some pressure, he swiftly and viciously dug his thumbs in and was rewarded with a loud crack.

 

Mike instantly stopped thrashing and stared with horror into Adam’s face.  His larynx had just been crushed into a useless mass of mangled cartilage.

 

Adam grinned.  “Ya know what, faggot?  Yer dick’s still hard.  I can feel it.  That’s gotta hurt like all fuck.  You gotta know yer dyin’ by now, you gotta feel like yer dyin’ by now—but yer dick’s still hard, you sick little fuck.”

 

As his gorgeous but abused body went rigid in horrific agony, some dark corner of Mike’s mind-raped psyche knew the brutal sadist was speaking the truth.  Even in the midst of overwhelming suffering, Mike could feel his own shaft, achingly erect, rubbing against his killer’s ripped, hairy abs.

 

“Time for lights out, asswipe,” Adam continued.  “You’re almost clean enough for my cock.  I just need to squeeze the defective homo sperm outta yer nutsack and you’ll be ready to receive the load of a real man.  Time to die.”  He paused, with a faint chuckle.  “Ain’t like anyone’s gonna miss another faggot, anyways.  Only one who mighta cared is already dead.  And he was a damn lousy fuck.”

 

He squeezed even harder.  Mike’s tongue, already thick, swelled to the point it forced his mouth open.  The near-black tip parted the cunt’s blue lips as white foamy drool trickled down the youth’s cheeks.  As the weight of asphyxiation crushed his chest, Mike’s tremulous sanity succumbed to remorseless hammering in his head.  A screaming pitch-black vortex of sheer terror opened in his mind…

 

…but he wasn’t too far gone to hear—or to feel—the loud crackling, crunching sound as his trachea collapsed into a bloody mass of gristle under Adam’s relentless, vise-like grip.  And in the utter shock of fatal injury, Mike shot a death load of epic proportions.  His bulging eyes were looking directly into Adam’s as he felt an agony he’d never know could exist—it felt like his entire self, his life essence, had been violently ripped out and was being expelled in his hot, ropy jizz.

 

His powerful, sweaty body entwined with that of the dying muscular twink, Adam felt the faggot’s spunk splattering over his abs and soaking into the wiry fur that forested his bulked-out torso.  It infuriated him—nasty homo seed contaminating his well-cared-for body.  With a roar, he let go of Mike’s neck and grabbed the unlucky pansy’s ankles.

 

In the last five seconds of his life, Mike suffered one last time from the sadistic stranger’s hate and lust.  Enraged, Adam jerked the kid’s legs apart.  As ice-cold darkness closed in on him, Mike saw Adam’s huge, sweaty biceps flex awesomely—and then, with a loud snap, Adam broke the zip tie.  The thin plastic dug through Mike’s flesh down to the bone, but it finally gave way before the sheer power of the hardbodied killer.

 

The cuts had severed an artery in Mike’s right ankle, but since his heart had stopped beating almost simultaneously, blood merely seeped from the wound instead of spurting.  Adam wasn’t done with his victim, though.

 

Enraged, the psychotic stud brandished his hard, club-like cock and plunged it into Mike’s fuckhole.  Even though the corpse’s sphincter was flaccid in death, it still wasn’t elastic enough to accept a shaft of the size of the one now being brutally rammed into it—Adam tore the dead kid’s ass open.  “You worthless queerboy fucker,” he snarled, “Thought you’d make me a fag by squirtin’ yer diseased homo cum on me, huh?  You ain’t the first faggot to try it, cunt, but ain’t none of ya ever man enough to turn me!”

 

His hips thrusting swiftly, Adam nailed the dead kid’s butthole.  Sweat trickled down the small of his muscled back as he fucked the corpse, every pump of his cock violently expressing his hate and disgust for the fag he was banging.  He became aware that his balls were drawing up as his semen started to boil over.  And then orgasm hit him, almost like a violent cramp.

 

“Fuck!” he screamed, “Fuck!”

 

It was almost involuntary, the way his right arm drew back and then pumped forward like a steam piston, smashing into the corpse’s face.  Adam didn’t try to stop it, though—it felt so fuckin’ right.  As his cock swelled and spurted again, his fist shot forward again.  And again.  With every spurt of hot manseed from his engorged dick, Adam punched Mike’s swollen, blackened face as hard as he could.

 

This was what Adam had wanted, had hoped for—had worked for.  It felt right.

 

He came a lot.  A lot.  By the time he was done, Mike was unrecognizable.  Adam had beaten his face to hamburger.

 

With a deep sigh, Adam pulled back and sat on the bed, his dripping cock resting on the tangled sheets.  He glanced around the room, noting the position of a couple of items, then got up and headed for the bathroom.

 

After spending a few minutes cleaning the drying semen off his torso, he tucked his dick back into his cargo pants.  Grabbing a clean towel, he headed back to the bedroom.  Once there, he used the towel to pry the Nike Vandals off Mike’s feet.  They were soaked with the dead kid’s piss, but they could be cleaned.

 

Then he collected Toby’s Adidas kicks, pulling one off his foot and simply picking the other up off the floor.  He’d seen a gym bag on the far side of the dresser; he used it to collect his trophies, picking up his long-sleeve t-shirt and his knit cap as he passed them.  It was a cool night, but Adam was still warm and sweaty; he decided not to put either on at the moment.

 

Bag in hand, he paused at the door and looked back.  Toby was still lying belly-up on the floor, his limbs and head all at grotesque angles to the body.  Mike, his hands still bound behind him, was also lying belly-up on the bed, his legs spread, white spunk oozing from his ravaged asshole.

 

It wasn’t complete.  He needed to recreate that first necro fuck for it to be right.

 

Leaving the bag at the door, Adam returned to Toby and rolled him over, off the broken remains of the chair, burying his dead swollen face in the carpet.  With a quick step to the bed, the psycho killer grabbed Mike’s corpse under the arms, dragging it over to Toby’s.  Tossing it down on top of the long-haired dude’s body like a sack of dirty laundry, Adam bent down and manipulated Mike’s still semi-erect penis into Toby’s ass, then adjusted the legs.

 

Stepping back, Adam admired his posing.  It looked like a perfectly natural fuck.  Well, except that Mike’s hands were still zip tied behind his back.  And the fact that both punks had suffered major physical trauma.  And that both were obviously dead.

 

As far as Adam was concerned, it was perfect.  He’d erased any possible homo contamination from his first necro fuck.  Picking up the bag, he headed out the door.  Within six minutes, he was off the property, walking bare-chested down the street to where he’d parked his truck a safe distance away.

 

While he walked, Adam found his thoughts—and his cock—drawn to public restrooms.

Trucker 14–Trucker vs Bar Bitch

It was almost midnight and Wes was ready to rock out.  He was higher than fuck and horny as hell.  He’d need money soon if he wanted to wanted to keep the high going, but there were ways of getting it—even ways of combining the two.

 

And combining the two was something Wes was good at.  Just two months past his twenty-second birthday, he was slim and lean, with a perfect twink body that managed to attract a lot of dudes.  The ugly ones, the ones who were fat or old, were usually willing to pay, and Wes would whore himself out if he needed—but he preferred to play a different game.  After all, why bargain when you can steal?

 

It was the ice, of course—whether he smoked it, snorted it or shot it up, it got him too amped up to be controlled.  Aside from the rampant horniness, it made him crave danger.   Things could get ugly if the guy bangin’ him caught him in the act, but that didn’t happen often.  And anyway, he was getting a lot better a rifling through wallets whenever his fuckbuddies’ backs were turned.

 

He was just under six feet tall with a broad face darkened with the faintest hint of facial hair under his turned-up nose and across his cheeks.  His smooth, clear skin was not yet tainted from the meth use, although the dilation of his large dark eyes hinted at it.  His brown hair was cut short on the sides of his head, but left longer—about three or four inches—on the top, carefully arranged to look casually tousled.

 

He was looking to take a dick up his ass and had dressed to make sure he got it.  He wore a gray long-sleeve t-shirt that clung tightly to his lean, boyish chest.  His black skinny jeans, even though they were tight enough to highlight the muscles in his long legs and the drug-enhanced bulge in his groin—and were held up by a thick leather belt clasped shut by a buckle with a black-on-black Superman logo—still sagged enough to show a couple of inches of the colorful boxers underneath.

 

His feet padded quietly in a pair of Under Armour Jet Express hightops; the kicks were a bright shade of blue that contrasted nicely with the black jeans.  Since the jeans rode so low on Wes’s hips, the hems caught in the uppers of the sneakers, making it look like he’d deliberately tucked them in.

 

In short, Wes looked exactly like what he was, a hot little twink on the lookout for cock.  The fact that he was also on the lookout for cash was probably a bit more obvious than he’d have liked. But it was Friday night and the gay bar was packed and raucous; the noisy crowd even managed to explain away some of the noticeable signs of Wes’s meth use, like his sweating and jitteriness.

 

The bar was only part of the large nightclub; it was teeming and dark, but it opened out onto a huge dance floor that dazzled the eyes with strobes, mirror balls, and smoke machines.  The dance floor occupied at least half the building, while the bar only took up about a quarter.  The other quarter was taken up by offices, bathrooms, and a game room with some arcade games and a couple of pool tables.  Tonight, all the rooms were filled to capacity.

 

Wes had already cadged a drink of an old fat guy with a long beard and was leaning back against a wall and surveying the crowd for a likely mark when his eyes were drawn to a dude who’d just entered the bar from the game room.  The guy was huge, at least six and a half feet, with black hair and stubble on his face; the hair was mostly hidden under a red trucker’s cap.  He sported a white cotton wifebeater, too small and tight to leave any details of the stud’s muscle-bound and fur-covered chest to the imagination.  The dude’s powerful build was obvious in every movement he made; the way his biceps and deltoids flexed as he turned and set his pool cue into a rack by the door made Wes drool with lust.

 

The stoned-out hustler moved away from the wall and approached the hot stud.  As he got closer, he could see the guy’s tight jeans, faded to sky-blue and worn to the point of softness, with a tear on the inside of the left leg that teasingly revealed a firm, hairy inner thigh.  The jeans were tucked into a pair of brown Justin Wyoming pull-on workboots.

 

The closer he got to the hulking stud, the more certain Wes was that this was the guy he was looking for.  This guy was capable of feeding him dick the way he wanted, the way he so desperately needed tonight.  And someone this hot had to have cash; the moment the stud looked away, Wes would pocket his dough.

 

Wes had no way of knowing it—and would have been too high and horny to pay attention if he had had a way—but he was very unlikely to catch this stud with his guard down.  There was little the Trucker missed, especially when he was dealing with fagboy fuckmeat.

 

It’d been a couple of weeks since the Trucker left his last fucktoy dead in a ditch; he was back on the hunt and looking for a kill.  He was familiar with this place; he’d stopped off here on his last haul through this town.  On that occasion, he hadn’t found anything worth sticking his dick into; he’d ended up offing a street punk in an alley, but it had left him feeling unsatisfied.

 

Of course, that had been on a weeknight.  This was Friday night—almost Saturday morning—and the place was full.  The Trucker was sure he’d find someone tonight; in fact, he’d though he already had.  The boy had been small and dark, hairy with olive skin.  The Trucker had followed him into the game room and picked up a game of pool with him, but within minutes, the kid’s friends had shown up.  The Trucker finished the game, but deep inside, he was raging with frustrated desire.  The little punk never knew how lucky he was that his friends showed up.

 

Wes wasn’t lucky, and he didn’t have any friends.  He approached the Trucker head-on, brazenly grinning up at the well-built hunk.  “Hey, man, wanna buy me a drink?”

 

The Trucker glanced down incuriously at the boy, as he would at an insect crawling on the pavement.

 

“I’ll make it worth yer while,” the boyslut said.

 

“Yeah?” the Trucker inquired impassively.  “How?”

 

Wes was too high for subtlety.  “In the sack.  I’m a great fuck.”

 

The Trucker sneered.  “Yeah, heard that before.”

 

The DJ on the dance floor changed the music; the new shit was loud and cacophonous.  Wes didn’t even try to make his voice heard over it; he just reached out and grabbed the massive ridge of denim-wrapped flesh that ran down the older man’s thigh.  He didn’t expect it to be real; it was way too big.  And he was used to guys padding out their groins; it’d get a lot of looks in the bars, even if it did lead to eventual disappointment.

 

With this type of fake enhancement in mind, Wes openly slipped his hand into the tear in the Trucker’s jeans.  His fingers slid across the firm, thick thigh—and then stopped as they came into contact with an enormous shaft of semi-soft throbbing manmeat.

 

He looked up into the Trucker’s face, his eyes wide with amazement.  He couldn’t believe the dude’s cock was really that big.  “Forget the drink,” he said with an audible gulp during a lull in the music, “My apartment is three blocks from here.  Put it in me, bro.”

 

The Trucker smirked.  “Sure, faggot.  I could use a good workout.  Lessee if you can go the distance.”

 

This was what he’d been waiting for—meat that provided its own death pit.  The Trucker was tired of cleaning out his cab after every fresh kill.

 

For his part, Wes was thrilled.  He was stunned by how easy it was to lure his mark; the thought that he was the mark being lured never crossed his mind.  What did flash across his mind was that if this dude was so eager, even if he did notice Wes had gone through his wallet he probably wouldn’t mind.

 

Ice had made Wes make bad decisions and jump to wrong conclusions before, but this was far and away the worst.

 

“C’mon, man, just follow me,” he said and started making his way through the crowd.

 

The Trucker was tall enough that he didn’t have to follow on the punk’s heels to see which way he was headed, and that suited him just fine.  He left a little space between himself and the meat so that later on, nobody would associate the two of them together.  Not that it was likely they’d be noticed in the randy, gyrating crowd anyway, but there was no sense in the Trucker taking chances.

 

After all, the meat was taking enough chances for them both.

 

Wes made it outside first.  The Trucker ambled along, not worried about losing the kid; he knew he had this faggot already hooked.  He took his time to cross the dance floor and walk nonchalantly out of the building in front of the bouncer—obviously alone.  Nothing to connect him with the stupid little fuck who stood waiting under a streetlight halfway down the block and across the street.

 

The Trucker could see him the moment he exited the door.  He walked towards him but kept to the opposite side of the street.  The footsteps of his thick-soled workboots echoed off the nearby walls, but otherwise the side street was relatively quiet.  Nobody hung out in front of the bar; most of the action was in the back, where there was parking and a patio with an outside bar.  There was no one about to see him quickly cross the street and join the kid.

 

Wes was tweaking and impatient.  He was afraid the hot musclestud had changed his mind until he saw the dude come out of the bar.  He relaxed as much as the meth would let him, watching the tall, masculine figure stroll towards him, his legs swinging wide to accommodate the massive tackle that hung between them.

 

Without the noise and commotion of the bar to distract him, Wes was able to notice a few details that had escaped his attention before, like the jingly bits of metal that bounced on the dude’s broad chest and dangled from a chain around his neck; as the Trucker got closer, the slut realized they were dog tags.  He also got a better look at the stud’s face.

 

He was aroused not only by the strong jaw and cheeks covered with just enough jet-black stubble to cast a shadow, but by the cold, hard expression on the handsome face and the icy glint in the pale blue eyes that he glimpsed momentarily under the brim of the cap.  The last two were obvious danger signals; if Wes was less fucked-up, he might have heeded them.  As it was, they just fed into his horniness, his craving for sexual danger.

 

“C’mon, man,” he grinned happily, “Right down here.  We’ll go down the alley, it’s faster.”

 

The Trucker followed silently, his heavy footfalls the only sign he was keeping up.  Wes’s Under Armour kicks made no sound on the gritty, cracked pavement as he dodged litter and reeking puddles in the alleyway, helped by an occasional overhead light.  They crossed a couple of side streets, sticking to the alley, and suddenly came to a residential block.

 

“Over here,” Wes said and headed to the left towards a small two-story brick apartment building.  The place was old and run-down; the windows were tiny and some of the ones upstairs had AC units precariously dangling from the sills, droning into the warm night.  There were cracks in the brick from settling; none had been repaired and some of them were old and alarming large.

 

There was an oil-stained patch of asphalt in the rear that served as a parking lot; at the moment, it was mostly empty—no surprise, on a Friday night—with just a couple of broken-down pickups and a huge late-80’s Chrysler that belonged in a museum.  Down the side of the building was regular pattern of a doorway followed by two windows; it looked like there were about four apartments down this one side.

 

Wes and the Trucker crossed the cracked, weed-choked asphalt to the rear-most door on the side.  It was thin and painted a dingy, weathered white; it took Wes a moment to get it unlocked since the rusted light fixture above the door had no bulb and probably wouldn’t have worked if it had.

 

Once inside, Wes flipped on the light switch, revealing a tiny, barely-furnished efficiency apartment, a single room with a kitchen nook jutting off to the rear and a small bathroom.  The barren, sterile light of a single overhead bulb was enough to illuminate the small space.  The harsh overhead light shed no softening shadows on Wes’s bed—a mattress and box spring set sitting on the floor with no frame.  The fitted sheet—once white, now with a sickly yellow tinge—still clung tenaciously to the mattress, but the flat sheet and the pillows were in a tangled mass halfway on the floor.

 

There was a large flat-screen TV against one wall (far and away the most expensive thing in the entire apartment), but no other furniture at all.  The kitchen sink was piled with dishes and glasses; the only reason they didn’t litter the counter as well was that Wes didn’t have any more.  Not to say that the counter was bare; on the contrary, it was cluttered with lots of empty booze bottles—most of them the cheap plastic kind.

 

The Trucker took it all in as he silently locked the door behind him.  Wes never noticed.  “Here, lemme open a window,” he said evidently embarrassed by the almost visible funk of cigarettes, meth, weed and boyspunk.  And the room was stifling—Wes had hocked his AC months ago.

