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.

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.

Thrill Kill Live:  Kevin’s Retirement by Gay Slavemeat Gsmeat2@gmail.com

A few years ago I posted a story with this theme on Zambianmeat.com, and several guys requested a sequel.  M3Mayhen was kind enough to let me post it here a few weeks ago as well, and I also got some positive feedback.  One reader suggested maybe celebrating the host’s retirement show.  I thought that was a good idea, so here’s the result.  Let me know if you have thoughts or other suggestions.  My aim is to write stuff guys can get off on who enjoy snuff and torture themes, I do fantasizing myself as the willing victim.  I’m always appreciative of feedback – positive or not.

 

 

 

 

The opening credits began to run for a special episode of the hit series Thrill Kill Live!  The show was celebrating ten years at the top of every rating, whether traditional TV or internet.  It was the ultimate cash cow for the Fox network, and its creator and host, Kevin Strand, was a major celebrity.  But after ten years of hosting, Kevin had announced his intention to retire, and the network had heavily promoted this final episode under Kevin’s leadership, including the promised introduction of an as yet unnamed new host.  Viewership was massive, the studio was packed, and everyone had great anticipation for a terrific presentation.  Kevin’s simple formula of interviewing, torturing, killing, and ultimately selling the meat of good-looking young male losers, all on live TV, was a proven hit.  Clearly, the show would continue.  It was the ideal combination of entertainment and public service.

 

The stage was set to feature a large wrestling mat, and as soon as the credits finished two extremely athletic males walked onto the stage.  They appeared even younger than their 17 years, but were exceptionally muscular and attractive.  Each was naked, and each sported a decent-sized erection.  They walked to the two sides of the mat and stood still, facing each other.  Both looked very serious as they stared at each other, ignoring the audience.

 

Once the young males were in place the announcer began his usual introduction:  “Welcome everyone!  It’s that time of the week, and it’s another exciting show.  But this one is even more amazing than usual, a two hour episode to celebrate ten years of Kevin’s great creativity and leadership and to introduce our new host for the next ten years.  So, with no further ado, HERE’S KEVIN!”

 

The audience went nuts as Kevin walked on stage.   While he usually started the show wearing one of the expensive leather outfits he loved, which were made from the skin of some of the show’s “participants,” this time he was completely naked.  Kevin was 31 years old, having dreamed up and started the show when he turned 21, but his body looked much younger.  He kept himself fanatically fit, and had the benefit of an extraordinary body to work with.  It was no wonder he was so popular, and he had used his popularity, and the show, to become very rich.  The line of clothing made from the skin of young males he’d killed was just one of many cross promotions, and the meat sold after the show each week went for a huge premium.  Moreover, he had started related enterprises to increase his source of meat, with local contests designed to promote the show and also provide lots more young male “participants” whose bodies could be butchered and sold after their 15 minutes of fame (and their worthless lives) were over.  It was profitable local entertainment that served the moral good of reducing the population of these young troublemakers.  That’s why he had decided to retire, so he could focus more time on the ever-changing cadre of young male volunteers, prisoners, and slaves he owned and loved to torture, kill, and turn into a useful combination of meat and other byproducts.  His plan was to continue those highly profitable and worthwhile endeavors, but he had grown tired of the public spotlight.  It was practically impossible for him to even go to a restaurant without some depressed, cowardly, male asshole asking Kevin to kill him on the spot or to be selected for the show.  While Kevin enjoyed turning losers into meat, and always obliged the requests (with a knife thrust into the gut, since that would be quite painful, relatively slow, but always fatal), it was very intrusive of his privacy and got in the way of his own priorities.

 

“Welcome everyone,” Kevin began, “and I hope you all enjoy this very special show.  As you know, I have sold my rights to the show and I am turning over the hosting duties to someone else.  You will meet him shortly – and so will I.  My producer, Robert Gray, and I thought it would be more fun to keep everyone in suspense as to the identity of the new host, even including me.  So we’ll all be surprised to learn who the new host turns out to be, and to watch as he and I work over whoever tonight’s main attraction turns out to be – that’s also a surprise.

 

“But let’s start out with an extended version of our usual opening set, and this one is really special.  My guests are Tony and Mike, and they are both 17 years old.  Many of you have asked for younger meat, and we’re here to meet your desires!  But what’s really exciting is that we have combined with our colleagues at Fox Sports to provide a combination event.  You see, Tony and Mike are high school wrestling champions, and had been set to compete for the state championship even though they are only juniors in high school.  These are really talented athletes, and they are very aggressive.  Better yet, they have grown up in the same schools and they have come to hate each other.    So my friends on the sports side came up with a terrific suggestion.  Instead of the usual boring high school wrestling contest, why not feature them as our opening act, letting them fight to the death, with the winner fucking the dead body of the loser and getting to eat his cock?  We paid their parents a little money and got their permission, and the proceeds from this part of the show will help their high school build a much-needed new gym.  Each of the boys expects to win, and given their intense hatred for each other they were both immediately on board with the proposal.  It was an “everybody wins” idea that just makes too much sense not to pursue.  OK, maybe not everybody wins.  We’ll have a dead body here pretty soon that we will butcher and sell for meat, but by definition the dead kid will have been a loser and his body will be better used as meat snacks for our audience and maybe some leather boots.”

 

Kevin turned to the two boys, who were still glaring at each other, and stroking their cocks to keep them aroused.  Besides being exceptional young athletes, they were also exhibitionists who loved showing off their beautiful young bodies.  In fact, they had often persuaded the principal to let them wrestle nude during the regular season, and that was always approved once they agreed to suck him off and let him fuck their cute young assholes.

 

“OK guys, let’s start by getting a little more info on you.  I understand you really dislike each other, and wonder why.  Tony, let’s start with your side of the story.  What’s you beef with Mike?”

 

‘Mike ruined my relationship with my boyfriend Larry.  Larry is 19 and wants to be with me, so I can serve him, but Mike turned Larry in for fucking a minor and now Larry has to stay away from me or get arrested.  Mike is just jealous, since Larry prefers fucking me over fucking Mike, and I want vengeance.”

 

Kevin next handed the microphone to Mike.  “That’s bullshit.  If Larry had any taste in guys he’s prefer making out with me over Tony.  I know he really enjoyed himself when I let him fuck my ass and drink his cum.  But Larry is just an egotistical college kid who likes to throw his weight around and take advantage of his status.  I don’t give a shit about him or Tony, and once I finish killing Tony in this match I think I’ll figure out a way to capture and torture Larry to death just for fun.  And I’ll eat his cock too.”

 

“Wow,” observed Kevin.  “You two have a great grudge going, and I have no doubt you’ll finish it tonight.  So let’s get at it.

 

“You know the rules.  You have to stay on the mat, and if you step off it I get to whip you until you get back on.  There is no referee, and there are no limits on what you can do to each other while you fight.  The match ends when one of you is dead.  But to be victorious, the winner ahs to fuck the loser, sending a load of cum up the ass of the carcass.  The winner also has to chew the cock off the dead loser and swallow it.  We know both of you are gay, so I doubt those requirements will be much of a problem.  And we’ve pumped a lot of Viagra into your oversexed bodies, so you will likely keep those hard-ons during most of the match.  We think that will make it more fun to watch, and we hope you try to rip them off.  If the survivor has lost his cock during the match he won’t be able to fuck the dead meat, so he’ll die too.  Our rules are strict.  Finally, we want you each to drink the bottle of water on the table near you.  When one of you dies, we want to watch the animal piss all over himself. Our viewer surveys tell us that’s really a popular feature of the show.

 

“So, do you understand the rules?”   Both boys nodded, not saying anything.  Kevin then signaled for them to drain the bottles of water, which they quickly did, and then directed them to the center of the mat.  There was no shaking hands, or other civilities.  At Kevin’s signal, the two naked young animals went after each other with a ferocity that surprised even Kevin and that delighted the audience.  They especially tried to get to each other’s cocks, which obediently protruded in front of each boy and presented a great target.  While neither was able to rip off the other guy’s cock, they each landed very effective blows to the genitals, which resulted in loud cheers from the audience.  Bets had been placed both in the studio and at home, so the audience cared who own.  And, of course, that meant more money for the show and for the network.

 

It quickly became clear the two boys were very evenly matched.  As they wrestled, first one and then the other would be pinned on the mat, but then he would quickly recover and the fight would continue.  Of course, pinning didn’t matter – there was only one scoring criterion.  Also, the boys realized the mat was not quite as large as the usual wrestling area, so they sometimes landed off its edge.  That added to the fun, as Kevin was very athletic himself and able to use his whip to inflict some pain on the errant athlete.  That’s why he had decided to be naked for the match.  And Kevin had selected his favorite whip, which was designed to draw blood as it lacerated its victim’s skin.  Thus, as the fight preceded both boys suffered lacerations that were bleeding nicely and adding to the entertainment.  The blood and sweat, in turn, made the mat more slippery and meant they were more likely to slide off, again adding to the fun.  Their anger at each other now also included anger at Kevin, which naturally added to his personal enjoyment.  He was not only sporting a somewhat harder erection, but his own beautiful naked body was sweating almost as much as the two boys.

 

As the fight went on, it appeared Tony began to fade a bit.  Clearly, he had slipped off the mat many more times than Mike, and bore the resulting scars from the whippings.  The turning point of the fight happened when he slid off the mat on his back, and an unusually brutal stroke from Kevin’s whip hit his chest squarely on his left nipple, distracting him with the pain.  As Tony moved back onto the mat it gave Mike the chance he needed, and Mike was able to grab Tony’s right arm and bend it backwards to break it at the elbow.  Tony screamed in pain to the delight of the audience (especially those who had bet on Mike), and a look of fear came over his face.  But Mike didn’t move in for the kill just yet.  He first maneuvered so that he could reach Tony’s left arm, and without the use of his right Tony was unable to stop him.  Mike saw his opening and in no time had also managed to break Tony’s left arm.  Tony was in severe pain and now very distracted.  He was a superb wrestler, but not used to this kind of pain or the loss of the use of his arms.  Mike moved in again and tripped Tony, grabbing his leg as he fell.  Mike’s strength was impressive, and with a quick sidestep he was able to break the leg at the knee.  Tony was now pretty much helpless, and Mike had no trouble managing to break the other leg. Tony was screaming, and begged for mercy.  That was music to Mike’s ears (and Kevin’s), and Mike took a moment to spit in Tony’s face.  The hatred was indeed intense, and Mike wanted to prolong Tony’s agony and humiliation.

 

Mike did not yet finish off his enemy.  Instead, he focused on more of Tony’s limbs, and enjoyed himself breaking bones.  Mike broke both wrists, yanked the arms from the shoulders to dislocate them, and particularly seemed to enjoy further breaking the legs at the knees and ankles.  Mike then turned to Kevin:

 

“I want to make a wish and then break his legs at the crotch.  Would you like to help by grabbing one leg while I grab the other?”

 

The result of the fight was clear, and Kevin was more than happy to oblige.  So he and Mike each grabbed a leg, and Tony’s body was broken like a wishbone at Thanksgiving.  But Mike wasn’t done yet.

 

“May I borrow your whip?” Mike asked politely, his anger at Kevin replaced by his sense of triumph.  Once again, Kevin was delighted to oblige, and soon Mike was vigorously lacerating Tony’s back and butt as he lay on the mat, his body a bleeding contorted caricature of the beautiful young male he had been.  Mike then turned him over so he lay on his back and then applied the whip to the chest and belly.  It was a testament to Tony’s youth and fitness that he was still alive, let alone conscious.  But he was, and Mike was making sure his pain and humiliation were total.

 

What happened next surprised even Kevin, and thrilled the audience.  Mike put down the whip and knelt in front of Tony’s genitals, taking the doomed opponent’s cock into his mouth.  Despite all the pain, and aided by the sex drugs, Tony began to restore his erection – as did Mike.  Mike stroked his own cock, and expertly sucked off Tony.  To everyone’s amazement, Tony actually produced a load of cum, which Mike allowed to shoot straight up in the air, catching and swallowing it with his well-trained tongue.  Mike loved getting sucked off and sucking off other guys, and as he demonstrated he was very good at it.

 

But now it was time for Tony to die, and Mike once again showed some creativity.  While Tony’s cock was still hard, Mike again took it into his mouth.  But this time, instead of sucking it, he bit down hard at the base.  As Tony emitted an inhuman scream of ultimate shame and agony, Mike bit off his cock, letting the blood that was inside it drip form his mouth while he conspicuously chewed his victim’s manhood – being sure Tony could see what has happening.  As Mike finished and swallowed, his hands moved up Tony’s chest to his neck, and Mike’s strong hands choked the last remaining life from Tony’s broken body.  Kevin was so excited that even his normal self-control failed him, and he shot a load over the two boys as Tony finally stopped struggling and lay dead on the mat.  Mike dutifully licked up Kevin’s cum, which was his favorite liquid.

 

Mike had one more task to do, and he enthusiastically turned Tony’s body over so he could insert his cock into the asshole of the carcass that had once been his enemy.  The body was still warm, of course, and Mike was surprised how much he enjoyed fucking someone who was dead.  He made a mental note to himself to remember to fuck Larry after he killed him, and to find other occasions to do so, having no compunctions about the fact this would mean he would have to kill them first.  He was, indeed, a severe and total sadist with no limits.

 

Once Mike had erupted into Tony’s body he looked up at Kevin in total triumph.  “I believe I have won the match and done as instructed,” Mike casually stated.  “I want to claim the body as part of my prize, so I can finish eating him.  The cock tasted really good.”

 

A sly smile came across Kevin’s face.  “Yes, the body of the loser was part of the deal.  But unfortunately you broke the rules so you have not won.”

 

Mike was shocked and angry.  He knew he had put on a fantastic show.  And there was a mutilated, fucked dead body in front of him to prove his victory.

 

“You see,” Kevin continued, “the rules were to chew off the cock after Tony died, not before.  You deprived us of the fun of watching him piss all over himself once he died.  While I sure enjoyed watching you eat the cock while he was still alive – that was a nice touch that triggered a very satisfying orgasm for me – it broke the rules.  So you lose too.”

 

Now Mike was not only angry, but nervous.  “What do you mean?”

 

“The contract for the match not only allows us to make it a fight to the death, it also provides that if the winner doesn’t follow the rules we get to torture him to death also, in any way we want.  You should have read the fine print.”

 

Mike was horrified.  This was clearly not fair.  “No one showed me any contract,” he literally screamed at Kevin, “so you can’t hold me to anything like that.”

 

“Well, you’re under age so we showed it to your principal and your parents.  No one had any problem with it.  After all, they get some extra money as a result.”

 

Mike lunged at Kevin, but he was spent and in any event no match for the larger, stronger man.  Kevin handled him easily, and dragged him over to the other side of the stage.  There, as was customary, stood the Wheel of Death that, like the Wheel of Fortune that inspired it, was designed to be spun to land on a random selection.  But the selections here were a variety of ways for one of the show’s participants to be killed.  Kevin reminded Mike how it worked, and asked if Mike wanted to spin it.  Mike was still stunned, and didn’t respond.  So Kevin spun it for him, enjoying not only the amusement of how the young boy had been tricked, but also the knowledge that this gorgeous hunk of meat would soon be his to torture, kill, and enjoy.  Mike’s anger would make it just that much more fun.

 

The wheel spun for a while, building suspense as it was designed to do.  But it soon stopped, and to Kevin’s delight it had landed on “skinned alive.”  That was probably Kevin’s favorite way to torture and kill an animal, and it would also mean there would be a great source of new leather for one of Kevin’s popular outfits.  He loved wearing leather that was made from the skin of his victims, and this would be a special jacket since it would be from his final session as host of the show.  Best of all, Mike’s skin was extremely smooth, as befit his 17-year old youth, and it would make an especially nice piece of clothing.

 

It took very little time for the stage crew to set up the stage for the skinning, but Kevin wanted a little fun with Mike first.  There was a sawhorse-style fuck bench already nearby, and Kevin forced Mike onto it, tying his hands and ankles so Mike couldn’t resist and his terrific young ass was presented to Kevin for Kevin’s pleasure.  After all, the show had been on for nearly 20 minutes and Kevin had only shot one load of cum.  He needed some release, and Mike was the perfect target.  Kevin took his time, as the audience watched and enjoyed the show, thrusting slowly and deeply for quite a while before accelerating his pace and reaching his next climax.  He shot over Mike’s back so the audience could see the cum, and then he pissed all over the boy to clean off the cum and some of the sweat and blood from the fight.  A member of the stage crew showed up with a hose, and finished the job of cleaning up both Mike and Kevin with warm water for Kevin, cold for Mike, so that they would look fresh for the skinning.

 

Kevin then took the microphone, standing in front of Mike so he could watch.  “We now have another guest to introduce.  You’re already heard all about him, so with no further ado, let me introduce Larry – the cause of all this bad feeling.”

 

Yet another Adonis walked onto the stage.  His nude body was even more gorgeous than the other two, and he was as fit and impressive as anyone Kevin had ever invited on stage.  While a bit older than Tony and Mike, he nonetheless had the look of a very young male with terrific sex appeal.

 

“Welcome to the show, Larry.  As I told you, once Mike won the match it would not mean he would live through the show.  We rigged the match so Tony would lose, by putting some drugs into his water bottle that he drank before the fight.  And I made sure to focus my whip on him more than Mike.  I’m really happy about that since now I’ll get Mike’s smooth young skin without any scars.

 

“We also had it rigged so that we would have an excuse to torture and kill Mike, although he made it easy for us.  So, as we agreed, you would be allowed to fuck him and to administer the final torture that will result in his death.  Do you still want to do that?”

 

Larry nodded his head, and as he surveyed Mike’s vulnerable and available flesh Larry’s cock began to harden.

 

“Great.  The first thing I want you to fuck is his mouth.  But since he has a pattern of biting off cocks, and we want yours to stay attached, let’s do a little prep.  Here’s a pair of pliers.  How about if you take this plastic piece to keep his mouth open, and then use the pliers to remove his teeth?  It’s really fun to do, and astonishingly painful.”

 

As Larry eagerly agreed, to Mike’s horror, Kevin turned to the audience.  “And for the benefit of the audience, I want to let you know that we’ll turn the teeth into a nice bracelet, and that will be for sale once we’re done with the festivities.”  Kevin never missed a chance at a profitable promotion.

 

It turned out Larry had very sadistic tendencies of his own, and he took his time removing Mike’s teeth so that he could safely fuck his mouth.  He slowly used the pliers on each one, and placed the tooth into a nearby tray.  Mike’s pain was wonderfully obvious, and he screamed loudly.  Once Larry was done with his first task, he was quick to thrust his rock hard cock into Mike’s defenseless mouth and began pumping away.  Mike, however, couldn’t help himself.  He loved sucking cock so much that he actually cooperated, giving Larry an excellent blow job.  After all, it was Mike’s lust for Larry’s amazing body that had been the key to the grudge with Tony.  Kevin had moved to stand behind Mike’s ass, and amused himself by re-inserting his cock into the boy’s butt.  He watched Larry carefully, and when Larry shot his load all over Mike’s face, Kevin shot a load once again all over his back.  It was another crowd pleaser.

 

“Nice load,” Kevin congratulated Larry.  “Want to shoot one into his ass too?  I don’t think he’s going to be able to object.”

 

Larry was of course delighted to comply, and he soon added a plentiful supply of his cum to the sperm already shining on Mike’s exposed backside.  He finished by walking back in front of Mike’s face and pissing all over his face and down his throat.  Larry felt very satisfied and was now really enjoying himself.

 

Next, Mike was led to the special table Kevin had designed for the task of skinning a victim, and by this point he was too weak and shocked to resist.  The table was much like a rack, and had that added capacity, so Kevin stretched Mike, spread-eagled, on his back to the point his arms and legs were in pain.  To Kevin’s delight, Mike began to beg for mercy, offering to do anything in order to avoid his fate.  Kevin knew that always helped with audience enjoyment and that, in turn, improved ratings.

 

Kevin next put some attention to Mike’s smooth young cock, which he took in his mouth and soon got to a full, impressive erection.  Mike was too young and oversexed to resist the arousal, much as Tony had been when Mike sucked him off before biting off his cock.  This was another reason Kevin really liked torturing and snuffing boys in their late teens – they were like little cum-gushers he could always count on.

 

“Would you like to cum one last time before I skin you?” Kevin politely asked.  The answer wouldn’t matter, but he thought it would be fun to ask and get the reaction.

 

“Please, let me go.  I’ll do anything you want.  This isn’t fair,” was all Mike would say.

 

“OK, I’ll take that as a yes,” Kevin laughed in reply.  “Let me tell you how this will work.  You see the skinning knife I’m holding?  It is very sharp, which is important for getting a good clean separation of the skin form the meat and bone.  But first, since even you won’t be able to function sexually once I start in earnest, I am going to have Larry suck you off.  When you shoot, he’ll use the knife to cut off you cock and balls as a single unit.  They don’t’ represent much skin, and I Larry and I will eat them in front of you.  You can try not to watch, but you won’t be able to stop yourself.  It’s really pretty amusing how fixated male animals like you get when forced to watch your prized manhood being eaten while you’re still alive.”

 

Larry was delighted with this idea, and took his time sucking off the boy, but in due course Mike shot his final load.  Larry let it shoot over the smooth belly, and then licked it up for his enjoyment.  He also found cum his favorite liquid.  And as promised, as soon as the cock gyrated and began to shoot, Larry slowly cut away the scrotum and cock, so that by the time the cock was done shooting its load Larry was holding the manhood apparatus in his hand.  He and Kevin moved to where Mike could see them better, and very slowly they proceeded to enjoy the man-seed treats, starting with each eating a part of the penis and finishing with each enjoying a freshly detached testicle.  As Kevin predicted, Mike could not turn away – making for another instance of great TV.

 

The skinning itself was fairly routine, as Kevin had done it so many times before.  He started just under Mike’s chin and cut down to where his cock had been.  He slowly and expertly parted the skin, removing whole sections so that the resulting leather would be more seamless.  The specially designed table lifted the body up as needed so Kevin could pull the skin from the back as well as the chest, and once he had performed similarly on the arms and legs Mike was simply a bleeding pile of meat and bone – but, thanks to Kevin’s skills, not yet dead.  So Kevin was able to cut off a delicious piece of breast meat while Mike was still able to feel the pain and humiliation, and he ate that as well in front of the boy, who was once again fascinated and unable to turn away. When Kevin invited Larry to cut off another piece of boy tar-tar, however, it was too much for Mike’s system and everyone enjoyed the last convulsions of pain as Mike finally died and Larry concluded his snack and his task.  The camera had covered the proceedings expertly, and now canvassed the dead body for the enjoyment of the audience.

 

But there was one more use for Mike before he would be butchered in order to provide expensive treats for the studio audience (as Tony already had been).  Kevin adjusted the table so that there was an opening that allowed him to spread Mike’s skinless legs and approach the crotch that had once featured his young manhood.  The table then raised up Mike’s legs and positioned his butt so that Kevin could reach Mike’s ass.  Kevin also loved fucking his victims right after they died, while they were still warm and pliable.  He was again hard as a rock, and he thrust his cock into the well-lubricated asshole for Mike’s final fucking.  Kevin then invited Larry to do the same – the table had positioned the carcass ideally for a double fucking, and Kevin and Larry each pumped their cocks into the warm, moist flesh for Mike’s final humiliation.  (Of course, Kevin suspected the butchers would have a little fun before they started cutting Mike up, so maybe this was just the final time Mike would be fucked in public.)

 

Kevin and Larry simultaneously shot their loads into Mike this time, concluding what had been an exceptional opening segment.

 

Once they were sexually spent, Kevin turned to Larry.  “You have done really well, and I’ve enjoyed co-fucking this meat with you.  You’re not only a terrific stud, but you seem to be the brightest of the three of you.  So can I assume you know what happens now?”

 

“I can guess,” Larry replied.  “Since I technically killed Mike, I suppose you have the right to torture and kill me, and since that is what this show’s all about I figure that’s what you’ll do now.  I also assume you tricked me into signing something to that effect.  You do that a lot, and I think anyone who comes on the show should expect it.  I also recognize that once someone signs something, it’s final and binding.”

 

“Exactly right,” Kevin replied, impressed with the young stud.  “Shall we see what the Wheel of Death decides as to how you die?  Personally I can hardly wait, and while I like you I do hope it’s something very slow and painful so our audience can enjoy it.”

 

Larry did not resist.  He walked over with Kevin, and unlike Mike he was willing to spin the wheel to determine his fate.  He gave it a hard thrust, so it was a little longer before it slowed down and landed on one of the fatal options:  “crucified.”  The audience cheered loudly, realizing how truly long and painful that would be, but Larry did not complain.

 

The crew quickly showed up with a specially designed cross.  It was wooden, and very traditional in most ways.  But halfway down the vertical shaft was a very large dildo that pointed up at about a 45 degree angle.  Kevin explained the feature to Larry.  “This is actually a characteristic that dates way back to Roman times.  The idea is to have the victim fucked by the dildo, which adds a nice sexual touch and makes it a little more humiliating.  The Romans enjoyed mixing sex with death.  But it also has the advantage of supporting the body to some extent, and that is a great advantage since it means the animal will last days longer on the cross.  Instead of dying in just a few days, I’d guess that a strong, light young body like yours might make it close to a week.  So we’ll start by nailing you to the cross and positioning the dildo, and then we’ll turn our cameras on you so that our web audience can watch as you struggle, suffer, and eventually die – probably the longest and most painful option of all the wonderful choices on the Wheel.  Personally, I’m really pleased.  I’m sure you’ll provide lots of amusing entertainment for lots of days to come, and we’ll make a bit more money as people bet on how long you will last.  Oh, and it is also likely the dildo will keep you hard for a while, which will be an amusing touch given the agony you will be enduring.”

 

Larry listened, but stoically did not comment or resist.  He simply started to walk toward the cross, when a voice interrupted from off stage.

 

“Just a moment guys,” the voice interrupted.  “I have a couple of adjustments to announce.”  And with that Robert Gray, the show’s producer and Kevin’s long time business partner, walked on stage.  Like everyone associated with the show he was an awesome physical specimen, very fit and handsome.  He was wearing an outfit of the TKL leather that was so expensive and popular, and he turned to address Kevin.

 

“Before we proceed, I think it’s time to let everyone know who the new host is.  So maybe Larry can stay there and contemplate the cross while we chat on the couch for a moment.”

 

Kevin was surprised, but had come to expect surprises form the producer, who was the purchaser of Kevin’s interest in the show and a frequent sexual partner for Kevin.  They had met when Robert provided one of his male slave whores as the featured “guest” on the show, and the two men often enjoyed joint torture sessions and had similar preferences for the best recipes for young male meat.  Kevin knew his sometimes partner was very creative.

 

“Sure, Robert.  I’ve been really curious whom you’ve hired.”  With that Kevin walked over to the talk-show style desk and couch that was always on the side of the stage.  But instead of sitting at the desk as he usually did, both men sat on the couch.

 

“I think you’ll find this really amusing,” Robert began, smiling broadly.  “Remember the fine print you pointed out to that piece of meat formerly known as Mike?  And how you did pretty much the same kind of trick on poor Larry over there?  Well, I’ve got a fun little fine print report for you.  It’s in the contract you singed when you sold me your interest in the show.  Actually, I not only bought the show, but I also bought you – as a participant in the show.  I purchased the right to torture and kill you as part of the transition to a new host.”

 

Kevin was astonished.  “But I read the contract, and there was nothing like that in there,” he protested.  “And my lawyer read it too.”

 

“That’s actually where you made your mistake,” Mark informed him.  “I bribed your lawyer by arranging for him to inherit a third of your wealth.  I am very content with two-thirds, since I have so much I really don’t need any more.  He also gets a third of your meat and other body parts once you’re dead, with me again getting the rest.  So he agreed that he’d substitute a version of the contract that gives us your body and your assets at the last minute, so you would not realize what you were signing.   Given all the times you’ve pulled that sort of trick on participants on the show, I think that’s pretty funny.  Don’t you?”

 

Kevin was horrified, but knew he was doomed.  There were tens of millions of people watching, and he was very focused on his reputation.  He did not want to appear to be a coward or a bad sport.  He also knew that there was literally no way out, since the stage crew would enforce the contract.  He had frequently snuffed crew members when they made a mistake, or when he wanted their flesh, and that had built up a lot of resentment.  They would enjoy whatever was scheduled to happen next, and make sure it happened.  So he became resigned to his fate.  “Well, what the hell.  I know there’s no way out, and there is a little irony to it.  So I guess we go over to the Wheel?”

 

“Nope, you fate is already determined,” Mark informed his victim.  “I’ve also been researching a lot of potential replacement hosts, and frankly I have found that Larry has an unusual and unrecognized flare for both sadism and exhibitionism – just like you do.  And as he’s just demonstrated, he shares your amazing ability to shoot load after load of cum, especially when the cameras are rolling.  So he is the new host.  Once he and I finish double-fucking your ass, like you and he did to Mike’s dead body, you’ll just take Larry’s place on the cross.  As you had pointed out to him, it’s the longest and most painful means of death on the Wheel, and that is obviously appropriate for your snuff scene.  I had the Wheel rigged to land on that option.  Larry and I have timed it so you’ll die just about as we start filming next week’s show, and we’ll start the show by enjoying your best cuts of meat.”

 

Once Robert stripped naked to join in the fuck with Larry, the two of them had a rousing and enjoyable time jointly filling Kevin’s beautiful hole with their cum.  They then led him over to the cross, which lay on the stage so he could lie down on it, arms outstretched.  Kevin was a good sport, and didn’t resist as Larry and Mark each grabbed a hand and nailed it to a cross beam.  They then positioned the dildo up Kevin’s recently fucked ass, and proceeded to each nail a foot to a little platform near the base of the cross.  That, too, was designed to make it easier for Kevin to keep breathing, in order to prolong his suffering and their entertainment.  The whole process got Kevin aroused, and as the cross was raised to a vertical position his cock became quite rigid.  Larry and Robert looked forward to sharing the testicles that hung just below it, once Kevin finished dying and they started their new partnership as the new hosts of Thrill Kill Live!  As the cameras rolled with the closing credits, they headed over to the couch for more sex, a dinner featuring fresh cuts of meat form Mike’s body, and the arousing view of Kevin’s body starting its long torment.  It had been a great show, with many more to come.

Arcade Game by Gay Slavemeat

The beautiful 17-year-old male lay naked, on his back, with his hard cock just starting to erupt.  The blade of the guillotine above him sliced through the boy’s neck as if there had been no resistance at all.  The severed head plopped neatly into the little basket under the shelf, and the beheaded body gushed forth with a torrent of blood and gore while gyrating its final death throws.  As the severed head dropped, it was clear that its final expression was one of sexual satisfaction and relief.  Simultaneously, a smaller blade sliced through the young cock and ball set that had been starting to erupt with sperm just as the blades began their fatal journeys.  So the target’s life fluids gushed from that opening as well.  Above the device a scoreboard rated the performance electronically, giving it a .1 – an outstanding rating.  The onlookers were impressed, and several cheered the expertise of Justin, the aristocratic young operator who was not all that much older than his victim.  But no one cheered as much as Justin cheered himself, raising his arms with a resounding “Yes – I win.”

 

The trick of the game was to time the release of the two blades so that each severed its target at exactly the same time, and a gage measured and reported precisely when each blade completed its task, and how much time elapsed between the two amputations.  Justin looked down with pleasure at his handiwork, enjoying the final gyrations of the boy he had just killed, and releasing a load of piss over the dead body that was now motionless in front of him, missing two of its appendages.  It was an appropriate sign of Justin’s lack of respect for the carcass – before or after its amusing death.  But Justin did take the time to pass a nearby electronic bar-code reader over the chest of the victim, confirming its identify.  He then pressed the readout button that read “killed” and entered his name so that he’d be sure to get credit for the kill.  He wanted to be recognized for all the animals he was helping eliminate, and maybe get a medal from the city at some point for his service.  It was a service he was happy to perform.

 

“Great shot, man,” shouted Cory, one of Justin’s buddies, who was shooting a load of cum into a slightly older teen as he watched Justin take his turn at the bar arcade game they were playing,  Cory had used the time of Justin’s turn to reach climax inside he guy he was butt-fucking.  As Cory host his load, he finished tightening his grip around the guy’s throat, completing the process of strangling his victim and emoting the wonderfully satisfying feeling of the guy dying as Cory filled his asshole with cum.  “You got both targets within a tenth of a second of each other,” complemented Cory, now slowing his thrusts somewhat but still enjoying the pressure on his hard cock from the tight ass of what was now a dead body.  “That clearly beats my best effort, and it might be a new record.”

 

“Yeah, but I think I can do even better if I keep practicing,” Justin replied.  “How about if you keep playing with your little fuck-toy while I take another turn?  He’ll stay worm for a while and you always enjoy fucking them again right after you kill them.”  That’s exactly what Cory had in mind, and proceeded to do, so Justin signaled to another youth who was standing nearby, his naked body sporting a credible but not yet impressive erection.  As the boy nervously approached Justin to be evaluated as the next victim, Justin realized that he actually knew him.

 

“Didn’t you used to be Albert Withers?” Justin asked, reaching for a nearby wand to scan the bar code branded just above the boy’s right peck.  The boy nodded silently, and Justin confirmed the readout.

 

“Yeah,” Justin mused, turning to Corey.  “Remember when we raped this guy at high school graduation?  He had a really tight ass and had never been double-fucked before.  I still think his body is way above average and I’m getting horny just looking at him again.  I’ve been waiting for him to get processed.  It seems a shame to waste him with only a few minutes of entertainment.”

 

“I completely agree,” Cory responded, now fully into fucking the corpse in front of him, but always willing to multi-task if there was another good-looking victim available.  He was close enough to stroke the gorgeous smooth skin of the boy who had once been Albert.  “Let’s pull him out of line for the arcade game and have some fun with him.  He was a great little fuck when we were in school.  I’d hoped he’d fail the post-high school placement test and we’d have another shot at him.”

 

“I did more than hope,” laughed Justin, turning to the terrified youth.  “I bribed the principal to make sure he’d fail, and that he’d be assigned to this bar for execution and disposal.”  He turned directly to the youth, who was now both terrified and visibly angry.  “Actually, you passed the test with flying colors.  I just wanted to have the fun of torturing you to death since you tried to resist when Cory and I raped you last year.  True, it made the rape more fun, but animals of your social rank should not resist serving your superiors.  So now you’re mine.”

 

The “test” was administered to all high school males after they graduated from high school.  It was physical, psychological, and academic, determining if they were worthy to be workers or managers in the New Order, or would be relegated to the status of property.

 

The results were announced in an annual assembly with the graduates lined up on the gymnasium floor and the rest of the school looking on.  One by one, the principal would read their names, with a simple “citizen” or “property” after each name.  If they passed, they would go on to college and very pleasant and productive lives.  If they failed, they were required to strip naked on the spot, leave all their clothes and other belongings where they stood, and proceed to line up on stage.   After everyone’s status was announced, those who passed joined the rest of the students, helping themselves to anything they wanted that had belonged to their former classmates, and the principal would start an auction of the boys who failed.  The audience included not only fellow students, but also local business owners of establishments such as farms, factories, and restaurants.  There were no rules on use of the new slaves, so they were great sources of labor and of meat.  Other bidders included male brothels that would provide the young bodies for the sexual pleasure of their customers, again enhanced by the complete lack of any limits on use or disposal.  Once sold, the audience also got to watch as the terrified young animals were branded on stage with a bar code for identification as property and their intended purpose – “sex toy,” “farm animal” and “meat” were particular favorites that elicited cheers and jeers from the audience.  Listening to the screams of pain and humiliation as the indicia of their new status was burned into their tender young flesh got the audience very excited, and from that moment onward the animals no longer had names – just a bar code number that was registered with the city and reused once the animal’s death was confirmed.  The auction was a great fund-raiser for the school, so the principal was anxious to make sure as many kids failed as possible.  He therefore had no problem accepting bribes from wealthy aristocrats like Justin, and some of the “failed” kids were herded off separately to prearranged assignments rather than being auctioned off to the highest bidder.  Of course, the test didn’t apply to students like Justin and Cory, who were of the elite class and automatically passed.  It was a very efficient system, providing an inexpensive source of labor while controlling the population and assuring that only the best young males were permitted to breed – improving the quality of the race while enjoying their rights as worthy citizens.  Albert had been unlucky enough to get Justin’s interest, and so he was no longer a person at all, just property ready to be processed for the enjoyment of the patrons of Justin’s favorite bar. He had foolishly thought that by studying hard and working out daily he could earn a place as a citizen rather than becoming a slab of meat.  Justin and Cory laughed at his obvious anger and frustration as reality sank in.  It added to their fun.  “It looks like you’ve pretty much used up that piece of shit you were fucking,” Justin commented to Cory, who was again nearing orgasm.  “Why not finish fucking his dead ass and let’s replace him with our new piece of shit.  I want to fuck him right away, even before I take another turn at the arcade.”

 

Corey didn’t need any encouragement.   Regretting that his victim wouldn’t feel the pain, Cory reached down and cut off its testicles, popping one of the fresh treats into his mouth and tossing the other to his buddy Justin, just as he shot a second load into the still-warm piece of meat that had once been a young, vibrant male.  Corey ran a bar-code wand over its chest, registered the kill, and took credit.  He and Justin had a friendly contest going to see who could get the most civic points.

 

Justin signaled to the bartender to send over another candidate for the arcade game, and when that boy arrived he turned to his two new victims.

 

“Each of you is to replace the dead animal with yourself.  You get to be suspended from the ceiling for fucking and lashing for a while,” he said.  Pointing at his former schoolmate, he explained:  “I want everyone to enjoy a nice fuck at your expense, and we’ll see how long that ass of yours stays tight.”  He directed the other boy to the arcade game he had just completed.

 

“Replace this meat on the rack with yourself, and signal another animal to stand by.  After I fuck my classmate-turned-meat-slab here I want to get really good at this game.  Don’t worry, I’ll get to you fairly soon.”

 

The teen assigned to the game did not say anything, but nodded obediently and began his task.  First, he dumped the head into a larger container that included a fair collection of Justin’s and Corey’s targets.  Next, he picked up the severed cock and balls, removing the testacies and offering one each to Justin and Corey.  They casually consumed the second set of man-seeds, almost not noticing the fresh meat as they also chugged on the beers they were nursing while they enjoyed their games.  Fresh boy-oysters were just another snack, much like the chips and salsa that was laid out on a nearby table.  And it was another way a slave could add value and be degraded.

 

The cock was the only part of the process that had a little ritual to it.  The new victim picked that up, put it into his own mouth, and chewed and swallowed it.  The idea was some continuity from victim to victim, which was of course silly.  But the players liked to watch the slaves eat each other’s cocks, which were not at all tasty, so it added a bit to the fun.

 

The cock ritual also helped the slave victims recognize their very limited utility, even among the millions of teens who were being processed as property.    The arcade game added a bit of sport to the processing, and a crowded bar might go through well over 500 victims a night, given how popular the games were.

 

The slave now raised each of the guillotine blades back to its starting position, wiping off the blood and gore that had stained them.  The blades were kept incredibly sharp, and the slave ran a hand against each one just to demonstrate their sharpness, drawing blood as he did.  Players liked to see the victims suffer pain right away, so this was also part of the ritual.  The only real flaw of this game was the fact the deaths were so quick.  But that was balanced against the large number of males that could be processed.

 

The bench on the device was set at an incline, so that the head was placed several feet higher than the cock.  This was done to add to the challenge, requiring the player to time the release of each blade separately, realizing the one aimed at the head had a shorter distance to travel.  When the blade finished its task and connected with the metal sheaf below, an electric current was completed and the device measured that exact time compared to the same event with the other blade.  Scoring was based on the amount of time between strikes, with the lowest core winning.

 

The new victim now removed the body of its predecessor, which was put on a conveyor belt for transmittal to the butcher shop in the back of the bar.  Some of the meat from the victims was of course used to supply the bar with great steaks and slaveburgers, but there was so much that the bar could resell it and make a tidy profit from that activity as well.

It was now time for the victim to mount the game bench, which it did willingly.  As it lay on its back, ready for processing, it stroked its cock to help assure it remained erect.  It then pushed its genitals through the “door” of the cock guillotine, so that the blade could get a good, clean slice.  The operator would lose points if the animal’s cock and ball set were not completely severed.  The young male then leaned back and rested its head on the upper end of the bench, adjusting the location of the larger blade to assure that this, too, would be a clean and effective slice.  Still stroking his cock to assure its readiness when needed, the youth waited patiently for its turn to be snuffed.  It was grateful for such a quick event, especially as it watched the fate of the animal formerly known as Albert.

 

With the help of one of the bar waiters, Justin and Corey quickly attached the wrists of their victim to a chain suspended from the ceiling, and hoisted him so that his feet were dangling just above the floor.  He was now perfectly positioned for being whipped or fucked, or both.

 

“Let’s start by whipping him,” suggested Cory.  “I want to see him twist around a little.  And you can even start with his chest and belly, since I know you like that side best.  I’ll be just fine with this nice ass of his.”

 

Justin had no problem with that idea, and the two friends stood on either side of their target and leveled stroke after stroke onto the smooth young flesh suspended between them.  It took hardly any time to get the animal screaming, and to draw deep welts that bled profusely.  Indeed, after a while Justin expressed a concern.  “I’m afraid we might accidently let him die too soon if we keep this up, fun as it is.  Let’s cut him down and fuck him.”

 

“Sure, good point,” agreed Cory.   “But who gets to go first?  I know you were the one who set him up, but I want to feel his nice tight ass before you ruin it with your oversized dick.”

 

“OK, let’s double-dick him again.  There’s not enough room for both our dicks in there now from what I remember, but I’m sure we can once again tear a little more room if we work at it.  Let’s see if we can shoot at the same time.”

 

This was clearly a sensible solution, and Cory quickly agreed.  They liked to double-dick other guys, and were pretty good at it.  They released their prey from his shackles, and Cory lay on his back over a bar table, with the target sitting on his dick.  Cory entered the asshole first, but was quickly followed by Justin, who sat on the table and wasted no time thrusting his rock-hard weapon into the vulnerable asshole.  He was right – the hole was not nearly large enough to take their dicks at the same time, but the hole did indeed expand as they pushed, much to the humiliation and pain of the screaming youth whose insides they were ruining.  As they began their thrusts toward orgasm, another friend also climbed on the table and thrust his hard cock into the animal’s mouth.  “I’ve heard enough complaining from this thing,” the friend said.  “Might as well make use of all his holes, and shut him up in the process.  Let me know when you guys get close to shooting, and let’s see if we can make it a three-way shot.”

 

Corey and Justin knew each other’s bodies very well not only from lots of experience double-dicking other guys, but from their own sexual play with each other.  They could almost always make a 69 scene a nearly simultaneous orgasm.  So they clued in their buddy as they got close, so he could thrust a bit faster into the unwilling mouth servicing his eager cock.  They were quite successful, and the boy received two loads of cum up his ass as he received a third down his throat.  The onlookers at the bar were impressed, and the orgasms were accompanied by lots of laughter at the plight of what had once been a very beautiful body.

 

After the three buddies were done with their fun, Justin made it clear that everyone in the bar was welcome to enjoy this new piece of meat, but he didn’t want it so damaged that he couldn’t have more fun with it later.  Justin was very popular, and while everyone enjoyed themselves there was no permanent damage to the flesh – for now.

 

Justin next turned his attention to the arcade game, and the young male patiently waiting to be snuffed, grateful for the speed of the process and enjoying a final chance to stroke his nice hard cock.   One of the rules was that Justin could not release either of the blades until he caused the victim to reach orgasm, starting to shoot a load of cum.  Justin took pride in the fact he also maintained his own cock with an impressive erection, and played the game naked to show off his great body and massive penis.  Most of the guys in the bar were also naked, since all the arcade games tended to involve at least some aspect of male sex and being naked made it more convenient.  Besides, as males who had been found worthy, they all had fantastic bodies worth showing off.  Nudity had become pretty much the norm.

 

Justin took over stroking the young cock he was about to sever, using both hands as required by the rules of the game.  Being 18 and eager to please so that it could at least provide some value with its otherwise worthless existence, the young male quickly approached orgasm and began the convulsions that signaled the arrival of a large load of sperm.  Justin stroked just a bit harder to assure completion of the process.

 

When the victim began to release its load, with a string of thick cum starting to stream from its cock, Justin quickly grabbed the two blade controls.  He released the one aimed at the cock first and intensely watched as it began its plunge.  At precisely the right second he released the larger blade, watching it, too, as it plunged downward.

 

The two blades worked their magic, and the head and the cock were perfectly severed.  Most important, and even to Justin’s surprise, the game emitted a loud “clang” and a siren went off briefly.  Justin had made his goal – the two blades had connected at precisely the same time, yielding a perfect score of zero.  No one had ever done that before, so the reaction from the machine was a great surprise, but one that helped celebrate Justin’s triumph.  Even though he had just shot a load minutes before, he couldn’t help shooting another one as he realized what he had accomplished and as he watched yet another inferior male finish dying for his entertainment.  He loved this game.

 

Justin and Cory continued playing the arcade game, as the other patrons of the bar looked on, and played other arcade games or just enjoyed their beer.  Some were fond of the archery games, with young males standing at attention while customers shot arrows into their bodies, or hurled axes that mutilated the young flesh.  Others suspended animals for severe, usually fatal whipping sessions.  And still others just enjoyed fucking some of the guys tied up for their use.  It was a friendly and convivial place, with lots of cheering and laughter, which was why Justin and Corey enjoyed it so much.  Besides, they knew the meat was always fresh, and they could even specify a particular cut of meat from an animal that interested them, and then watch the cook as he cut if off the living body and cooked it in front of both the patron and the dying source of the meat.

 

As this particular evening drew to a close, Justin and Cory decided that it would be most fun to crucify their former classmate, and they enjoyed nailing his hands and feet to one of the crosses that adorned several of the walls.  There were no pictures in the bar, since it was more satisfying to look at the animals displayed in various stages of suffering – what was known jokingly as “dying art.”  Being very light and fit, their schoolmate would almost certainly last until the next evening, suffering horribly as he gradually lost the strength to breath.  A huge electrified dildo built into the cross gave victims a little support, extending the time of their suffering and adding the pain of being fucked and shocked as they died.  So Justin and Cory were quite sure they’d have a chance to continue the fun the next afternoon.  They could decide whether they wanted him to die on the cross, or whether they would cut him down and play with him a bit more – maybe skin him alive, or at least disembowel him.  But that was tomorrow’s task.  Justin and Cory were tired from all their efforts, and they headed home to enjoy each other, quite satisfied with a great evening of arcade fun combined with sex and civic contributions.

Thrill Kill Live! by Gay Slavemeat–Gsmeat2@gmail.com

The camera began to pan down the inviting flesh of the first participant even before the show’s credits began to roll across the screen. The camera revealed nicely formed shoulders, a smooth back, and fairly muscular arms, which were raised above the head. The hands were shackled to the top of a frame, spread-eagling the participant. Below the shoulders the back was slightly shiny, with a thin layer of perspiration causing a reflection on the exposed flesh. Even from the back it was obvious that the participant had a fit, muscular torso. The obliques were solid, and the deltoids showed the results of dedicated workouts. The camera finished its initial journey with a pause at the buttocks. The cameraman knew that the audience would want to view this very enticing feature of the young male animal, and the meat was firm and extremely well shaped. This was the best feature of this particular animal in the view of the director, and he wanted others to enjoy it as he did. His job was not just to film the action as a passive observer for the benefit of the home audience, but to accentuate the most interesting and entertaining aspects of what was underway. He had won many Emmy awards for great camera work, and he was considered the best in the business.

The camera finished its tour of the young male by revealing that the feet were also shackled, so that the participant was nicely secured and spread within a wooden frame. Whatever was in store for him, he was not in any position to resist, and he was fully available and vulnerable.

As the credits rolled, identifying that this was another broadcast of the hit show “Thrill Kill Live!” on the Fox network, and beginning to list the various people who were involved with the show, the camera now focused on the front of the “participant.” His face was not overly handsome, but not badly formed. He wore a trim haircut above blue eyes and a thin set of lips. He was now moving in the frame, swaying slightly within the constraints that held him, and he was sweating a lot more.

“Please,” he cried. “This is all a mistake. I didn’t agree. I was drunk. Let me go. Don’t let him do this to me.”

The entreaties went on, but no one paid any attention. Even the camera didn’t pause for long, and soon worked its way down the front of its target object, showing a decent set of chest muscles and fairly nice abdominals. Nothing was really awesome, but it was all in nice shape and the animal was very much in his physical prime.

As the camera approached the genitals, its view was somewhat blocked. Another face was in the picture now, using his mouth to arouse the shackled complainer.

And he was having the desired effect. The victim’s cock was now fully aroused, and his complaints were more ambiguous.

“No, I don’t want to cum. I know what will happen. Don’t let him do this to me.”

The participant’s cock put the lie to his protests. As it got more and more attention from the naked young male kneeling in front of it and providing an expert blow job, the cock got more and more hard.

The cameras now split the views into multiple shots. One view focused on the rising cock, with a close-up that included the eager tongue of the kneeling cocksucker and the pre-cum juice that was starting to leak out. Another view was of the cocksucker himself, showing a second well formed young male who was himself both naked and aroused. He was using his free hands to masturbate himself while he used his mouth to arouse his stage companion. Both youth were getting close to orgasm, as revealed by the increase in pre-cum leaking from each hard penis.

A third camera shot was from the back of the victim, between his legs. It got a bit of his balls in the shot, but was mostly focused on the cocksucker, showing his body from the chest down to his cock – sort of an artistic view. And there was even a fourth camera that caught the full scene, including the undulation of the restrained victim as he tried to resist and continued to complain even as he got increasingly aroused.

The credits finished just as the two youth reached climax. The kneeling cocksucker was apparently good at his task, having achieved a nearly simultaneous orgasm. That got a cheer form the studio audience, which up to now had been very still.

But then things got interesting. As the shackled youth shot his load, which traveled a good distance across the stage, his partner struck. He picked up a knife that had not been visible to the audience or the camera, and carefully sliced off the erupting cock. The initial moans of pleasure form the victim instantly turned to creams of agony.

The cocksucker held up his prize for the camera, to the cheers and applause of the audience, and he was clearly pleased with himself. His own cock was finishing its load, which had been aimed effectively at the belly of his victim.