 

“Naw, boy, leave ‘em closed,” the Trucker drawled, “I like to sweat.  And I wanna make you sweat.”

 

The boy turned to the towering stud, the bulge in his crotch pulsing visibly.  For the first time, he got a good look at the Trucker’s chest—the muscled hunk was already perspiring enough to make his thin cotton wifebeater transparent.  Wes could see details that had been invisible before, the thick, wiry chest fur, the large erect nipples surrounded by dark circles of flesh…

 

With a deep, shuddering inhale, Wes gasped, “Fuck, brah, stick it in me.  Fuck me, man, cum in my ass.  I want yer fuckin’ load.”

 

The Trucker leered, a cold, shark-like grin spreading across his handsome face.  “Gonna hafta see if you deserve my wad, boy.  Yer gonna hafta work for it—and if you ain’t workin’ hard enough, I got way to make ya.  Think you can handle that?”

 

In response, Wes peeled off his t-shirt, revealing his smooth, lean, boyish chest, already glistening with sweat himself.  “Dude, I can handle whatever you got,” he boasted.

 

The Trucker’s grin got even wider.  He was gonna have so much fun proving the stupid little faggot wrong.

 

Digging into his pocket for his pack of Marlboros, he lit one up before reaching up and taking off the red trucker’s cap and tossing it on the floor.  His hair was short but not shaved, a pure black that gleamed in the overhead light like silk.  Wes, noticing the lit smoke, pulled back a small pile of dirty clothes near the mattress to reveal an ashtray on the bare wood floor; next to it were a phone charger and a small metal lamp, both plugged into the wall and within easy reach of the bed.  The boywhore fished his own cigarettes out of his pocket, but didn’t get the chance to burn one.

 

“Get over here,” the Trucker commanded.  “You want my dick?  Work for it.  Pull my shirt off.”

 

Eager as a puppy, Wes dropped his pack of generic smokes and darted across the room.  He instantly ran his hands over the rippled muscles on the Trucker’s hard, furry abs, feeling them through the thin fabric of the wifebeater.  He stuck his hand down inside the Trucker’s jeans, reaching for the hem, but he made the mistake—or perhaps it was deliberate—of going in front and center, like he was reaching for the alpha’s dick.

 

The Trucker knocked his hand away.  “Uh-uh,” he said, “You ain’t earned the right to feel my cock yet.”  The stud grabbed the shirt and pulled it up out of his waistband before he let Wes continue.

 

Wes paused for a moment, unsure of himself.  The Trucker took a deep drag off his cigarette and exhaled a thick cloud of bluish smoke into the punk’s face.  “Whatcha waitin’ for, boy?” he growled, “I toldja to pull my shirt off!”

 

Responding instinctively to the hard edge of command in the Trucker’s voice, Wes grabbed the hem of the shirt and pulled it up.  The hard-bodied alpha raised his arms to let the shirt come off over them; he knew damn well that the whore wasn’t tall enough to pull the shirt up over his head, but he kept the pretense up.

 

Wes has risen up on the toes of his electric-blue hightops in his attempt to raise his arms high enough when the Trucker suddenly planted his big hand on the back of the kid’s head and rammed Wes’s face into his hairy, reeking armpit.  The kid gasped as the alpha ground his face into the warm, wiry pit hairs.

 

Before he could react, Wes’s face was pulled back, then forcibly rubbed against the Trucker’s chest.  The powerful top was clutching a handful of the cunt’s hair, using it like a handle to maneuver Wes’s head.  The boy could feel the alpha chest fur, moist with sweat, scratching at his face, when suddenly there was an erect mound of flesh in his mouth.

 

“Work my nipple, faggot,” the older man hissed roughly.  Wes obey, slurping eagerly at the large knot.  For a moment, he dug his teeth in and leaned back, stretching the dark flesh out, then the Trucker cuffed him in the head.

 

“That’s enough, cunt,” he snapped, pulling his shirt off himself and tossing it on the floor.  “I gotta take a leak.”  Walking to the bathroom, he bent down momentarily and tapped his ash into the ashtray beside the bed.  It wasn’t a characteristic move for him.  Usually, he just let the ash fall on the floor—after all, with the hour, the meat would be long past caring if the floor was dirty—but he had a gut feeling this time.

 

He was right.  From the corner of his eye, the Trucker caught the whoreboy’s eyes glued to his ass.  While that in itself wasn’t unusual—faggots always stared at the way denim cradled his firm, round asscheeks—there was something odd about the way the homo kept his eyes on one spot like a laser.  The experienced mankiller knew exactly what was going on—the kid was fixated on his wallet.

 

The alpha turned back and retrieved his shirt.  He removed the wallet form his hip pocket, rather ostentatiously, wrapped the shirt around it, and tossed it back down into his upturned cap lying on the floor.  Satisfied, he headed to the bathroom.

 

It was a trap, of course.  As he stood at the toilet, pounding out his piss, his blood boiled at the thought of the cheap hustler trying to steal from him.  At the same time, the thought of what he’d do to the punk if he actually did try anything was starting to get him stiff.  He let the stream of piss slow to a stop and listened, but heard nothing.

 

The kid was waiting.  The Trucker could play that game, too.  He kept still and silent for a good five minutes before he heard a faint rustle form the bedroom.  When he threw the door open, he was already prepared for what he found.

 

Wes had already stripped.  His gear was tossed onto the pile of dirty clothes; the belt with the black Superman logo was coiled on top.  The slim youth was crouched, nude but for his ped socks, over the Trucker’s cap on the floor.  He’d already managed to unwrap the shirt from the wallet and had just opened it up when the bathroom door opened and the Trucker emerged.

 

The room was so small the large, muscled killer was standing over Wes before the thieving fagboy even knew he was there.  His pulse pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat, Wes slowly turned to look at the Trucker’s brown, scuffed workboots next to him, then raised his eyes.

 

The homo punk’s gaze crawled up the Trucker’s thick legs, noticing almost for the first time how the tight denim barely contained the firm calf muscles, how the tear on the left thigh revealed the power of the thick thigh behind it.  Then he raised his eyes further to the groin and gasped involuntarily in shock.

 

Wes, despite his youth, had taken a lot of dick in his life, but this…this was as intimidating as fuck.  The Trucker’s erect member, huge and swollen, jutted from the unzipped fly out over the kid’s head; as he watched, a large transparent bead of precum welled out and fell on him—Wes could feel the moist potent heat of the drop on his scalp.

 

The thick veins writhing across the surface of the enormous cock expanded as the dark shaft pulsated.  Wes was transfixed, both horrified and attracted by the massive rod of manmeat—it was too big, it would literally tear him a new asshole, but it was such hot fucking proof of manhood that the young power bottom couldn’t help getting hard himself, despite the inherent danger of the situation.  The meth still circulating in his system went some ways towards explaining this—but not all the way.  Stone cold sober, Wes still craved cock to the extent that he’d have walked into a bear trap to get this hot hardbodied stud’s tool.

 

It was hard to tear his gaze away from that mesmerizing rod of glistening, pulsating manmeat, but Wes’s eyes were drawn upwards, along the dude’s ripped, hairy abs to the dark forest of body hair covering the alpha’s broad, bulked-out chest.  The glint of metal indicated the presence of the top’s dogtags, nestled in the dark, furry valley between the twin peaks of his thick hubcap pecs from which the large dark nipples protruded.

 

Again, the instant impression was of overwhelming masculine power.  There was something about the alpha’s muscle-bound torso that suddenly reminded the lust-distracted faggot that he’d just been caught stealing.  In his sudden fear, he raised his eyes to the Trucker’s face.

 

He took one look at the expression of unholy rage and triumph on the Trucker’s face and went pale in fear.

 

“No, man,” he started, “It ain’t what ya think—”

 

The Trucker bent down and slammed his fist into Wes’s temple.  The blow to the head didn’t completely knock the whore out, but it sent him sprawling dazed onto the floor.

 

The muscled killer had tossed his first butt into the john.  He pulled his pack out and lit another as he walked around the stunned, moaning youth.  “So ya thought it was smart to go for my wallet, huh?” he sneered.  “Guess I’m gonna hafta teach ya what a bad fuckin’ idea that was.”

 

Wes groaned tried to rise, placing his right hand flat on the floor to brace himself.  Before he could move, the Trucker was there, grinding his bootheel onto the back of Wes’s hand.

 

“AHH!  Wha—wha—” Wes cried out as the Trucker crouched down, keeping the cunt’s hand pinned to the wood floor.

 

“Ya see,” the Trucker said in an almost conversational tone, “I was just gonna fuck ya and snuff ya, but now I’m gonna hafta make ya suffer.  You were gonna die tonight anyway, faggot, but now yer gonna die in agony.  I gotta teach you a lesson that you’ll remember for the rest of your worthless life—which I’m guessing is gonna be about another half hour at most.”  He paused and took a long, searching look at Wes’s lithe, lean body.  “You’re young; you might make it to forty minutes.  It don’t matter, as long as you learn what a huge fuckin’ mistake you made.”

 

Wes was about to reply that he already knew he’d made a mistake bringing this huge sexy psycho home when the Trucker reached down, grabbed one of the boy’s splayed fingers—the index finger—and jerked it up, violently.  The snapping of bone wasn’t very loud but it echoed in the small room.

 

Wes’s scream was even louder.

 

“Good thing all yer low-life neighbors are out partyin’,” the Trucker chuckled.  “Ain’t no one around to hear ya scream, asswipe.  Not like they’d bother to help a worthless cumguzzlin’ fag like you anyway.”

 

The middle finger was next.  It was larger, so the snapping sound was louder.  “Are ya learnin’ to keep yer homo hands off my shit?” the sweat-slicked muscular killer asked, flicking the ash from his smoke into the cunt’s hair.  Wes couldn’t answer; he could only moan and sob.  “No?” the Trucker grinned.  “Fuck, yer a stupid sack of shit.  Guess I gotta keep learnin’ ya, huh?”

 

When the Trucker broke Wes’s ring finger, the cheap rentboy reacted, beating on the Trucker’s leg with his left hand and drawing his knees up under himself, trying to unbalance the sadist kneeling on his hand.  The sadistic alpha laughed cruelly and leaned forward to put his entire body weight onto the bootheel that was crushing Wes’s hand.

 

“See, that’s the problem with you dumbass faggots,” he jeered, “Ya don’t even appreciate a good education.  Gotta make ya learn the hard way, no matter how long it takes.”  Wes’s howls of pain as his pinkie finger was shattered made the cracking of the bone almost inaudible, but they were nothing to the noise the cunt made when the Trucker went to work on his thumb.  The muscle-bound killer didn’t break it; he wrenched it out of its socket, dislocating it, and wrung it around in huge circles, tearing the ligaments and tendons until it was useless.

 

Abruptly, the Trucker stood up and stretched.  He stepped away from Wes and headed towards the kitchen.  “Might as well make myself comfortable while I’m educatin’ ya, boy.  Got anything decent to drink in this place?”  He opened the cabinets and fridge.  “Shit, all ya got is a coupla Buds?  Figures.  Worthless asshole.”  There being no other alternative, he grabbed one anyway.

 

Wes had curled into a fetal position, cradling his broken and useless right hand.  “You—you—” he sobbed, “You fuck—fuckin’ psycho…”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” the Trucker drawled as he opened the beer and took a swig.  He walked over to the bed and placed the can on the floor next to the mattress, then returned to Wes.  The whoreboy was just rising to his knees when the Trucker approached, grabbed a handful of the kid’s brown hair and dragged him, kicking and squalling, over to the bed.

 

Seating himself on the mattress at what would be considered the foot of the bed, the Trucker pulled Wes’s head into his crotch, and with his dick running across the wailing homo’s face, wrapped his leg around the kid’s neck to hold him in place.  The well-built sadist then bent down and, grabbing the youth’s left arm, brought his hand up and continued the lesson.

 

This time he started with the little finger, a quiet snap that added no more to the agonized bleating that the pansy bitch was already making.  “See, the best way to learn somethin’,” the Trucker said, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and exhaling into Wes’s face before taking another swig of beer, “Is to make sure it’s associated with somethin’ you ain’t gonna forget.”  He went for the index finger this time, slowly bending it backwards until it cracked like a green twig.  “Like pain.  Ya feelin’ me, faggot?”

 

Wes screeched, his right arm flailing against the Trucker’s restraining leg, his mangled fingers slapping uselessly against the tight faded denim.

 

The cold, sadistic killer chuckled and knocked the ash from his smoke into Wes’s tear-streaked face before settling it back between his lips and causally breaking the ring finger on his left hand.  The frantic fagboy jerked and kicked, his legs scrambling vainly on the wood floor, unable to find a purchase.  “Stop!  Help! Stop!” he screamed suddenly as he realized that he wasn’t going to be able to get out of this by himself—and that this was turning out far worse than he’d ever thought possible.

 

“Shaddup,” the Trucker snapped and punched him in the face.

 

Wes grunted, stunned by the impact that was so hard, it had broken the thin bone behind his left eye, which instantly began to swell and darken.  His head lolled as the Trucker bent his index finger past the breaking point, the loud snap heard easily over Wes’s semi-conscious moans.

 

The Trucker chugged the rest of the beer, then jammed the smoldering butt of his smoke into the can and tossed it aside.  Standing up, he let Wes slump to the ground, wallowing in pain.  “Fuck,” the alpha grunted, “Got yer fuckin’ horse piss beer on my hands.”  He headed to the bathroom and ran them under the sink.

 

It had taken him less than sixty seconds, but when he came back out, the Trucker found that Wes had managed to regain his feet and was trying to escape.  Even though there was no possibility of that, the Trucker growled malignantly as he watched the panicked whoreboy’s futile attempts to work the doorknob of his own front door with all his fingers and one thumb broken and useless.

 

“Get back here, you stupid sack of faggot shit,” he snarled crossing instantly to him, “I ain’t done with you yet, asswipe. You still gotta lot to learn before you take yer dirt nap, cunt.”

 

Wes looked up at him, his youthful, once-arrogant face gray with shock and despair, and had a sudden realization of the nightmare he was about to endure.  Blubbering mindlessly, he lost control of his bladder, his piss running down his legs and soaking his socks—and spattering on the Trucker’s boots.

 

Incandescent with rage, the sadistic powerhouse grabbed the desperate punk with both hands—one hand clamped around his throat and the other hand snapped shut on his scrotum like a steel trap, shutting off the flow of urine—and hoisted him in the air.

 

“Piss on me, will ya, you goddam faggot scum?” the Trucker roared and flung Wes headlong into the kitchen.  Flying across the counter and stove, Wes barely had time to fling his arms over his head before he slammed excruciatingly into the far wall and fell to the floor with a clatter of pans and dishes.

 

The dazed, semi-conscious found himself flailing helplessly on the kitchen floor as the heavy, ominous tread of the Trucker’s boots came closer.  Aside from the horrible pain wracking his lean, firm body, his sensations were vague.  He knew that those approaching footsteps meant unrelenting suffering and torment, and that it had something to do with some imagined idea of hot intense sex he’d hoped for, but everything else was confused and distorted.  He wasn’t even entirely sure where he was; this kinda pain couldn’t be happening in his own room…

 

The Trucker stood over the mewling boycunt writhing on the floor and kicked him in the gut, his steel-toed workboot sinking deeply into Wes’s smooth, soft, flat belly.  “HOOG!” the faggot grunted as the impact knocked the air out of him.  Wes looked up at the Trucker, his face soundlessly expressing his horror as he tried desperately to inhale.

 

The hardbodied alpha knelt down by Wes’s head.  He grabbed the fuckboy’s carefully sculpted hair—now a tousled mass—and jerked his head up.  Staring into the kid’s eyes, he spit into Wes’s face, the frothy spittle splattering on the punk’s forehead and trickling down into the boy’s left eye, which had turned black and swollen shut by now.  The older man radiated violence and cruel power in the same way his slick mansweat filled the air with an acrid mix of testosterone and adrenalin, and some dim part of the whore’s mind was aware of his own traitorous, involuntary erection—

 

“Ya know I’m gonna kill ya, right?” the Trucker leered.  “Ya know I’m gonna use you as a cumdump and snuff yer sorry faggot ass, huh?  No, ya don’t.  I can see it in your dead soulless eyes, you worthless homo; you don’t think yer gonna die.  I’m gonna hafta teach it to ya.  I’m gonna hafta hurt you so bad you’ll finally appreciate what a huge fuckin’ favor I’m doin’ ya by wastin’ ya.”

 

Wes heard the words but couldn’t process them.  Out of his good right eye, he could see the Trucker’s handsome, scruff-covered face just inches from his—such a hot fucking dude couldn’t be trying to kill him, this was some kinda nightmare or he’d gotten hold of some bad ice and was freaking out—

 

The Trucker stood, pulling Wes up with him, one hand still clutching a hank of the boy’s hair and the other locked around his throat.  This time, the alpha held the kicking pansy aloft for a moment, letting the boy choke and gag as his own body weight crushed his throat.  Then he flung the slut across the room as hard as he could.

 

Wes hit the wall next to the window, collapsing the drywall and leaving a massive dent as he fell limply back to the floor with a thump like a sack of potatoes hitting the ground.  He was still trying to catch his breath when the Trucker was on him again, hoisting him up by the throat.  “You still want my cock, fag?  Don’t worry, asswipe, I’m still gonna stick it in ya.  You’ll get my load, cocksucker.  ‘Course, you may have too much brain damage by then to enjoy it—but I’ll fuckin’ enjoy it enough for both of us.  Sounds like a fair deal, huh, motherfucker?”