But the cocksucker’s satisfaction didn’t last. Just as his cock stopped shooting cum, a swishing noise was heard along with the subsiding screams of agony, and an arrow appeared as if out of nowhere. It traveled with utter accuracy and entered the ball sack of the cocksucker. The camera shot from between the legs of the emasculated victim caught the flight of the arrow and its entry into the soft flesh with perfect artistry. The cocksucker was clearly astonished, and even more so when another arrow pierced his chest. He now uttered his own screams, of both agony and shock, as he fell to the ground – bleeding and dying like his companion. The cameras caught all the action, and continued to roll as the two animals writhed in deathly pain and ultimately lay still. The show was now ready to begin.

“Good evening viewers!” welcomed a familiar voice. The camera now revealed a truly handsome young male, who was standing to the side of the stage, looking at the remains of the two naked youth. He was dressed in leather clothing, which fit quite tightly and suggested a very muscular frame and a very generous set of genitals. It was obvious that he had a hard-on under the skin-tight leather pants.

“As you know, unless you just arrived on planet Earth, I’m Kevin Strand and I’m your host and the creator of “Thrill Kill Live!” I hope everyone enjoyed our little opening fun?”

The audience cheered, with thunderous applause. The host was extraordinarily popular, and the opening scene had been well received.

“I want to thank our intro staff for that little vignette. So, how about a round of applause for Johnny and the gang?”

The audience applauded yet again.

“Incidentally, I really liked the look of surprise on the second guy’s face when the arrow nailed him in the nuts. Tell me, Johnny, how did you pull that off?”

“Thanks, Kevin. This one was actually kind of fun. The short story is that these two guys were once lovers. But the guy in the frame fell in love with another guy, and the cocksucker wanted revenge. So he got his former lover drunk and tricked him into signing the application to appear on our show. His proposal was that he’d suck off the former lover and then cut off his cock as he shot his last load. He promised that he could get them both off at the same time – which he did. I said that was OK, but he’d have to finish the task before we finished the credits. If not, we could do whatever we felt like to either of them. The idiot agreed. We had done a little background research on each of them, and they were both clear losers. So, we just ran the credits a little faster than usual, he missed his timing, and we got him right in the balls. The chest shot was just to make sure he died quickly enough to not slow down the show. These are decent looking participants, but obviously nothing special in either case. But now they’ve at least provided a little entertainment – a few minutes is all they’re worth – and we’ll get some use out of the bodies. As always, the studio audience is welcome to buy some fresh treats during commercials. And they can cut them off themselves once we get the carcasses strung up, or have our cooks do it for them.”

Johnny’s explanation of the story and the joke on the dead cocksucker got another round of applause, and a little laughter. A couple of audience members ducked out to get the first choice on the fresh treats. Tricking losers into agreeing to be killed on the show was a part of the show’s culture and yet another reason it was so popular. Recycling the dead losers as snacks was part of the show’s commitment to not wasting anything and further enhanced its profits. The treats were not cheap.

“Well done, as always,” complemented Kevin. “But now we have a much better looking loser for us to process. Let’s welcome tonight’s featured solo participant. Here’s Marcus.”

A young male walked onto the stage, and shook hands with Kevin. Kevin led him to a couch and chair that were set up on stage, and they both sat down.
Kevin was in the chair, with Marcus on the couch. Marcus was very neatly dressed, wearing a collared shirt, nice slacks, and dress shoes. He had a thoroughly clean-cut appearance. His face was striking in its beauty. He was at least movie star quality, and the audience approved, anxious to see events develop.

Marcus’ arrival was greeted with a polite round of applause.

“Don’t worry, Marcus,” Kevin explained as they settled in. “That wasn’t much of a welcome, but the audience will get a lot more enthusiastic in a while once we start working you over. But let’s start by getting to know you a little bit.

Why don’t you tell me what you do, how old you are, and why you decided to apply to be on our show in order to get tortured and snuffed in front of all our millions of viewers?”

Marcus was obviously nervous, but he rose to the occasion.

“Well, I’m 19 years old as of today, and I am a sex slave. I flunked out of high school during my first year, and my master was kind enough to let me live in his home. In return, I agreed that he would own me and I’d do whatever he wanted me to do. I have had a few jobs here and there that he arranged, but I’m not really good at much. As I’ve watched your show over the years, I realized I’m one of the losers you process. Since I’m not going anywhere in life, I figured I’d at least provide other people with some entertainment, and maybe finally add a little value. It won’t pay for what was wasted on me trying to get me educated, but at least it’s something.”

“That’s really well said, Marcus. And it’s pretty perceptive. A lot of young guys don’t realize they’re losers until later in life, and then they’re not interesting enough to be on the show. We still process them in our meat factories, but there isn’t much entertainment value. You’re doing this at a nice young age when everyone can enjoy watching you suffer and be humiliated physically and sexually. This should be a lot of fun for everyone. You’re right that you’re still a waste, and we have no doubt of your status as a real loser – we’ve checked – but at least it’s something. If you do a good job being turned into a slab of meat, you can take satisfaction in the fact millions of people will have been entertained and amused.”

“That’s my hope. I will try to do everything you tell me to do. My master agreed that it was time to dispose of me, and I don’t want to disappoint him.”

“That’s very important,” counseled Kevin. “Have you been able to provide him any value at all? It sounds like he’s owned you for about 4 years.”

“He has. I was just 15 when I flunked out and was sent to him by the principal. He is in his early twenties, and likes very young males, so one thing I did was to provide him sexual service. He also rented me to other guys who would use me however they wanted. So I’m sure he made money off me, which is good. And the other guys seemed to enjoy fucking me and using me as a sex toy or a urinal or whatever.

Probably the only real good I did, however, was shortly after I left school. The principal wanted to make an example of me for the other kids, and my master agreed. So I returned to school to tell them what had happened, and how I had become a sex slave and a whore. They made me do it standing naked in front of the class, and everyone laughed at me. As I described some of the things other guys did when they rented me, I am afraid I got aroused and developed an erection. So the class laughed even harder. Then they made me kneel down in front of my former teacher and suck him off. After that, some of the guys on the football team were invited to administer some punishment, and they hit me until I passed out. I think they fucked me while I was unconscious, since I was pretty sore in my ass when I finally woke up. They had just let me lie on the floor passed out for the rest of the class.

So, maybe some other kids worked harder to stay in school. But it actually seemed like a few flunked out on purpose to be able to satisfy their sexual desires, since there were several more in my master’s harem within a few weeks after I was presented to the class. I guess I blew that too.”

“Yeah,” Kevin responded. “Even by the low standards of the kinds of animals we snuff on the show, it sounds like you’d be a loser among losers. But at least you’ll be dead soon and you won’t be a burden any more.

“Do you have all your affairs in order? We don’t want to leave any lose ends, after all.”

“Yeah, it didn’t amount to much. I gave away what little I owned to my master years ago. He’s the one that helped me realize this is the best choice for a guy like me. And I understand you guys take care of disposing of the body. So all I’ve got left are the clothes I’m wearing.”

“Excellent. We do take care of the bodies, and you don’t have to worry. We are very environmentally conscious, and nothing will go to waste. Depending on what happens to your cock and balls during the session, they are sometimes sold as souvenirs. If your skin isn’t damaged too much, we use it to make leather clothing, and we have our own line of designer togs made from the flesh of the guys we snuff, which are very popular. That’s what I’m wearing, for example. Our studio audience gets to choose the best cuts of your meat from what’s left, and we turn the rest of you into hamburger and bone meal for fertilizer. There will be nothing left. And everyone will soon forget you ever existed, which is just as well.

“That sounds good. I especially hope people find me good to eat. Having other guys eat me is a sexual fantasy I’ve developed as I’ve been used over the past few years. My master has kept me very trim, so I should be a nice lean source of protean, for what that’s worth.”

“That’s right,” confirmed Kevin. “It sounds like your master coached you really well. Obviously someone like you couldn’t have figured that out all on your own.”

“Oh, no. I really owe him. He helped me a lot.”

“That sure sounds right to me. But there’s one last question to ask. Have you given some thought to how you think we should kill you? Your opinion is irrelevant of course, but we usually find it amusing and every now and then someone adds an aspect to the torture that we like. So we’re always curious to know.”

“Well, once again my master roommate has helped me on this. I know it’s a question you always ask, so I asked him what he thought. And he told me that I should stress that I don’t deserve a quick death. So things like hangings and strangling don’t seem appropriate. I should suffer for as long a time as you have on the show for this segment, so that I can provide as much amusement to the audience as possible. I’m not vain enough to think I’d deserve something that lasts beyond the show, like a crucifixion, but I shouldn’t be let off too easily or quickly.

Also, my master stressed that I should be humiliated. I know I’ll get sodomized and pissed on, since that’s pretty standard. But he thinks I deserve to be thoroughly debased, making me understand how worthless I am and thereby adding to the humor for the viewers. I’m sure he’s right about all that, and I’ll do my best to cooperate. I really want people to enjoy watching me get what I deserve.”

“Great. He really did train you well. And I have no problem assuring you will be tortured and kept alive and suffering as long as we can, given our time constraints. But you’re hardly special and we do have our limits. It’s important that losers like you don’t get delusions of relevance. I can also assure you you’ll be treated like the piece of shit you truly are.

“Now it sounds like we should finish up your preparations. Do you want to give away what you’re wearing? I think the audience would like to see what you really look like.”

“Sure,” came the response. “What do you want me to do?”

Kevin gestured for Marcus to stand up, and escorted him to a round pedestal that had been brought on stage where the earlier scene had occurred. The two introductory animals had been removed and the stage had been cleaned up while Kevin and Marcus had been chatting.

“Stand here, so people can look at you. And you can hand me your clothes as you take them off. Take your time. We’re not in a hurry, and I think we’ll all enjoy watching you strip.”

Marcus did as instructed. The nice collared shirt came off first, and revealed a very tight undershirt that featured Marcus’ well defined chest. The audience became more interested as they anticipated what would be revealed next. They were also impatient, but they were not disappointed when the undershirt was quickly removed. Marcus had a fantastic body. His shoulders, pecks and abs were astonishingly handsome. The audience now began to cheer loudly, calling to Marcus to finish the strip show.

“Hold on, folks,” interjected Kevin. “I know there’s more to see, and I’m anxious too. But let’s make sure we get these shirts into the right hands first.”

And with that, Kevin invited members of the audience to bid for the two pieces of clothing. They went quickly. He next had Marcus remove his shoes and socks, so that he was standing bare-chested and barefoot on the pedestal. The shoes and socks were sold off as well.

“Now we can finish the task.

“OK, Marcus, time to show the audience all you’ve got.”

Marcus slowly removed his slacks. This time there was no follow-on. He was not wearing any underwear, so his body was quite naked when he stepped out of them.

That got yet another cheer from the audience, and Kevin was quick to dispose of the trousers. All the attention was now on Marcus’ fully exposed masculinity.

Marcus not only had a fantastic upper body, he had a great butt, well formed legs, and a truly impressive set of genitals. He was already rock hard, the prospect of being displayed naked in front of millions of people having turned him on a lot. His cock was huge, but not disproportionate to the rest of his body. It thrust out in front of him, smooth and straight. The balls were also ample, and hung down in a larger than usual scrotum. And, as the pedestal turned, the audience got a good view of Marcus’ back and buttocks. Here too he was a wonderful specimen. Marcus was well beyond handsome. He was beautiful.

“Well, Marcus’ body speaks for itself. I think we can all see why we accepted his application. This should be a very good segment of tonight’s show.

“Marcus, I want you to stay on the pedestal and keep yourself aroused. Is that clear?”

There was a bit more authority in Kevin’s admonition, but it didn’t affect Marcus. At this point he was very excited, and he nodded agreement. His hands went to his cock, caressing it to assure it stayed hard. He had never had so much attention.

“And now, my wonderful viewers, it’s time to introduce my next guest. He’s not a loser. He’s a major winner, and a friend of the show. So please welcome Marcus’ master, Mr. Robert Gray.”

The next person to walk out was almost as beautiful as Marcus. And he was almost as young. However, Robert was more of a muscular stud, like Kevin, than a twink like Marcus. He was both tall and powerful in his appearance.
And he was naked, revealing a massive penis that was fully erect and swaying in front of him as he walked. However, he did wear a pair of leather boots. He walked confidently on stage, and went to the couch where Marcus had sat earlier. As Kevin approached the chair, he gestured to Robert to sit, and Robert did so. He also began to stroke his massive cock, casually playing with himself as if oblivious to the millions of viewers. Clearly, like Marcus, Robert enjoyed the attention. But unlike Marcus, Robert enjoyed being in charge.

“Frankly, it’s an honor to have you here,” said Kevin. “You’ve sent some wonderful meat our way over the past few years, and I’m really glad to have you on the show in person. And you’re obviously quite a stud. I’ve gotten rather rigid looking at you and Marcus, so let me get a little more comfortable.”

With that, Kevin slowly stripped off his leather clothes. He couldn’t resist a little sales pitch for the “Loser Leather” line that he had been wearing and that the show promoted, but he didn’t dally too long. He knew the audience was anxious for things to get physical.

“Well,” started Kevin, now both naked and hard. “You and I have a fun task ahead of us. But why don’t’ you quickly tell us a little about yourself and how you got Marcus to be aware of his best use before we start? I do think the audience would enjoy a quick history. It’s your views that matter, not the meat rotating on the pedestal over there.” Kevin pointed at the beautiful young volunteer, who was still obediently massaging his cock and still quite erect as he slowly rotated on the pedestal to reveal ass aspects of his body.

Marcus took no offense. He knew what he was. Robert had explained it all to him many times.

“To start with, I have a deal with some of the local high school principals to alert me to good looking losers who are not going to make it to graduation. The principals make sure they flunk out early on, usually during their first year, and send them my way. When I get hold of them I offer them an alternative – live with me as slaves and provide sexual and other services to make up for their failures.

One of the many companies I own is a male brothel and escort service, so I turn them into obedient young whores. It takes a little training to get the attitude right sometimes, but they always come around.

“I own guys of various ages, but there’s more profit in the really young ones. Lots of guys like to use them, and it was a problem for our society for quite a while. But this way, they use boy-meat that is of no value or interest to anyone. They satisfy their urges and no one gets hurt who matters. Also, I don’t set any limits, so they can do anything they want to the whores. They just pay a premium if the animal is damaged or killed. I pick up the body, ship it nice and fresh to you guys for processing, and have one of the other whores clean up the mess and continue servicing the customer. So, again, there’s no harm done.

“Marcus is obviously a lot better looking than most kids, so I took him into my house for my personal use and that of my guests. It turns out he’s not only really pretty, but he’s really horny and a natural masochist. So he’s been a lot of fun to train and use. For the record, he’s been used a lot.
That’s no virgin ass we’re looking at, and I’ve enjoyed the training process. I keep him in good shape physically, feed him very healthy dog food, and let the staff play with him whenever they want. I’ve owned him exactly four years, since he arrived on his 15th birthday. He’s gotten so much use it seems time to finish him off, and it seemed more fun to make it his birthday present now that he’s just turned 19. After all, it’s much more fun to snuff these animals while they’re still attractive and their cocks are still functioning well.”

“That’s a wonderful service you provide. Incidentally, what’s Marcus’ best sexual trait?” asked Kevin.

“The little fuck will do absolutely anything you want him to do. He really has no limits and no inhibitions. He wasn’t kidding when he told you he’s turned on by the fact he’ll be eaten – he’d like it to be while he’s still alive, for that matter. My buddies and I had considered snuffing him ourselves at a private party, which is what we do with the other whores when they’re no longer profitable enough, but he seemed too appealing. It would be selfish not to share the fun with your audience.”

“We appreciate your consideration. I think he’s going to be a hit. And he’s gotten even harder as you have described him. His cock is now pointing straight up and there’s a little pre-cum.”

“Yeah, this will be fun. I do think we should take our time, as I instructed him to say during your interview with him. And I think you’ll enjoy how far he can shoot a load of cum. He should do a lot better than that miserable complaining fucker you started the show with. The key is to be sure he’s in serous pain with a dick up his ass when he shoots. It has a nice effect on him.

“I usually use a cattle prod on the balls cranked up to full voltage, but you probably have some even better ideas.”

“We’ll give it our best. As a matter of fact, why don’t we go over to the wheel of torture and pick an ending for him? We’ve removed all the quick deaths like hanging and suffocating, so you can be sure it will be prolonged – like we all want.”

“Great. If we do this right, he should last quite a while. I’m pretty horny and anxious to start the fun,”

Robert concurred.

“Me too,” agreed Kevin. “I’m sure our audience here and at home is as well. So let’s get this show into action.”

With that, Robert and Kevin walked over to Marcus, and led him to the other side of the stage. There was a huge wheel that had been brought out, with various “choices” printed on the spokes. It had been modeled after the old
“Wheel of Fortune” but this was a “Wheel of Deaths.” There were lots of choices, and Kevin reminded the audience of a few of them.

“OK folks, in just a moment Marcus will spin the wheel to determine what kind of torture we’ll inflict for the final part of the snuff. But don’t worry; we’ll get lots of fun out of him before we finish him off. And there are lots of fun choices for the finale. The wheel could land on vivisecting, instructing us to cut him into little pieces while trying to keep him alive as long as possible.

“Or maybe we’ll get to cook him. Here’s a fun one (pointing at the wheel) – we might skin him alive. I might like that one, since I need a new coat.”

With that introduction, Kevin gestured toward the wheel, and Marcus gave it a spin. The wheel was designed to spin for a while to build suspense, and it did so. It eventually slowed down, and finally stopped. The selection was made and Marcus’ fate was sealed. The final torture would be for Marcus to be whipped to death.

“Well,” laughed Kevin. “There goes my coat! His skin won’t be in any shape to use once we’re done. But I really enjoy whipping these worthless pieces of shit like Marcus, so I’ll get over it. He’s got really beautiful skin, so it will be fun to use the whips to cut into him. He’ll be pretty shredded when we’re done – and he’s done.

“But first, my friend,” looking at Robert, “I think we should do a little fucking. Don’t you agree?”

“Absolutely,” came the reply. Robert had been stroking Marcus as the three were standing on stage. It wasn’t a stroke of caring – it was of pure lust. Robert wanted sex, and Marcus was a great sex object.

The three naked males, all fully aroused and obviously horny, now returned to where the coach had been. That set had been replaced during the spinning of the wheel, and it now contained a huge mattress, a table with lots of “tools” for Robert and Kevin to use, and various devices that they could use to restrain and display Marcus. It was a fully equipped torture chamber.

“Since you were kind enough to send Marcus our way, why don’t you do the first fuck?” Kevin generously offered.

Robert didn’t need a second invitation. He pushed Marcus onto a frame that functioned like a saw-horse, and quickly attached Marcus’ wrists and ankles to restrain him. It wasn’t that he thought Marcus would resist, but it added to his sense of power over the boy. The eager young victim was now nicely positioned to be butt fucked, belly side down, arms and legs extended, with his inviting bubble-butt positioned conveniently for the attack. There even were side poles for Robert to use to get better traction as he thrust his huge cock into the helpless target.

There was no foreplay, and Robert was utterly focused on his sexual needs as he pushed his large penis into Marcus and then commenced an intense fucking session. Meanwhile, Kevin went over to Marcus’ face and thrust his own cock into that opening. Marcus took it enthusiastically, and showed that he was a very talented and experienced cock sucker. He was now being fucked at both ends, and his own cock was near eruption. But Robert had trained Marcus with some success, and Marcus made sure not to erupt himself unless permitted to do so.

The two executioners took their time, and as the studio and home audiences watched they vigorously used Marcus as a sex toy. Yet, amazingly, they didn’t shoot their loads. They were both very disciplined, and they had more fun in mind before giving up heir cum.

After a while, Kevin signaled to Robert and they both withdrew their manhood from Marcus’ body. They released Marcus, and ordered him to stand between them.

Meanwhile, Kevin had grabbed a baseball bat and Robert a studded paddle. When Marcus stood, they began to beat him.

The first blows were to the buttocks and the chest. But there were no parts of Marcus’ exposed body that were off limits. If a blow to the belly caused internal damage, so what? If Marcus was bruised and no longer quite so pretty, that was part of the idea. And it was particularly satisfying to connect with that spongy pouch of man-flesh that was Marcus’ scrotum. Blow after blow hit there, smashing his balls and eliciting animal-like screams of pain.

Marcus collapsed, falling to the ground and writhing in agony from the blows.

But that didn’t get him off the hook. In fact, it got worse. Each of his torturers was wearing metal-tipped boots, and now they added kicks to the other blows. Kevin landed a particularly strong kick right on the suffering ball sack, and Marcus fainted from the pain. The audience applauded loudly.

The two muscular studs looked down on their handiwork. It would be a few minutes before Marcus could be revived to continue the entertainment, so they decided to take a break while the veterinarians worked on getting Marcus back to a conscious state. Robert and Kevin caressed each other, kissed, and began a major love-making scene on the cushioned stage. While Marcus had been the prettiest of the three, Kevin and Robert were more masculine and more muscular.

They used their wonderfully formed and fit bodies to excite each other, sucking in a passionate 69, then turning and embracing. Each allowed the other to enter his backside, but it was done with care and affection, not the way they had simply used Marcus as an object. Each brought the other’s cock to an even higher degree of excitement with careful attention from mouth and tongue. And each shot several loads of thick man-juice over the other’s body. This was a sex scene as good as any porn flick, and the audience was thrilled.

In due course the lovers were alerted that Marcus was once again available. He was now strung up by his hands, feet slightly off the floor, swinging freely.

And, amazingly, he was once again erect. The fucking and beating had actually aroused him even more, and watching the sex show had assured another nice hard-on. But his body showed the bruises from the prior episode, and he was clearly still in pain. So their efforts hadn’t been wasted.

“Shall we masturbate him before we get into the rough stuff?” asked Robert.

“You’re the expert, but I think the audience would enjoy watching him shoot, and he might not be very functional once I get going on his balls – which are my next target.”

“Sure,” responded Kevin. “You said he’s a pretty good shooter, and I know I’d enjoy the performance. I hate to let him have any pleasure, but I suppose there’s no way to avoid it.”

“Yeah, there sort of is. I trained him to respond to pain, and he’ll usually shoot a good load while I apply electricity to his balls. It took a while to train him, but that was a fun task for me. It doesn’t always work, but let’s give it a try. Oh yeah, it also helps if there’s a big dick up his ass. Interested?”

Kevin didn’t need a second invitation. Even though he and Robert had shot several loads, they too were already erect and ready to go again. Kevin stood behind Marcus, and being a bit taller he was able to thrust his large cock straight into the defenseless youth. He wrapped his arms around Marcus’ beautiful chest and started pumping.

Meanwhile, Robert had picked up a nearby cattle prod and turned it to full strength. He didn’t go immediately for the balls, but started with Marcus’ thigh and then his chest. He particularly let it rest on the nipples, which had hardened nicely with Marcus’ sexual excitement and were a tempting target. To the satisfaction of the audience, Robert used the probe to essentially burn each nipple, slowly, into oblivion. Marcus was now not quite so pretty, his beautiful nipples replaced by a small stream of dripping blood. Marcus jerked and screamed, but obviously had no recourse. Kevin pumped even harder.

Now Robert turned to his main prey. He placed the charged end of the cattle prod between the little spongy balls nestled in Marcus’ dangling sack of manhood. Marcus’ scream of pain was barely human. He writhed and jerked in his agony, trying to get away from the source of the pain. But to no avail.

And then Marcus shot his load. Robert had not even touched his cock – Marcus had been set off by the intensity of the pain and the realization of his fate being final that came with having part of his body burned off – the very nipples Robert had always loved to torture. It was a great shot – cum was fired well into the air and across the stage. As the camera recorded the event, several more waves shot from Marcus’ gyrating cock. Kevin too unloaded, placing his seed inside the doomed boy.

“That was a great show, Robert.” Kevin was clearly impressed. “You did a really good job training this guy. He makes a very entertaining circus animal.”

“Thanks. I do think he was one of my better efforts. But now I’m all horny again. Mind if I fuck him?”

And, of course, that was perfectly OK with Kevin and the audience. So Robert took a turn with his own huge cock in Marcus’ backside, shortly adding his seed to Kevin’s. It would be the last time Marcus would be fucked, just as his orgasm would be his last load of cum.

“I think we’re done with his asshole,” mused Kevin. “Shall we close it up?”

The torturers considered their options, and then decided that Kevin would focus on the used-up ass while Robert focused on the balls. Robert was quite anxious to remove them, and Kevin was hardly going to object to such an entertaining idea.

Kevin picked up a thick metal poker from the nearby table. The device had a cord, and he plugged it into an outlet. Turning it on, he explained that it would become red hot after it was thrust into Marcus’ butt hole and that it would not only cause massive pain but it would literally cook his intestines.

Robert, meanwhile, had focused on a metallic bowl shaped to fit around a guy’s scrotum. This, too, was electrified. The idea of this handy toy was to cook the balls while they were still in the sack and attached to the victim’ body.

Robert explained that it was also designed to activate the many nerve endings in the scrotum to send pain signals to the brain.

“The cool thing about this little cooker is that it still causes lots of pain even after the balls are nearly cooked and ready to be removed.”

It didn’t take long for the two torturers to finish their tasks. Kevin thrust the poker up Marcus’ ass and generated a torrent of screams of agony. As he slowly removed the instrument, Marcus’ ass was sealed, with much of his insides nicely cooked.