 

The frantic youth instinctively tried to claw at the Trucker’s arm.  Every single contact of his hands on the brutal stud’s bicep and tricep was agony as his broken fingers twisted excruciatingly with the impact.  But the crushing pain in his throat was swiftly overtaking his notice—his entire body weight was collapsing his esophagus in the Trucker’s vise-like grip.

 

He couldn’t breathe.  Panic bubbled up in his fear-frozen pansy brain; lack of air had triggered a subconscious terror of asphyxiation.

 

Wes had never spent a moment of his shallow, drug-addled life speculating on what would be the worst way to die; now he knew, without any thought being involved.  He didn’t want to choke to death.

 

The nude queerboy tried to plead wordlessly with the Trucker.  A less experienced killer wouldn’t have been able to read the desperate expression on the swelling, blackening face, or understand the depths of sheer horror behind the tears leaking from the one eye not already swollen shut—but the Trucker did.  He laughed aloud, a hard, cruel sound that drowned out the thick grunting noises coming from Wes’s closed-off throat.

 

“Don’t worry, cunt, I ain’t done with ya yet,” he chuckled.  “Trust me, motherfucker, you’ll know when I’m offin’ ya—I’ll make goddam sure of that.”  Then he gut-punched Wes twice in swift succession, his rock-hard fist first sinking into the kid’s belly as before.  The second blow landed squarely on the solar plexus and Wes forgot all about the pain in his fingers and almost forgot the pain in his throat.

 

The Trucker laughed again as he watched the suffering faggot shudder limply in his grip.  “Looks like yer about to go to sleep, boy,” he drawled.  “Am I borin’ you, fuckmeat?  Here, you stupid piece of fag shit, maybe this’ll teach ya to pay attention!”

 

He slammed the kid headfirst into the TV, holding him by the neck and throwing him like a dart.  Wes’s head cracked the screen; his chest hit the TV stand.  The stand was cheap particle board, but the boywhore hit it hard enough and at just the right angle to break two ribs on his left side.

 

The punk hit the floor and didn’t move.  The Trucker lit up a smoke and sat back down on the bed, keeping an eye on the heaving, gasping pile of boymeat.  He knew he needed to pace himself or he’d whack the motherfucker before he’d had a chance to fuck ‘im.  And as much as he wanted to make the kid die, he particularly wanted to make the kid die while riding his cock.

 

Wes was lying inert, wrapped in a tight, throbbing blanket of pain.  It hurt to move, it hurt to breathe; it even hurt to think.  Especially if he thought about what the Trucker had said to him—so he didn’t think, at least not for a while.  But he could still hear the breath of his sadistic assailant, long inhales and exhales as the alpha calmly smoked his cigarette and watched Wes suffer.

 

After a while, a cloudy sense of self-preservation began to stir in the craven twink’s mind.  He was in a dangerous situation—he wouldn’t let himself recognize the true extent of the peril—and he needed to find a way out.  There was no way he could physically escape; maybe he could talk to the guy, work something out with him.  The fact that his thought process shied away from the real reason behind his inability to escape—the hot stud had casually and cheerfully broken his fingers, one by one—showed his distorted his thinking was.

 

There wasn’t anything to work out with the Trucker except how slowly and how painfully Wes was gonna die.

 

The Trucker wasn’t a mind reader, but he had enough experience offing worthless rentboys to have an accurate, if general, idea of the flow of the whore’s thoughts.  The kid just couldn’t fit the idea of his own death into his shallow brain.  The intensely cruel alpha smiled grimly and stood up.

 

“Recess is over, dickhead,” he growled.  “Time to start learnin’ again.”

 

Wes had rolled over, about to try reasoning with the Trucker, but the tone in the muscle-bound stud’s voice stopped him cold.  It took about four steps for the Trucker to reach him from the bed.  As the helpless punk stared up at the hulking figure towering over him, his words dried up on his cracked lips.

 

That amazing furry body, muscles glistening with sweat in the dim light, the enormous hog—thick, purple, pulsing in vein-wreathed lust—it was everything he wanted in a top, but this was too much, the dude was too aggressive…

 

…and then Trucker bent down to grab him again.  “Wanna play, little boy?” he whispered with an evil grin, and Wes lost it.

 

“Oh please no,” he gasped, amazed at how painful it was to speak; every breath he took shifted the sharp, jagged ends of his broken ribs inside his abdomen.  “Do…do what ya wa-want, but pl-please don’t hurt me anymore, oh please sir, dear god don’t hurt me no more…I’ll, I’ll do whatever you want, please, sir, I’m so sorry, take anything ya want, just, just…just no more pain…”

 

His entreaties became more frantic as the older man reached out to grab him again.  “No!  Fuck, please, no!  Oh god, oh god, please fuck please no don’t fuck no—”

 

Again, the Trucker grabbed him in two places—by the throat and by the scrote.  This time, though, there was no dangling.  The hardbodied killer whirled around, flinging Wes on the bed at full speed.  The homo slut hit the mattress and bounced up off it, smacking into the wall at the head of the bed and falling back, toppling the bedside lamp and knocking the ashtray across the room, leaving a trail of sooty ashes in its wake.

 

Before Wes could recover—it was taking him longer and longer to come back with each new bout of abuse—the Trucker had laid him flat on his back on the bed and had climbed between his legs, propping the kid’s socked feet on his shoulders.  The sick top waited until Wes seemed to be conscious enough for comprehension.

 

“Know what, faggot?” he jeered at the dazed, agonized youth, “All this exercise is gettin’ me horny as fuck.  Think it’s time to drain my load.  Time to say yer prayers, motherfucker, cause once I use you as a cumrag, I’m gonna be done with ya.  The hot squirt of my manseed deep in yer guts is gonna be the last thing yer fag ass feels before I put you down, ya piece a’ shit.”

 

And before Wes could even blink, the Trucker slammed his gigantic shaft balls-deep into the twink’s raw, unprepared fuckhole.

 

If he had been capable of rational thought, Wes would have felt betrayed by the way his young, form body refused to let him lapse into blessed unconsciousness under this new onslaught of excruciating pain.  The searing agony of a ripped sphincter and a torn colon shot through his lithe form, forcing him into involuntary rigidity that only increased his suffering—his body no longer flexed to accommodate the huge thick rod of manflesh spearing his innards.

 

And greatest betrayal of all—in spite of his fear and pain, his own seven-inch cock went rigid itself with a painful stiffness as the Trucker’s cock ground its way over Wes’s prostate.  He could feel it, over all the other stimuli.  The badly-beaten punk was still struggling to breathe—he couldn’t scream, but a high-pitched squeal was forced out of him by sheer agony.

 

“Shaddup, meat, no one fuckin’ cares,” the Trucker barked and sucker-punched Wes in the face.  There was a thick wet crunch as the whoreboy’s nose was crushed, and the Trucker achieved his purpose.  It damn sure got Wes to stop squealing; the stunned youth’s wide eyes, circled with gray rings of shock stared at the alpha in abject horror as blood trickled from both nostrils.

 

The Trucker bent over, his massive hog plugging the kid’s ass.  The dogtags around his neck hit Wes’s smooth chest with a clink and slid to one side as the muscled top lowered himself until their faces were inches apart.  “Worthless fuckin’ faggot, can’t even take a real man’s cock,” the alpha growled, his expression a terrifying mix of rage and demonic glee.  “You’re about to ride that cock right into your grave, fucker, and if you don’t stop squealin’ like a pig, I’ll break yer fuckin’ jaw.”

 

He gave his hips a sudden, single pump, ripping his swollen rod out of the kid’s ass—not completely; he left the billiard-ball-sized head inside the rectum—and driving it all the way back in.  Wes’s entire face went gray with agony as the gigantic horsedick reamed out his colon; he strained until sweat coursed down his face but was unable to suppress a loud, bleating whimper.

 

The Trucker was as good as his word.  He leaned forward, putting his left hand around Wes’s throat to support his weight and driving three hard, swift blows into the fag’s jaw, wielding his right fist like a sledgehammer.  The punches were delivered with the force of a steam piston and by the time they were done, the boy’s jaw was broken and he’d had three teeth knocked out.

 

Best of all, the whore’s body had jumped and jerked with each impact; the Trucker had felt each blow reverberate in the whore’s asshole, making it squeeze his dick.  The kid was gonna be a nice, responsive fuck.

 

Wes wallowed in pain; his face, his ass, his hands…there was a loud humming in his head that seemed to distort things.  Was he on a bad trip?  There was an incredibly hot stud fucking him; he could feel the top’s broad, muscular chest pressing against his own, the wiry body fur scraping painfully across his smooth, soft skin…too much pain, something was wrong.  Maybe more ice would fix it…

 

“I need a hit,” Wes mumbled, not fully aware that he was speaking aloud, his broken jaw barely moving, his speech slurred.  “Comin’ down—gimme another hit…”

 

“What, another one?” the Trucker jeered, knowing damn well what the boywhore meant.  “All you fuckin’ faggots are pain pigs.  Sure, asswipe, here ya go!”

 

Another three blows in rapid fire, striking the cunt’s torso.  The Trucker had aimed with frightening precision at the spot where the kid’s ribs had broken.  Wes screeched, ignoring the agony caused by the sudden, violent motion in his snapped jaw, as the jagged ends of the ribs were driven inwards, puncturing his left lung in two places.

 

The Trucker grinned and began fucking the suffering fuckmeat brutally.

 

Wes was beaten, in more ways than one.  He could only lie on his back, arms and legs outspread, and try to breathe while the muscle-bound alpha hunched over him and raped him viciously.  His left lung was collapsing; every breath of air was a desperate, agonizing struggle that taxed the diaphragm and tore the lung open even further.  The weight of the older man’s heavy, hulking form pressing down on him only made it worse.

 

All in all, it was a blessing for Wes—the frantic attempt to breathe, to merely draw air into his one working lung drew his focus from his pain.

 

But pain was what made Wes work the Trucker’s dick.  The Trucker was not happy.  The meat was supposed to spend the last few minutes of its life pleasuring him; it needed to be reminded of its duty.  He looked around and noticed the small bedside lamp lying on the floor right next to him.  He reached out his left arm and grabbed it, then rose up on his knees.

 

The sudden lifting of the pressure on his chest gave Wes a chance to inhale enough oxygen to regain full awareness.  Even as the tide of nightmarish suffering rose up around him, he looked up at the Trucker looming over him, holding the lamp.

 

As he watched, the powerful hardbodied older man held the lamp in one hand, wrapped the power cord around the other hand and pulled them apart.  There was a quick bugling of his biceps and the cord came away with deceptive ease—it had taken a lot of strength to pull it out.

 

The alpha threw the lamp over his shoulder; it clattered off on the far side of the room.  He held the cord up in front of Wes’s face and grinned.  Nothing needed to be said; the boy knew what it meant and tears welled from his blackened eyes.

 

A glittering light, refracted from the surface of the Trucker’s dangling dogtags, danced hypnotically in front of Wes’s eyes; the panicked whoreboy his focus to be drawn from the cord to the light, steadfastly denying the obvious implications of the former until the Trucker bent forward.  The icy glint in the alpha’s cold steely blue eyes broke the trance; his hot breath on the boy’s face brought Wes back to his excruciating, terrifying reality.

 

“Are you scared, little boy?” the Trucker mocked, “You should be.  Yer gonna die now.  It’s gonna take a little while and it’s gonna hurt like fuck, but it’s gonna be worth it cause yer gonna jack me off as you kick and struggle.  Your death throes are gonna milk the cum right outta my cock.  That’s why ya gotta die, homo—so I can shoot my wad.  Stupid motherfuckin’ faggot; all yer good for is catchin’ my load in yer dead asshole.”

 

The lamp cord was long.  The Trucker was able not only to wrap it around both hands to ensure his grip, he was able to loop it twice around Wes’s neck, lifting the cunt’s head up by the hair.  The slut was past begging or pleading by this point; pain and terror had paralyzed his ability for positive action of any kind.  All Wes could do was submit as his mind spun in a benumbed circle—he’d just wanted a good hard fuck, he’d found the perfect stud, what the fuck had happened?  He’d totally forgotten his attempt at theft; he was the helpless and innocent victim of…of…

 

In the course of wrapping the cord around Wes’s neck, the Trucker had shifted to one side slightly.  As Wes peered up at the alpha, now silhouetted in front of the overhead light, the battered fuckmeat’s swollen and tear-filled eyes could only perceive a looming, hulking outline of pure masculinity, the quintessential maleness of the muscular top emphasized by the adrenaline and testosterone escaping from the alpha’s sweat and overwhelming the small room with the atmosphere of mansex.

 

This was what Wes had wanted, what he’d craved and had been driven to seek night after night in seedy bars and back alley.  Now he had it—and it was torturing him and killing him.

 

The Trucker tightened the cord, grinning sadistically as it sank into the tender flesh of Wes’s throat.  He could see that the meat was sinking into mental shock; nothing like a little breath control to stop that shit.  The cruel stud wanted his fucktoy in the here and now as it died.  And, of course, the experienced killer was right.

 

The moment his air was cut off, Wes was brought back to reality, abruptly and involuntarily.  He had a cold, clear moment of lucidity and remembered the instinctive, gut-wrenching horror he’d felt when his powerful tormentor had held him aloft by the throat and choked him.

 

Oh fuck.  Oh fuck no.  Not this.  He couldn’t die like this, no, no, no no no nononono…

 

Panic descended on the helpless sack of fuckmeat in a black mist that clouded his eyes; the Trucker recognized the glazed look of terror.  It always happened somewhere around this stage of the game; despite everything it was told, the fagmeat was usually too stupid to fully comprehend its impending death until it was actually in the process of dying.

 

Which, of course, was exactly why it had to die—it needed to be brought to this level of emotional intensity to properly work the Trucker’s cock.  The muscled alpha tightened the cord further and braced himself for the first spasm of panicked struggle.

 

And even though Wes’s life expectancy was approximately five minutes, he did manage to learn some things in the last few nightmarish moments of his short, useless life.

 

He learned that panic only briefly numbed the pain, and that there was a terrible price to pay for his mindless flailings in terms of sheer agony.  He kicked wildly, his heels drumming on the Trucker’s back with as much impact as if they were pillows; as his feet flailed, one of his ped socks slipped off and feel to the floor.

 

He slapped his hands repeatedly against the Trucker’s wrists in an instinctive and utterly futile attempt to wrest the killer’s implacable, relentless hold on his throat, his snapped fingers splaying and flopping limply.  The excruciating pain of the jagged ends of the broken bones grinding into tissue and each other wasn’t alleviated, merely delayed.  When it hit, Wes went rigid, shuddering with neural overload.

 

The fingers weren’t the only thing contributing to the punk’s mental short circuit.  The complete collapse of his left lung was kinda moot at this point, but the way his broken ribs tore into the deflated organ with every twist of Wes’s lean, smooth torso was another, much more painful matter.

 

And then there was his cock—never truly unheeded even during his darkest moments, it had remained hard involuntarily throughout his sufferings merely by the grinding, remorseless pressure exerted on his prostate by the phenomenal girth of the Trucker’s massive rod.  Now, though, it was actively swelling and throbbing in tempo with his racing, terrified pulse.  And every single individual throb seemed like an electrical shock running the length of his shaft and churning in his balls…

 

The Trucker paced himself, holding still, letting the meat massage his dick as it thrashed in terror, wrapping its smooth strong legs around his waist and squeezing tight.  Once it settled down into neural shock, the cruel alpha began speaking again, knowing the meat was still conscious and able to hear him.

 

“Are ya grateful to me, faggot?  Do ya appreciate what I’m givin’ ya?  Yer gonna get the honor of bein’ my cumdump.  All ya gotta do is convulse nice and hard as I choke ya to death, an’ I’ll hose yer guts with my spunk.”

 

The Trucker found the expression of absolute despair on Wes’s swelling, blackening face incredibly erotic; jerking the cord even tighter, he spit on the trembling cunt pinned helplessly under his powerfully-muscled body.  “That’s it, motherfucker,” he hissed, “Die on my dick.”

 

Thick black blossoms were popping open in Wes’s field of vision as blood vessels ruptured in his eyes.  His entire body was awash in pain; the pressure in his mangled chest cavity was unendurable.  His hypersensitive cock was rubbing against the Trucker’s firm, flat belly, the alpha’s body fur scraping the long, cum-filled ridge on the underside of the dick like a power sander.

 

And above the nightmarish agony of death, the beaten and raped whoremeat could still feel drops of precum oozing from the head of its own dick—it felt hot, like magma…

 

The Trucker realized that the meat was very close to death.  His seed began to boil, his balls began to contract, forcing his white-hot cum on its journey up his huge, erect shaft.  “You ready for my load, cunt?” he whispered into Wes’s dark face.

 

Foamy drool trickled down the whore’s face and his bulging eyes had rolled back in his head, leaving only the blood-streaked whites visible, but there was still a tiny fragment of Wes’s personality left, desperately straight-arming death in sheer terror.  It was sinking under the relentless torrent of pain and brain damage, but it was still there—and it knew what the Trucker’s question meant.

 

The Trucker bunched his biceps and with a loud grunt, gave the cord a powerful jerk.  At the same time, the thrusting of his hips increased, plunging his enormous shaft faster and deeper into the dying boy’s guts.

 

A loud wet crack echoed in the small room as Wes’s esophagus was crushed into a mangled wad of cartilage.  Simultaneously, the Trucker cried out, “Fuck—FUCK!!” and pumped a huge load of hot sticky cum deep inside the meat.

 

The little part that was still Wes felt the sharp, knife-like pain of its collapsed windpipe and the searing, boiling wetness filling it from the inside out.  There was time for one last fleeting thought—what happened dude I just wanted to get fucked—and then there was one last pain, the greatest and most intense pain, and it came from his dick.  In his last moment of life, Wes knew he was blowing his death load and it hurt so fucking bad, it felt like he was cumming molten glass—

 

—and then all that was left was convulsing meat, thrashing and ejaculating mindlessly, impaled on the Trucker’s still-shooting rod.  White ropy jets of semen erupted from the dead kid’s dick, splattering across the alpha’s broad, hairy chest and smearing his dogtags.  The corpse, its prostate still being forcibly massaged by the Trucker’s pumping shaft, remained erect and spewing boycum that spattered itself, pooling in the eyes and covering their grotesque, bulging blank whiteness.

 

After a while—he didn’t know how long—the Trucker shuddered to a stop, his huge scrotum drained.  He’d pumped a full load into the meat; so much, some trickled from the dead kid’s ass when the older man pulled out.  Once he got his boots back on the ground, the sweat-slick muscled stud headed to the bathroom.  A few minutes with a wet towel was enough to wipe the boypig cum off his body and out of his fur.

 

Returning to the bedroom, the Trucker retrieved his cap, shirt and wallet.  Replacing the red trucking cap on his head, covering his dark hair, he tucked his wallet in one rear pocket and his white wifebeater in the other, where it dangled out behind.  Fishing out his pack of smokes, he decided to burn one while surveying the scene.

 

The sadistic alpha felt a sense of satisfaction; he’d done a very thorough job.  The meat was on its back, blank cum-filled eyes pointed at the ceiling.  The arms were above the head and the legs were spread, showing the glaze of semen leaking from the torn asshole.  The semi-soft cock was still extended its full length and likely to remain so; it was glued to the flat belly by a thick crust of boyspunk.

 

Halfway up, the neck was puckered and drawn in so deeply it was difficult to make out the cord that was sunk into it.  Above that, the faggot was unrecognizable, the face black, swollen and covered with drool from between the dead kid’s purple, foamy lips.

 

The corpse still twitched randomly, the toes on the bare sockless foot curling, but as the Trucker finished his cigarette, the stupid homo’s brain finally figured out it was dead and the body became still.  The hardbodied alpha grinned and tossed his butt on the floor.  Grinding it out with his boot, he headed for his truck, leaving the apartment door cracked open.

 


 

Figures, Donato thought, Sarge has gotta walk in and catch me in the middle of a yawn…

 

“You bored, Donato?” the Sarge barked.

 

“No, sergeant,” Donato replied.

 

“Awright, what’s goin’ on here?  Jesus, what a fuckin’ mess.  Looks like someone got terminated with extreme prejudice, as they say in the movies.”

 

“We got a call about a dead body, Sarge.  Me and Ayers, we responded.  Ayers is out talkin’ to the neighbors now.”

 

The Sarge ambled over to the bed and took a good look at the body.  “ME on the way?”

 

“Yeah,” Donato replied, “Med examiner’s got the meatwagon comin’.”

 

“Well tell ‘im not to waste too much time over this one.  Some faggot got fucked to death.  And by th’ looks of this place, someone really wanted this one dead.  I seen a lot of these, but this is the first one where it looks like our killer tried to put the vic through the wall.  Oh, Ayers, there ya are.  What’d ya find out about the dead meat?”

 

“Well, like you was just sayin’, Sarge, some fag who got fucked to death.  Lady next door knows him as Wes—office ain’t open yet, so I ain’t gotta last name.  Anyways, she sez he’s out at the bars almost every night, always bringin’ dudes home—she can hear everythin’ through wall.  Even sez there’s been some yellin’ an’ fightin’ at times.  Seems like the little cocksucker liked to rip off his fuckbuddies.”

 

“Hey, Sarge?” Donato interrupted, “Dunno if yer interested, but I found a meth pipe in a drawer in the kitchen.  Some baggies with residue, too—ya want I should test ‘em?

 

“What, are you nuts?” the Sarge barked.  “You wanna go spend the taxpayer’s money for that kinda shit?  When the ME gets here, tell him to haul this pile of meat outta here.  And if he can’t tell me anything more than this little fuck got the shit beat outta him by some real strong guy, he can spare me the autopsy report.  I can see for myself the faggot was raped and strangled.  Serves the thievin’ piece a’ shit right.  Just wrap this shit up and forget it; y’all have real work to do.”

Meat Chronicles 18–Boy Toy Destroyed

I almost missed him.  I was heading west on Roman Boulevard and he popped out of one of the side streets on his skateboard; I had a split-second glimpse of him, then I was past.  That glimpse was enough to make me turn around, though.

 

It’s been a while since I’ve been out hunting.  I never got back to my last meat; the used van I’d bought threw a rod the next morning.  Took me a couple of days to get a new ride—by the time I got back out to the abandoned warehouse, there was a chain-link fence around the entire property and a large sign that announced a new construction project.

 

I turned around and left; the meat woulda been too overripe to hold my dick anyway.  Wonder what they’ll do when they start tearing the place down and find what’s left of him.  In this summer heat, I bet it there won’t be much left to find—just his bones and his kicks.

 

At any rate, I gotta load that needs release.  I need to find a punk to dump my seed in, and it looks like I just spotted one.  I ease into the left lane and pull a U in my van—it’s a nondescript gray Chevy Astrovan—heading back towards the boy I’d seen.

 

He’s ahead on the left, about half a block up from a shopping center and heading towards it.  I speed up, overtaking the kid and turning into the strip mall’s parking lot.  Pulling into a spot facing the street, well away from the stores, I wait for the kid to approach.  Soon enough, he glides into view.

 

Young—no more than eighteen or nineteen, at most.  Long sandy-blond hair, almost shoulder length.  His lean, firm chest is wrapped in a black Nirvana t-shirt, and he’s sporting skinny jeans so tight it’s impressive the little shit can move at all.   His feet, in a pair of gray and white Adidas Top Ten Hi’s, cling tenaciously to his board as he rounds the corner into the parking lot, leaning into the turn.  He passes within ten feet of me, allowing me to see the large bulge in his crotch in greater detail.

 

Yeah, this one would work.  This meat would be acceptable to soak up my cum.  Now I just need a lure.

 

I watch him for a while; I got plenty of time.  He navigates the parking lot in decreasing circles that centers on the convenience store to my left.  After about fifteen minutes, he slows to stop about thirty feet away from me.  Bending down and flashing his bubble butt at me, he snags his board and heads into the gas station’s store.

 

Ten minutes later he comes back out with a pack of cigarettes and an agitated expression on his face.  He walks to the end of the store closest to me and lights a smoke, looking around for a minute of two.  Suddenly he moved towards a dude who’d just exited the store carrying a twelve-pack of beer.  The kid approached and had a conversation with the guy, at one point pulling out his wallet and offering money.  The other dude shook his head in clear refusal, then got in his car and left.

 

The long-haired kid looked dejected and continued to suck on his smoke.  Five minutes later, he was approaching someone else leaving the store—a Mexican laborer with a six-pack of Modelo.  Again, a brief conversation, an offer of money, and the kid gets shot down.

 

Took me a minute to get it, but once I did, I knew I had my lure.  The little fucker was trying to get someone to sell him beer; he was too young to buy it himself.

 

I waited till he left the store’s lot, morosely heading back in my direction on his board.  I let him get about ten feet away, starting his turn back out onto the boulevard, before I rolled down the window and called out to him.

 

“Yo!  Brah!  Hey, I ain’t from ‘round here—you know where there’s a liquor store?  I wanna get some decent booze, none of this gas station crap.”

 

His hair fanned out behind him briefly as he whipped his head in my direction.  His face was smooth, with full lips, a large nose.  He had huge puppy-dog-brown eyes ringed with lashes so long they were almost effeminate; they lit up at the word “liquor”, as I knew they would.

 

These little suburban kids; they’re so stupid, so predictable—and so much fun to play with.

 

“Sure, I know a great place,” he said, somewhat unsure of himself.  They got all kinda stuff.  But ya gotta do somethin’ for me if I take ya there.”

 

“Like what?”  I ask, as if I don’t already know.

 

“Buy me some beer.  I’ll pay for it; I mean just go in and actually buy it.  They won’t sell it to me—” he broke off and blushed embarrassedly.

 

“How old are ya, dude?” I ask.

 

His blush deepens.  “I turned eighteen two months ago,” he admits shame-facedly.  Suddenly he recovers himself, though, shaking his head so that his long hair spun out.  He looks up and grins; his face is youthful and eager and I want to slam my fist into it so badly I can barely control myself.

 

“Hop in, dude.  I’ll get ya fucked up—don’t worry about it.”

 

With a cheerful smile, the punk makes the worst mistake in his life and opens the door to my van.  Tossing his board to the floor of the passenger seat, he speaks as he climbs in.  “Hey, man, I’m Timothy.  Well, no, only my mom calls me that.  You can call me T-Money.”

 

What a tool.  I snort derisively and the kid gives me a suspicious side-eye.  Then, noticing my physical presence for the first time, he gives me a longer look-ever.

 

I’m dressed for the hunt.  It was hot enough outside that I had no qualms about dispensing with a shirt altogether, but I didn’t want to have my skin up against the cloth seat of the used van, so I’d slipped on a thin leather vest, leaving it unbutton to show off my massive pecs and flat ripped abs.  My jeans were tight, but they were old, with a number of tears, and faded to a pale sky-blue.  Halfway down my claves, they were tucked into a pair of worn black combat boots that I’d laced but left untied.

 

As he looked at me, I could see his dick start to get stiff; his jeans were so tight it was kinda hard to miss.  I eyed it rather pointedly and grinned at the boy; he flushed beet-red and turned away.  Interesting reaction.

 

“Ya see anything ya like?”  I asked in a low voice.

 

The punk turned back to me, more embarrassed that ever.  “I, um, I—wh-what’re ya talkin’ ‘bout, brah?” he mumbled, not looking me in the face.

 

I pulled over into the parking lot of a church.  In the middle of a weekday afternoon, the lot was empty.  I turned to face the kid.  “My dick.  You want it,” I said matter-of-factly.

 

What?” he cried.  “Dude, I ain’t gay.”

 

“The fuck you ain’t,” I snapped, “Yer cock is hard right now.  You want me to fuck you good and hard.  You know it and I know it, so stop pretendin’.”

 

The kid unbuckled his seat belt and inched toward the door.  “Man, I done told ya I ain’t no fruit.  Ain’t no way yer gonna fuck me, ya psycho.”

 

“The fuck I ain’t, cunt,” I hiss with an expression to match his last word.  His eyes wide with sudden fear, the punk snatches at the door handle but in his haste is unable to grasp it properly.  Not that it would’ve mattered; I’d’ve caught him before he exited the van.

 

Shit!” he yells in desperation just as I grab a hank of his long dirty-blond hair and slam his face brutally into the dashboard.  With his hair as a handle, I jerk his head back up again swiftly.  “Uhhh…” the boy moans dazedly as I ram his head forward, smashing his face a second time.  This time, when I pull his head back up, he’s silent.  I let go and he slumps limply into the seat, unconscious.

 

I head out of the church lot.  I know a place to go; I’ve been there before.  It’s not that far from the last place I dumped meat.  It’s been a couple of years since I was on the property; at that time, there had been an operating business in the building, so I’d gone there at night.  Now, it was abandoned like much of the rest of the neighborhood.

 

I could park in the back and shove the meat out into the drainage ditch behind the property in broad daylight.  And it won’t matter that it hasn’t rained in weeks; no one goes back there.  By the time anyone finds him, there won’t be anything left beyond a bloated, unrecognizable corpse.

 

A car whips out of nowhere as I start to pull out of the lot, forcing me to slam on my brakes.  The kid slides off the seat and slumps on the floorboards like a pile of dirty laundry.  Good place for him; I leave him there as I head to the east side.

 

I cruise slowly through the industrial neighborhood, tracing my way back to the kill site.  Most of the buildings around here are empty if not downright abandoned; there’s no traffic and the parking lots are empty.  I’ll have plenty of privacy while I play with my meat—at least urban blight is good for something.

 

Finally, I turn onto a side street.  Just past the next intersection is the long, low one-story building that has the strip of parking in the rear, up against the drainage canal.  It takes less than three minutes to whip around the building and back into a parking space up against the canal’s low guardrail.

 

One of the reasons I chose this van was because it had been a utility or cargo van at one point; the rear section was sealed off from the cab.  Nice and private; the only windows were the polarized ones on the rear doors.  Of course, it’s a pain to have to drag the meat out of the passenger seat, but it’s worth the effort.

 

I exit the cab and walk around to the passenger side.  Opening the sliding door to the back first, I then reach for the passenger door.   I reach down and jerk the kid up off the floorboards.  He isn’t very big; only about five-eight.  And while he’s not scrawny—I can feel some firm muscles under his smooth skin—he can’t weigh more than a hundred twenty.  I’m pretty built myself; I can lift him like a sack of potatoes and easily toss him into the back of the van.

 

Like the last one I had, I’ve made my own improvements to create a mobile killing pit.  The floor is covered with Astroturf, and the walls are bare metal.  I can hose the whole thing out with ease—and that’s a good thing.  This one is gonna get a little…messy.  The one touch I’ve added is a mirror, about two feet square, propped against the front barrier that blocks off the cab.

 

I’m gonna do this kid doggie style, but I still wanna watch his face as he dies.

 

I close the door behind me; the interior is dim but not dark.  It’s hot, though, and my chest is already slick with sweat; I slip out of my leather vest and lay it carefully by the rear doors.  As I do, I hear a loud groan behind me—the little shit is starting to wake up.  I stand up—not fully, I have to slouch some to avoid hitting my head against the roof—and dig in my pocket for the zip tie I’d brought with me.  My jeans are tight enough that it takes me a moment to retrieve it.

 

He’s still groaning as I approach him, his long eyelashes fluttering as he starts to awaken.  I flip him over onto his belly and secure his hands tightly with the zip tie.  He starts trembling.  “Whu—” he mutters thickly, “Wh-whas happen…”

 

“Shh,” I whisper, patting him gently on the back of the head.  “I got somethin’ that’ll explain everything.  Lemme go grab it.”

 

What I have is located in the large lower compartment of the center console in the front of the van.  Now that the whoreboy is bound, I can retrieve it.  I open the side door again and go into the cab. I’m gone no more than fifteen seconds, but it’s enough for the kid to be fully awake and trying to roll over when I get back.

 

Time to put the stupid little punk in the picture.  Sliding the door closed behind me, I smile sweetly at him.  “I got somethin’ for ya, darling’,” I drawl.  “I got somethin’ long and hard, and it’s gonna feel so fuckin’ sexy when I stick it in ya.”

 

He looks up, and I notice a crusty trail of dried blood extending from his left nostril.  He’s still in some discomfort from having his face slammed into the dashboard, but it’s nowhere near overwhelming enough to cause him serious distress.  His face is flushed again—but not with embarrassment; this time he’s angry.

 

“I told ya I ain’t no fuckin’ faggot!” he yells.  “Keep yer fuckin’ dick away from me, ya pervert!”

 

I allow my smile to grow broad.  “Oh, I wasn’t talkin’ about my cock.  I mean, yeah, I’m gonna fuck ya in the ass, but that wasn’t what I was talking about.”  I’d kept one hand behind my back the entire time’ now I brought it around to show the cunt what I was holding.  “I was talking about this.”

 

The moment T-Money sees my knife, the color drains from his face and his eyes open so wide they look like they’re in danger of falling out.  It’s an eleven-and-a-half inch long hunting knife with a seven inch serrated steel blade and a wood grip.  Ideal for gutting, flaying, and general mayhem on all kinda fuckmeat.

 

The kid gulps in fear like a cartoon character; I laugh aloud at his fear.  “Aw, this is gonna be all kinds of fun,” I grin, “Especially if you fight my cock.  Cause if ya do, I’m gonna start usin’ this on ya nice and slow.  Ya feelin’ me, brah?  You better be down with my D, dawg, or I’m gonna jack ya up.”

 

The boy whimpers and seems to shrink into himself, cowering.  His arms are jerking frenetically, but there’s no way the teenaged dickwad is gonna break free of that zip tie; all he’s doing is digging deep, painful furrows into his wrists.

 

He blinks and looks up at me but the moment his puppy-dog eyes meet mine, he looks away and gives another comic gulp.  “You, uh, you don’t need the knife, man.  You—you can p-put yer dick in me.  Just put away the blade, dude, please…put it away and you can do what you want to me…”

 

I can do what I want to him anyway, and will, but I go ahead and play along with it.  After all, it’s his suffering that gets me off, and if I can mindfuck him and assrape him at the same time, that just makes it so much hotter.  “Sure, bitch,” I chuckle, “But I gotta cut myself some access first.”

 

“Hey, man, wait!” he cries out as I come nearer, but I’m not going to hurt him yet.  I kick him back over onto his belly, then bend down and slip the knife under his t-shirt and start cutting.  The thin cotton parts at the slightest touch of my sharpened steel blade.  A couple of well-aims slashes and the punk’s Nirvana shirt slides off him, a mass of black shreds.  Over the kid’s protests, I cut open his jeans too.  The denim is tougher than the shirt hard been, but it’s still no match for my knife; I’m even able to saw through his leather belt in less than seven seconds.

 

I’m pleased.  I’ve honed this blade to a razor sharpness; my work is about to pay off.

 

Within about a minute, the kid is lying nude—of course the little fucker is commando; despite his denials, he’s been lookin’ for dick—on the Astroturf, only his Adidas hightops left to him.  “That shirt cost me thirty-five bucks!” the teen wails.

 

I squat beside him, fondling the silky-smooth skin of his back and his thighs.  This boy is small but strong; I can feel the muscles moving under his flesh as he squirms and kicks and tries to evade my touch.  “Get yer hands off me, ya fuckin’ sicko!” he yells as squeeze the firm, tender mounds of his asscheeks.