But Robert’s toy was even more entertaining, since the audience could watch the cooking as it happened. After a while a little light went off and the device let out a “ping” to indicate it was done. As Robert removed it, the two perfectly prepared testicles dropped into his hand. The device had literally cooked away the scrotum, so there was nothing left of it. With his balls removed, Marcus was no longer a functioning male.

“Care for a snack?” offered Robert, holding out one of the trophies. “It’s nice and fresh.”

“Thanks,” replied Kevin, popping the remnant of Marcus’ manhood into his mouth while Marcus looked on in fascination.

After their snack, Robert took the lead in finishing off Marcus’ genitals. There was still the cock itself to deal with, and they had assured it would remain hard even after the balls were destroyed by tying it off. So it still flopped loosely in front of Marcus. Robert’s approach was a bit more dramatic than the electricity they’d used to start the process of turning Marcus from a slave to a serving of meat. He took a small firecracker and stuffed it into the cum slit at the front of the penis. He went slowly so that it would be a bit more dramatic and painful, but he had no trouble getting it in. After all, it hardly mattered if he inflicted permanent damage. He was about to do a lot worse.

Then, with a bit of showmanship, he lit a match and slowly brought it to the fuse of the firecracker. The fuse was somewhat long, so this too took a little time. Marcus continued to watch in horror, understanding what was about to happen.

The firecracker did its job perfectly. There was a loud explosion, and Marcus’ cock literally blew apart. There was nothing left of what had been his most prized possessions – his beautiful cock and his impressive balls.
He was now a eunuch. Kevin used a nearby blowtorch to cauterize the opening so he wouldn’t bleed to death.

But now it was time for Marcus to die. After all, Robert and Kevin had worked hard and were getting a bit tired. They wanted to save some energy for another fuck-fest after the show, and they were turning each other on as they worked over their mutual victim. Besides, Marcus wasn’t nearly as interesting as he had been. He had screamed so much that he really couldn’t make any more sounds. His genitals were gone and his asshole was seared shut.

The bruises from his earlier beating took away a bit of the glamour of his young body, as did the lost of his nipples.

Robert and Kevin each selected a whip and began the final task of their entertainment. The wheel had selected whipping as the finale for Marcus, and they honored the selection. Standing on each side of Marcus they began to flog him. There was no place that was not a target, and the whips were designed to draw blood as they lacerated his delicate flesh. Stroke after stroke found its target, and he gyrated nicely in response to the blows.
Both Kevin and Robert were massively turned on by the exercise, and they were eager to finish in order to satisfy their lust for each other. So the strokes got harder and harder.

And, in fairly short order, Marcus stopped reacting. He was now a piece of meat, ready for the butchers to cut him into steaks, chops, and hamburger. His bones and sinews would be fertilizer. And no one would ever remember him.

As Kevin and Robert admired their handiwork and began to suck each other, the camera focused on the dangling carcass. It showed Marcus’ pretty face dropped down on his bleeding chest. It showed the pecks where he had once had nice hard nipples. And it showed where he had once displayed his proud manhood. But as the credits completed their roll across the screen, Marcus was cut down for dissection and sale, and “Thrill Kill Live!” completed yet another successful show.

Leather Pig Snuff

It started as a chance encounter, a shared elevator ride that lasted no more than forty-five seconds, but it changed the outcome of the evening for the two men involved.

 

The hotel was packed, of course; while the crowd at LFF—LeatherFetishFest—was tiny compared with that of, IML or Southern Decadence, there was still plenty of action to be had over the three-day weekend and the hospitality suites on the top floor were continually busy.

 

That was where David was coming from.  It was the last night of the con and he’d been scoping out the hot manmeat in the party suites.  Now it was after midnight, and even though the rooms were still packed, David was ready to go.  He took a last tour around the rooms, pausing to watch two dudes fuck in the far corner.  One guy with a leather mask over his face was bent over with his jeans down around his knees; he was taking it up the ass from a mohawked stud in solid rubber that adhered to his fit body like paint.  A number of guys among the admiring crowd were recording the action on their phones.

 

It was hot as fuck, and it was making David hard.  That was a bad sign; usually his self-control was stronger.  It had to be; he didn’t play at these events.  It was too public; these days, there were security cameras everywhere.  Every time he entered and left the hotel, it was recorded somewhere.  So he got horned up and inspired, but saved his playtime for when he got home.

 

At home, he knew where to hide the bodies.

 

And it wasn’t as if David was easy to miss.  Tall, broad, furry and very muscular, he’d had attracted attention in any gay gathering—in fact, the fags clustered around him like moths to a flame—but in his gear, he was the hottest dude in the room, no matter what room it was.

 

At the moment, his magnificent physique was well-displayed in a pair of quilted leather jeans.  The diamond-stitched quilting stretched tightly around his powerful legs and his groin, which was kept sealed by a pair of zippers, one on each side of the massive bulge in his crotch; when both were unzipped, the front of the crotch opened like a flap.

 

He’d worn it during playtime at home and had found it handy; he wore it now, imagining the looks on some of the boys in the room, if they knew what he was imagining doing to their tender, defenseless bodies…

 

The leather jeans highlighted David’s thighs; below that, he sported a pair of glossy, knee-high Wesco harness boots.  He used these at home, too; the thick soles were perfect for grinding into homo faces.

 

The only new item of gear he wore was the plain leather vest he wore open over his bare, hairy chest.  He’d bought it specifically for LFF; the front was cut so that it was too wide to close—it hung open so wide that the rigid erectness of David’s large dark nipples were visible to everyone.

 

As he left the hospitality suite, he stopped and checked himself at a large mirror near the door, well aware of the eyes focused on him.  It wasn’t unusual; he’d had many offers to appear in porn—but he didn’t want his face to be that recognizable.  And it would have been; it was striking.  Wavy hair so black it glittered above a wide, open brow and large emerald eyes lined with long lashes, his face alone was enough to cause an erection.  The wiry, jet-black goatee surrounding his full lips and covering his dimpled chin, with a faint but discernible scruff on his cheeks, completed the effect.

 

It was a look to fall in love with—right down to the thin gloves on his hands, encasing them in black leather so tight it looked painted on.  It was a look to die for—as some had found out too late.

 

Catching a glimpse of several lust-struck admirers in the mirror, David sneered at them and left the suite.  Prettyboys, all of them; he coulda had any one of them to fuck however he wanted, but for David, fucking was never enough.  And none of these sluts were worth the trouble of cleaning up afterwards.

 

The hotel was large and pricey; the long corridors were plush with predominant colors of white and gold.   The elevators were around the corner in a bay like a miniature temple, picked out in marble and onyx.  David sauntered leisurely down the hallway, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpeting.

 

Soundlessly, he turned right at the corner and took an immediate left for the elevators—and that was when he saw The Boy.

 

And The Boy saw him.

 

They stared at each other, silently, for a long, long time, their eyes saying all that needed to be said.

 

The kid looked like he was in his early twenties, about ten years younger than David.  Under spiked brown hair, his face was handsome and haughty, his dark eyes arrogantly aware of his own physical beauty.  His body was perfect, slender and lithe but toned and well-defined.  Standing shirtless—but for an over-the-shoulder strap that part of his leather belt—the skin of his lean, muscled torso was smooth and silky-looking, with small dark nipples.  The belt was around the waist of a pair of skin-tight leather jeans; unlike David’s, the youth’s pair was smooth and not quite glossy, but they clung erotically to his thick, firm thighs and emphasized the massive bulge in the crotch well enough.  The jeans were slightly too long; the hems were bunched into the boy’s laced but untied black and white DC skate shoes.  The ensemble was completed with a two-inch-wide leather wristband on the right arm and silver bracelet inset with turquoise on the left.

 

After a brief, intense struggle, David’s self-control gave up the fight.  He had to have this one.  As if on cue, the kid spoke up.

 

“Damn,” he said with a cocky grin, “Where you been?  I haven’t seen you before; I’d’a remembered a stud like you.”

 

“I been around, boy,” David drawled.

 

“Name’s Kirk,” the kid replied.  “I’d given up hope of gettin’ laid tonight, but damn, dude, you can stick that rod as far inside me as ya want.”  He nodded towards David’s groin, which was swelling visibly.

 

David grinned.  “How old are ya, boy?”

 

“I’m twenty-two.  And I got my own room here.”

 

Exactly ten years younger than David himself.  “Yeah?  This place is expensive as fuck—how’s a kid like you afford it?  You here alone?”

 

It was Kirk’s turn to grin.  “I got a daddy.  He paid for the room; he thinks it’s a seminar to help get me get a better job.  He’ll believe whatever I tell him; he’s kinda stupid that way, so he let me come here alone.”

 

David grunted.  That explained a lot of the cockiness.  Little fuck could get anything he wanted—and with a body like that, anyone.  He’d be willing to bet “daddy” was loaded, and probably expected that his boy was lying but was willing to keep paying and playing just to keep the slut coming back home.

 

“So, anyway, wanna fuck me?” Kirk asked and David burst into a huge smile; he’d made up his mind.  The slut wasn’t coming back home, not this time.

 

“Sure,” he said slowly.  “Where’s your room?”

 

“Third floor, in the front,” Kirk replied, pressing the call button for the elevator.  “Got a great view of the street party from there.  Stood in front of the window and waved my dick at a bunch of boys out there this morning; they loved it.  Man, I’m having the time of my fuckin’ life here.”

 

“Yeah, I bet,” David said, letting a slight hint of contempt slip into his tone, “But I’m gonna fuck ya so hard you’ll remember it for the rest of your life.”

 

“Ooh, you big, tough man,” Kirk jeered teasingly, stepping forward and running his hands over the older man’s biceps, “Lessee if you can live up to that promise.”

 

Just then the elevator arrived, the ping of the signal echoing in the marble lobby.  The doors opened silently and both leather-clad males stepped in. “Oh, I can fucking guarantee it,” David said quietly as the door closed and the descent started.

 

The ride was brief, but long enough for Kirk to reach out and fondle David’s thick shaft through the tight leather.  David smiled beatifically and leaned against the rear of the cab, letting the hot boy run one hand over his groin and another over his chest.  The alpha closed his eyes and sighed with pleasure—he was gonna be able to release tonight; he wasn’t gonna hafta wait to get home to drain his aching balls…

 

The elevator slowed, and Kirk stood up.  When the doors opened, he grabbed David by the hand and steered him around the corner and down the hall.  Even from this angle, the older, larger stud could see the young punk’s cock, straining violently in the confines of his groin.  The boy wanted the older man just as badly as David wanted him.

 

This was gonna be so fuckin’ fun.

 

The boy opened a door on the left side of the hall and turned on the lights.  His lean, shirtless torso glistened with sweat in the warm room; it was reflected in the broad expanse of glass in the wide picture window overlooking the street.  There was a chair and side table in front of the window; Kirk pushed them aside.  “C’m’ere, dude,” he said eagerly, “Lookit this shit.”

 

David strode to the far end of the room, noting the elegant dresser/mirror/TV stand on one side and the huge king-sized bed on the other, the latter with the bedding twisted in a knot and the expensive pale green Egyptian linen fitted sheet stiff with cum.  Reaching the window, he looked down into the huge crowds of men, wrapped in various degrees of leather, still partying out on the street.  It wasn’t even one in the morning; they’d be out there for hours.

 

Without bidding, Kirk reached up and slipped David’s vest off, tossing it onto the bed.  Embracing the older stud, he turned to that their backlit silhouette was clearly visible to the power fags milling on the street below and started sucking on the muscular alpha’s  thick, hard nipples.   David groaned erotically, feeling the boy’s tongue fluttering of the painfully stiff knot of flesh.

 

Lifting his head, Kirk looked David in the eyes, his young face flush and intense with lust.  “Fuck me here, stud.  Fuck me in the window.  I want ‘em to see.  I want ‘em all to watch me gettin’ plowed by a fuckin’ god like you.”

 

David grinned his charming, adorable grin that made Kirk feel faint.  “Ya like guys to watch ya get banged, huh?  Fuck yeah, bitch, I can do that.  I can fuck ya in public.”

 

Immediately, Kirk whirled around and bent over, bracing himself with one hand on the windowsill.  “There’s an opening,” he gasped excitedly.

 

Reaching down, David found it was true. In the deep depression separating the firm leather-covered globes of the kid’s ass, there was a series of snaps securing built-in access to the wearer’s ass.  One swift motion—and a rapid-fire popping of the snaps—and Kirk’s pink, pulsing fuckhole was exposed to open air.  “Stick it in me, fucker!” he cried.

 

“Not yet, faggot,” David barked.  “Ya want my cock?  Then come get it, motherfucker.  Get back here and free my tool.”

 

 

The boy whipped around obediently and grabbed the double zipper in David’s crotch.  He pulled both down simultaneously but the hulking top’s shaft was too long to be released without some help; tenderly, Kirk reached in and grasped the thick, hot, throbbing tube of manmeat, pulling it out from its musky leather confinement.

 

“C’mere, pup,” David commanded.  “Over here in the window.  No!  Stay down, bitch.  On yer knees, punk, get over here on yer knees.”    As Kirk crept the few feet to the window, the older stud glanced out onto the street and smirked.  “Let’s give the boys a show.”

 

As Kirk knelt in front of him, David started dickslapping him, the alpha’s thick, meaty shaft splattering precum across the youth’s model-perfect face.  Kirk blinked as the salty fluid spattered over his eyes and gripped the top’s powerful legs, feeling his thick thigh muscles flex under the tight quilted leather.

 

Brandishing his cock like a club, David grabbed a hank of the kid’s hair, feeling the spiking gel crunch in his hand.  As he beat the boy’s face with his engorged rod, he looked out the window, noticing that a large crowd had gathered around.  Three stories up and lit from behind, David knew that the action was clearly visible from the street without any identifying details being revealed.

 

And the audience seemed to be extremely appreciative of the performance so far.

 

The older leatherstud gave Kirk one more strong smack with his weapon-like dick, this one hard enough to knock the boy’s head sideways and make him grunt.  It did nothing to dampen the horny young punk’s enthusiasm, though.

 

“Suck my cock, faggot,” David demanded and Kirk responded eagerly, running his tongue over the swollen, purple head, greedily lapping up the precum still oozing from the pulsating piss-slit.  David was not pleased and let the disobedient pup know.  “I said suck it, motherfucker, not lick it,” he snapped, slapping Kirk in the face.

 

The boy gasped and pulled back; the blow had been soft, almost gentle, but it was unexpected.  He rose up straight, but remained on his knees.  David looked down at him angrily—and laughed.

 

“Fuck, you little leather pig, I knew ya’d like that—lookit that fuckin’ tentpole yer sportin’!  Pull that bad boy out, slut, or yer gonna tear them hot fuckin’ pants.”

 

Kirk blushed, realizing it was true; his dick was so hard it hurt.  He hurriedly unbuttoned his fly, freeing his aching hog from its constricting leather prison.  Like the alpha, his rod was seeping pre-ejaculate in a steady stream; it splashed out as his cock popped out of his crotch like an erotic jack-in-the-box, leaving large drops of the viscous, transparent fluid smeared across David’s knee-high Wescos.

 

“Get back on my shaft,” David barked.  “You ain’t a pup, you’re a pig.  So choke on my cock like a pig.”

 

Kirk paused as if to object, then, leaning forward and opening his mouth wide, he tried to swallow the older man’s tool.  He could only get the massive tube of throbbing manflesh a few inches into his mouth.  He simply couldn’t open his jaw enough to suck the alpha’s cock and still be able to breathe.

 

David, on the other hand, didn’t have the same priorities.  He ensured they were up against the window and visible to the mass of partying studs on the street below before wrapping his gloved hands around the kid’s head and slowly forced his enormous rod into Kirk’s throat.  At first, the leather-clad punk accepted the thick tubesteak but within a few seconds, things had changed.

 

David’s dick had cut off his air.

 

Kirk heaved and gagged, shaking his head and trying to pull back—only to discover that David’s grip on his head as a firm as a vise.  A sudden sharp fear rose in his breast, and he placed his hands on the power top’s thighs, feeling the quilted leather under his palms as he tried to push himself away.

 

He never noticed how his own cock had started to throb faster—but that was understandable; at that moment, David’s cock was also moving faster.

 

David could feel the boy struggle and gurgle on his shaft; it felt too good to ignore.  The youth’s beautiful face was turned up to him, helpless and distressed, the large, dark, puppy-like eyes watering.  “Fuck yeah, that’s my good little pig,” David grunted and started skullfucking Kirk brutally.

 

He rammed his dick down the kid’s throat with exaggerated thrusts that were obvious on the street outside.  Even on the third floor, the roar of the crowd’s approval was audible to both men—with different effect.  David was spurred to amp up the tempo of the facefuck while Kirk, his fingers scrabbling over the powerful stud’s boots, was still trying to find a way to break free long enough to inhale.

 

Kirk turned his seeking hands upwards, pawing at the top’s firm, furry belly.  His tear-streaked eyes turned up to the alpha’s face.  Looking down, David took pity—so to speak—on the horny but overwhelmed punk and pulled out of his throat.

 

Kirk bent over, coughing and gagging, spitting up foam on the floor between David’s boots.  The buff older man smirked down at the incapacitated boy.  “You ain’t done yet, pig,” he chuckled, “Stand up.  NOW, faggot!”

 

The ringing tone of command in his voice shot through Kirk like a jolt of electricity; he instantly stood upright.  His face was still red and slightly swollen, but the glint of lust was still visible in his eyes.  David recognized it for what it was.  “Turn around and bend over, cunt; I’m gonna fuck ya right here where everyone can see it,” he jeered.  “Ya like that, fuckpig?  Ya like havin’ an audience watchin’ you get plowed in the ass?  Does that make ya hard, slut?  Goddammit, cocksucker, I said bend over!”

 

Kirk’s obedience was immediate.  Facing away from David he bent over and grabbed his knees, the opening in the ass of his leather jeans exposing his pulsating fuckhole.  The muscled, leather-clothed top spit into his palm and lubed his cock with it—it was all the lube the lithe young boy was gonna get.

 

With no warning at all, David buried his shaft so deep in Kirk’s ass that his wiry pubic hair scratched the boy’s smooth asscheeks where the opening in the jeans was wide enough.  The beautiful bottom squealed shrilly, to the accompaniment of a rising cheer from the street below.

 

“Fuck, man, yer killin’ me!” the punk yelled, jerking forward.

 

“Not yet,” David hissed, grabbing at Kirk’s shoulder strap.  “Quit tryin’ to get away, fuckboy, we just got started.  You don’t wanna disappoint yer fans down there, do ya?”

 

Kirk whimpered and moaned as the hard-bodied top ran his hands over the boy’s smooth back, slick with sweat, but the kid never lost his erection. Even from the third floor, Kirk’s thick dick could be seen clearly by the crowd of randy, drunk faggots on the street below, swinging and bobbing with each ramrod thrust up his ass.

 

“Unh-unh-unh,” the punk grunted repeatedly, his toes curling inside his skate shoes as he experienced every inch of David’s enormous, vein-wrapped shaft plunged into the depth of his colon.  It wasn’t that he was inexperienced—he’d been gangbanged in this room the night before—but he’d never had anyone this large inside him before.  Even though his sphincter had finally relaxed to the point that Kirk didn’t feel like he was shitting razor blades every time the alpha drove his rod in, some corner of the kid’s mind was wondering if he’d been damaged and what he’d have to say to Daddy if he ended up needing medical help.

 

But then that corner was flooded with the lust that washed over the rest of Kirk’s body.  It was hard to focus on anything but how full he was of manmeat.  The atmosphere was charged with sex, heavy with the scent of mansweat, testosterone and leather.  The pain was receding and Kirk was slipping into his accustomed bottompig role, grinning with pleasure.

 

“Yeah, you fucker, give it to me!” he moaned ecstatically.  “Ram it in me, man!”

 

“Fuckin’ homo cunt,” David sneered, “Ya like bein’ watched as ya ride my dick, huh?  Shameless little whore, aintcha?  Take it, bitch, take the D.  Lemme hear how much ya want it.”

 

He was pounding the boy so hard Kirk was having trouble maintaining his balance. He tried grabbing the windowsill, but it was nothing more than a strip of metal an inch wide; his hand kept slipping.  David was holding him up with the leather shoulder strap.  The intensity of the fuck was obvious; from outside, both could hear a faint cry arise from the street, “Oh hell yeah, breed that bitch!”

 

They were getting carried away.  David decided it was time for a change of pace.  Keeping his cock buried deep in Kirk’s guts, he stopped pumping and pulled the boy’s torso back so that they were both standing upright, Kirk’s back pressed against David’s heaving, furry chest.  He slid a hand down towards the kid’s groin, and for a moment Kirk thought David might be trying to jack him off—but the muscled alpha unfastened the shoulder strap at the point where it attached to the belt in front.  Immediately afterwards, he’d freed it from the connection in the back, too.

 

Still in his tight leather jeans, Kirk was now nude from the waist up.  He felt David loop it around his throat, letting it hang down his back.  He had no idea what the stud was gonna do next.

 

What David did next was wrap his muscular arms around the boy’s lean torso, holding him in a tight embrace.  Kirk sighed happily, nestling back against the top’s chest.  David began fucking the kid again, starting slowly.  Simultaneously, he bent his head forward, letting his face scruff scrape Kirk’s smooth cheek.  Swamped with lust, the punk moaned shudderingly and reached up, running his hands through David’s hair.

The gathering on the street outside had gotten larger; dozens of dude were straining their eyes for a better view of the third-floor sex scene—and straining the crotches of their pants as well.  Even if no facial details could be discerned, the silhouetted forms framed in the window were perfectly clear.  So was what happened next.

 

Wrapping one arm around Kirk’s waist, David pressed his other hand between the bitchboy’s shoulder blades, bending the kid forward.  Spreading his skate kicks wide, Kirk gripped his own knees for support.  Then he felt the strap around his throat tighten—not unbearably, but enough to establish control.

 

Suddenly, with no warning, David began plowing his massive cock back into Kirk’s ass with mind-numbing speed and force, powerfucking the slim, buff youth mercilessly.  The aggressive alpha was holding the strap in both hands, pulling back on it like reins.  It wasn’t enough to choke the kid, but it was more than enough to dominate him.  His lean, lithe form bent backwards as he barked out short cries in the same tempo as David’s thrusts.

 

“Yeah, faggot,” David jeered, “That’s what it feel like to get banged by a real man.  Ya feelin’ me, cunt?  Ya like ridin’ genuine rock-hard manmeat, dontcha, ya little homo leatherpig?  Fuck, boy, take it—take my fuckin’ cock!”

 

The furry, well-built top was pounding the leatherboy’s ass so hard that his hips seemed to move in a blur.  Kirk cried out inarticulately in both pleasure and pain; his fuckhole had never withstood this amount of abuse before; it hurt so bad—and it hurt so good.  He was afraid he was gonna be injured but his own dick was so hard it hurt; even the gradually-increasing tightness of the strap around his throat was erotic as all fuck…

 

At that point, a chant that had started outside had finally grown loud enough for the heaving, interlocked men to hear: “Money shot!  Money shot!”  Above this, a single voice yelled “Finish ‘im off!”

 

“He’s right,” David chuckled, “It is time to finish you off.  Free show’s over—get on the bed, cunt.”  Quickly reversing the strap so that it hung down the front, the hulking top pulled out, feeling his log-like cock smack against the quilted leather on his thigh.  He shoved Kirk at the bed.

 

The boy scrambled to the center of the king-sized mattress, shoving the wadded, cum-stained bedding to one side.  His soft leather jeans slid smoothly over the expensive, high-thread-count fitted sheet.  He crouched in the center of the bed with his ass point up.

 

“Naw, bitch, on yer back,” David demanded and Kirk eagerly rolled over and spread his legs.  The leather pants swelled as the kid’s thick thighs and well-developed calves bulged under the strain of keeping his legs hefted into the air—but he didn’t use his hands.

 

And it wasn’t as if he needed to keep them up long—David was on him, and in him again, with surprising suddenness.  Kirk wrapped his legs around David’s waist, leather on leather, and embraced the muscled top as the latter once again probed the depths of his guts with his enormous rod.

 

Kirk looked up into David’s handsome, scruffy face, inches from his, and fell in instant love; the alpha seemed to be so happy fucking him.  “Are you rich?” he whispered.  “Daddy’s rich, but he can’t—”

 

David grabbed Kirk’s jaw, the scent of his leather glove wafting into Kirk’s nose as the older man squeezed the punk’s mouth painfully.  “Shaddup and take my dick, fag,” he sneered.  Increasing the pressure of his grip, he forced the youth’s mouth open and spit in it.

 

Despite himself, the young boyslut was turned on by this; David, of course, knew it right away—the naïve little faggot thought he was tough, but his dick had swollen and throbbed. Pressed as it was against David’s hard, ripped belly, the alpha had gotten the message.

 

He responded with a backhand across Kirk’s face.  This one had a little kick to it.

 

Slightly stunned, the boy grabbed his face, turning his dark eyes, wide and hurt, to the older man.  “What—why—”

 

David slapped him hard, again.  The glove seemed to make it sting even worse.

 

“Why?  Ya wanna know why?” David growled down at the bewildered youth, “Cause you’re pain pig, cunt.  See, when I hurt ya like that, it made yer ass muscle clench.  Just a little, though.  You must be one fuck of a slut, boy, yer ass is all worn out.  But see, now I know what it takes to make you milk my shaft.”