 

“Ok,” I say, pulling my hands back, “After all, puttin’ my hands on you ain’t anywhere near as much fun as what I’m gonna be puttin’ in ya.”

 

He goes quiet for a moment as I place the tip of the blade against the back of his neck and slide it, slowly and sensually, down the center of his back, following his spine down to the crack of his ass.  My touch is light; there’s not enough pressure to break the skin—just enough to remind the fuckboy why he’s in this position.

 

After a moment, he speaks with a sob.  “You—oh god, go slow, please—you-you’ll be the first, just d-don’t hurt me.  Okay?  Please?”

 

There’s a crack in his voice as he pleads that makes my cock throb.  I stand up and grin.  He rolls on his side to look up at me with hope and fear in his eyes.  I reach down, unbutton and unzip my jeans and let my hog flop out.

 

Once T-Money sees my dick, his demeanor changes.  The latent little faggot had been willing to get fucked in theory, as long as he could convince himself that he was forced into and didn’t really want it.  Once he sees the size of my tackle, though, he knows that this is gonna hurt—bad.  Real bad.  I don’t like to boast, but I’m hung like a stallion.  When I fuck a bitch, he stays fucked.

 

For good.

 

“Shit, dude, I can’t take that,” the helpless teen whispers, his wide eyes focused on my pulsating rod.  I step behind him, planting my combat boots on each side of his legs and lowering my jeans to my knees.  Kneeling, I slap the huge purple head of my schlong against the boy’s ass, spattering it with hot precum.

 

“No,” he begs, “For fuck’s sake, get some lube, man, yer gonna make me bleed!”

 

“Fuck yeah I am, you stupid cunt,” I whisper, mounting him like an animal and inserting my shaft into his ass.  I shove as hard as I can, encountering such stiff resistance from the kid’s clenched sphincter that for a moment I’m almost worried that I’m gonna bend my dick.  Then I can feel the flesh tear in his rectum and my cock slams home, penetrating the full length of his colon and sinking the head of my tool deep into his intestines.  I chuckle when I feel my wiry pubes grinding against those smooth buttcheeks of his.

 

“Guess you were right about one thing,” I jeer, “Damn sure made ya bleed.”

 

The teen is unable to enjoy my taunt; he’s screaming in pain—loud shrieks that end in sobs.  I laugh at his pain.  “G’wan, scream like a little girl, ya fuckin’ pussy.  Ain’t no one around for miles.  Every time ya scream, yer ass tickles my dick, so keep it up, cunt—it feels fuckin’ great!”

 

I know he heard that one, because he tries to stop.  He can’t be completely quiet; he’s in far too much pain, but he does manage to subdue his outburst to low sobbing moans.  “Aw, you spoilsport,” I whisper, “Here, lessee if ya like this, then.”

 

All I’d done so far was to merely mount and penetrate the teen.  Now I started fucking him, reaming my thick, vein-wrapped shaft in and out of his asshole.  Each brutal pump of my hips tore his sphincter fractionally more; as he bled internally, I could feel the warm liquid flow on my cock.

 

This fresh new source of pain drew an immediate reaction.  “Fuck, no!” he screeched, “Get outta me!  Oh God, no, yer tearin’ me open!  Get the fuck outta me!”

 

I reach one hand down under him, jamming it up under his flat belly and working my way down to his dick.  It ain’t huge, but it’s respectable—and it’s hard.  I knew it would be; my rod is grinding against his prostate like it’s drillin’ for oil, so the motherfucker can’t help his erection.  I grab hold of it and start jacking.

 

“Shaddup, ya dumbass little homo,” I hiss in his ear.  “You fuckin’ love it, dontcha?  You worthless teenage faggot—so full of hormones and sperm; all you needed was a real man to come along and drain it all outta ya, right?  You young pups are all the same—you just need a genuine alpha to load you up with manseed and put you in your place.”

 

“Uhhh…” the punk moans, still sobbing.  His legs are thrashing, his Adidas kicks scrabbling against the Astroturf, seeking purchase, but he can’t get any traction.  I’m lying on top of him, my chest against his back, and I can feel the fingers of his bound hands clenching and clawing at the coarse, dark hair on my abs.

 

I pump the slut’s ass like a steam piston.  He’s starting to accommodate himself to my rod; that’s a shame.  I want it to hurt him.  It doesn’t feel as good if he’s not in pain, and the more pain he’s in, the better it feels.  Then I remember—in all the swiftness of the rape, the kid hasn’t noticed the mirror.

 

“Hey boy,” I whisper, “Look up.”

 

Moaning and crying, the fucker ignores me—so I grab a handful of his hair and jerk his head back.  “I said look up, asswipe.”

 

His head bent back, he opens his eyes and finds he’s looking himself in the tear-stained, snot-streaked face.  Looking up a little higher, he meets my eyes and I grin cheerfully at him.  “Hey there, cunt,” I smirk, “Ya feelin’ me yet?”

 

I squeeze his dick hard, feeling the thick, erect shaft of flesh pulse moistly in my hand.  He moans loudly, a sound somewhere between pleasure and pain, and I know he’s starting to submit.  He’s starting to relax, accepting my cock and letting it plunge deep into his guts with less resistance.  He’s starting to enjoy getting fucked.

 

And I’m starting not to enjoy fucking him.  The resistance it what feels good.  I like it when the meat’s ass clenches in agony on my tool.  Once the little pansy starts accepting my cock, it means I’ve reamed him out and I need to find a way to re-tighten his fuckhole.

 

“Oh…oh…oh, yeah…” the adolescent faggot is moaning as I plow his hole.  In the mirror, I can see that his face is still taut and pale with pain, but there’s a hint of a smile in his expression.

 

“Goddam, I knew you were a cumguzzlin’ queer-ass fairy,” I sneer at the kid; he opens his eyes wide and stares at me in the mirror, bewilderment written on his face.  “I’m the real man who’s gonna give you exactly what you deserve—and what you deserve is a nice long dirt nap.  I’m gonna put you in yer place, and yer place is dead and rottin’ in a ditch.  Now don’t that sound fuckin’ hot as hell?”

 

“Wha—what?” he asks, his huge brown eyes focused on mine with sudden laser intensity.  “What’re ya sayin’?  Wh-what’s goin’ on?”

 

“It ain’t what’s goin’ on,” I reply, “It’s what’s goin’ in.  You’re getting loose, asshole.  Yer fuckhole’s wearin’ out.  How many cocks you had up there, you fuckin’ whore?  What—didja bang the whole football team at yer school?  Only one way to tighten up a reamed-out fag hole, ya sperm-suckin’ homo, and that’s with pain.  I’m gonna hurt you, asswipe.  I’m gonna hurt you so fuckin’ bad yer gonna pray for death—but you ain’t gonna die till ya milked the load outta my shaft.  Remember that, boy.  You can end it any time ya want, but ya gotta make me cum to do it.”

 

And without another word—or any warning whatsoever—I stick the knife into the punk’s back.

 

I know what I’m doing; I’ve done this before.  I can have a lot of fun with my meat and a sharp implement as long as I avoid the vital areas.  And there’s a surprisingly large number of excruciatingly sensitive non-vital areas on the human body—I’ve kept meat alive for over an hour, screaming itself hoarse.

 

In this case, I’ve inserted the knife just below the ribcage and angled it upwards.  If my aim is correct—and it is—the razor-sharp steel slices through the kid’s right kidney and impales his liver.

 

The reaction is exactly what I’d hoped.  The meat screams, his voice rising to a pitch he’d not yet achieved, as his body goes rigid with trauma and shock, gripping my engorged dick life a tight velvet fist.  “Oh fuck yeah, now that’s what I’m talkin’ about!” I grunt with a satisfied sigh as the teen faggot shrieks in agony.  He buries his face in the floor as his entire body shudders rigidly—but I still have one hand on his cock, and I felt it pulse as I stuck him.  Little fuck can say he don’t like it, but we both know the truth.

 

It doesn’t matter how much he screams and cries and begs, he wants this.  And I’m the man to give it to him.

 

I leave the knife embedded in his back as I pump my erect shaft into his torn and bleeding rectum.  The punk howls in pain, thrashing under my weight.  It’s hot in here and I’m sweating—so is the kid, but his is a cold rank sweat forced out of his smooth young body by suffering.  But I only get about a half-dozen good deep thrusts before his ass starts to go loose again.

 

“Jeez, you’re a worthless assfuck, you bitch,” I sneer, drowning out the boy’s wailing.  “Yer ass muscle goes as limp as a flat tire in five minutes.  Guess I gotta keep tighten’ you manually, huh?  That what it’s gonna take to keep you workin’ my shaft right?  Goddam, yer one sick-ass painpig, aintcha?”

 

I jerk my blade out of his back and, transferring it to my left hand, slip it into his flank, as smooth as a hot knife into butter.  The vicious serrated barbs rip their way through the boywhore’s pancreas and into his spleen and again, he stiffens instinctively with massive internal organ trauma.

 

“Does that feel good, ya sack a’ shit?” I whisper erotically into his ear as he shudders and gasps, too far gone in shock to scream.  “Yer a lucky faggot, y’know?  You get to have two long hard shafts stuck in ya today, hah!”  I rub my free hand down his smooth, slick back; there’s very little blood from the wound I’ve made there—most of the bleeding is internal.  His lithe teenage body writhes and kicks and I can feel each shudder as it resonates in his colon and down my thick, engorged cock.

 

“No…” he moans shakily, his voice thick and slow with agony, “P-please…no…stop…”

 

“Stop?” I guffaw.  “I’m just gettin’ started.  Dude, I’m gonna jack up yer ass so fuckin’ bad they’re gonna have to use DNA to ID yer rottin’ meat.”   I look into his eyes but the little fuck lowers his head and sobs; I can’t see his face.

 

“Look at me when I’m talkin’ to ya, you dumbass motherfucker,” I snarl and twist the knife in the wound, gouging out huge chunks of his pancreas.  It gives me the reaction I want; the meat raises his head and squeals like a stuck pig—which is exactly what he is.

 

“Learnin’ yer lesson yet, boy?” I growl.

 

“F-fu-fuck you,” he moans between teeth gritted in agony.

 

“Wrong answer,” I say.  And it is.  I show him just how wrong by jerking the knife out of his side with a flourish that spatters blood on the side wall of the van.  Switching the wickedly sharp blade between one hand and the other, I poke his back with the tip—just enough to break the skin and elicit a tense yelp from the cunt, but doing no real damage.  Yet.

 

“Where’s it gonna go, boy?  What part of ya is gonna be lucky enough to feel the cold sharp bite of my blade?  What area of yer flesh do ya want ripped open by my serrated steel blade, you teenage fuckwad?”  I make damn sure that as I’m poking him with the knife, his boyhole is getting all the attention it deserves from my dick.  “Make up yer mind quick, you cumsuckin’ shit, cause yer ass is gettin’ loose again.  Where do ya want me to stick ya and make ya tight again?”

 

The kid is groaning sluggishly; he’s bleeding internally, but not badly enough to be in imminent danger of dying.  On the other hand, shock is setting in.  That makes it hard to keep his attention.  He needs more pain, and I need to make it drastic.

 

I reach around, down and behind, and place the tip of the blade against the punk’s taint, just behind his scrotum.  I can feel his puckered balls—pulsating sacks of sperm, shifted into overdrive by relentless adolescent hormones.  There’s a lot of things going on in a very small space in this part of the body; I had to do a bit of research to get this move down right.  I wanna see how this will work on live meat.

 

I did practice, once, on some fuckmeat that was already dead.  But that’s a story for another time.  At any rate, I’m fairly certain I know what I’m doing here.  With a loud grunt and a powerful flex of my large bicep, I shove the blade up into the scumbag’s body, behind his balls.

 

The angle of the blade is the most important thing.  It slides up between the prostate and the pubic symphysis, a mass of cartilage in the front of the groin.  The serrated steel slashes the kid’s vas deferens, separating his seminal vesicles from his penis but leaving the testicles intact.  When I yank the blade out, tearing the wound even wider, there’s a gush of warm yellow fluid—the tip of the knife had punctured the little shit’s bladder.  The muscles at the base of his cock, clenched tight due to the crushing pressure my monster hog was exerting on his prostate, had blocked the flow of his urethra at that point.

 

Now I’d cut an alternate path through his taint.  The teen was pissing himself though the knife wound.

 

This is a pain that he’d never imagined existed.  Soft suburban meat, learning the true meaning of suffering.  His head is up, his eyes meet mine in the mirror, but he’s not looking at me.  He’s looking at Hell.  I know he can see it burning in my eyes; the expression on his face tells me so.  Goddam, it’s so fuckin’ hot—he’s so cute and he’s suffering so horribly, so erotically, I just wish I could keep torturing him for eternity.

 

His mouth is open; he’s screaming, but no sound is coming out.  The pain is too great to be released that way.  “Aw, fuck yeah,” I moan in his ear, “Now you’re gettin’ it, faggot.  Now you’re working my cock right.  All I had to do was hurt ya in the right way to make ya nice and tight.  That’s it, ya worthless homo cunt, milk my shaft.”

 

His body is trembling uncontrollably; his white kicks knocking against my combat boots and his bound hands still clutching uselessly at my belly fur.  He’s making gasping and grunting noises as the flow of bloody piss from his mangled taint slows to a drip.  Suddenly, he inhales in a great shuddering breath.

 

“K-kill me…” he gasps, his tormented face white and taut in the mirror.  “P-please, n-no more, man…just-just kill me, dear God, just end it…”  He looks at me, a silent plea for mercy—those puppy-dog eyes are begging for euthanasia.

 

“You worthless faggot,” I sneer, riding his thrashing ass like a bucking bronco, “You wanna die?  Ok, cunt, I’ll waste yer useless as, but first I’m gonna make it my own personal cum dumpster.  Get up, bitch—on yer knees!”

 

I lean back and pull myself up onto my knees; grabbing a hank of the kid’s long hard, now darkened and slick with sweat, I drag him up too, keeping my thick engorged tool buried in his guts as I change position.  When we’re both on our knees in front of the mirror, I keep one hand in his hair, pulling his head back with his chin slightly raised.  The other hand still has the knife.  I hold it up in front of him.  This is the first time he’s seen it up close.

 

“Look at it, you piece of shit,” I whisper to the shuddering, sobbing teen.  “That’s your blood dripping off of it.  See those shreds of flesh caught in the serrations?  That’s part of yer guts, brah; ain’t that hot?  Sure ya wanna end the fun now?  I mean, lookit how hard yer cock is, faggot.”

 

His brown eyes, ringed with great black circles of shock, look up at mine with an almost insane intensity.  His dick was slapping rapidly against his belly in time to his frantic, pain-maddened pulse.  The little shit must be bleeding heavily inside by now, but my huge dick plugging his ass kept his cock rock-hard and throbbing.

 

Suddenly I can feel the electric tingling in my balls, and I know I’m about to shoot my wad.  “Ok motherfucker,” I growl at the dying kid, “Here’s what’s gonna happen.  I’m gonna take this long sharp blade and I’m gonna cut your throat.  I’m gonna slice open the tender flesh of your neck, but when I get to your trachea—that’s the windpipe, you stupid little fuck—well, that’s made out of gristle, and I’m gonna have to saw it open.  Think I’ll cut ya so I have to saw open your larynx, too—that’ll take some time, so you’ll get to enjoy it longer.  Sound like fun?  Fuck yeah, bitch, let’s get rockin’ and rollin’!”

 

Now that he’s been told what’s gonna happen to him and he can see the weapon that’s gonna be used, he changes his tune.  I’ve been expecting it; even in nightmarish agony, the young ones hesitate when push comes to shove.

 

“Oh my fuckin’ God, no…” he whispers, a catch in his strained, pain-filled voice as he begs.  “Please don’t, just make it end, I don’t wanna hurt no more, please, just make it stop…”

 

“Even when it stops, I’m still gonna be fuckin’ yer ass,” I jeer.  “Now shaddup and die, you worthless shit.”  Yanking his head back, I place the blade up against his throat and start slicing.

 

His flesh parts swiftly, almost eagerly, as it seems to open up at the merest touch of the knife.  Blood flows from the wound—a small trickle at first but soon becoming a hot, coppery gush.  The kid’s taut, lean body is rigid, tightly clenched in mortal pain.

 

“Oh hell yeah, cunt, milk my shaft as ya die,” I grunt, my physical pleasure ringing in my voice— he knows as his life blood jets from his throat in time to his panicked pulse that his pain and death are bringing me to orgasm.  The little asswipe should appreciate the honor.

 

As I’d told him, I had to slow down once I hit the esophagus; it’s a stiff and rubbery piece of tissue.  He starts shrieking as I begin to cut in.  “Oh God no Jesus Christ help me fuckin’ stoAAAGGHHH—”

 

At the last second, his scream spirals up an octave as I pierce his windpipe, allowing his breath to whistle out of the hole I’ve cut in his throat.  The thrashing teen can’t scream anymore; all he can do is make thick gargling sounds as he coughs up his own blood.

 

His body is still so stiff and hard it’s quivering; his ass has my dick in a deathgrip, squeezing it and jerking it like it’s deliberately trying to make me cum. His fingers are clutching at my hard flat abs in agony, unable to get a purchase on my skin, slick with sweat.  All he can do is grasp at my wiry body fur.  His smooth, firm legs are kicking and shuddering, the Adidas Top Tens knocking against my black combat boots.

 

I’ve got a teenaged boy dying in horrible pain in my arms and on my cock and it feels fuckin’ fantastic.

 

I toss the knife down; I don’t need it any more.  He’s bleeding heavily from his throat but I’ve managed to do no more than nick either the jugular vein or the carotid artery—which means he’s gonna remain conscious for maybe another forty-five seconds before his heart starts going into arrhythmia from overwhelming blood loss.