 

As a bruise slowly started to darken on Kirk’s left cheek, a blemish that somehow added to his youthful beauty, the kid lifted his head, his confusion obvious.  “Wha—I still—I don’t—”

 

“For fuck’s sake, you stupid sack of shit,” David snarled, “I’m gonna waste yer worthless ass.  Your butthole is gonna spasm as you die, and that’s gonna jack me off.  Got it, you stupid little fuckwad?  Good.  Time to die, cocksucker.”

 

Gathering the ends of the strap in his hands, he crossed them in front of Kirk’s neck, then wrapped them once around his palms to ensure a better grip.  He spit in the youth’s terrified face one more time.  “Dumbass piece of fuckmeat,” he muttered contemptuously, then jerked the strap tight.

 

This time, the strap around his throat was enforcing considerably more control over Kirk.

 

The sudden cessation of air induced instant panic.  Kirk’s mind was aflame; he’d never imagined anything like this happening to him, even within the limited range of his intellect.  Even the consequences were difficult to visualize—but David helped him there.

 

“They’re gonna find you here, ya know,” he taunted.  “Fucked and strangled.  Poor Daddy; havin’ to be told his hard-workin’ boy got himself filled with cum and snuffed at a fetish con.”

 

Despite the deafening pounding of his pulse, Kirk heard and understood the words.  His embrace of his perfect lover had morphed into a frantic struggle with his killer; his hands were clawing desperately at the point where the crossed ends of the strap were digging into his neck—excruciatingly, it was right on his larynx, slowly crushing his voicebox—as the heels of his kicks drummed relentlessly on David’s taut ass; the quilted leather came in handy here.

 

As he felt the dying boy’s colon writhing around his swollen shaft, some cold, detached corner of the killer’s mind wondered about that.  This was the first time he was doing something like this; usually he waited till he got home and offed some cheap rentboy or whatever other fuckmeat he could grab.  It wasn’t as if he planned this—but it had all worked out so right.  The beautiful boyslut with his own cum-splashed room—he was just begging to be snuffed.

 

David was more than happy to help.  In fact, he was overjoyed.  The pressure in Kirk’s head had increased to an agonizing extent; his dark eyes were bulging grotesquely—which meant he was unable to close them, to block out the sight of his killer towering over him, broad-shouldered with dark wiry fur in a triangle that stretched across both broad pecs, narrowing as it followed his torso down to his tapered waist—a triangle of body hair that pointed down to a dark line that led below the waistband of his leather pants to the dark tangled mass of his pubes.

 

And the face, the dark goatee, the rough scruff covering the cheeks, the glittering lash-lined emerald eyes—it was still a look to fall in love with.  It was still a look to die for.  Kirk was coming to accept that the two were not mutually exclusive.

 

The pain, though—that was something else.  In all his pampered existence, Kirk had never known anything like this.  The crushing, grinding pain in his throat, the vacuum-like pressure in his chest, the banging, pounding, screaming pain in his head…

 

…the straining, throbbing, pulsating pain in his cock…

 

“Hell yeah, cunt, now you’re learnin’,” David sneered, feeling the kid’s rectum contract as his swollen face darkened through purple into a frantic, livid black.  Kirk’s lips, thick and blue, were forcibly parted by his dark protruding tongue.

 

Kirk’s dying brain heard the words but was too busy enjoying the fireworks show.  Large areas of the boy’s field of vision were exploding into flares of blackness as blood vessels popped in the whites of his eyes, turning them red.

 

He was coming full circle, the fight for life slowly subsiding to a sensual dying caress of his killer.  Kirk’s desperate flailing had slowed, his hands now gently stroking the sweaty, bulging biceps of the man who was killing him.  The youth’s firm, leather-clad legs were wrapped tightly around the alpha’s waist, squeezing forcefully, as if to match the pressure on his neck.

 

As his ass fluttered and rippled on David’s tool, Kirk’s own rod continued to swell and throb at the tempo of the dying boy’s pulse—and his heart was slamming away its last few functional seconds before spasming into orgasmic arrhythmia.

 

“That’s it,” David whispered, “That’s a good little piggie.  Shh, just let go.  Die, motherfucker, let go and die.  It won’t hurt anymore once you’re dead, cunt.  Oh yeah, stop fuckin’ fightin’ it and die on my dick, fag.”

 

The pounding inside Kirk’s head had reached an overwhelming level; it dominated his entire universe—and then it seemed to falter.  There was a an intense, knife-like pain in his chest—Kirk was unaware of it, but it was the moment his heart failed—and just at that moment of silence, David words made it through the cold haze of impending death.

 

And Kirk knew he still loved him.  He died in convulsive agony on the dick of the greatest love he’d ever experienced.

 

His deathload was ample proof.  Kirk was young, strong, and very physically fit; his death throes were correspondingly violent.  Gripping his killer in an iron embrace, his body went through convulsions so intense, all David could do was hold on and allow his dick to be milked like a cow’s teat.

 

It was worth it.  Snuffing at the con was worth it.  This little fuck’s rectum was like a velvet glove sliding over his engorged, lubed head as it collapsed and spasmed along full length of manmeat buried in it.  Their hard, sweaty bodies, locked together in a haze of pheromones and leatherscent, ground against each other and writhed on the mattress.

 

Kirk gave one last gagging gurgle as foam erupted from his lips and cascaded down his cheeks in messy white strands.   Blood vessel continued to pop in his eyes.  Then, with no warning, he clutched David tightly.  A single last coughing gag sent a copious flow of drool down his face—and a violent spasm along the length of his dick.

 

Kirk shot a solid stream of cum out of his erect cock.

 

At the same time, his sphincter contracted like a cockring around the base of David’s dick.  It was all the latter had been waiting for.  With a loud, inarticulate cry, he unloaded his aching ballsack into the dead kid’s guts.

 

Kirk’s conscious brain was dead; his nervous system could only process physical sensations.  It was still aware enough that when David jerked violently in orgasm, tightening the strap and crushing Kirk’s larynx to a mangled was of gristle, it was interpreted as pain.  It was still enough of a stimulus to prompt a second geyser of semen to erupt from the fuckmeat.

 

Cold death, momentarily held at bay by an injection of boiling, life-giving manseed into his intestines—but it wasn’t enough.  Shuddering, convulsing and cumming, the choked-out cumsack once known as Kirk sank into a painful and well-deserved death.  David held on for a little while longer, though; his balls weren’t completely drained and the hard boycorpse went through an extended period of post-mortem convulsions.

 

Two hard, leather-clad bodies, shuddering together, one clutching the helpless, lifeless other.

 

Over the next fifteen minutes, David shot two more loads.  On the first one, he grunted, stiffened, and shot a long steady stream into the corpse’s guts.  The second one hurt; he cried out as he came, driving his fist into the youth’s grotesquely distorted face.

 

As he headed toward the bathroom, he glanced back.  Kirk’s lithe, firm corpse was still quivering and kicking.  His leather shoulder strap was embedded so deeply in his neck is was almost invisible.

 

Luckily, there were fresh towels in the bathroom; he was able to clean himself adequately afterwards.

 

David’s flight out was at noon, but he didn’t feel the need to sleep.  He simply tucked his cock back into his leather pants, slipped the vest back on and left the room.  Five minutes later, he was out mingling with the boys on the street.  It was inevitable that the subject of the window show would come up at some point, although it took forty-five minutes for David to stumble onto a conversation about it.

 

“Nice boots,” a bear with a thick beard remarked.  “Hey, didja see the shit that happened up there?” He nodded at Kirk’s third-floor window, now just an empty rectangle of light.

 

“I heard about it,” David replied.

 

“Man, that bottom was hot.  Whaddaya think he’s doin’ right now?  Maybe he’s just chillin’…”

 

“Yeah, I imagine he’s chillin’,” David returned, “He might even be downright cold by now.”

Interlude: Adam 1

Adam had long been in the habit of stalking the muscular young men to whom he was attracted.  He would light on one particular boy and follow him relentlessly, especially if he worked out.  If he got the chance, he would swipe some article of clothing; he had a number of jockstraps, briefs, and sock, but his prizes were the shoes.

 

Adam was a Creeper—psychologically incapable of a physical (or emotional, for that matter) relationship with another male, particularly those to whom he was attracted, he instead tracked them down and infiltrated their lives without them ever becoming aware of his presence in their homes.  Sometimes, he even got in while they were sleeping.  Sometimes, he stared down at their unconscious forms and beat off, spraying long ropy strands of cum across the bed or the floor…

 

The focus of his attention was always a twink of a certain type but, within that type, was usually chosen at random; in this case, Adam had had been on his way to troll a nearby gym that always had a hot clientele.  On this occasion, though, the disturbed youth didn’t even have to go inside the building—something caught his attention in the parking lot.  Something that gave him a new focus.

 

The kid was exactly Adam’s type—young, firm, and built but not jacked.  The boy had dark hair and under a blue jacket be sported a gray t-shirt and black shorts.  He was standing several rows away, so Adam didn’t have a clear view, but the kid had an almost Asian look.  Even at this distance, though, Adam could see the boy, while strong and muscled, was neither as tall nor as developed as he was.

 

That was what Adam liked—someone slightly younger, slightly smaller.  He’d track the kid, maybe steal his kicks and get off on imaging the boy wearing while he—

 

Adam wasn’t quite ready to finish the sentence, even in his own mind.

 

At that moment, another dude appeared.  He was older and incredibly buff; in fact, his hulking form was even more developed compared to Adam’s than Adam’s was to the kid in the blue jacket.  The two distant figures huddled together for a while before separating, something in the body language indicating the older man was dominant.  If the hot twink had had a tail, he would have wagged it as he climbed into a red pickup, and Adam realized that a hookup was about to happen.  He scrambled back to his car.

 

Backing out of his space, he caught a glimpse of his face in the rear-view mirror.  It was an unusually open and innocent face—Adam was only twenty-three—with bright hazel eyes ringed with long lashes.  Tilting the mirror, he checked his gleaming red-gold hair; cut relatively short in what was nearly a flattop, it was the same color as the short stubble covering his cheeks.

 

He’d dressed for the gym himself, his hard, bulging biceps well-displayed in a navy-blue tank top stretched across his broad, buff chest.  Under that, his huge thighs were covered by a pair of Nike Phenom shorts, gray with a black liner visible underneath.  On his feet were a tightly laced pair of Puma Cell running kicks, white with black stripes.

 

The red Ford truck caught his eye; it was almost out of the lot.  He accelerated to catch up but a light-colored car was in front of him.  As it pulled out of the lot and turned in the same direction the truck had, Adam realized that he was following the older dude, who was himself following the kid.  He also realized he recognized the car; it was usually parked a couple of blocks over from where he lived.  It wasn’t a huge neighborhood; there couldn’t be that many champagne-colored 1978 Camaros—and assuredly no others in such mint condition, right down to the tinted t-tops.

 

It didn’t take too long for the convoy to reach its destination, a condo complex with which Adam was unfamiliar.  Noting the spaces into which the two other vehicles pulled, he parked on the other side of the lot.  He waited to get out of his car until he saw the two male figures, both strong and well-built–but one much more so than the other–vanish down the sidewalk into the complex.  Adam made it to the corner just in time to see them enter the last unit on the left.

 

Then he turned around and walked away.

 

After approaching the Camaro and noting the plate number, Adam returned to his car and waited.  He wanted to see what would happen with the lean, muscular Asian youth he’d spotted; maybe he could even sneak in after and collect some trophies—those Nike Fingertrap Max kicks the boy were looked good.  Adam could imagine himself jacking off and blowing a load while wearing them.  There was something about this kid that interested the buff but perverted collector.  He was prepared to wait for quite a while.

 

As it turned out, he waited about an hour before he became distracted.  Adam had kept a sharp eye out; there wasn’t much foot traffic.  At one point early on, a harried-looking woman with an armful of groceries had bustled quickly down the walk.  She was soon followed by a youth who suddenly diverted his interest; the boy had coppery blond hair just barely visible under a dark hoodie jacket with the sleeves jammed up past his elbows.  Beneath that, gray shorts flashed in the dim glow of the security lights; there must have been a metallic shading to them.

 

Losing his focus, Adam got out of his car.  It was a bad idea, he knew, but this one was too hot not to track.  Maybe he’d sneak into this dude’s place too, jack off over his sleeping form like he’d done that one time…

 

Wrenching his mind back to the task at hand and ignoring his throbbing erection as best he could, Adam crept back around the corner to the walkway to see which unit this stud would enter.  He was utterly nonplussed when the hard, lean young stud entered the last unit on the left—the one the other two had gone into.

 

Returning back to his car, a dozen possible scenarios played out in Adam’s sick mind, each one more perverse and erotic in his mind.  Were these dudes partners?  Was a fuckin’ orgy goin’ on in there?

 

He leaned back, resting his head against the car window.  Closing his eyes, the hard-bodied introvert wondered what the older dude was doing with the boys.  Maybe he was doing something to them.  With a smile on his handsome face, Adam began to imagine what he’d do to them if he had them, helpless, yielding, unable to resist…

 

When he woke up, nearly an hour and a half had passed.  He hadn’t planned on falling asleep but he’d been up late the night before snatching that one kid’s undies.  He’d stood in the boy’s room with his cock out, pulling back the blanket—

 

And then the kid started to wake up.  He’d fled, but he’d collected his prize.

 

Well, it had cost him now.  He had no idea what was going on at this point; getting back out of his car, he rubbed his eyes and stretched his strong but stiff muscles.  Looking around the lot, he noticed that the classic Camaro was gone.

 

So the big stud had left.  Adam’s curiosity was aroused as to what he’d left in his wake. The older dude had been larger and better built than Adam himself; the hot young twinks must be worn the fuck out, so to speak—and that meant they’d sound asleep.

 

He headed quickly towards the darkened unit, his Pumas padding quietly down the walk.  The thought of spraying his load across their hot, insensate forms had already gotten his dick hard.

 

As he approached, Adam was disconcerted to see that lights were still on in the unit.  He was even more startled to see that the front door was slightly ajar.  For a moment, a long moment, he paused; he had an undefinable feeling…

 

Then he crossed the threshold and changed his life forever.

 

The unit was small, but nice.  A living room to the right, an open space on the left with a desk and a small table—and dead ahead, a short hallway with a pair of doorways at the end; a faint glow of light came from the one on the right.  No one was visible and the condo was eerily silent.

 

Creeping forward down the hall Adam soon reached the lit doorway. He peered around the corner—and his whole world was rocked.  He could only gaze, stunned and slack-jawed, at the scene in front of him.

 

At first, the buff young pervert thought he’d walked in on the two twinks having sex; they were on the floor, nude.  The blonde kid was on top, his mouth open and full of thick cock.  From his position, Adam couldn’t see the face of the kid on the bottom but the single Nike Fingertrap shoe on his right foot identified him as the Asian boy.

 

It took Adam a good ten seconds to realize that there was something wrong with the erotic tableau.  It was silent and motionless—and there was something wrong with the blond’s eyes; they were rolled back, glazed, staring sightlessly towards the ceiling…

 

The realization that they were dead flashed through Adam’s body like an electrical bolt; almost literally a sensation of shock…that was not unpleasant.

 

Nor was the throbbing of his hard shaft.

 

Suddenly, one of the bodies moved.  Adam jerked, visibly startled, but a closer looked showed him that the boys were so freshly dead that the corpses were still kicking.  And that was when full understanding washed over his hard, muscled form.

 

He had exactly what he’d always wanted, a hot young twink helpless before him—two, actually—unable to resist his sick, twisted desires…

 

Reaching into his Nike shorts, Adam grasped his thick, pulsing dick and pulled it out, brandishing it like a weapon as he approached the quivering pile of meat.  No more jacking off.  He’d never had sex with a man before.  It was time.  Finally, it was time.

 

He pulled the blond kid’s head up off the somehow still-hard cock on which it was stuck and shoved his body off of the Asian kid; the blond was hot but it was the latter he was really after. As the dead twink rolled off onto the floor, Adam could see the boy’s face, swollen and fading from purple to cyan, covered with a white crust of semen.

 

Revealed under him, the slim but muscled Asian youth had also been obviously strangled to death.  What appeared to be a thin leather band was cinched tightly around the kid’s throat, but it was sunk in too deeply for Adam—who hadn’t seen the boy closely enough earlier to notice his choker—to figure out what it was.  At the moment, it didn’t matter anyway.  What matter was that Adam now had the little punk’s hot, hard body all his own, to use as he wished…

 

First, he wanted to add to his collection, though.  The dark-haired corpse still sported one Nike Fingertrap; after a glance around the room, Adam spotted the other, nearly hidden in the tangled bedclothes.

 

It took no more than a minute to slip out of his own Pumas and into the Nikes.  Then he returned to the body, ready to fuck the corpse while wearing the dead kid’s own kicks.

 

He bent down and lifted the youth; the kid was well-built and it took more effort than Adam anticipated to raise him up to the bed.  As the body slumped forward, the head lolled forward limply onto the chest, showing how the kid’s neck had been snapped.  Adam didn’t care; his dick swelled and throbbed as he held the fit, sinewy, cooling corpse tightly in his arms before tossing it halfway onto the bed, facedown, with the smooth bubble butt at the edge and the legs dangling to the floor.

 

Holding his dark, pulsing shaft in one hand, he slapped it into his open palm, stiffening it further as he moved in.  The boy’s ass was covered with a fine dark haze of almost invisible fuzz; the firm cheeks lightly smeared with a mix of cum and blood.  It was clear his hole had been recently brutalized, but the thought of sloppy seconds didn’t put Adam off.

 

There was almost no resistance as he mounted and penetrated the corpse.  He was well hung himself, more than six inches of throbbing manmeat, but the boy had already been thoroughly reamed out.  It still didn’t matter.  Digging the dead kid’s own Nikes into the carpet, he shoved his rod up the punk’s colon; he could feel occasional twitches as the still-quivering corpse passed through the final few minutes of its death throes.

 

Hunched over the athletic teen’s body, Adam’s muscular form heaved and bucked as he impaled the boymeat.  The only sounds to break the deathly silence of the condo were Adam’s visceral grunts and the rutting, smacking sound of flesh slapping together.  The buff young pervert was still clothed, his gray shorts around his ankles and sweat darkening his already-dark tank top.  His coppery gold hair glinted in the light as he rode the helpless, inert form of the dead twink to orgasm.

 

Adam cried out inarticulately as his hot, spurting jizz injected a last moment of warm life into buff Asian boy’s ass.  Panting and shuddering, he found himself pounding the boy’s back, involuntarily driving his fist into the cooling slab of flesh pinned under him.

 

After a bit, he was back in control.  He pulled out of the corpse, the spade-shaped head of his still-swollen cock accompanied by an oozing wad of spunk.  Standing up, he took a step and was staggered by a wave of vertigo so intense, he had to reach out and steady himself against the wall.

 

The sensations that accompanied his first physical sexual encounter with another person were overwhelming.  He found himself dazed and trembling, awash in an erotic warmth that kept pearls of cum dripping from his curving, semi-soft rod.

 

Almost instinctively, Adam knelt and picked up a small gym bag that was on the floor, partially hidden under the other kid’s body.  The collecting desire was still in force; pivoting, he grabbed the blonde’s thick, furry calves and manhandled his legs, now cold and still, into a more convenient position.  Unlacing the Nike Flight Falcon kicks, he slipped the gray and white hightops into the bag.

 

This time, when he stood up, he wasn’t dizzy.  Tossing the bag onto the bed, he stepped out of his short and crossed the room, his shadow elongated to the side from the single lamp.  Crossing the hall into the bathroom he found the dim light just sufficient for him to wash off his dick.

 

Back in the bedroom, he retrieved the bag from the bed and added his own Pumas to it.  He thought briefly about adding the socks as well but, while the blond twink had his pair, the Asian hunk was missing one of his—and it didn’t seem to be anywhere around.  Since he was planning on wearing the latter’s kicks home anyway, he zipped the bag up and headed to the door.

 

In the doorway, he turned and took a look back.  The blond was on the floor, his arms by his sides, his legs slightly bent.  The young, fit, Asian stud was still lying face-down on the bed, his legs hanging off the bed with the feet curled so that the soles were visible—well, one; the other still had a ped sock.  A fresh layer of spunk glistened on the pale globes of the corpse’s asscheeks.

 

Sighing deeply with pleasure, Adam left the bedroom and then the condo itself.  He’d been so fixated on fucking the Asian that he’d almost forgotten about the blond boy.  And that was a shame.

 

The blond was straight.  And he’d been skullfucked, not assfucked.  Adam had missed a virgin fuckhole, and he never knew it.

 

On the other hand, he did know a killer.

 

He confirmed it the next day.  He thought he’d seen the Camaro parked a few blocks from his apartment; the plate number proved him right.

 

From then on, it was easy to stalk the deadly stud once Adam knew what he was looking for; both the killer’s car and his well-built physique stood out.  It was easy to follow him in a crowd; it was easy enough to follow him to the park.

 

Adam took notice of the kid he was meeting—dark-haired, with a slim swimmer’s build, the kid wore gray shorts and a pair of Nikes, blue and fluorescent yellow, but nothing else.  His broad, smooth chest glistened with sweat in the strong sunlight, highlighting the star tattoo on his left pectoral muscle.

 

Adam himself had slipped his own Pumas back on; in black jersey shorts and a simple white cotton t-shirt, he was able to keep the two dudes in sight ahead of them on the jogging path.  Putting his creeping skills to good use by making sure he was well back in the shadows, he was able to see them head for the park restroom.

 

He knew.  All he had to do was wait, and he knew the slim, fit young boy would be his…yielding, helpless, all his…

 

His knowledge and confidence were shaken when an older man, strolling along the path with his wife, turned aside and went into the bathroom.  Rigid with anticipation, Adam counted out several tense minutes until the man emerged.  His expression was neutral, his reactions normal—nothing to indicate he’d walked in on a hot rape and snuff.

 

The second dude to go in, a long, lank solitary jogger, also came out unperturbed.  Adam’s confusion increased.  He couldn’t see the actual door to the men’s room from his position; had they really entered it or were they off fucking in the woods somewhere?

 

The well-built young pervert tried to keep a lid on his rising anxiety levels.  What if he’d been wrong this time?  He’d been crouching in the underbrush long enough for his powerful legs to grow stiff; if he’d been wasting his time…

 

Wait.  There he was—the muscular older stud.  He had just walked into view around the corner of the building; after glancing around surreptitiously, he set off jogging back down the path.  Adam watched the well-built man as the latter headed to the park; his eyes taking in the sculpted torso, glistening with sweat and the thick, firm legs pounding his orange Nikes onto the pavement.

 

Adam rose and stretched, glancing around himself prior to heading towards the bathroom building.  One last backwards look at the corner confirmed that the coast was clear, then he ducked inside the dark, dank building.

 

Inside, Adam paused for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the gloom.  Ahead and to the left, he could see a pair of legs sticking out of the far toilet stall; the body was obviously face down, the blue and green kicks spread far apart on the bare concrete floor.

 

The hard-bodied pervert stood over the corpse and fondled the huge bulge in his shorts.  He stepped back for a moment and slipped his shirt—and his Pumas—off before kneeling down and prying the Nikes off the body.  Still on his knees, he put the Nikes on himself.

 

He didn’t know why it was so hot to fuck the dead kid in his own kicks, but it was.  And with that thought, the demented stud reached into his shorts and pulled out his thick, throbbing shaft.

 

Sighing with deep pleasure, he thrust his dick between the corpse’s still-quivering asscheeks.  As he penetrated the reamed-out fuckhole his hands slid up the boy’s lithe, smooth back, still slick with deathsweat.  The kid’s head was turned to the side—Adam could just make out the swollen, congested face.  It looked nothing like the hot young punk who’d entered the building, and the muscled pervert found that even more enticing.

 

As he pumped and grunted, Adam reveled in his possession of the hot young twink.  This was how he liked his boys—yielding, helpless, under his complete control.  His muscled legs slapped against the dead boy’s firm but motionless thighs.

 

This one seemed to take a little longer, though.  The kid was hot—but loose.  Adam was still gripped in the erotic lust of having the youth exactly the way he wanted him, so after a while he found himself gasping and moaning loudly as his hard shaft pumped cum into the corpse’s already-violated fuckhole.

 

Pulling his dripping shaft out of the cold meat, Adam stood up and went to the sink.  He could see his own hard, muscled chest, sweaty and heaving as he got his breath back, his coppery hair now dark and matted.  Outside, there a noise—a child yelling at another—that suddenly reminded him that he was in public.  Half nude, cock out and dripping and a fucked-out corpse lying in the toilet stall behind him—he needed to go.  Now.

 

Quickly wiping his dick down with some wet paper towels, he grabbed his Pumas and rolled them up in his t-shirt.   He went out the door without a backwards glance, but he did stop to reconnoiter the scene and make sure it was clear.  One he was sure, he tucked the rolled shirt under his arm and jogged leisurely off in the direction of his car.  He looked like any other muscular young man getting a run in on a warm afternoon; in fact, the only bit of color about him to attract any attention were the blue-and-fluorescent-green Nikes on his feet.

 

The third time, Adam watched the snuff happen.  He hadn’t planned on it, but he’d had to follow the killer.  He’d tracked the older man back to the park—the rec center at the other end of the park, specifically.

 

The rec center was a large building.  Adam realized that there’d be no way to track the stud once he vanished inside; he would have to dog his footsteps and see where he went.  And that was how he ended up in the pool area, peering around the corner into the locker room, a raging erection tenting his knee-length jogging shorts.

 

He saw it all—the rough facefuck at the start was hot, but he wasn’t quite as interested in the massage or the way the lean, fit blond was running his tongue over the alpha hunk’s body.

 

After all, Adam still preferred his meat motionless and helpless.   He watched the renewed skullfuck with a kind of erotic impatience; he wanted it to be over.  But when the process of actually making the meat motionless started, he perked up.  In fact, he was fascinated.

 

Adam heard the older man dominating and humiliating the young faggot and felt his shaft pulse, but it began throbbing rhythmically not long after the beating started.

 

The vicious killer was swinging a sock into which he’d dumped a large padlock.  Each blow, each scream, each gruesome snap of shattered bone, got Adam harder and harder.  It had been a revelation to him that he got off on fucking corpses; it was an even greater one that he was enjoying the sight of the hot punk becoming a corpse.

 

He flushed and panted as the killer dragged the broken, ruined twink across the floor by a cord around his neck, but when he jammed his massive tool up the kid’s ass and started strangling him, Adam could only watch, agape and on his knees in stunned awe.

 

It went on too long and was over too soon.  The horrific struggles of the dying youth were the stuff of nightmares; Adam was almost overwhelmed watching a life being taken right in front of him.  But, yet…there was something—well, something sexual about it.  He didn’t understand it, but it drew him.  He’d never wanted to know this part; he just liked the boys quiet and still, unable to resist him.

 

Now that he was seeing it, though, he was drawn to it almost hypnotically.  He couldn’t look away.

 

And throughout the entire thing, he could feel what seemed to be electric shocks running the length of his rigid hog.

 

At the end, he was entranced by the boy’s blackened, desperate face and his incredibly sensual convulsions.  As the little slut died, he seemed to caress his killer, slowly and gently, the way Adam had always wanted to be caressed.

 

Despite his well-built physique and handsome scruffy face, Adam was too damaged to engage in a normal gay relationship.  It wasn’t due to any repressed sexuality; it more some sort of bizarre idiopathic inferiority complex.  For whatever reason, he’d always felt so certain he’d be rejected by the hot young twinks he wanted so badly that he’d never actually attempted to initiate anything with one.

 

Hence his desire to possess one who could never reject him, one with—or, rather, to—whom he could do what he wanted.

 

Now, he was learning something else.  Now, as he watched the sadistic older alpha heave and grunt like a rutting stag as the blond kid died in agony, Adam found that he was learning how to deal with that implied rejection.

 

He needed to make the little faggot cunts pay.  He knew he was bigger and stronger than most of the boys he’d fixated on.  He could do this to them.  He could show them what he thought of them first, before fucking their dead, helpless assholes.  He could even remember how to get back into their apartments; at least, some of them.

 

The hairy older stud was finally done cumming—he’d shot his load for several minutes, or so it seemed—and regained his feet, gasping for air as his sweaty muscular flanks heaved.  After taking a moment to recover from his explosive orgasm, the alpha killer padded off to the shower, leaving the dead boy sprawled face-up on the bench on which he’d been raped and murdered.

 

The body was still kicking; it was all Adam could do to not run over and start fucking it immediately.

 

But the shower had shut off; the killer would be on his way out.  The budding young psycho looked around for shelter, and saw the diving platform fifteen feet away, past the locker room door.  The older stud wouldn’t pass it on his way out; it was perfect.  He quickly crossed the open space (a swift glance through the locker room entrance showed the killer toweling off his buff body, facing away) and hid in the shadows of the platform.

 

In the few moments he had to wait, he slipped the Pumas off his feet.  The killer left, his footsteps silent in his own pair of Pumas—they were black Tazons, Adam noticed; he’d almost gotten a pair himself.

 

It didn’t take long to pull the dead kid’s white Nike Free RNs off and stick his own feet in them; he’d always been able to handle a size or two larger or smaller, but these happened to be a perfect fit.  It took somewhat longer to roll the body over, but once he did, Adam could clearly see the damage done to the homo’s ravaged fuckhole.  The boy had been torn.

 

In fact, he was so torn, he was loose.  Adam slipped his purple, engorged rod into the corpse’s ass, sighing as he penetrated the cooling, twitching rectum.  Placing his hands high up on the boy’s broad back to support himself he leaned forward and fucked the dead body, his hips thrusting forcefully against the shuddering boymeat.

 

The kid’s ruined, blackened face smacked against the wooden bench as Adam banged his corpse.  He flopped limply, helpless and unaware of the further indignity to which his already-violated body was being subjected.

 

Adam felt himself building to orgasm, but most of his stimulation was mental.  He was replaying the snuff in his mind, watching the hot twink being dominated, raped and strangled.  The boy’s colon was too reamed out by the older man’s enormous dick to give Adam much pleasure itself.

 

As he stiffened and grunted, his hot steady spurt of cum mingling with that of the sadistic alpha killer, Adam knew what he needed to do.

 

First, he hauled the corpse out of the locker room.  Peering out the door to make sure the coast was clear, the handsome, well-built necro pervert dragged the abused, semen-filled fag to the pool and rolled it over the edge into the deep end.  He wasn’t entirely certain why, but it seemed appropriate.

 

Then he returned to the locker room.

 

The dead kid’s locker was still open.  Nimbly avoiding the pools of coagulating blood, Adam pulled a towel out of it which he used to wrap up his shoes.  Carrying the innocuous bundle, he left the scene of the brutal crime without looking back.  The pool area was dark, with scurrying glints of reflected light.  The dark, huddled shape under twelve feet of water was barely visible at the far end.

 

With a smirk, Adam turned away.  He wasn’t quite the same sick creeper he’d been when he first started tracking the alpha killer stud.  He still wanted his fuckmeat dead—but now, he wanted to be the one to make it dead first.

 

Grinning broadly, Adam left the rec center.  Wearing a dead kid’s shoes and sporting a huge—and very obvious—erection, he was already planning his first kill…

M4M Unhappy Ending

It began idly enough; Joe was randomly trolling through an online hookup app.  Specifically, he was poking around on the same app Andy had had—the Asian punk he’d offed earlier.

 

Naturally enough, it was dangerous to carry the phone too long; it would be tracked.  So before he disposed of it, he hijacked the dead fag’s account, changing the profile and the password. But he still wasn’t gonna access it on his own phone; that’d be stupid.  He hadn’t taken anything off the last meat he’d offed—the one in the public bathroom—so he’d gone and gotten a burner phone.

 

He really wasn’t even looking, just curious what was around, when the ping came, and it was close.  Joe glanced around, but there was no one else in the parking lot.  It must have come from inside the building.

 

One of the reasons Joe wasn’t actively hunting at the moment was his proximity to the scene of his last kill.  He was at the rec center at the north end of the park where the restroom had been located.  He was there for the swimming pool.

 

The heat had gotten intense lately; so intense, in fact, that Joe had given up on running until cooler weather set in.  He’d returned to his gym for the duration of the summer, and while he utilized most of the available equipment, he preferred the pool for a solid full-body workout.  Problem was, the pool at his gym had been closed down for long-term remodeling the week before.

 

His membership allowed him access to the pool at another gym across town, but on weekdays there were all kinda of classes and lessons—things like water aerobics, even swimming lessons.  He would be lucky to find an open lane.

 

On the other hand, the free pool at the rec center was almost always deserted.  It really made no sense; it was larger—the only Olympic-sized pool in town, in fact—and very well maintained.  Even the locker and shower rooms were kept spotless (the male one, at least; Joe couldn’t vouch for the female side).

 

He had just pulled into the lot and was sitting in his car, just checking the scene when he got hit on.  The altered account now showed Joe’s buff, hairy, toned torso as a profile pic and usually generated some lust among the homos on whom Joe was preying.  In this case, the message came almost immediately after the ping.

 

“Hey, stud,” it read, “Love the muscles.  Work out a lot?”

 

The profile didn’t have a face pic; the avatar was some kind of zodiac thing.  All it contained was a name—Cory—and an age—twenty-two.

 

“Yeah,” Joe replied.  He was interested, but only very slightly; he didn’t have enough to go on.  The communication proceeded quickly and tersely.

 

—“U looking now?” from “Cory”.

 

—“Yeah”

 

—“Where r u”

 

—“Rec center on Kanen rd  still in parking lot  U?”

 

—“here too in locker room”  This one was accompanied by photos.

 

Cory turned out to be relatively well-built.  Short and slightly smaller than Joe, he was young with straw-blond hair, styled carefully to look like scruffy negligence.  He had wide-set green eyes ringed by long lashes, a pug nose, broad smooth cheeks and the blinding, suspiciously easy grin of a natural con man.

 

The pics weren’t limited to his face, though.  One displayed his smooth, toned torso to perfection; another showed half a foot of manmeat jutting proudly from a golden nest of pubic hair.

 

Joe hadn’t been looking, but he’d found something.  “OMW,” he messaged back as he snatched up his gym bag—Speedos, a towel and some grooming items—and got out of the car.  Once inside the building, he glanced around the lobby, again noticing how empty the place was.  Even for the middle of a weekday, it was deserted.

 

The pool was down a hall to the left.  A set of double doors on the right side opened into the pool area, cavernous and alive with faint obscure echoes. Skittering glimmers of light, reflected from the surface of the water, seemed to make the background shadows dart and scurry furtively.  The entire room was empty, but it still seemed occupied.

 

On the far side of the pool, bracketed by huge signs declaring no lifeguard on duty, were the doors to the locker rooms; the men’s was the closer door.  Joe was already familiar with the layout and headed in that direction.

 

His feet, firmly laced into a pair of black size-11 Puma Tazon kicks with white ped socks just barely visible, padded quietly across the concrete decking.  Above, he wore nothing but a pair of low-waist shorts, black with red trim.  The shorts were so form-fitting that Joe’s massive cock was outlined like a long black ridge running down his thigh, the head almost peeping out under the hem.  There was nothing covering the broad expanse of wiry fur on his rock-hard, sculpted chest

 

Pushing open the door, Joe strode into the dank locker room.  The far back wall of the room was covered with a double row of lockers, an upper and a lower.  Set out perpendicularly from the wall were more lockers, forming small “bays”, with wooden benches between them.  On the right side of the room was a row of sinks with mirrors above; on the right side were the showers.

 

And in the locker bay on the far left, beyond the sinks, a boy was sitting on the slatted wood bench.

 

It was the same grinning blond kid from the app.  He was leaning back on the bench, propped up on one arm, his smooth, taut body almost glowing under the fluorescent lights.  His other hand was tucked down inside the tiny bathing suit he wore, stroking his hard dick.

 

The shorts were electric blue with a black band at the waist.  Inside the band was a drawstring, also black, tied in a large but basic bow.  The suit was so short that if the bottom edges had been slanted up instead of running horizontally across the thigh, he’d have been wearing briefs.

 

The only other thing he was wearing was a pair of Nike Free RN sneakers, white with the trademark in black; his well-developed upper body was bare.

 

“Hey, dude,” he murmured up at Joe with a leer when the latter got close, “Ya lookin’ to play?”

 

“I might be,” Joe replied, his lips twisted with faint, cold smile.  “So how do you play?  What do you want?”

 

The kid stood up.  “Dick, man.  I want your dick.”

 

Joe’s smile became deeper, more contemptuous.  “Good answer,” he replied, reaching his hand down and pulling his enormous hog up out of his shorts.  “So get over here and work it, boy.”

 

“Cory, man, my name is Cory.”

 

Joe grinned maliciously.  “Your name is cocksucker, you little homo.  Now get over here and swallow my shaft!”  The strong youth stiffened as if he’d been slapped—but his cock stiffened too; his skin-tight shorts made the fact too obvious to hide.  The boy knelt down on the hard cold tiles in front of the larger, more powerful alpha and wrapped his lips around the thick, throbbing head, already oozing precum.

 

As Cory accepted the huge throbbing rod into his mouth, he felt the top’s hands pressing against his head—and then, in the blink of an eye, he was forced down on the shaft with sudden, irresistible force.  Cory hadn’t even had time to inhale before he found himself involuntarily deepthroating the dude.

 

Joe gripped the punk’s head tightly in his hands, brutally facefucking him as he felt the styling gel the little shit used crunch in his hands.  Choking, Cory beat his hands against Joe’s powerful thighs; it was as ineffectual as beating on a tree trunk.  Joe grunted with pleasure as he felt the blond boy gagging, the kid’s tongue writhing and scraping against the sensitive rosebud just under the pulsating head…

 

Finally, with a curse, he abruptly shoved the slut’s head away. Cory fell back, coughing up a huge streamer of drool as he tried to catch his breath. “D-damn,” he gasped, then gagged again.  Eventually, he regained control.  “Fuck man, that’s a monster cock you got.  And yer so fuckin’ strong, dude—ya work out a lot?  I mean, I know it’s a lot, but, well, a lot a lot?”

 

“Yeah,” Joe replied, “Some.  Why?”

 

“Ever get sore, man?  Here, hang on…”  Cory scrambled to his feet and dived at one of the lockers—an upper one, on the side wall.  Swiftly twirling the dial, he opened the heavy steel combination lock and tossed it onto the bench.  He opened the locker and partially withdrew a pair of jeans, digging into the back pocket to extract his wallet.  As he did so, a balled up pair of socks fell out of the locker.  Inside, Joe could also make out some indistinct shapes that seemed to be more clothing, and a pair of loafers—the kid’s post-workout clothing.

 

The boy turned back, proffering something in his hand that turned out to be a business card.  Joe read it with sneering amusement:  “Cory Carlisle, licensed massage therapist”—it even had the official license number issued by the state.

 

The hard-bodied alpha chuckled aloud.  “You any good?” he smirked.

 

“I can show ya—here, lay down on this bench.  On yer back, man.  I’ll give you and your cock the best massage you’ve ever had.”

 

“This better be good, boy,” Joe drawled, “I got high standards and I don’t like bein’ lied to by worthless pansies who ain’t got the skill to satisfy me.  Ya feelin’ me, boy?  You think you got what it takes, you better be prepared to prove it.”

 

The blond boy flashed his car-salesman grin again, his taut firm body almost wriggling with anticipation.  “Shit, dude, you’ll love this.  Just lay back.”

 

Joe went to the bench and swept the lock off; it landed on the tile floor and clattered to a stop near the socks.  He slipped out of his shorts, standing completely nude except for his black Puma kicks, then lay back on the bench.  His erect tool rose above him like a thick, trickling flagpole.

 

For his part, Cory’s electric blue swimsuit had a large moist circle that darkened to navy blue as it expanded outward from his leaking crotch.  “Hang-hang on, m-man,” he stuttered in erotic excitement as he plucked frantically at the knot in the suit’s drawstring.  Snatching one loose end, he gave a quick, nervous jerk that not only undid the knot, it also pulled the thick nylon cord halfway out of the shorts altogether.  “Damn,” Cory muttered as the shorts slid to the floor.  Just like Joe, he was now wearing nothing more than his kicks—the white Nikes—and a swollen, dripping erection.

 

Joe spread his legs as Cory drew near, exposing a small area of the bench between them.  Cory knelt there and then slowly crawled upwards, his silky-smooth skin scraping against Joe’s fur as he slid upwards until he way lying directly on top of Joe and looking down into his face, their throbbing dicks nudging and twitching against each other.

 

Reaching up, Cory placed his hands on Joe’s broad, bulging pectorals and began rubbing them.  The boy pressed down firm on the older man’s muscles, curling his fingers into Joe’s dark, wiry chest hair.  Joe himself could feel no benefit from the supposed “massage”, but it was evident Cory did.  He slowly moved down Joe’s torso, his hands grasping and exploring the body of the anonymous stud.  Joe’s hijacked profile showed no name—and Cory had never asked.

 

It clearly didn’t matter to the fit, well-built faggot.  All he was interested in was dick.  Well, he was gonna get plenty.

 

That wasn’t quite accurate, though—he was also interested in Joe’s rock-hard body.  He continued to worship it.  He worshiped it with his hands, dragging them through dominant top’s body fur as he felt the iron-hard immobility of the alpha’s ripped abs.  He also worshiped it with his tongue—he’d started at the nipples, slurping assiduously, before lowering his head towards Joe’s groin.  His tongue was now exploring the musky depths of the stranger’s navel.

 

Joe could feel the slut working his way down his body; he was waiting for the little homo to get back on his dick.  He was considering his options.

 

Should he let this one go?  He wanted to waste the cumsucker; he wanted to hurt the little piece of shit so bad—but it wasn’t wise.  Even just having sex here was a bad idea; if they were caught, he’d be an immediate suspect in the other murder in the park.  And besides, this didn’t feel bad…

 

Joe made his mind up.  He’d give Cory a fair deal.   If the boy could get him off—and he had to admit, the queerboy sure knew how to suck a dick; maybe he’d be good enough—he’d leave it at that.

 

Cory would walk out alive.

 

When the slut got to Joe’s groin, he braced himself by placing his palms flat on the alpha’s rock-hard thighs.  Kneeling on the end of the bench, Joe’s swollen purple dick towered in front of him.   As Cory watched, entranced, the thick shaft pulsed visibly; a glittering bead of translucent fluid oozed from the top and slowly trickled down the side.

 

The punk’s own tool was already hard; this sight merely stiffened it to nearly the point of pain.  Knowing that this anonymous stud liked him gagging, Cory took a deep breath before lowering his head onto the throbbing rod.  As he went down, he took time to wrap his tongue around the stranger’s cock, savoring the vein-wreathed length as it filled his throat.

 

Joe’s arms were raised and bent back, his hands behind his head, holding it up so he could watch the blond pansy suck his dick.  “That’s it, cunt,” he sneered, “Lick my dick like a good cocksucker.”  He shifted his legs, sliding his black Pumas up so he could leverage his hips and pump his stiff pole into the boy’s greedy mouth.

 

Even though he’d known it was coming, Cory hadn’t known when; Joe’s sudden thrust completely plugged his airway.  At the same time, the muscular, aggressive top clenched his fists in the fag’s hair, the golden, stylized spikes somehow still crunchy with gel.  Cory found himself as trapped and immobile as if he’d been strapped into an iron cage.

 

Again, he found himself subjected to a violent skullfuck.  Despite his deep breath, his lungs were already beginning to ache; he dug his fingertips into the firm flesh of Joe’s inner thighs with as little impact as if they had been steel.  Joe noticed and chuckled maliciously.  “Havin’ trouble breathin’, ya cumsuckin’ faggot?” he gloated.  “Ok, then—but ya gotta be quick, boy, I expect a lot outta my bitches.”

 

For a brief moment—Joe actually counted out five seconds—he eased his vise-like grip and let Cory pull his head back.  Barely; in fact, he could only pull it back an inch and a half.  It was enough to allow him to breathe, but it was messy relief.  Still choking and gagging, Cory was coughing up white ropy strands of drool, the thick strings of saliva flowing around Joe’s tool—still stuck deep down the cunt’s throat—and down the boy’s chin to stream to the floor.

 

“Gag on it, you homo cunt,” Joe sneered.  “C’mon, boy, get back on my cock!”  Cory had just enough time to get another deep lungful of air before his esophagus was rammed full of pulsating manmeat.

 

The young blond found his face mashed into the alpha’s groin, the tough, wiry pubic hair scraping his cheeks and forehead.  A pair of huge, wrinkled balls slapped jarringly at his chin as the domineering alpha reamed the throat of the well-built youth.

 

This session lasted longer.  Cory’s sinuses were clogged and his frantic five seconds of gasping hadn’t allowed much air past the meat tube wedged in his windpipe; he was running out of oxygen faster than he had earlier.  And as a result, panic set in sooner.

 

The cum-hungry boyslut found himself desperately trying to get the alpha’s dick out of his mouth.  It was too much; this dude was both too big and too rough.  Cory realized he needed to put the brakes on this one or he could get hurt—but would he get the chance to?

 

He wasn’t sure he could get free.  For the first time, a cold shaft of fear penetrated his warm erotic lust.  As hard as his own dick was, as hot as the facefuck action was, the crushing pain in his chest was starting to become the focus of his attention.  Cory frantically beat his hands on Joe’s legs before planting them firmly and straining to pull himself up so strongly that his biceps bulged almost to the size of Joe’s.

 

“Whassa matter, boy?” Joe sneered.  He could feel the sperm starting to boil in his testicles; he was getting close.  “My dick too much for ya?  Tough shit, homo—suck it!”

 

Cory wasn’t having it.  Jerking forcefully, he bucked like a bronco, yanking his head back until Joe released him with an angry grunt.  Cory instantly went upright on his knees, gasping for air.  He bent forward, instinctively placing one hand on Joe’s broad chest to steady himself as he crawled back to full consciousness.

 

“F-fuck du-dude,” the kid choked out, “T-too much, man, too much.  I charge extra for a happy ending…”  He trailed off in an extended coughing fit.

 

Joe went rigid, staring coldly at the slowly-recovering punk.  “You want me to pay to cum?” he said slowly and coldly.  Cory, clearly not recognizing the suppressed rage in that flat, icy tone, replied with an obnoxious, whining tone, “Fuck yeah, asshole, ya think I give a massage for free?  Ya gotta pay to get off.”

 

“You fucking sack of shit whore,” Joe responded evenly just before he lunged upwards.  Jamming his left hand into Cory’s armpit, he shoved the boy up and to the right, into the open locker.  At the same time, he brought his right arm up and slammed his forearm flat into the locker door, driving it closed and smashing Cory’s head.

 

With a loud squawk, Cory fell to the floor, bleeding from both sides of his head where the sharp metal edges of the locker door on one side and the frame on the other had cut into his skin.  Sobbing and crying, the boy began to crawl away from his assailant across the cold tile floor.

 

Sitting up on the bench, Joe looked down at the stupid little fairy squealing and writhing on the floor like a pig and felt his body flood with rage.  The whore had actually expected him to pay to cum.  He needed to learn what a terrible mistake he’d made—and then Joe saw how to teach him.

 

Bending down, he scooped up both the balled-up socks and the padlock.  It took no more than ten seconds to free a single sock and stick the padlock inside.  Once he had, Joe stood up and walked over to Cory.

 

The young blond homo had actually managed to crawl some distance in the brief time that had passed.  Still sobbing and in severe pain, he could hear the footsteps of Joe’s black kicks relentlessly coming for him.  “Don’t you fuckin’ touch me, you psycho!” he screeched.  “I’m gonna call the fuckin’ cops, you asshole!”

 

Joe continued to approach silently, remorselessly.

 

“Stay the fuck away from me!” Cory screamed, sobbing uncontrollably.  “I-I’ll sue you, m-man, y-yer gonna go to jail!”

 

Standing over him, Joe swung the weighted sock like a blackjack.  On the floor, Cory peered up at him with horror.  He could see nothing but implacable anger in Joe’s face.  “P-please, man,” he whispered hoarsely, realizing with cold terror that he was looking death straight in the face, “I-I didn’t mean it—don’t, dude, please god no, don’t fuckin’ do this; I’ll do whatever ya want, just lemme live, man, oh fuck oh please—“

 

Curling his scruffy, handsome face into a contemptuous leer, Joe swung his arm and delivered a vicious blow to Cory’s back.  The heavy metal lock smashed directly into a rib, shattering it.  The boywhore screamed and writhed like a worm on hot pavement as splinters of bone tore through his innards.  “Fuck!” he screeched, scrambling over the tile, “Please god, stop!”

 

Towering over the crawling faggot, Joe stomped his foot in the middle of Cory’s back, driving the wind out of the unfortunate youth and leaving the tread of his sneaker embedded in the cunt’s smooth flesh as a bruise. Swinging the sock around in his hand like a sling, Joe increased the momentum of the heavy metal lock, then abruptly bent down, his powerful arm circling high above his head as he slammed the improvised weapon down.

 

Cory knew it was coming and tried to move but Joe’s foot was pinning him to the floor; the best he could do was twist to his right.  It turned out to be a serious mistake.  The homemade blackjack, instead of hitting center body mass, made contact with Cory’s left arm, halfway between the shoulder and the elbow.  The chunk of metal, moving with irresistible force, snapped the humerus like a chicken wing.

 

Cory shrieked in agony and flailed, his broken arm jerking limply and grotesquely but was unable to get out from under the sadistic alpha.  Even in the depths of his fear and pain, the handsome young slut was still aware of his assailant’s erection—he couldn’t have forgotten it even if he’d wanted; Joe’s precum was dripping on his back in burning drops like melted wax.

 

Oh shit, this dude wasn’t just bashing the fuck outta him, he was gettin’ off on doing it—

 

Cory’s futile thrashing on the cold tiles became even more intense as his panicked squeals rose in pitch.  “Goddam, yer a mouthy little fairy whore, aintcha?” Joe snarled in anger, taking his foot off the kid’s back.  Cory’s faint relief at his release was short-lived, though; Joe had merely freed his foot to deliver a vicious kick to the boy’s waist—one strong enough to flip Cory onto his back.

 

The whore could look directly up into the hard face of his torturer; the rage that he saw there so overwhelmed him with terror that his bleatings and mewlings tapered off into a subdued sobbing.  The depths of his abuse and humiliation were obvious—as was his lust.

 

The little fucker was hard as a rock.  As he was getting the living fuck beaten out of him, Cory had remained erect, and the glaze of slime smeared on the head of his dick showed that he’d even dripped out some precum of his own.