 

I’m still gripping a handful of his hair, more to keep him upright than anything else.  I put my free hand to good use—reaching around his sweaty, heaving torso, I grab his thick cock, still amazingly erect, and start jacking him.

 

“C’mon, motherfucker, just fuckin’ die,” I whisper in his ear as he trembles and gargles his blood.  “You want this.  Deep inside, you needed a man to fuck you and put you down like the piece of shit you are.  I’m about to blow, cunt.  Last thing yer gonna feel in your useless faggot life is my hot manseed hosin’ down yer guts—”

 

He doesn’t give me a chance to finish.  His body jerks violently in my arms and I can feel a powerful throbbing spasm in his dick. It erupts in a geyser of teen boycum, sending a jet of sperm up almost to the roof of the van before falling back to spatter viscously on the mirror.

 

I can’t control it anymore; the pressure in my balls is too intense.  Howling and cursing, I pump my spunk up the meat’s ass.  I’m still holding the kid’s dick; I jerk it and crank it mercilessly.  As powerful as my ejaculations are, I’m still able to notice something in the mirror—a puddle of milky fluid under the meat’s scrote.

 

It takes me a minute to realize that I’d severed the kid’s vas deferens when I jammed my blade into his taint; the seminal vesicles were behind the cut, and they produce the fluid in semen.

 

The kid wasn’t just cumming outta his dick, he was cumming outta the hole I’d sliced in him.

 

The meat is gone.  His eyes have rolled back into his head and his body jerks as he strains to breathe, air wheezing sickeningly through the gash in his windpipe.  Pearly beads of cum are oozing from his hard cock as I let him go, the rank sweaty boymeat slumping lifelessly to the floor.  One of his legs twitches randomly, his hightop sneaker scuffling momentarily on the Astroturf, then he’s still.

 

T-Money is cashed out.

 

I pull out and roll over on my back.  Fuck, that was so fuckin’ good.  I just need a little nap…

 


 

It’s still warm in the van when I wake up, and the sun is still up, so I haven’t been asleep for long.  I grab the shredded remains of the punk’s Nirvana shirt and use it to brush off the dried smears of blood on my chest from the boy’s back wounds.  He’s still laying on the AstroTurf, hunched over with his ass in the air, his legs spread with his kicks splayed out, forming a perfect V leading to his fuckhole.  His face is buried in the floor; his long sandy blond hair fanned out around his head.

 

From the rear, I can see that the dead kid’s taint is completely crusted with dried cum—some of his that leaked from the hole I’d cut and the rest is mine, leaked from his torn asshole.

 

Goddam, I’m hard again.

 

I’ve already reamed out the meat’s ass; I need a new hole to fuck.  I give the corpse a good hard kick, my boot making contact with its belly and flip it over onto its back.  From here I can see the pale face and blue lips, the gruesome slash that opened the throat, exposing the severed trachea—

 

—a nice firm hole just waiting for my shaft.  Fuck yeah.

 

I squat over the dead boy’s head, facing his feet, and feed my erect tool into the mangled esophagus.  The flesh is still warm and pliant, almost moist, and it seems to cling to my thick, throbbing rod.  I sit on the corpse’s face and throatfuck it for another seven or eight minutes, my hands fondling the smooth limp body.  The dead punk jerks with every pump of my hog, his Adidas kicks scraping as his legs twitch.

 

This time, I have no warning.  Suddenly, I find myself hunched over in orgasmic spasm, shooting a load down the kid’s windpipe and into his lungs.  I remain straddling the corpse for another couple of minutes, regaining my breath, before I pull my dick back out of the cut throat.  Standing up, I pull up my jeans and tuck my shaft back into ‘em.

 

Time to dump the meat.  I open the rear doors, flooding the interior with the bright golden light of late-afternoon summer.  The drainage ditch is only a yard away, beyond the foot-high guardrail.  The ditch is deep, too; it’s a good fifteen feet to the bottom.

 

The kid is laying splayed on his back, his hands still bound behind him, naked but for his kicks.  I’m still not satisfied.  I owned this little motherfucker, and I want everyone to know it. And then an idea comes to me.

 

I grab the knife in one hand and the meat’s scrotum in the other and start cutting.  It takes less than sixty seconds to completely remove the dead fag’s cock and balls.  I bend over the corpse and grin.  “Stupid little homo, all ya wanted was some beer.  Hope it was worth it.”

 

Then I shove the severed genitalia into the throat wound, tucking the kid’s cock into his trachea, where it slid in smoothly on a lube of my cum.  If they find him before he rots, they’ll find him choking on his own dick.

 

I drag the meat out and over the guardrail, dropping it unceremoniously and watching it tumble down the embankment into the trickle of muddy water at the bottom.  I return to the van and gather up the remains of the clothing, then toss them over the rail as well.  I notice that one of the slut’s Adidas sneakers had evidently caught on the rail and been jerked off; it was sitting upright at the edge of the concrete.

 

I left it there and climbed into the van.  Fifteen minutes later, I was merging onto the highway, heading for a DIY car wash over on Third that I’d used before; I still needed to hoes out the back of the van.  Just as I entered the highway, I heard a rattling sound from the floorboards on the passenger side.  I shot a quick glimpse over there and realized I still had the fuckmeat’s skateboard.

 

It was probably dangerous to unbuckle my seatbelt and lunge across the cab, keeping one hand on the wheel, but I managed to snag the board without any major repercussions.  Just as I reached my exit, I rolled down the window and tossed the skateboard out onto the highway.  I kept an eye on it in my rearview mirror as I headed down the exit ramp; it bounced across two lanes before being run over by a semi.  It was destroyed, crushed to pieces.

 

It makes me feel even better.  I’m still tingling with afterglow as go to wash out my killing pit.

The Club by Gay Slavemeat Gsmeat2@gmail.com

Bill’s lust was mostly for smooth “muscle boys” who were young, trim, sexually eager, and very well built. He liked the “twink” variety best, if they had worked out to perfect their amazing smooth young bodies. Using his ample cock to fuck their tight bubble-butt assholes was his favourite hobby – and he did it often. Money was not an issue for Bill, being extremely successful in his business, so he could well afford to rent the kind of male meat he liked. He just expected the meat to obey his every whim and please him however, wherever, and whenever he felt like being serviced.

In terms of Bill’s “rentals” there was no question Paul was his best find ever. The young stud had recently moved from Dallas to Tampa, and adopted “Paul Paulson” as a stage name for his career as a male prostitute. That’s how Bill had found him, through a web service that included pictures and reviews. They were all positive – every guy who reviewed Paul commented on how well he sucked cock, how friendly he was, and what a truly great body he possessed. Paul was about medium height, just right for good 69 sessions, and his body was in absolutely perfect shape, reflecting the hours of workouts he put in every day. His skin was smooth and mostly hairless, except for a little clump around his very appealing crotch, which included a larger than usual scrotum that caused his balls to hang a little lower than the usual male equipment, so they were easy for Bill to massage with his mouth. Paul didn’t have a massive cock, but it was decently sized, uncut, and very functional. Paul had no problem getting and maintaining his erections, which reflected a combination of his youth (he was 20) and his great physical shape. All of this really turned Bill on, and his orgasms were pretty explosive when he rented Paul for an evening’s fun.

Bill particularly remembered one evening, when they had ventured out of Paul’s condo and enjoyed themselves at a local gay strip club. They rated the dancers in a joking way over a beer or two, and they agreed that one guy in particular had an especially sexy body. The dancer was named Matt, and he didn’t waste any time stripping for Paul and Dave. He started out completely naked – unlike the other guys, he even was barefoot. The only things he had on were a tight, yellow collar that highlighted his tanned skin and had a ring to which a leash could be attached, and a set of metal rings around his scrotum and his cock that held them tight and rigid and were in turn secured in place with a small padlock. His cock was erect and bounced in front of him as he danced, the cock restraints helping to keep it that way.

“There’s no place to put a tip,” Bill hollered over the loud music.   Bill was always more than willing to pay for his sexual entertainment.

”I am a sex slave, sir, merely live male meat provided by the bar owner for your amusement. Slaves don’t deserve tips, sir. We simply exist to serve our owners. My master told me to dance for the two of you, and to let you use my body however you would like.”

“Who owns you,” Paul inquired, curious and also very aroused by the image of the beautiful young boy dancing in front of him for his amusement while adorned with appropriate slave insignias. While Paul worked as a prostitute, he never made himself that available, and limited what his customers could do with him.

“Mr. Jameson, the owner, purchased me at an auction last week along with some other furniture for the bar, sir, but I believe he intends to sell me. Of course, that’s none of my business and I obviously have no say in the matter.” The boy had been stroking his dick, and now had an even harder erection that was pointing nearly straight up in front of him, but still bouncing as he moved. That turned on Bill and Paul even more.

Bill recognized the name and asked the waiter to see if Mr. Jameson would like to chat with him, and the bar owner wandered over to their table shortly afterwards. By then Matt was on all fours in front of the two interested patrons, letting them examine his tight young ass and stroke his cock. Paul was taking full advantage of the opportunity.

“So, Bill, do you like my new purchase?” asked Mr. Jameson. “As you can tell, it’s really well trained and I figured it could be a feature at our meeting next weekend.”

“Stan!” came Bill’s startled reply. “I recognized your name when the slave told us who owned it, but I had no idea you owned this place. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just bought it at an auction last week. The prior owner went bust. It turned out the meat you and your buddy are enjoying was his too, so I added a couple of bucks and bought myself a little boy-flesh. Feel free to do whatever you like to him, by the way, and now that I own the place it’s OK for customers to get naked and fuck in the bar itself. I figure that will help business, and it just costs a little extra with the local cops. Mostly I just let them in for free fucks.”

Bill and Paul were already shirtless, since Bill liked to look at Paul’s amazing body and have Paul stroke his own very attractive skin, but at Bill’s signal they now both stripped completely. Both had gotten hard watching Matt and the other dancers, so they were ready for action.

“Looks like you guys are ready for some fucking. Trust me; this shithead is a great piece of meat to fuck. Do you want it on its belly or on its back?” Stan inquired. “My suggestion is to have it lay across the table on its belly so one of you can fuck its butt while it sucks off the other guy. It might as well get used to being spit-roasted.” Matt picked up on the instructions and quickly positioned himself as suggested for maximum use by the two favoured patrons. Stan reached into his pocket and pulled out several short pieces of rope, which he quickly used to tie each of his slave’s hands and feet to one of the legs of the table, making the boy completely vulnerable and unable to resist. Given Matt’s training and attitude that was hardly necessary, but it clearly added to the ambiance.

“Once you two are done using it, I figure the rest of the bar might as well have a turn. I don’t plan to keep the slave long, so I am not too worried if it gets a little used up.”

“Well, don’t let it get too damaged,” Bill urged. “We do want to have a good meeting.”

“Oh, I’ll make sure it’s still useful,” Stan assured. “But what about your buddy here? I am guessing he’s a whore and I’d sure like to have him join us. He’s a lot better looking than my little boy toy. He’d be a huge hit if you brought him.”

“Well, he is a prostitute,” Bill intoned, “but he’s not into being a slave, and he generally does not let other guys fuck him. But, frankly, he’s so good looking and such a great cocksucker and kisser that I’m OK with that.”

Paul wasn’t very pleased with the conversation. He was very proud, and although he knew that he had to provide service in his role as a prostitute, he viewed it as a profession, worthy of respect from his customers. He did not like being referred to like a commodity. However, Bill paid extremely well, so he let it pass for now.

“Well, it’s obviously up to you,” Stan continued, openly admiring Paul’s now fully exposed body and taking the liberty of caressing his smooth, beautiful skin. “But as club president this year, Ill waive your whole year’s membership fee if you bring him.  I think we can recruit more of the right kind of members if we improve the quality of our guests.”

As Stan wandered off to tend to other customers and invite them to join in the fucking, Paul inquired what Stan was referring to. Despite being a little offended, he was also certainly curious.

“It’s a gay sex club I belong to that’s very exclusive. Each member brings a young guy to join in the weekly orgy, and we vote on which guest is the best looking, best fuck, and has the best attitude. The guys get rewards accordingly. It’s a whole lot of fun, and if you’d be interested I am pretty sure you’d at least win best looking. That’s a $5,000 prize, and obviously it would be in addition to your usual fee and tip. The only hitch is that you do have to wear slave gear and agree to be butt-fucked.” Bill had seen the spark of interest, and really wanted to get Paul to attend. He especially wanted to fuck Paul’s young bubble-butt, which Paul had not yet permitted. Paul was such an amazing stud that it would not only be a lot of fun but it would also impress the other members. Bill had joined only recently and was still trying to assure a good impression. All the members were extremely wealthy, so they brought really good looking studs and set the prize money very high.

“Well, maybe so – that’s a lot of money, after all. But you’d have to assure me they would follow my limits. I don’t mind a little S&M, but I am a top, not a bottom.”

“That’s not the usual approach, but I think it wouldn’t be a problem,” assured Bill, still hoping to get his cock into Paul’s backside. “The rules are very clear on all that sort of thing. We want everyone to have a great time and we especially value our guests.”

“OK, I’m game.” Bill was so thrilled at the prospect that he grabbed Paul by the back of the neck and pulled him close so he could provide a very enthusiastic kiss. They then took turns using the young slave tied to the table, with Bill so excited that he even let Paul have the first turn fucking the boy’s asshole while Bill inserted his own cock into the eager young mouth. As they fucked, they leaned over and continued their kissing session, eventually bringing each other to a fabulous mutual orgasm that drew applause from the other customers who had crowded around to enjoy the show. They were so into each other that they hadn’t noticed the crowd forming, but that too turned them on. So they traded places, and the slave cleaned Paul’s cock with his mouth as Paul regained an erection and then enjoyed a great blow job while Bill also restored his vigour and enjoyed fucking the recently used asshole. This time they were very aware of the crowd, and enjoyed being cheered on as they used the submissive young male flesh for their second round of orgasms. Not being greedy, they ordered drinks for the house while they watched the rest of the customers fuck the house slave and each other. It wasn’t long before someone produced a whip, and Mat’s back and butt were terrific targets, as were his belly, cock and balls when they turned him over to get a little variety into the torture. Matt thanked each of the customers for taking the trouble to use him for their pleasure, which was quite well received. So was the implication of Matt’s yellow slave collar, which signalled that there was no need to go the bathroom to piss – everyone’s urine just went down Matt’s throat.  It was a great evening, and when the bar finally closed Matt was left tied to the table with the whip resting on his belly.  “Might as well let the clean-up crew have some fun, too,” Stan said thoughtfully. “But I am aware they’ll just make the slave do all the work cleaning up, which is OK by me. He’s a good worker, and fun to watch as he walks around naked doing the chores. I insist that the rest of the clean-up crew is also naked, so it is a good show of whipping, fucking, and cleaning. I think I’ll stay to watch. I might as well get as much use as possible out of my new slave while I can.” Bill and Paul then returned to Paul’s condo for yet another sex session, joined by two of Paul’s roommates who also worked as prostitutes. It was an expensive evening for Bill, which didn’t matter at all since it was one he would always remember.

The following Saturday could hardly come soon enough for Bill, who was still quite excited at the prospect of having Paul join him at his club. They met at Bill’s house, and started the evening with a casual drink and a very relaxing 69 that got their sexual juices nicely aroused. Bill didn’t have them actually achieve orgasms; he wanted to be sure they had lots of sperm ready to go for the evening’s fun.

“This is a very unique club,” Bill explained. “All the members are extremely wealthy and extremely fit. We don’t let anyone in who doesn’t measure up both financially and physically, so there really aren’t any limits to the entertainment we can afford and everyone there is a turn-on. I don’t think there’s any other club quite like it.

“There is only one rule that will affect you. It is required that guests arrive naked and wear a slave collar. That way we can start the evaluations for the prizes right away. So you’ll need to strip once we get there, and I figure we can leave your stuff in my car. I brought a couple of collars you can choose from. Is that OK?”

Paul was a little taken aback, but had to admit to himself that he liked being naked and showing off his body to other guys, and he really liked orgies. The slave collar also, to his surprise, had the effect of turning him on. So, almost to his own surprise, he agreed. In fact, starting to get into the spirit of the evening, he suggested he just strip and leave his stuff in Bill’s house, knowing it would please Bill to be able to look at his naked flesh on the ride over and play with Paul’s cock while Bill drove. Paul would also make sure to get an erection, so he would arrive looking impressive. Bill showed Paul the selection of collars, and Paul picked out one that was simple leather and somewhat wide, with a hook to which a leash could be attached. Paul laughingly told Bill he might as well go for the full effect, but secretly he hoped Bill would indeed find a leash. With that, Paul stripped, they finished their drinks, and Bill drove them to the site of the club.

To Paul’s surprise, the club was located in the warehouse district, and it appeared to be just another warehouse from the outside. Bill explained that this made it convenient to get to, being close to town, and it helped assure no one bothered them or became aware of the club. “We value our privacy,” he explained. “And don’t let the outside fool you û inside its pretty awesome.”

When they got out of the car, Bill opened the trunk and surprised Paul with an added option–a leash. “It’s clearly your choice, Paul, but if you really want to go for the full effect, this should do it.” To Bill’s surprise and delight, Paul quickly agreed. So Bill approached the door to the warehouse holding Paul’s leash, with his beautiful rented slave walking dutifully behind him, naked, obedient, collared, leashed, and aroused.

Bill had not misrepresented how nice the interior of the club was. As soon as they entered, a very handsome young male respectfully greeted Bill and welcomed him. Bill stood still while the young man undressed him, carefully storing Bill’s clothes in a locker. He attached the end of the leash to a nearby post, as one would do with an owner’s horse in the Old West before the owner entered a saloon. Paul was impressed with the obvious symbolism, but not put off. He was really starting to get into the scene and wondered what would happen next.