 

“Yeah, ya worthless sack of shit, that’s what I thought,” the muscled alpha panted, his broad furry chest heaving with exertion.  “Goddam fag already knows it’s such a useless piece a’ garbage it gets off on bein’ treated like one.”

 

He knelt down leaning directly over Cory’s face.  “Guess what, cunt?  If ya liked that, it’s yer lucky day.  I’m gonna take you out like the trash you are, bitch—and it’s gonna hurt.”  As he bent further down, the prostrate youth, frozen in horror, could smell the mansweat on his killer’s body, laden with adrenaline and testosterone; even in an extremity of terror, his cock responded by swelling and darkening.  Joe spit contemptuously in the boy’s face before he stood back up; Cory’s only reaction came from his oozing dick.

 

“C’mon, ya homo punk, time for shit to get real,” Joe drawled as he rose again, his large shadow stretching ominously across the battered youth cowering at his feet.  The words pierced Cory’s mind with a cold shaft of fear.  From deep within his soul, the crumbled remains of his arrogance found one last sliver of spirit—just enough to make him protest.

 

“N-no…” the blond boy whispered.  “D-don’t. No. Please…”

 

Then, seeing the rage darkening the cruel alpha’s face, he realized he’d made another mistake.  He’d set the psycho off again; he could see the murderous light of wrath building in the towering stud’s eyes and his resistance collapsed immediately.  He started weeping uncontrollably, in fear of the inevitable blow—he could already see Joe’s arm moving back for another swing of the blackjack.  And so Cory made yet another error in judgment—he seemed to be involuntarily digging his own grave—by raising his right arm to ward off the blow, holding his hand up, palm side out.

 

This time, Joe crushed the kid’s hand, snapping three of his fingers like twigs.

 

Cory’s shrill shriek should have echoed off the tile walls of the locker room, but his throat was so hoarse and ragged with screaming that all he was able to emit was a loud, cracking wheeze of agony.  The whoreboy lay flat on his back, kicking and trembling in agony as tears streamed down his pain-wracked face.  In a reflexive attempt at escape, he flexed his legs, trying to get some traction with the heels of his white Nikes.  His arms, of course, were useless now; the punk had been brutally immobilized.

 

But he still hadn’t lost his hard-on.

 

Joe noticed and grinned evilly.  “Goddam, you queer-ass cunt, you sure fuckin’ loved bein’ treated like the sack of shit you are.  Almost as much as I love treatin’ ya that way.  Lessee if we can amp that shit up, huh?”  And with that, he wheeled and walked back towards Cory’s open locker.

 

The writhing lump of bruised and beaten flesh that had been a handsome young massage therapist twenty minutes ago still lay gasping and sobbing on the floor.  During the brutal assault, he’d managed to crawl along the floor for a good distance; as a result, when Joe strode away, he passed beyond Cory’s line of sight.  The suffering punk, shuddering and moaning on the cold floor tiles, had an idea that the buff sadist had bent down to retrieve something.  He heard Joe give a very faint grunt of exertion, followed by the sound of fabric ripping.

 

He had no idea what was happening, though, till Joe returned.  In the killer’s big, strong hands dangled a length of cord.  It took Cory’s traumatized mind a while to realize he was looking at the draw cord that had been torn out of his own swimsuit.

 

Some part of him expected his legs to be bound for further torture; he felt a dull sense of surprise when the cord was looped around his neck instead.  The cord tightened and Cory, moaning and crying, expected to be strangled instantly.

 

Instead, he found himself being dragged roughly across the floor by the cord around his throat.  His legs kicked and flailed in protest, but his arms were no help.  The shattered left arm trailed limply at his side; he could still move his right arm, but the crushed hand, looking like a pale, mangled starfish, was utterly useless.  His own inert body weight had caused the cord to squeeze his throat to the point that he was unable to speak, but with extreme effort, he was still able to breathe.

 

Since he was being dragged by his head, more or less, Cory was unable to see where he was being taken; he could only feel the tiles on his bare skin.  Within seconds, though, the dragging had stopped, and was replaced by something worse.  He was lifted up off the ground by the noose around his neck briefly before a flat bar dug into his shoulders and started scraping its way down his smooth back.  Hearing Joe strain as he jerked on the cord, Cory understood—vaguely, his air was now completely cut off—that the hulking sadistic killer was dragging him backwards up onto the wooden bench.

 

And then it was done.  The constriction around his neck relaxed.  His aching, beaten body was lying limply on the bench, his legs spread.  His right arm was curled on his smooth, broad chest while his left hung at an unnatural angle over the edge.  The pain-twisted, suffering youth coughed up a thick wad of phlegm as he gasped desperately and rapidly.

 

Cory was too stunned, too beaten down by this point to wonder what was coming next; he could only hope it wouldn’t hurt anymore.  Even if it meant death, he wanted to the pain to end.

 

He was sadly disappointed.

 

For his part, Joe had kept his eye on the pansy’s cock as he’d dragged the pile of shit across the floor.  It had continued to darken, becoming so engorged that it looked like an eggplant.  As the buff, toned alpha had tightened his biceps and manhandled the cocksucker up onto the bench, he’d momentarily wondered if the little bitch was gonna cum right there.  No matter how much pain he inflicted on the cringing queerboy, the fag seemed to love it.

 

Now it was time for Joe to get what he’d come for.

 

Cory moaned slightly as Joe parted his legs, his large hands gripping the soft smooth flesh of the boy’s inner thighs.  Semi-conscious at best, the punk was aware of the movement, but little else—

 

—until Joe shoved the entire length of his gigantic, pulsing rod up Cory’s tender fuckhole in a single, unlubed thrust.

 

The searing, slashing agony in his anus shifted the homo slut from semi-consciousness to full consciousness in the blink of an eye.  His emerald-green eyes widened, huge and round like platters, deeply ringed with shock and physical trauma.  He screeched, a high, unpleasant squeaking sound, as his body shuddered and jerked in protest.  Instinctively, Cory began beating at his rapist with his right hand; the action made the jagged ends of his broken fingers grind together, intensifying the pain he was in.

 

“Quit fightin’ me, ya stupid fuckin’ faggot!” Joe barked in fury.  Doubling his fist, he drove it into Cory’s jaw with the all the power of a horse’s kick.  The boy’s head rocked back, slamming into the bench as his mouth snapped shut with such sudden violence that he bit through his tongue.

 

Spitting up blood, Cory coughed and squealed in agony and abject terror as Joe roughly pulled his thick hog back up out of the punk’s colon, keeping in only the massive mushroom tip.  Joe repositioned his kicks on the floor for better leverage and immediately plunged his shaft deep into the cunt’s soft, squelching guts.  Another agonized screech rose from Cory’s swollen, split lips.

 

“Goddam it, I’m tired of lissenin’ to ya squealin’ like a pig, you worthless cum-guzzlin’ homo!” Joe snarled, “Guess it’s time to make you shut the fuck up!”

 

Leaning forward, Joe grabbed at the loose ends of the draw cord still draped around Cory’s throat.  With a single violent jerk, he pulled it so taut that it immediately sank into the skin.  The hard-bodied killer yanked tightly on the cord as he brutally reamed out the kid’s fuckhole.  Luckily, it was thirty inches of black woven nylon, well able to stand up to the strain.

 

Cory, on the other was less able to cope.  His frantic gurgling had been cut short and his mangled hand flapped uselessly at his throat.  His bulging eyes glittered with highlights of terror and excruciating pain so intense they bordered on insanity.  As his hard, firm young body shuddered under the assault, the punk’s dazed brain tried to understand how an offer of a massage and a quick blowjob had turned into rape, nightmarish torture and murder.

 

Joe pounded his tool into Cory’s torn, bleeding ass, yelling “Fuck! Yeah! Take it, cunt!” with each thrust, the raging lust in his voice enhanced by the swift slapping sound of flesh on flesh.  He was pulling the cord with such force that tendons were starting to stand out, first in his neck, then his forearms.  The cord itself was so deep in the kid’s throat that it couldn’t be seen.

 

What it was doing to Cory could be seen very well.  The youth’s face was a deep blue, darkening to purple so quickly that it was impossible to tell if any bruises were present—everything was the color of a bruise.  Even his huge, panic-struck eyes were blotched with ruptured blood vessels.  The only part of him not turning dark was the thick foamy spittle trickling around the sides of his swollen, protruding tongue.

 

Cory’s hard, tight body jerking and convulsing under him, Joe shuddered with pleasure as the dying fag’s rectum caressed the sensitive engorged head of his cock.  The sadistic alpha chuckled maliciously; the stupid little motherfucker had turned out to be a good massage therapist after all—at least, he was good at massaging Joe’s dick in his death throes.

 

And as Cory twitched and kicked, his thick cock was still erect; in fact, it seemed to stiffer than ever and twitching rapidly in tempo to Joe’s relentless ass-pounding.  With each forceful pump of the murderous top’s hips, the boy’s dick slapped against Joe’s ripped abs and sprayed a fine mist of precum over his chest fur.

 

Cory himself was past sensation at this point; part of him knew that he was dying full of cock and that was the part keeping his dick hard.  The rest of him knew that he was dying full of pain and that part wanted to die.  There was no more terror, there was almost no more Cory; all that was left was the pain—and the lust.

 

And at the extreme end of oxygen starvation, even those two primal drives were losing their grip; massive brain damage was sending Cory’s smooth body, muscled and slick with sweat forced from his pores in metabolic trauma, into violently erratic convulsions.  He wasn’t quite as large or strong as Joe, but his lithe body was powerful enough that the hard-bodied sex killer had to clamp down and ride Cory into death like he was taming a horse.

 

As the dying cunt kicked away his last few seconds on Earth, his internal muscles convulsed as well, creating a rippling effect in his colon that almost seemed to draw suction.  It was as if Cory’s mindless, flailing body was trying to suck the cum right out of Joe’s rod.

 

It was working.

 

Joe could feel his hot sperm starting to bubble in his puckered sack; the thick tube running along the underside of his shaft seemed to tingle with electrical fire.  He was close, he was so fucking close…

 

It was time.  He was gonna blow.  He was gonna seed this worthless faggot meat.  His black Pumas slipped back as he bent forward, his full body, heavy with the weight of his muscled mass pinning the thrashing boycunt under him, still impaled on his cock.  As Cody’s swollen, pulsing dick slid moistly between their flat firm bellies, Joe wrapped both ends of the nylon cord around his right hand and placed his left hand flat on the punk’s shuddering forehead.

 

Then, straight-arming the kid’s forehead, he gave the cord a single, swift yank so brutal it snapped the woven nylon.  It also snapped Cory’s neck.

 

The popping sounds of shattering bone once again echoed in the locker room.  It was accompanied with another round of violent physical convulsions in the entwined male bodies on the bench.  Cory bucked and spasmed as an electrochemical surge flashed though his nervous system; his arms and legs contracted involuntarily, causing the corpse to wrap its legs around Joe’s waist, white Nikes helplessly kicking in midair.  The meat had even swung the broken arm up and around Joe’s back.

 

At the same time, the release the dying homo’s dick had been craving was finally granted; Joe felt the hot spurts of semen pumped into the fur that lined his sculpted chest.  The little motherfucker must have been full of cum; it kept spewing and spewing.  Even after Joe had uttered an inarticulate, strangled cry and flooded the kid’s guts with boiling manspunk, Cory’s still-erect shaft was spitting out ropy strands of jizz across his own motionless chest.

 

The boy’s body had one last wrenching spasm that pulled the last drop of semen out of Joe’s still-throbbing hog.  The alpha thought the kid’s phenomenal death load was over; he raised himself up and felt one last warm splash, this one under his chin, caught in his facial stubble.

 

The heaving, gasping alpha slowly withdrew his still-dripping cock from the corpse.  Standing up, he took a moment to catch his breath and to guiltily scope out the situation.  He’d given in to his anger, and that was a bad thing; this snuff was way too close—and too recent—to the other one in the park.

 

On the other hand, he’d needed a workout, and he’d gotten one.  Scooping up his gym bag, he padded off to the showers.

 

Toweling himself off after he got out of the body, Joe redressed and took a glance around.  If he hadn’t known how absolutely deserted the place would be, the snuff would have been the height of insanity.  The corpse, sprawled on its back with the legs spread, the soles of the white Nikes facing forward, was at least partially visible from the locker room entrance.  It was necessary to take a few more steps into the room to get a clearer look, to see the snapped arm or the congested head, now fading to a dusky blue, hanging at odd, impossible angles.

 

Still, it had all worked out.  For Joe, it was a happy ending.

 


 

The pool area was quiet, but not silent.  Empty, but not motionless, refracted glints of light danced across the walls and faint slopping sounds coming from the water.

 

And then it wasn’t empty.

 


 

The next day, Joe was dressing for work; he’d gotten a call to come in.  He’d flipped on the TV in the background, not paying much attention until a certain story attracted his notice.

 

It was a mention of a body found at the rec center that caught his ear.  “The body was that of a young Caucasian male,” the anchor intoned.  “The report came in of an accidental drowning but when paramedics pulled the man from the water, he was completely nude.  Police aren’t saying much beyond the fact that there were clear signs of physical violence; however, inside sources have hinted that the victim suffered multiple sexual assaults.  In light of the death of Bradford DeLaney III, found raped and strangled in a bathroom in the same park, authorities are now saying—“

 

Joe shut the TV off, then let the remote fall.  For the first time in a long time, something had taken the alpha stud by surprise.  He tried to reconcile the scene he’d left and the one the TV had described; it simply didn’t compute.

 

“What the fuck?” he asked the blank screen.

M4M Bathroom Break

It had been unusually hot the past week; not just hot but almost tropically humid as well.  The conditions made being outside during the day an unpleasant experience—which explained Joe’s presence on this dark, silent suburban street after midnight.  It was just too uncomfortable to jog any earlier.

 

The buff alpha believed in keeping himself in shape; in addition to running, he kept up an active gym membership.  But his last kill had been someone he’d met at a gym.  Joe wasn’t a member there, but he knew lots of people went to more than one gym.  He’d decided to stop going for a couple of weeks, just to let things die down.

 

Even in a city this size, the discovery of two strong, healthy young men, found overpowered, raped and murdered, had hit the local news with the force of a bomb.  Especially the way he’d left the meat posed.  And they traced that first faggot—the hot Asian dude—back to his gym.

 

Joe was gonna stick to jogging for a bit.  Not like he couldn’t find a way to work the rest of his muscles…

 

…he just didn’t expect to find a way right then and there.

 

The street was lined with houses, small but nice, that were set back from the road by a lawn.  A line on each side as he jogged along, passing by in dark monotonous rows—

 

Except there was light in one window.  Ahead, two houses down, on the right.  A golden rectangle falling on the lawn, crossbarred.  Light shining through an open set of blinds.  Joe wasn’t normally a voyeur…

 

…well, fuck, yes, he was.  He wanted to know what was there to be seen.  Slowing his steps, he paused on the sidewalk in front of the house and glanced around.  Certain he was unseen, he stole across the lawn and peered through the window.

 

It was worth the effort.  He had come in right in the middle of a hot blowjob; two hot, hard dudes were going at it right there on the living room couch.  One, tall, almost platinum blond, was standing, facing the sofa.  His back was to the window.  The other, a shorter boy with a lean swimmer’s build and smooth tan skin, was seated with his face buried in the blond’s crotch.  As his head bobbed on the top’s dick, his abdomen turned slightly and Joe could just barely make out the tattoo of a star on the boy’s left pec, above and to the left of the nipple.  It was a somewhat clumsy inking, a simple outline that was obviously amateur.

 

As Joe watched, he could see the top’s ass flex, the smooth cheeks dimpling each time they clenched in pleasure as he shoved his tool down the other boy’s throat.  The hulking killer, peering unseen at the brutal throatfuck, felt his own huge dick get hard.

 

And then he remembered he’d brought a phone along—the one that belonged to that last cumsucking homo he’d wasted, the one from the gym.  It was in a pocket of his shorts, along with his keys, the only other thing he took with him.  Quickly, he whipped it out and opened the hookup app the kid had used to contact him.

 

He clicked “nearby”.  Sure enough, the profile pic that popped up closest to him was the kid who was chugging cock.  He opened the profile—and felt his shaft getting stiffer as he read, chuckling quietly.

 

“DTF Dude—

25 yo/WGM/5’9”/145 lbs

Looking for raw dick.  Discrete, can’t host.  Can travel.  Fit guys only.”

 

The profile pic didn’t show the face; it was bathroom selfie showing a smooth torso, muscled but lean.  The star tattoo was the identifying mark; it was what let Joe know he had the right cocksucker.

 

Grinning, he favorited the profile.

 

The powerful alpha turned his attention back to the show in front of him.  The blond top was really pounding the kid’s mouth but the greedy young cockpig didn’t seem to have any trouble keeping up.

 

Things were just getting good when a light flashed on the periphery of Joe’s vision—specifically, the porch light from the house next door.  Instantly, he turned and dashed back across the lawn.  He’d reached the sidewalk and had slowed into his leisurely nighttime jog before he heard the door open behind him.  Swiftly glancing back, he noticed a man wearing a robe stepping out; the porch light illuminating his tired, drawn face—and the retractable leash in his hand, at the other end of which a small, elderly Chihuahua trundled along.

 

Well, they hadn’t noticed him.  He felt a surge of rage—of power flowing through his powerful body; it was generated by his frustrated desire.  He’d wanted to see then end of the skullfuck.

 

But he’d keep trolling the app to see the next time the hot little bitch was on.  Wasn’t gonna have the slut back at his place, though; ya don’t shit where you eat, as they say.  It’d have to be someplace else.  Well, when the time came, he’d improvise.

 

As he turned his course back towards his home, he was glad for the darkness and seclusion the night provided.  His jogging shorts did nothing to hide his enormous erection; he looked like he’d gone jogging with a jousting lance.

 


 

Joe had to work the next two days.  His job didn’t have regular schedule; once he was done, he was off till he was needed again.  He’d had to file the hot young homo for later.

 

Now, it was later.

 

It was a bright, clear morning and Joe was feeling jumpy.  He wanted something physical to do—and he reached for Andy’s phone.  He pulled up the hookup app and ran a search for “DTF Dude”.  He’d already accessed Andy’s profile and changed the profile pic to a landscape.  Now he sent a body pic of himself, attaching the following message:

 

“Hey man—

I got an 8in dick 4 u 2 ride—HMU.  32, 185, 6 foot 4.”

 

After the message was sent, Joe waited a few minutes.  Once a few minutes stretched into twenty, though, he decided to get up and get moving.  He’d be surprised if the lean cocksucker he’d seen through the window was uninterested in his buff, toned body—he’d put on fifteen pounds of muscle mass over the last six months or so.  But there was no accounting for taste.  And besides, the little fag might just be busy.

 

He was still avoiding the gym.  An overnight cool front had left the morning temperature pleasantly temperate.  Joe decided to go for another jog.

 

He threw on a simple white wifebeater t-shirt and a pair of black Adidas jogging shorts.  Sitting on the edge of the bed, he pulled on a pair of ped socks that could no longer be seen once he slipped on his sneakers.

 

He wore a bright orange pair of Nike Air Zooms, tightly laced. Standing in front of his mirror, he admired how they set off his powerful calves and muscular thighs.  Even if this kid never answered back, he knew he’d be getting some looks while he was out.  He wouldn’t have any problems finding someone to fuck.

 

Several miles east, the city had put in a jogging and biking trail along a “greenbelt” than ran beside what had a drainage ditch for outflow from the river.  They’d actually done a nice job with the area, adding a dog park, some restrooms and some playgrounds.  The far end of the trail terminated at the city rec center.

 

Joe enjoyed running there during the day in the middle of the week; he had it mostly to himself.  He was halfway there when the dead fag’s phone beeped.

 

Well, whaddaya know.  The cocksucker had responded.  Joe pulled over at a convenience store and opened the app.  Sure enough, there was a message.

 

Kid said his name was Brad.  He said he’d been at work earlier but was now on his way to the gym.  Or at least, he had been.  He’d seen the pic, and he wanted Joe’s cock.  Everything else could wait.

 

Joe sat back in his car and guffawed aloud.  He quickly replied, telling the punk where he was going.  He suggested that they meet at the park and run together for a bit.

 

Not only did the fag respond, he had a suggestion of his own—a detour to one of the cinderblock restrooms that dotted the greenbelt.

 

Joe peeled out, heading towards the park.  Fuck, this one was eager.  The powerful top grinned as he accelerated, wondering how eager the fucking cunt was gonna be in an hour or so.

 

They’d arranged to meet in the parking lot at the south end of the trail. There would be far less traffic there; the rec center and sports fields were at the other end.  Joe didn’t have long to wait; within five minutes, a blue Volkswagen pulled in and a dark-haired boy got out.

 

It was clearly Brad.  He was shirtless; his star tattoo was clearly visible even under the runner’s tan tinting his smooth flesh.  His gray jersey shorts hung halfway down his firm thighs but Joe’s eyes were drawn down to the bitch’s kicks.  The slut was sporting a pair of Nike Frees, in bright electric blue; the trademark swoosh and the laces were fluorescent yellow.

 

Clearly, the little homo was trolling to get fucked.  Good.  Joe’d make sure he got what he wanted—and then some.

 

Getting out of his car, he headed towards the kid, who heard him approach and looked up.  His clear, bronzed face lit up as he saw Joe’s muscular form—and a bulge started to form noticeably in his groin.  “H-hey,” he muttered, then cleared his throat.  “Hey, man, you the dude from online?”

 

“Yeah,” Joe replied, “you Brad?

 

The youth blushed and grinned.  “Yeah—Bradford, actually.  Family name, y’know, but everyone just calls me Brad.”

 

Joe smiled warmly down at the horny fuckmeat.  “C’mon, man, let’s hit the track.  Work up a nice sweat, and you can point out that bathroom ya mentioned.”

 

Brad’s grin grew wider and more lascivious.  There had been no need to dance around gingerly to determine interest; it was obvious to both that the kid wanted Joe’s cock, and that Joe wanted to give it to him.

 

They took off together, jogging along at an easy pace.  The trail wound in and out under the trees, leaving the pavement alternately in glaring light and deep shadow.  After a quarter mile, it bent out into an open area.  The brazen sun in the cloudless sky beat down on the two firm, fit male bodies moving along the path, and Joe was hot.  Literally.

 

In a single graceful movement, Joe whipped his wifebeater up over his head, pulling it off.  He tucked it into the waistband of his shorts but one end came free.  It fluttered along behind him like bandanna in a rear pocket as he ran.

 

Brad kept ogling Joe as they moved along the trail; he couldn’t keep his eyes off the older man’s sculpted chest, darkly furred and glistening with light sweat.  His thick legs pumped powerfully, slamming his neon orange Zooms against the white pavement.  The young slut’s equally-bright Nikes kept up with the pace, his lean, tight torso also covered with a sheen of perspiration.

 

The randy young cocksucker was so hard, he was having difficulty running.  Luckily, he didn’t have far to go.  “Just up here, man, on the left.  See?  Over there; the doors are on the far side.”

 

Joe looked in the direction the kid indicated.  In the trees on the far side of the path was a low cinderblock building, partially hidden behind some trimmed shrubbery.  From the main trail, two paved paths extended around each side of the building; a small post by each path bore a sign indicating gender.  The men’s room was the further one.

 

“You been here before?” Joe grunted as they approached.

 

“”Y-yeah,” Brad panted.  “I gave a dude a great hummer here a coupla weeks ago.  Fuck, I musta swallowed a whole fuckin’ pint of cum…”

 

“You take it up the ass?”

 

Brad almost tripped.  “Fuck, yeah, dude—I want your shaft in my asshole; c’mon, man!”

 

The horny cunt broke into a full-on sprint, dashing ahead.  Joe kept up his easy jogging pace, taking time to look around.  They’d been running for about twenty minutes and had passed a few others on the path, but no one was within eyesight at the moment.

 

The buff sadist chuckled darkly and broke into a run himself.  Good as time as any to get started.  His own gigantic shaft was starting to swell and pulse…

 

The men’s room was dark and spare; the floor was a concrete slab with a drain in the middle.  The walls were bare cinderblock all the way up to the roof; the topmost line of blocks were the open, decorative type that let in air and some light.  There were no windows and a single light fixture was in the center of the ceiling.

 

On the right side of the room were two urinals, separated from three pedestal sinks by a partial dividing wall.  On the opposite side were three toilet stalls.  “Here,” Brad gestured, heading for the stall furthest from the door, “I like this one best—less likely to be noticed in here if anyone comes in.”

 

Joe paused just outside the stall while the horny youth with the slim runner’s build peeled his jogging shorts off and kicked them into the far corner by the toilet.  The muscle-bound sadist leered at the kid’s lithe body; the only thing the little slut had on under his shorts was a jockstrap.  Joe considered having him leave it on, but before he decided, it was off anyway.

 

Brad assumed the position.  He placed his palms flat on the wall above the toilet and bent forward.  His slender but strong and firm body, nude except for his bright blue and yellow kicks, was presented at the best angle to take cock.

 

Joe appreciated the fact.  His huge tool was fully erect now; an even darker circle forming on the groin of his black shorts—a circle that grew as his dick continued to ooze precum.  Fitting his broad shoulders through the narrow entrance to the stall, he locked the door behind him.

 

He took a moment to bend down and remove his shorts.  Normally, he’d have dropped them exactly as the queerboy did, but Joe had a reason for reaching down to the floor.  Snagging the discarded jockstrap, he doubled it and wrapped it around his hairy forearm.

 

Brad was panting as he anxiously awaited the Herculean stud standing behind him.  He could feel the alpha’s physical presence like an electric charge that grew as the stud got closer.  His lean but strong body thrilled when he felt the thick, firm head of the dude’s cock press against his fluttering rosebud asshole.

 

Joe gripped the punk’s hips tightly, mounting the kid and holding his fuckhole in position while he lined up his massive hog.  He didn’t want to frighten his prey yet, so he inserted his dick slowly and gently, penetrating the faggot smoothly and easily.

 

It took a great deal of discipline; Joe grunted with the effort.  Brad heard, and assumed it was in lust.

 

The horny cunt was trying not to cry out anyway; even slowly inserted, the cock penetrating his ass was the largest hog he’d ever had stuffed inside him.  And it hurt.  Even slow, it hurt.

 

But fuck, it hurt so good.  This motherfucker was a real man, and that was what he wanted—a real man inside him, filling his colon with hot, throbbing manmeat.  So he ground his teeth and did his best to keep quiet as the enormous shaft plowed deep into his rectum.

 

He succeeded only partially.  With each gradual thrust of the top’s dick, Brad gave a faint but audible moan, so high-pitched as to be nearly a squeal.  Stretching his bright Nikes, he rose up on his toes and tried to angle his ass to ensure the smoothest passage for the horsedick that was impaling him.

 

Suddenly his sphincter collapsed; as he gave a faint gasp, his ass relaxed and allowed Joe’s tool easier entry.  The hardbodied alpha felt it too; digging his fingers into the soft flesh on the Brad’s hips, he sank his pulsing shaft deep into the kid’s quivering rectum.  The young slut dug his fingers into the wall as Joe began to pump, dragging his long, vein-ridged cock out of the boy’s ass, leaving just the swollen head inside before ramming the whole thing all the way back in.   As his bright blue kicks bounced on the floor, the eager young homo gave a low moan that slowly increased in intensity as Joe’s thrusts intensified—

 

—and then the door to the rest room opened.

 

They froze.  Two hard, sweaty males locked in full anal penetration, keeping still as footsteps crossed the room behind them.  After a nerve-wracking pause, the sound of piss splashing into one of the urinals echoed through the cinderblock room.  It went on forever; the dude seemed to have a bladder like a racehorse.

 

Finally, it ended.  After the flush, they heard water splashing into the sink, followed by withdrawal and use of paper towel.  By the time the door slammed closed, Joe had started plugging Brad’s hole again, both of them panting in lust and the heat.

 

“F-fuck,” the slim, smooth youth gasped, “that was close—“

 

“Shut up,” Joe muttered.  “Just bend over and take my cock, bitch.”

 

Brad shut up.

 

But as he took it, his feet began to slip.  He was struggling to brace himself against the wall under the brutal onslaught, but his Nike Frees were starting to slide on the smooth and slightly slick concrete floor. “Sh-shit, man…” he bleated uneasily.

 

Joe grunted in annoyance and slammed the punk forward into the wall.  Brad gave a short, swift yell but quickly drew his left leg up and placed it on the toilet seat.  It was clean but cheap and thin, warping under his weight when he brought his other leg up.  But it held up as the slim fit fag kneeled on it and got his ass pounded.

 

And Joe’s swollen hog had remained fully embedded in his colon as he repositioned himself.  As Brad clung to the wall, his lean smooth torso shining with a sheen of pheromone-laden sweat, he was aware of Joe’s hog above all else.  It filled him utterly; he could feel every thick vein scraping the inside of his rectum, he could feel the enormous head, spongy but firm, probing deep into his guts.

 

Joe’s muscled abdomen was also covered with a light film of sweat that left testosterone-laced beads of moisture glittering like diamonds among his chest hair.  They shook and danced as the buff alpha grunted and pumped his toy’s fuckhole, his toes curling for purchase inside his orange Zooms.  Larger and stronger than Brad, he didn’t have the same traction issues…

 

The randy punk started really enjoying his vigorous cornholing.  They started low, his whimpers of pleasure, but they kept pace with the tempo of Joe’s thrusts and gradually grew louder.  The hulking alpha shifted his right foot back, the orange Nike scraping along the concrete floor.  Having steadied himself, he hunched over the boy’s sweating, heaving back and drove his huge throbbing cock even more brutally up the kid’s ass.

 

The sound of wet, firm flesh slapping together echoed through the cinderblock room, accented by the grunting and groaning that accompanied rough sweaty male sex.  It increased in speed and intensity before a voice interrupted the rhythm.  “F-fuck!” Brad cried out through gritted teeth, “yer killin’ my ass, man, I’m gonna cum!”

 

“Not yet you ain’t,” Joe muttered.  “You ain’t got me off yet, bitch.  I ain’t done with ya.”

 

“Dude, I can’t hold out much longer,” the lean fag slut panted as his toes curled in his kicks and his fingers curled against the wall.  “I’m gonna blow…”

 

Joe gave a slight chuckle—without missing a single pump of his gigantic dick—and said, “So think of something else.  Here, I got something to take yer mind off it.”

 

And after a brief pause, Brad’s mind was very much taken off his orgasm.

 

He didn’t know what was happening at first; he was aware that the alpha stud was no longer griping his hips—and he was very aware of the thin but strong band of fabric and elastic that was suddenly looped around his neck.  But even as it started to tighten, Brad didn’t realize that his own jockstrap was the ligature.

 

And he damn sure didn’t realize he was about to die.  “What are ya—“ he managed to squeak out just before his trachea was clamped off.

 

Joe didn’t need to hear the whole question.  Pulling back on the twisted ends of the jockstrap, he bent the lithe youth back until he could speak directly into the kid’s ear.  The boy’s short dark hair brushed against his cheek as he whispered, “What am I doing?  I’m offin’ ya, faggot.  Yer gonna die here, cunt; how ya like that?”

 

Brad was not in a position to immediately comprehend the words; he was in a position that was causing him a lot of pain, with his body tortuously bent backwards.  He was almost literally nailed to the toilet by Joe’s massive meat spike while the straining elastic of the jock brutally yanked his slick, smooth torso back in an arc.

 

But while the words might not have been understood, the action certainly was; the helpless bottom boy could feel pressure mounting in his head as his circulation was shut off above the neck.  Instinctively, he reached back, twisting his arms awkwardly behind his head.  His hands, scrambling in panic, groped frantically at empty air until, by chance, he found Joe’s wrist.

 

The hard-bodied killer grunted with annoyance; the sensation of the bitch’s hands clawing desperately at his straining arms pissed him off.  “Quit fightin’ it, ya sack of shit,” Joe hissed, “You ain’t goin’—“

 

The rattling of the doorknob warned him just in time—they were about to have company again.

 

Deep in his terror, Brad heard it too; it generated a futile spark of hope within his pounding heart.  The embarrassment of being found getting fucked in a public bathroom never registered with the desperate youth; he was willing to risk anything if meant a chance to break free from this powerful, brutal psycho.

 

Joe, of course, knew every thought and emotion running through the meat’s paltry mind—he’d put down enough of these little faggots to know they were pretty much all the same.  He knew the meat was gonna start to squeak and squeal and struggle violently in hope of a rescue.

 

He wasn’t putting up with that shit.  Time to show the worthless pansy cunt exactly who was running the show.

 

It all happened instantly.  The hulking alpha threw himself forward, simultaneously jerking back on the twisted strap around the kid’s throat, his biceps bulging with effort.

 

For Brad, the pain of the tightened ligature was immediately overshadowed by the agony he experienced as his slim form was crushed between the cinderblock wall and Joe’s huge, heaving body.  His face was forced to the left, his head buried between the killer’s massive pecs; suddenly, he could hear no more than the swift frantic beating of his own heart and the slower, more controlled tempo of his killer’s.  As the trapped punk shuddered, Joe’s wiry chest hair scratched at the back of his head.  He could feel it scraping his cheek, the back of his neck, down his back between the shoulder blades.  He could feel the vicious alpha’s ripped abs pressing into the small of his back, sliding on a light coat of sweat…

 

Joe drove himself forward, his powerful thighs and calves straining at the effort, his orange Nikes planted firmly on the concrete floor and giving him enough traction to grind his fucktoy into silent submission; his thick, engorged shaft remaining deeply implanted in Brad’s ravaged asshole. He could feel the bitchboy writhing frantically but silently, the kid’s neon kicks flailing in empty air.

 

The swiftness of the assault was amazing.  Brad was rendered utterly impotent in the blink of an eye; he wallowed helplessly in crushing pain as the restroom door opened and the unknown dude strode across the floor, a few feet away—a thousand miles away.

 

He was useless.  Help was there, right there, all he had to do was make some sound, some sign—but his lean body, strong with youth, was no match for the powerfully muscled mass of his killer.  As Brad’s face swelled and blackened grotesquely, he dimly realized that he was dying to the sound of piss pounding into a urinal.

 

He tried.  He fought to live, but his feeble struggles did little more but inflict more pain on himself—and to enrage Joe, who took note and planned to extract his vengeance once the coast was clear.

 

He didn’t wait long.  A loud flush was followed by the door opening.  Motherfucker didn’t even wash his hands.  Not that it mattered—what mattered was that Joe and Brad were alone again.

 

Joe didn’t ease off the pressure right away.  He continued to grind the homo cunt against the wall with his heaving, sculpted body, bending his head close to whisper in his meat’s ear, “Like I was sayin’ before we were interrupted—you ain’t goin’ nowhere but Hell, you faggot cumdump!”

 

Then he pushed back, standing erect but with his huge stiff dick still impaled in Brad’s quivering ass.  The sadistic alpha yanked back on the jockstrap like he was reining in a runaway horse, forcing the agonized youth to bend backwards.  Brad’s head was tilted so far back his bulging, reddening eyes were gazing sightlessly at the ceiling while his hands clawed frantically at the empty air in front of him, occasionally slapping at the wall.

 

The horny gay kid was close to death.  His air had been cut off long enough for progressive brain death to begin; his vision was already clouded with big black explosions of hypoxia.  He was randomly beating the bare cinderblock wall because he no longer had either the physical or mental coordination to assail his killer.

 

And yet, he was still able to suffer.  His breath had been cut off, not his nervous system; even in mortal fear, some part of his mind registered the agony in his knees and shins, pressed into the hard plastic toilet seat and supporting his weight.   And that was the least of the torture he was currently enduring.

 

Through the whole ordeal, Joe’s thick shaft, wreathed with veins, had continued its merciless probing of his guts.  Even as Brad had been forced against the wall, he had still felt the massive flanged tip of the alpha’s cock plunged deep into inside him and held there, nestled in his guts, wet and throbbing.  He knew he was impaled on a huge rod of oozing purple manmeat; in other circumstances, he’d be hard as hell.

 

And that was the worst of it—he was hard as hell. He was in pain—oh fuck, he was in so much pain—but some of that pain was in his dick  It was erect and straining so strongly that it was causing him severe torment.  Bent over backwards in violent assrape, Brad naturally couldn’t see his how his swollen tool had flushed into an angry red as it slowly darkened to match the purple-black shade of his face.

 

“Goddam, fag, I’m just about done with ya,” his killer sneered in a deep, guttural growl.  “I’m gonna blow my wad inside ya as I choke your useless life out.  Yer gonna be found in a park bathroom, fucked, filled with cum and snuffed.  Ha!  Ya like that, queerboy?  Ya think anyone’s gonna care?  Naw, not for worthless faggot scum like you, cunt.  Die, bitch, die on the toilet like the piece of shit you are!”

 

Some slight sense of the words sank through to Brad, but what little consciousness he had left was busy fending off pain and trying to stay aware as  long as possible.  His head was a ball of nightmarish agony; his nerveless hands were now slapping at his face, now distorted beyond recognition.

 

The handsome young man with the short dark hair and runner’s tan had been replaced with a grotesque caricature.  His smooth cheeks, now bloated and purple, were streaked with white froth that was being forced from his mouth past his dark, distended tongue.  His eyes, once large and clear, had rolled back in his head, showing only the whites—which were visibly turning red with each passing moment as more and more blood vessels ruptured under the pressure of manual strangulation.

 

Joe could feel the meat trembling on the edge of the abyss.  The scumshit homo was starting to shudder bonelessly; from experience, Joe knew that the next step down into the grave would be violent rhythmic convulsion.  And that was exactly what he was waiting for.  Grinning, he twisted the jockstrap one final time and pulled it so tight the tendons stood out on his neck. Almost immediately, he could feel the fag’s neck give.  With a loud cracking sound, he succeeded in crushing the motherfucker’s esophagus.

 

It started slowly, almost gently, the way the fucktoy began backing his ass up onto Joe’s dick.  The hard-bodied sadist didn’t need to thrust anymore; he just needed to hold on and squeeze the meat at the right time.  The cunt’s death throes would milk the sperm right outta him…

 

He was right, of course; as more and more of Brad’s brain shut down, the more his lean, lithe, sweat-slicked body began to jerk and thrash.  Swiftly, he lost control, flopping forward as full-body convulsion wracked his slim form.  Joe quickly leaned forward himself and, placing his hands on the back of Brad’s shoulders, forced them forward to the wall.  The experienced killer used his own weight to pin the flailing slut there as he died.

 

Brad was gone.  There was a slight flicker of light left in some brain cells, cells able to process input from the nervous system.  There was no register of emotion or personality left, only that of physical sensation—and even that was faulty.

 

It equated the hot explosion of spunk internally to the hot explosion of spunk externally; it determined no difference between the boiling jet of seed injected deep into Brad’s intestines by Joe’s pulsing cock as the killer snarled and grunted, and the violent spurt of the unlucky punk’s death load that spattered the cinderblock wall with the corpse’s own DNA.

 

Joe continued to press Brad into the wall; it took him a few minutes to unload completely.  The shuddering body had slipped off the toilet seat and was only held up by Joe’s pressure.  When he was done, the muscled alpha withdrew his shaft from the corpse’s ass and stood up, letting the body tumble to the floor of the bathroom stall like the pile of meat it was.

 

Brad’s body, still quivering and kicking, fell face down.   His one identifying mark, his star tattoo, couldn’t be seen and the jockstrap was so embedded in his neck as to be invisible.  All he had left in the way of clothing was his ped socks and his blue and green Nike Frees, now scraping jaggedly and arrhythmically on the concrete floor.

 

Joe took a moment to tear off some TP and wipe down his still-dripping cock before he bent down and scooped his clothing off the floor.  The muscled killer dressed quickly before he left the stall, letting the door swing shut behind him.  Chuckling at  the sound of children playing in the park outside, he washed his hands in the sink, splashing a little water on his face after.

 

Within two minutes, he was back out on the jogging trail, just another runner taking advantage of the unexpectedly pleasant weather.

 


 

As the afternoon set in, Brad’s body cooled and gradually became still, the lean but firm muscles ceasing to quiver mindlessly as time went by.  As it lay quietly on the concrete floor, the door to the bathroom opened—and then the door to the stall.

 

There was a pause, then the corpse jerked.  It jerked again, more strongly, none of the movements under its own power.  The body was being manipulated.  Another jerk, and the interloper was gone.

 

For the rest of the afternoon, the stiffening corpse was undisturbed; it wasn’t discovered until nearly six in the evening.  The reporting officer noted that except for the ligature, the body was completely and utterly nude.

Meat Chronicles 14–Back Alley Boys

He knows I’m following him; he can’t help but know it. It might not have been obvious out on the main drag, but he glanced back once on the side street. Evidently he liked what he saw—he nodded his head and turned down an alley.

Naturally, I’m gonna follow. My dick has been tingling all day. Time to find a bitch and make some meat.

They haven’t found that last kid yet. I’m safe hitting up the bar scene again. As it so happens, I don’t need to; at least, I don’t need to go inside. Sometimes the prey strolls right into the trap.

I’m walking slowly, looking around, appraising the goods on display on the street, when a loud blare of music lets me know an exterior door of one of the dance clubs has opened. Hearing footsteps behind me, I slow to allow him to pass.

We check each other out simultaneously. I’m in a gray jersey wifebeater, showing off my chest and arms. My jeans are tight and worn and are tucked into a pair of charcoal-gray leather ropers. My thick black leather belt has metal studs that catch the light; I can see him looking.

He’s got a stamp from the club, so he’s over twenty-one, but he looks much younger. That’s why I trust the stamp; I bet they carded the shit outta him.

It’s a warm night and he’s taken his shirt off and looped it in his belt. He’s slim and smooth, with just enough musculature to hint at manhood as opposed to boyhood. He’s a peroxide blonde, his hair sculpted with massive amounts of some product. His eyebrows and the slight down of hair on his lower arms showed that his true shade was a darker color. Stupid little shit; it’s probably a beautiful golden color; why fuck it up?

He’s wearing bright red cotton shorts that end mid-thigh and are so tight he probably needed Vaseline and a shoehorn to get them on. They circle his taut firm thighs and cling to his ass—and seem to have been specially-made to include accommodation for his cock; it bulges in front like he’s got a snake in his front pocket.

His calves show the same golden haze that appears on his lower arms. He’s wearing Nike Cortez running shoes—they look like black leather ankle socks, but I can see the white socks inside. I have just a moment to note that his face is clear-featured, his eyes a bright emerald green—and he’s passed, going ahead of me. That’s when I decide to follow.

He’s ducked behind that dumpster, further up the alley. This block isn’t part of the club scene; in fact, these businesses are barely hanging on—there’s a derelict dry cleaners, an unsanitary-looking tortilla factory…

They’re all closed and empty at this hour. So either this kid is waiting to jump me, or he wants me to fuck him back here. And if it’s the former, he’d better have some help, ‘cause I can put him down with no problem.

And I will.

I unzip my fly and let my dong flop out. I step around the dumpster and there he is, assuming the position. He’s dropped his shorts and stepped out of them, standing in front of me, nude except for his shoes, hands up against the cinderblock wall, slightly stooped so that his puckered hole faces me directly.

This is the first time in quite a while that the meat has surprised me. I know by now who truly wants the sexual experience I can provide. There are signs. I knew this cunt was a deathpig the moment I laid eyes on him; he’s been aching to be put down for a long time.

But, even with as much experience as I have with this by now, I still didn’t expect him to want to die behind a dumpster. This bitch wants to go out like a cheap fucking whore in a stinking alleyway.

I don’t bother to undress any further; there’s no need. The punk is posed to receive anonymous sperm, his hole gaping, waiting for my cock. He doesn’t wait long; I mount the slut like a stallion covering a mare, shoving the full length of my engorged rod deep into the twink’s straining ass.

He exhales all at once, in sheer pain, and croaks like a frog trying to inhale as my dick sinks deeper into his rectum. He rises up on his toes, his thighs quivering in strain, his tight black sneakers scuffling at the toes on the filthy pavement.

No one is in this neighborhood at this time of night—as this piece of shit damn well knows—but I still don’t want to take a chance. I clamp one hand tightly over his mouth as I grip his waist with the other. I pace my thrusts to allow the slut some time to loosen up, reaming him deeply but slowly, letting his fuckhole stretch out.

After a while, his colon stops fighting and accepts my tool. The meat calms visibly, responding to my thrusts, his lean, smooth body slick with sweat but no longer shuddering. He starts backing his ass up on my dick in anticipation of my rhythm. It feels good.

For now. But soon it won’t be enough. That’s what this cunt is hoping for—someone for whom a quick back-alley fuck isn’t enough. Someone who’ll go all the way. Someone who’ll use him and dispose of him like the fucking faggot garbage he is.

Guess it’s lucky he found me; otherwise he coulda been looking for a long time. Maybe he needs a hint how lucky he is. I reach into my right front pocket and pull out a yard-long piece of braided nylon cord and drape it over the meat’s neck, letting the loose ends dangle in front of his chest.

“Dude, what’s this sh—“he starts.

“Shut up!” I snarl and start pumping his ass faster. He grunts, but he shuts up. He’s loving this. Worthless cunt, letting every guy he can find spunk inside him. He’s little more than a living condom—and soon he won’t even be that.

He’s moaning—not a steady sound, but the “uh-uh-uh” of repeated blows to the body, underscored by the slapping sound made as my scrotum smashes his like a billiard shot. He’s happier than a pig in shit.

Now it’s my turn. Reaching down in front of the slut, I grab the end of the cord on the right with my left hand and the one on the left with my right. Bringing my arms back and up, I loop the cord around the cunt’s neck and pull tight. As I take up the slack in the cord, I wrap it around my hands to gain traction and keep it taut.

It takes the meat a moment to realize what’s happened. Stupid little fucks never do seem to recognize the beginning of their greatest sexual experience, even when they’ve been striving for it from the moment they became sexually aware.

That’s why I’m here. I have control. I’ll put the punk down the way he wants it, no matter how hard he fights. After all, he doesn’t have my discipline. He can’t be expected to override the biological imperative to stay alive. I’m here to guide him to orgasmic death, to use him and abuse him and leave him in the gutter like the worthless used cumrag he is.

He stands up straight—he’s moving his hips forward, trying to pry himself off my cock. I throw myself forward, slamming him against the rough cinderblocks.

“Uh-uh, cunt, you ain’t gettin’ off the ride yet,” I whisper into his ear, his head pressed painfully against the alley wall. “It’s time to get what you been askin’ for. So I choke you out like you’ve always wanted and in return, when you die, you do it on my cock so I can enjoy every last second of you kicking away your useless life. Sounds like a deal, yeah? Fuckin’ works for me!”

I yank the cord brutally round the whore’s neck, sinking it in below the surface of the skin. The kid’s hands claw desperately at his throat with no effect. He’s starting to fight now. His ass slaps against my crotch as his pelvis bucks in fear.

“Enough, you fucking cocksucker!” I snarl and slam him forward into the wall, hard. He’s stunned and goes limp momentarily. He’s help upright by the cord around his neck and my dick forcing him to the wall.

Once the effects of the blow to the head wear off, the boy starts thrashing again. I’m pressing him too firmly against the rough, graffiti-scarred cinderblock for him to be able to do any more than pump his ass along my thick shaft. His hands claw and scrabble at the wall; he’s not able to reach me behind him.

“Oh fuck yeah, cunt, fight it,” I moan into his ear. “Keep kicking, bitch. It’s so tofucking hot, feelin’ ya die on my cock. The harder you fight to stay alive, the more your ass massages my dick. Oh yeah, you love it, you fucking pig—here, lemme grind your hard cock into the wall, you worthless fucking whore.”

I’m ramming my rod into his fluttering hole, slamming him brutally into the wall. I’m jerking the cord taut around his neck; as I strain, it puckers his skin and sinks in deeply. His thrashing becomes more frantic, more mindless. His tight black shoes drum heavily on the pavement as his hands beat desperately at the wall in an instinctive attempt to escape.

“Whoa, there, cunt. Just enjoy it. Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna let ya go. This is why ya wanted me, after all—you knew I’d take control of you and keep control of you all the way to the end. You got your wish, bitch. So kick and scratch as hard as much as ya want, you’re still dying on my dick. They’re gonna find your stiff cum-filled corpse behind this filthy dumpster, you worthless whore, right where you belong.”

He turns his head to the side and I can see that beautiful face distorted and swollen, his bulging eyes glaring frantically straight into nothing at all. As his hands slap lightly against the wall and slowly slide down, only to be heaved back up convulsively with another slap, a low bubbling sound emerges from his mouth, where foam oozes out past his thick black tongue. His hair is still in place but the rest of his body is covered in a slick sheen of warm sweat.

His brain is shutting down from lack of oxygen. His metabolism is crashing; that’s why he’s sweating. This is my last moment to put him in his place; at any moment, a critical part of his cerebrum may fail and he’ll be past understanding my words.

“Give it up, you fucking faggot whore,” I snarl in his ear. “Milk my fuckin’ load outta my aching shaft, cunt. You’re gonna cum and die just like ya wanted, you punk-ass bitch, now gimme what I want and work my fuckin’ cock!”

He’s been without oxygen for so long that I’m surprised—again—that he obeys. A tiny spark of life in his fuckpig soul shoots his hips backwards one last time. His legs lock up rigidly, cramps caused by his dying nervous system rippling in waves under his smooth skin—and deep into his intestines. His entire body convulses in what almost feels like a slow-motion wave, generating a suction effect in his rectum.

I try to hold off as long as I can. My arms shudder and tighten with the tension and there’s a faint cracking sound as the boy’s larynx is crushed by the cord. Just before I give a loud, growling grunt of orgasm, I hear a splattering sound as the whore’s worthless spunk splashes the wall in front of him. I shoot violently, a continual stream of semen injected into the kid’s guts at high pressure.

Gasping in relief, I unwrap the cord from the meat’s neck and shove it back in my pocket. His shirt is lying next to me on the ground—I use it as a cumrag and shove it in my pocket, zipping my dripping hog back into my tight jeans. No sense in leaving too much evidence around. Not like there isn’t plenty already, but the cops really won’t care. Just another faggot whore wasted in an alleyway by a trick. They don’t really investigate these things.

So I go, leaving the kid exactly as he’d wanted. Huddled face-down, cum-filled ass in the air, shorts around one ankle with his leather sneakers splayed. Used and discarded in a garbage-strewn alley.

Little cunt was damn sure lucky I found him