Once Bill was naked, the doorman knelt in front of him and proceeded to suck on Bill’s cock until it was nice and hard. The combination of the doorman’s own nakedness and great body with the reality of having Paul so obviously willing to play meant that this process took no time at all. But Bill let the doorman take his time, enjoying the expert attention to his favorite muscle.

Once they passed through the next door, Paul was overwhelmed. The place was huge, and it was fantastic. There were bars in various strategic locations that featured whatever the members wanted to drink, and cushioned lounges everywhere for the comfort of the members while they played with each other and their guests. Best of all, there was a very large and comfortable looking mat in the middle of the room, which was obviously for the upcoming orgy.

Paul was also amazed by the quality of the male flesh that filled the room. While some of the guys were a bit older (obviously members), as Bill had promised every one of them was in great physical shape and very appealing sexually. The ‘guests’ were even better–Paul even felt there might be some competition on who was the best fuck, and determined to be sure he won the prize nonetheless. It wasn’t just the money (although that helped), it was now a matter of pride. Paul let Bill know that he would, after all, be willing to be butt-fucked and planned to win all three of the prizes. Bill, of course, was thrilled. Paul had never allowed Bill inside his ass before, and had claimed it was still virgin.

Bill quickly spotted his friend Stan and led Paul over to show off his prize. Stan was talking to another member, who was also showing off his guest. But Stan’s attention quickly turned to Paul when Bill led him over, and Stan’s interest was clear. While the other stud had gotten some arousal from Stan, the sight of Paul naked and erect with a collar and a leash obviously turned him on, and Stan made no effort to hide the effect. After all, displaying hard cocks was one goal of the evening.

“Well, this is a very pleasant surprise,” Stan said by way of greeting. “I guess I’ll have to waive your dues after all. But I sure don’t mind doing so.”

It was then that Paul had an inspired idea. He bowed to Bill, and knelt down in front of Stan, offering his mouth to service Stan’s cock. Like a good slave, he didn’t presume to touch it, but the offer was clear and respectful, waiting for permission and instructions.

“Wow. Did you even train him? This is quite impressive given what you told me the other night.” With that, Stan signaled his assent to Paul, who proceeded to take Stan’s manhood into his mouth and start massaging it. As Bill knew, Paul was probably the world’s greatest cocksucker, and Stan was so turned on that he actually began to moan in pleasure.

“This guy is awesome!” Stan exclaimed. “No wonder you put up with his limits. He’s clearly worth it.” But with that, Stan signaled Paul to release his manhood. “OK, I’m sold. But I don’t want to shoot just yet. However, when I do I want you to do the job. So do hang around.”

Bill and Stan giggled a little, just between them. Stan then asked if Paul had agreed to be butt-fucked, or if that was still off limits. Bill told him no, but that Paul had agreed to fucked for the first time tonight.

“Wow. That’s terrific,” gushed Stan, which also had the effect of getting Paul more aroused. “It’s all up to you and Bill of course, but if you’re up for a gang bang I’d sure love to be one of the first to enter. I’m guessing Bill wants the #1 shot.”

“Where’s the boy-toy you had at your club?” Bill asked. “He was pretty decent looking and clearly well trained. I wouldn’t mind playing with him a little as a start to the evening.”

“Oh, he’s here all right,” responded Stan. “I’ve got him spread-eagled in the playroom. Feel free to do whatever you like– but just don’t do anything that will spoil our fun for later on.”

“Of course not,” Bill promised. “But I feel like a little bit of a workout and he looked like an animal that would respond well to being whipped before being fucked.”

“Either way, my friend,” was Stan’s laughing response. “But if you want the opening fuck of the evening you’re probably too late. I think some of the other guys have discovered him. But you might get in the first flogging.”

Bill led Paul to a nearby room, which turned out to be the clubs extremely well equipped dungeon. That’s also where most of the members and their guests had congregated, and clearly Stan’s slave Matt was a part of the reason. The young, willing boy-toy was indeed spread-eagled with his hands and feet attached, respectively, to hooks in the ceiling and the floor. His smooth hairless body was readily available for whatever the members wanted to do to him, and everyone had ideas.

As Bill and Paul watched, a succession of guys approached Matt from behind and thrust their hard cocks into his tight little bubble-butt. They took their time, encouraged by the cheering of the onlookers. Meanwhile, Bill saw his chance and picked up a nearby whip. No one was attacking the slave from the front, so Bill got to land the first lashes of the evening onto the exposed belly and chest of the helpless victim. The youth squirmed from the obvious pain, but did not cry out. Instead, he responded as he had been trained, and as he responded to each guy who fucked him:

“Thank you, sir.”

The propriety of the reaction turned Bill on even more, and now he proceeded to turn his attention–and the whip –to the kid’s cock and balls. The cock was erect and made a great target, but reaching the balls took a little expertise. Fortunately, Bill was very experienced and able to inflict the pain of the lash on the full set of genitals. But the only verbal reaction was added expressions of appreciation. Bill always had admired what a great job Stan did training slaves, but felt this was exceptional and made a mental note to complement his friend.

But the strangest reaction was that of Paul. As he watched the remarkable scene that was unfolding, he found himself particularly turned on by how Matt was reacting.

“Would you like to whip me too?” Paul found himself asking Bill, as much to his own surprise as to Bill’s. “I see another set of shackles, and I think it would actually be a big turn-on for some of the members and improve my chances of winning. I’ve never really played slave, but maybe I’ve missed out.” Paul did not want to admit to Bill how turned on this scene had made him.

Bill didn’t hesitate. He handed the whip to another member, who continued the fun with Matt, and very quickly led Paul to the nearby set of shackles, quickly positioning and securing him in the same X position as Matt–two slaves side by side and ready for use. Bill then took a chance and inquired of his new property.

“I do think this will turn you on. But it would do so even more if we start with that butt-fuck you agreed to earlier. After all, that’s the most appropriate use of a slave, and if you want to have the full experience, and win all the prizes, it’s essential.”

Paul hesitated. He actually had a virgin asshole, and had prided himself on never having been ass-fucked. But Bill had a point, and Paul was somehow very anxious to please and to keep his promise.

“Sure. I’m all yours. Go for it. No limits.”

Bill was ecstatic. This had been his dream for a very long time, and now it was coming true. As Paul had made his speech of submission, Stan had wandered in to join the fun, and heard the offer.

“Well, that certainly simplifies things, doesn’t it?” Stan commented. “So, like I said before, I assume you want the first fuck. But I’d sure like to go next.”

Bill was a very generous person, and he really liked Stan. “No, you’re club president, and getting him here was actually your idea. So you go first, while I start the whipping. Besides, you’re still the best trainer in the club–as illustrated by your little hunk of boy-meat I just enjoyed.”

Stan appreciated the gesture, and wasted no time thrusting his aroused cock into Paul’s virgin ass. There was no foreplay or lube–Stan liked the reaction of guys getting the full thrust. “I had planned to have you suck me off, but frankly this is a lot better,” Stan informed his target. “Being the first guy to shoot a load up your butt will be a huge turn-on. It’s pretty rare we get a virgin butt in here.”

“Hey,” Paul began to protest. “I really had in mind having Bill fuck me, but at least use a condom.”

“No way,” came Stan’s quick response, as he started thrusting in and out of the very tight hole. “You said no limits, and around here that means no limits. As you’ll learn as the evening proceeds, the members make the rules. The slaves just obey and serve. You’ve now agreed to be a slave, and there is no turning back.”

Paul was upset, but before he could protest further he felt the first stoke of Bill’s whip hit his flesh. He had also never been whipped, and he was surprised how much it hurt. He inadvertently let out a scream, and a second one with the second stroke. Bill ignored the screams, actually increasing his efforts so that they began to lacerate Paul’s beautiful tight flesh, and Paul began to plead with him to stop.

“This isn’t turning me on,” Paul pleaded. “Please stop and let me loose.” But Paul’s hard cock put the lie to his complaints, and Bill didn’t really care at this point. What mattered, and what always mattered, is that the combination of whipping his favorite sex object while his buddy fucked him from behind was massively turning on Bill. And Stan.

It didn’t take Stan long to shoot his load, given how excited he was, and then it was Bill’s turn. They switched places, so that Stan could enjoy whipping Paul while Bill relieved his sexual tension at Paul’s expense. In and out, in and out, Bill kept the thrusts moving and increased the speed. The large load of cum Stan had deposited made a nice lubricant, for which Bill thanked Stan. When he finally released his load, it was probably the greatest orgasm he’d ever had. He was spent from the effort, but still completely turned on.

After the two friends had finished fucking Paul, they released him from the shackles. Paul was very upset, and now demanded to leave the club.

“Sorry, slave. Like I said before, it’s too late. You leave when we’re done with you.” Stan showed the authority that had gotten him elected president of the club.

The beating had left Paul weakened, so the two members had no problem securing him to a nearby wall, where he was forced to kneel. They explained that they had other business to take care of for a while, but they wanted Paul to remain useful.

“Our members like to drink beer,” Bill explained. “And that means they need a urinal. Until we get done with our other task, you’re the lucky recipient of all that piss. As a matter of fact, I think I’ll start your instructions personally.” And with that, Bill forced Paul’s mouth open and released a huge load of piss down Paul’s protesting throat.

“I don’t think he’s going to win the attitude award,” Stan speculated. They both laughed as they walked away from the horrified young man, who was quickly approached and used by another member. Both Stan and Bill noticed, however, that Paul’s cock was still hard.

The task awaiting Bill and Stan was to prepare Stan’s slave Matt for its next use. Unlike Paul, there was no protest when they released the shackles, and Matt stood obediently while they discussed their plans.

“How many main events do you plan tonight?” Bill asked. “It’s usually just one, right?”

“It is, but tonight I plan on two. No point using up too many of our slaves at the same time, but I had already planned to use up Matt and I think it would be instructive for Paul to see Matt’s fate first.”

“True,” Bill mused, “but it does seem a shame to use up Paul all at once. We could save him until next week, and have some fun in the meantime. He could spend the week considering what might happen, and we’d have more time to plan.”

“Deal,” Stan agreed. “Good thinking. So now we just need to figure out what to do with this one. Any preferences?”

“Well, I think his skin and his attitude are his best features. And it clearly should be something slow, after everyone gets in a good fuck. I’d suggest skinning him alive. If we’re careful, he’d still be alive when we start the feast.”

Stan saw the logic of this and quickly agreed. Matt was listening, but made no objections, even while Bill had stroked his smooth skin when describing the idea of removing it. Stan had trained him well, and if his masters wanted to gang rape him, skin him alive, and then eat his flesh while he was still alive, then that was clearly their right. His duty would be to provide as much entertainment as possible and stay alive as long as possible to prolong his pain and their enjoyment.

Once Stan and Bill had made their decisions, Bill instructed one of the waiters to let everyone know the main event would start in about an hour. He also had him invite everyone to join him in appreciating a final dance form the attraction.

“Matt had wanted to be a dancer, but I explained to him he wasn’t good enough, and really only deserved to be a slave, and ultimately a source of meat. But I figure we can let him entertain us before we snuff him and eat him. It should be fun.”

Matt was thrilled and honored by what he overheard Stan tell Bill. So when he was told to go up on a nearby stage and perform for the club, he did so willingly. Before he started, Stan provided the introduction.

“As my fellow members know, one of our club traditions is to stage an entertaining snuff scene each Saturday evening, featuring one of the guests. Tonight it will be this young slave, whom all of you have enjoyed fucking during the course of the evening. I’ve decided, after chatting with my buddy Bill, that the most fun would be to skin him alive and then serve him to all of you for a very fresh meat entree. With a little luck, you can cut off a piece while he’s still alive. So, before he does a final dance for our entertainment, let’s do our traditional auction to see who gets to join in the fun.”

With that, Stan conducted a brief but very vigorous auction among the guests to determine who would get the final fuck, who would do the skinning, and who would get to cut off the cock and balls once he was skinned and ready to serve. The results of the auction easily paid for the expenses of the evening, and the young slave fetched a good sum.

The dance was very well done, both lively and sexy. Stan didn’t let it go on too long, as the members were getting both anxious and a little hungry. So Matt was led down from the stage after enduring one last fuck from the winning bidder. He was laid on an autopsy table, which helped keep the flow of blood and such from getting too messy as Stan (who won the bid on doing the skinning) inserted the knife just above his chest to start the fun. The members cheered as Stan expertly sliced down to the top of Matt”s crotch, and then slowly peeled back the skin. He did the same with the arms and legs, but left the head and genitals uncut. The head would be added to the clubs trophy case, and it was the right of the winning bidder for the cock and balls to have them still in perfect shape when they were removed. Matt had maintained a hard-on during the dance and for the start of the fatal torture session, and Stan had tied off the prize so it would still be hard, which it was. Bill had won that bid, and made sure he cut as slowly as possible to enhance and prolong the pain.

Matt lasted through the entire process, although clearly he was going to die soon. So the winning bidders on his choice cuts of meat helped themselves, removing breast meat, liver, kidneys, thighs, and all the rest of the delicious treats that had once been a gorgeous young male. There was a nearby hibachi for those who wanted the meat cooked, but most ate it raw, many while Matt was still able to watch. Of course, once the feast began he didn’t last long. But everyone agreed he had been a very accommodating, and tasty, young piece of live meat.

After the meal, Bill returned to where Paul was still secured in his role as the club urinal. All the guys had used him by now, and he was both scared and subdued.

“Did you enjoy the show,” Bill asked.

“No. Please let me go. I promise I won’t tell anyone.” Paul was desperate.

“Oh, we’re not worried about that. All of the guests understand what would happen to them if they told. And no one would believe them anyway. Besides, one of the members is the chief of police.

“What I came over to tell you is that you’ve won the prize. You’re clearly the most attractive guest. However, the bad news is that we lied about it being money. The prize is that you’re the main event next Saturday. And between now and then, you’ll get training from Stan and a chance to continue to serve both as a urinal and as a sex object. I get to decide how we snuff you, so if you have preferences be sure to let me know. I won’t necessarily follow them, but it would be fun to chat about it.”

Paul was horrified. Things had gotten completely out of control. After watching what had happened to Matt, he had no doubt Bill was telling the truth. He knew he would die the following week. And yet, there was something exciting about it. He had always been a prostitute since he had reached puberty, and he had gotten real pleasure out of serving other guys. Despite his terror, he was actually aroused û and his cock hardened a bit as Bill spoke. Bill noticed the effect, and smiled.

“I always knew you were really a masochist at heart. All prostitutes are. I just didn’t know how much. So now I’ll find out.”

Epilogue

Paul trained well during the following week. Once resigned to his fate, he decided to play his part. And Stan and Bill, who jointly did the training, were very skilled. They and their friends dropped by the club each day to use Paul sexually, and to experiment with various forms of torture. They found that, while Paul responded well to flogging, he responded better to electric shock. They tested him with near-death shocking, which was a huge turn-on for their newfound student. And, of course, both they and the club staff made full use of Paul whenever they needed to pee. He also turned out to be a very talented urinal, never spilling a drop.

Bill and Stan were so pleased with their new pet that they actually kept him in training for two weeks instead of the usual one, snuffing another young male the next Saturday. This met with approval form the club members, who also wanted another week of using Paul before torturing him to death and consuming his flesh. The guy who was snuffed instead proved adequate, but most of the members felt he wasn’t really as cooperative as he should have been. They compensated for that by extending the pre-snuff torture session, and looked forward to Paul’s performance.

Paul did not disappoint. He was fully trained by the time he was offered to the club for their weekly ritual, and he showed as much enthusiasm as Matt had done. His trainers had decided to do a combination of emasculating him and chocking him. They tied piano wire around his genitals, after securing him so he couldn’t move. Then they attached the two ends of the wire to the tops of two large buckets that were suspended on either side of the victim. The idea was simple. During the course of the evening, as the guys needed to piss, they would do so in the buckets. As the buckets gained weight from the liquid, it would have the effect of pulling the wire and tightening it around the base of the scrotum. In due course, the wire would be pulled tight and the prized
Man-meat would be cut from Paul’s body, falling into yet a third bucket. It took a very long time, and the members really got into the fun of combining a needed piss with a little greater incision into Paul’s proudest assets. When the flesh finally was decapitated and Paul let out an appropriate scream of agony and humiliation, the resulting cheer was accompanied by nearly every club member shooting his load. It had worked even better than Bill and Stan had anticipated. And, of course, there was a prize for the guy whose piss had triggered the final separation.

Now that Paul was a eunuch, there was no further point keeping him alive, and Bill bid in the right to finish him off. He did so slowly, using his strong hands to choke off Paul’s breathing, enjoying the feel of the life ebbing from his victim. As he did so, the winning bidders began cutting away their prized meat selections, adding to Paul’s pain and Bill’s pleasure. But everyone made sure it was Bill’s careful efforts that finally ended Paul’s life. And everyone agreed it had been one of their best sessions, well worth the extra week’s efforts at training.

Just Relax by Den

 

“That’s it boy, just relax. You know you’re ready for this. You want it. You know I fucking want it. Gonna feel so fucking good, like nothing you can imagine.”

 

“Yes Sir, I am ready sir!”

 

“Let me hear you say it boy. Let me know you need it as bad as I do.”

 

“Please SIR kill me! I want you to kill me for your pleasure SIR!! ”

 

I grunt as he pushes the blade into me just above my sweat and sperm soaked pubes, but the pain is so mingled with my desire it is easy for me not to struggle. I just watch and let the shining steel sink sweetly into me. We both alternately look into each other’s eyes and at my abdomen as he takes me.

 

“Yeah boy that’s nice, looks good. Look at how hard our dicks are…Get ready now, I’m gonna enter your gut cavity.”

 

I feel a ripping sensation now as the blade passes beneath the muscle and tears the membrane protecting my guts. Surprisingly sweet and welcome, my breath escapes with a hiss.

 

“Fucking hell sir, that feels so sweet, open me! PLEASE gut me.” And my saying this excites us both further.

 

I think back to our first meeting when he was the first to enter me with his fist, and how it awoke in me tide of dark desires. He became the first man whose piss I longed for in every way possible. He became the first to pierce my flesh as a sexual act first with needles and then with nails and blades. He was the man who made me understand the incredible satisfaction in pain and torture, how it lead to extremes of arousal and orgasm for me as a bottom. When after a few months he told me of his desire to kill men for pleasure, how both he and the men he had taken in the past had been driven to levels of sexual frenzy he could barely understand; how they had left all uncertainty behind and embraced what became mutual lust as he killed them, I was briefly filled with fear and precisely that uncertainty. But quickly I understood how right it was, and how natural that I should surrender to him in this way. It took no more than one hour of his brutal lovemaking for me to consent, only a few days before I was eager to take that step with him. And now here we are, me feeling alive in a way I never have before as I embrace being killed by this man.

 

We both sigh with pleasure as he withdraws the blade. There is less blood than i anticipated. He swings the blade around on the deadly toy he wields on me and I raise my belly to meet the second blade, wanting so badly to feel it inside me.

 

“Oh man” I moan as it slips into me, surprised at how deep my desire for this is. He slices slowly and lovingly up towards my chest, sawing gently, smiling hugely and we alternately stare at each other and the wound he makes in me.

 

A little over three inches and he stops. “Oh man, oh FUCK!” I moan again. He’s killing me as slowly as he can; the ultimate lovemaking, and I am so willing, so fucking lost in the experience. Again I raise my belly to meet him as he works his huge fist into the wound he has made and the feeling is beyond description as he drives it deep into my core, his arm lubricated by my blood. Our lips meet in a deep kiss as his arm stirs and assaults my guts, and I know this is where I am meant to be…doing this now, with him. He drives harder into me repeatedly and brutally, eager to see me die, wanting to keep me alive as long as possible. I grunt and moan, feeling exactly as he does. I feel so alive, but am wild with need to feel these incredible sensations only possible if he snuffs me. I want so much for him to kill me. Never did I think just a few months ago I would be so into this, and yet here I am, loving what this man is doing to me, so hot to die for pleasure, our pleasure. I reach and caress his bloody arm as he caresses my insides, lost in unimaginable desire, unbearable pain and pleasure mixed inextricably.

 

“Oh man, oh man, oh fuck man!” I chant, entranced and so hungry for what i know comes next. He withdraws his arm from my abdomen and opens me completely with the gutting tool. He gently caresses my viscera as I watch enthralled.

 

“Feel them” he commands.

I reach down to join my hand with his in feeling my own guts. I groan from the pleasure of this. His bloody arm slips easily into my hole now and a length of large intestine pushes up through the loops of gut, clinging like a sleeve to his muscular arm. I caress my own large intestine feeling the mass of his muscular arm inside it. I am driven wild by the sight and feeling of this.

“Shit! He says. “That is beautiful boy.”

“Fuck yeah” I groan. He pushes in to the shoulder, than withdraws replacing his arm with a huge and heavy dildo, thicker than his large bicep and impossibly long. It feels too good.

“You ready boy?” he asks.

I have waited for this question, and my answer practically brings me to the edge of orgasm.

“Kill me SIR, please!”

He brings out the knife we have chosen for this and with the sharp blade he subincises me from glans to base in less than a second. Blood pours out of my dick and it splays open like a butterflied shrimp. He begins to jack off my mutilated manhood and pushes the huge dildo further into me with all his strength till my large intestine ruptures and the latex monster protrudes out, slick with mucous and blood in a sea of my guts.

“OH FUCK! KILL ME! KILL ME NOW.” I scream, drinking in the overwhelming sensation, pain almost too strong to bear transformed to pleasure by orgasm and flooding through my nervous system. As I begin to come I feel his knife pressed hard against the side of my neck, stinging as it seeks out the artery.
“Die for me boy!” he says, and wracked with orgasm, eager and amazed, I do.

A Meat Slave in Hell by Gay Slavemeat Gsmeat2@gmail.com

As the slave rotated slowly over the hot coals, its body impaled by an iron spit inserted into its anus that exited through its mouth (to which its hands and feet were tied), it wondered idly how many times it had been killed.  But that thought was interrupted as the slave’s elongated cock brushed against the little pile of particularly hot coals placed so that the cock would touch them on each rotation.  That pain was extraordinary even compared to the agony caused by the red-hot spit cooking its insides and the excessively hot coals that were blistering its skin as the live meat slave slowly turned and cooked.  This was how the demons, who watched, laughed, and used their powers to keep the spit turning, liked human flesh prepared – not just cooked, but burned, especially the delicious cock.  The cock was kept so aroused and hard that it was parallel to the horizontal body, enabling its entire underside to scorch as it brushed against the extra-hot pile of coals.  The cooking would not kill the slave, which was important since the demons insisted on only eating living flesh.  It would be the removal and consumption of the slave’s heart that would once again bring the sensation of death.  That would not happen until nearly all the high quality meat on the body was greedily eaten.  The real nourishment didn’t come from the meat, which they enjoyed but didn’t need to eat.  The nourishment came from the extraordinary pain they were able to inflict both in cooking and in eating.  After one of them removed the beating heart and ate that final organ, the slave’s body would reform and the cycle would start again, beginning with sexual torture and humiliation and ending with a creative way of once again preparing the slave as meat for a demon’s feast.

 

It had been over 2,000 years since the first time the slave had died. That event, like all the thousands in between, was one the slave still vividly remembered, and it could still relive the sensations.  It had been in a Roman circus, where it had been displayed as one of the slaves captured by the Emperor Caligula.  The capture was a fake, of course, since the Emperor never actually went to war, and the slave had simply been one of the many young males selected by the Emperor because he liked its body and wanted to watch it die.  So the slave was brought out naked to the cheers of the crowd, fucked by several huge gladiators, and hacked to death as the cheering increased.  The gladiators started by cutting off its penis and testicles, which were presented to the Emperor as trophies.  The Emperor tossed the shriveled cock to a nearby slave kneeling beside him on all fours, who ate it doggy-style.  But the Emperor picked the man-seeds from the ball sac (which he also tossed to his slave-dog) and popped the fresh meat into his mouth.  This further delighted the crowd.  Oddly, even though it no longer had any sex organs with which to react, the sight of its former male pride being eaten turned on the slave sexually.  It was pleased that it had been used so personally by the great emperor.  From its perspective, for a mere slave to have part of its body used as a snack by the Emperor of the Roman World was a great honor.  The fact it also meant the slave would die a very painful, humiliating death was of no concern to it (or anyone else).

 

At a signal from the emperor that he was done with his snack, the gladiators slowly and carefully hacked the slave into pieces, trying to keep it alive as long as possible, laughing and sharing the severed body parts as more crowd-pleasing snacks.  The slave died when one of the gladiators, after cutting open its belly and reaching in to remove its liver, reached into the body cavity again and pulled out its heart.  The slave was not alive to watch the heart stop beating and get consumed by the triumphant soldier.  But this established its method of death for its eternity of pain.

 

The slave had not resisted or even objected.  In fact, it was sexually turned on by having its naked body on display and getting gang-fucked while the crowd watched, so that it was able to maintain an erection until its cock was sliced off.  One of the gladiators had masturbated it to the point of orgasm, so that what he cut off was a pulsating cock just starting to emit cum.  The clever transformation from pleasure to pain was a huge crowd-pleaser.  The slave somehow felt it owed the crowd (and especially the Emperor) as much pleasure as possible for having allowed it to serve them, alerting the gladiator to its impending orgasm so he could have the knife ready and make the timing perfect.

 

It had been born into slavery, and because it was exceptionally handsome it had been trained and used as a sex slave (among other things, such as a human urinal).   Whether it had enjoyed that naturally, or simply become accustomed to being fucked and tortured, was of no matter.  The simple fact was that it was seriously turned on by having another guy’s cock up its ass, by being whipped and kicked, by drinking sperm and piss, and by having lots of people watching and enjoying its torment – or, better yet, joining in the fun.  That’s why its owner figured it would be a perfect slave to sell to the Emperor, who thrived on torturing young males.  The night before its public execution the Emperor had personally fucked and tortured the slave, which had been the greatest honor it could imagine.  The Emperor had even considered doing the killing himself, but decided to let the crowd enjoy the scene.  The slave was deeply humbled that the Emperor would even consider such an honor, and went to its public death quite content with its life.

 

The slave had only limited understanding of heaven and hell, or even the concept of an afterlife, while it was alive.  Its understanding really began the instant it died.  To its amazement, it was able to watch the soldier pull out its heart and eat it in front of the wildly cheering crowd as the other gladiators let go and what was left of its body finally crumpled to the ground, ready to be fed to the livestock.  Even more amazing, the slave could actually feel itself being eaten.  The pain was extraordinary, but so was the excitement.  The slave understood, at a much deeper level, how appropriate it was to be a slave, and that its ultimate fate was the best use of its otherwise worthless flesh.

 

As the slave watched the soldier finish his task by cutting off its head and holding that, too, for the crowd to enjoy, it was sexually aroused by the feel of the axe through its throat, and reached a kind of climax as the soldier fucked the severed head through its neck.  That’s when it realized that it was somehow whole again – complete with a cock that was spurting cum.  As it watched the pieces of its body being dragged off the field to make room for the next victim, the sight brought it to orgasm yet again – a level of intense orgasm it had never achieved before.  And as it watched its massive load of sperm literally shoot from its body, the slave realized it was not alone.

 

“Nice loads, slave,” a voice observed.   “I see you’ve adjusted rather quickly.”

 

The slave was horrified.  It had reached orgasm without permission, which it knew was wrong.  It turned to look at the person who spoke, and immediately got on its knees, knowing that this was truly a master deserving of obedience.  The voice belonged to the most beautiful male the slave had ever seen.  Naked and ageless, he was perfect in every sense, including his massive, erect cock that the slave desperately wanted to service.  As the slave contemplated the perfection of the being it now worshiped, it realized even more its own imperfections and how unworthy of service it was.  But it also could not help but note that it had reformed, still naked, without any of the flaws its body possessed during life.  It was as perfect as its unworthy body was capable of being.

 

“You are correct,” the voice informed the slave, reading its mind.  “You are far below me, and in no way worthy of my attention.  But I will grant you the honor of servicing my cock since that gives me pleasure and is so clearly your overwhelming desire.  You can suck while I inform you of your fate, which is my task and right.  You do not need to talk as I can read your tiny mind and discern your pathetic thoughts.”

 

The slave crawled on all fours over to the perfect male being, and gently used its mouth to begin massaging the giant cock.  It was almost too large to fit in its mouth, but the slave was expert at this task and gratefully began its first post-death sucking assignment.

 

The cock erupted almost immediately and began gushing sperm down the slave’s throat.  There was so much of it, and it was so thick, that the slave was concerned it would choke to death.  But it quickly discovered an advantage to already being dead – it could swallow all the cum without any problem.  As he continued to spew cum in an endless orgasm, the beautiful male explained things to the slave.

 

“You’re dead, so you can’t die again.  But you can feel the pain of death again and again.  That will happen whenever someone rips out your heart and eats it, since that’s how you died the first time.  Once that happens, your body will reform and you will be whole and healed.  But while you’re being tortured or eaten, you cannot experience death and will feel the pain of every stroke and every bite.  Your potential to suffer is infinite and there is no limit to the amount of pain you can feel, or to what can be done to you without allowing you any relief from the pain.  This will be your state for all eternity.

 

“But you have been given a gift.  You, like me, can keep your cock hard at all times and you can achieve ongoing orgasms with no limit to the amount of cum you shoot – like I’m doing now in your mouth.

“I am Satan, ruler of the underworld, and I have claimed you as one of my eternal victims.  You have been a sex slave your whole life, and you were very obedient.  But do you think a piece of slave meat like you belongs in heaven?  A worthless sack of shit like you belongs in hell where you can be tortured and eaten for eternity, serving Me and my demons.”

 

The slave considered the comments as it continued to swallow Satan’s amazing sperm, its own cock now rock-hard and ready to erupt.  It touched its own cock to test the statement about being able to cum endlessly, and to its amazement it quickly reached orgasm and began pumping its own sperm.  It did this before it realized it hadn’t gotten permission, and that helped it respond.

 

“I am a sex slave, and can see myself as a meat slave, sir.  I really don’t think I deserve to be in heaven.  I guess I belong in hell.”  It spoke no words, since it was still swallowing what had now turned into a gusher of piss, but the speaker read its mind.

 

“So do I,” the voice agreed.  And with that, he reached down toward the slave’s chest, and was able to push his hand into the chest cavity and tear out the slave’s heart.  The slave could feel the incredible pain once again, and watched as its heart was thrown toward a massive fire the slave noticed for the first time.

 

“One of My demons will eat your heart when it lands in hell, and you will reform there.  And that is where you will stay for eternity.”

 

And so it had begun.  After its heart was eaten that first time, the slave reformed in hell as predicted and was examined by a vicious demon who took great pleasure in ripping off parts of the slave as it was examined and its parts inventoried, then eating them.  The slave had indeed felt the pain of every tear in its flesh, muscle, and bones, and it was reconstituted again after the demon enjoyed eating its heart for the second time.  But the demons were also incredible examples of male perfection, and they sexually excited the slave immensely.  It felt honored to be consumed by them, and it achieved its ongoing orgasm even while it was being dismembered.  This, in turn, further amused the demons, who loved drinking human sperm while torturing its source.

 

The slave quickly learned that demons prefer their meat burned and charred, and they especially liked to overcook it on a bar-be-cue.  Their favorite was what had been done to it on this particular day, with a long, heated, iron spit rammed into its anus until it protruded from its mouth.  With its hands and feet also tied to the spit, it could be roasted both inside and out, producing charred meat that they greedily ripped off to enjoy.  The fact the meat was live even after being separated from the body, and the fact the slave could still feel the pain as it was eaten, was essential to their pleasure.  The slave even learned to amuse them further by achieving orgasm while it turned slowly over the flames, its sperm causing the coals to flare up and burn its skin a bit more intensely.  As it slowly turned, the slave focused on trying to get as many flare-ups as possible, since it obviously added to the pleasure of its tormentors.  This made it a favorite meal, and that in turn meant it was roasted more often than most of the other humans available to the demons.

 

True, the slave also responded quite nicely to the torture sessions, which included rape with everything from huge, multiple demon cocks stuffed into its butt for simultaneous gang-fucks, to dynamite exploded in its asshole.  These sessions would last for many hours, or even days, between cooking events, and the demons prided themselves on their creativity.  Crucifixion of the humans in hell was routine, and since the sufferers wouldn’t die it was particularly effective at administering extreme agony over a long period of time.  The slave was included in those rotations as well, sometimes having its body nailed up in the middle of the vast desert-like setting for months on end, burned by the heat while trying desperately to breath.  And while the slave was not considered muscular enough to participate in the vicious gladiatorial contests, its great good looks made it a frequent target for events like archery and axe-throwing.  The greatest honor, however, was to be permitted to suck the giant cocks of the demons, drinking their gushing loads of sperm and urine that would have chocked the slaves to death in their prior existence.  Now it was something to look forward to, as it so clearly gave pleasure to their masters while degrading themselves.

 

What was strange was how none of this depressed or even bothered the slave.  It knew this was its intended purpose, and that it belonged in this place of torture and depravity.  Its cock was hard at all times in part because it was so sexually turned on by what was being done to it, by the extraordinary male bodies the demons chose to present themselves with to their victims, and especially by the knowledge that its degradation gave pleasure to its masters.  As a slave, what better purpose could it serve?

 

The daily cooking was nearing completion, and the slave realized its body was now appropriately charred and burned, ready to be eaten.  It was soon removed from the coals, and the spit was placed near a table where the demons could easily reach it without burning themselves.  The slave felt every bite and tear as its flesh was ripped from its body, and even felt the pain as each piece of meat was chewed and swallowed.  The greatest pain occurred when one of the senior demons pulled off its genitals, slowly munching on its burnt manhood as it idly tortured yet another doomed soul tied to a whipping post nearby.  It would be a while before one of the masters consumed its heart, causing it to reform, but there was plenty of time.  After all, there was eternity.

 

Peter and Michael had just finished a great 69 session, erupting into each other’s eager mouths with intense mutual orgasms.  This was one of their favorite activities, and they made sure to start all their meetings with a long sexual exploration of their amazing bodies.  When they finished coming, Peter asked a question:

 

“I don’t understand why you don’t retrieve that Roman slave you allowed Satan to claim all those centuries ago?  I don’t see how he ever did anything wrong, and even if he did it sure seems he’s suffered enough.  Look at him – being spit-roasted and eaten yet again.  I wasn’t here yet when he was processed, so maybe there’s something I’m missing.”

 

Michael laughed.  “There is indeed, my well-endowed friend.  This slave is one of the perverts He likes to make from time to time, who is truly happy only if suffering horribly and serving in a completely humiliating role.  Like many of them, this one revels at being eaten.  So I didn’t really sentence him to hell.  And I gave him the gift of continuous orgasm.  Being a meat slave is, for him, the equivalent of the highest level of heaven.  He’s completely content and will remain that way forever.”

 

Peter understood, and watched as the demons down below finished their latest meal.  It was a pretty good show, and Peter no longer felt guilty enjoying watching it.