Fantasy Scenario 14

Y’know, some of the kids running around out there these days are pretty stupid. And good thing, too, or I’d never be able to lure them in. The two I got fucked up on the couch are a good case in point.

The older one is named David. But “older” is relative; he’s only about twenty. His friend Brian is eighteen. They wanted to buy weed and thought I’d be able to help them out.

I’ll help them out, all right.

I really hadn’t expected to be approached at the mall. I don’t hunt there; there are too many cameras. But these two skate punks had come up to me at my van, which I’d parked at the far end of the lot. I’m not sure what made them single me out, but I was far enough away from the entrance to have no worries about being seen. I invited the boys into the back of my van and told them my stash was at my place. They came along willingly.

Like I said, stupid. I’m gonna have fun fucking them to death.

David was clearly the alpha dog of the two. He was also drunk, which was also likely why he had no qualms about asking a stranger for drugs–or about coming home with me once I said yes. Brian was quiet, more of a follower type. He was high, but not as drunk as David.

I like the quiet ones. They usually turn out to be screamers. That gets me hard.

David is dark, with a Latino look. Short black hair, black eyes, a nice firm body. He’s wearing tight jeans and brown suede sneakers. His Metallica t-shirt clings to his chest. His black eyes are bloodshot and he slurs a bit as he speaks, but he’s a grinning, happy drunk.

Brian’s hair is blond and slightly longer. His black jeans are just as tight as David’s. He’s wearing expensive Nike hightops the same shade of gray as his shirt. His blue eyes are bloodshot as well, but he doesn’t seem quite as incapacitated as his friend.

I give them a little something to smoke on the ride back to my place. There’s a mild sedative in it; I don’t want them unconscious, just docile. It’s not till we’re back at my killing pit that I realize David is more fucked up than I thought. He passes out on my sofa right away.

Ok, he’ll keep. I turn my attention to Brian–sitting next to him and offering another joint. He doesn’t say much as he smokes; he just keeps giving me a goofy good-natured grin as he gets high.

The grin falters as I start fondling him. He starts to shift away from me.

“What ya doin’, dude? Get your hands off me, I ain’t no faggot. Hey, Dave, wake up, man. This dude’s gettin’–”

I finish his sentence for him with a right across the jaw. He slumps back in the corner of the couch–not unconscious, but stunned and limp. He stares at me in fear, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth where his lip is cut.

“Get up, motherfucker,” I snarl at him. He gets up–hesitantly, but he obeys. Tears run down his cheeks and he starts to snivel. He knows that things have taken a bad turn. He has no idea how bad, though.

I drag him into the bedroom and force him into a folding chair placed at the head of the bed. He looks around as I bind him to the chair with nylon rope. As he takes in the metal posts at the head of the bed and the sheets of painters plastic spread over most of the surfaces in the room, he starts to realize that what’s about to happen will be worse than anything he’d imagined.

He starts sobbing in a moment. It’s at this point that I slip the ball gag on him. By the time I’m done, he’s trussed to the chair with his hands behind his back and his feet bound to the chair legs. He’s completely immobile. I sit on the bed so I’m at the same level he is. I run my hands through his silky hair as I speak.

“Ok, bitch, this is what’s gonna happen here. I’m gonna fuck both of you punk bitches, starting with your friend in there. You’re gonna get to watch. I want you to pay close attention so you’ll know what’s gonna happen when it’s your turn.”

He struggles and snuffles but isn’t able to move or make a sound loud enough to worry about. Time go get David to join the party.

David is slowly waking up, but he’s still too befuddled to offer any resistance when I strip off his shirt. His jeans and shorts I cut off with scissors, tossing the rags into the corner after I rifle through his wallet and pocket the couple of bucks I find there–he damn sure ain’t gonna need the money.

He twists in my arms as I drag him into the bedroom, but I’ve got his arms strapped to the posts at the head of the bed before he can muster up the strength to break free. I lay him down face up with his hands bound to the posts above his head. He’s still groggy and incoherent; I don’t think he knows where he is or even remembers meeting me. I turn to the fuckmeat strapped to the chair.

“Hey, Brian, watch me stick my dick up yer buddy’s ass. You’ll wanna watch this, cause I’m gonna do the same thing to you. Eventually. Oh, don’t worry–you’ll know when it’s coming. I’ll make sure of that.”

David’s moan spirals up into a scream as I stuff my thick cock into his smooth brown ass. I’ve spread his legs wide and his sneakers flail in the air as I rape the punk fucker. His hole is tight, really tight. God, there’s nothing like popping a nice virgin hole.

“Oh God, stop! For fuck’s sake, stop, you’re killing me!” he shouts.

I lean down and look into his wide, frantic eyes. “Not yet, motherfucker. You’re gonna die, all right, and soon. You think this hurts? Just wait, fuckmeat. You don’t know the meaning of pain yet. But you will, bitch. You’re gonna die in agony with my dick jammed in your hole. And your friend gets to watch.”

Brian emits faint mewling sounds as he struggles futilely to free himself. David is struggling as well, forcing me to amp up my thrusting to keep him in control. He isn’t able to move much while I’m actively plowing his ass.

I need to calm him down a bit. A show of power usually works. I punch him in the face twice; two quick, powerful blows that rock his head back and shut him up good. He lies back, sobbing softly.

“Shut the fuck up, meat. Just lay there and take my tool. Be a good little fuckhole and maybe I won’t hurt you too bad. I mean, when I kill you.”

David starts bawling openly, big snotty tears smearing his face. I turn and grin at Brian.

“Havin’ a good time, buddy? Is it getting’ ya hard? No, not yet? I know what’ll do it. Watch this.”

I’ve got a small length of rope left over, about a foot long. Sitting up on my knees, I keep David’s legs apart with my elbows as I tie the rope around David’s balls. I loop it around the base of his dick a couple of times and then back around his scrotum. His cock is swelling and turning purple before I finish the knot.

“See, that’s what I like about you stupid little fucks; even at the point of death you stay hard. I had one kid shooting four minutes after he’d died. Let’s see if y’all can do better.”

Now comes the big reveal. I make sure they both get a good view of my knife. It’s a Ka-bar seven-inch utility knife and it’s my favorite for this kinda thing because it’s so obviously designed to inflict physical damage. It looks like it’s gonna hurt—and it does.

“Oh god oh no please no fuck please please please.—“ David gasps.

I lay full length on top of his firm, smooth body and press the knife against his throat. His pleas sink into an incoherent babble. I turn and grin at Brian. “Now watch this, fuckmeat,” I whisper as I slash open David’s throat. The boy starts screaming as I saw into his neck, applying more and more force until I’ve carved open the esophagus and shredded the larynx.

David’s high-pitched scream instantly sinks to a gasping hiss. I hold the thrashing meat firmly to the bed with my hands on its shoulders. I don’t need to thrust; I just hang on while David bleeds out. I keep eye contact with Brian the entire time. I also make sure to keep him informed.

“Didja see that, punk? Wonder how that feels, having your throat torn open while a dick is shoved up your ass. I know how it feels to me; it’s fucking great. See, the pain induces instant shock and the body goes rigid. His asshole has tightened up on me and it’s so fucking hot.”

I turn back to David. His black eyes are wide in terror and agony. He knows he’s dying, but he’s fighting against it as hard as he can. His open mouth continues to scream, but the only sound he can make is a wheezing gurgle that bubbles out as pink foam.

“That’s it, bitch,” I tell him. “Gargle your own blood for a bit. Gonna take you a while to go, I hope. The longer it takes, the longer you work my dick. And you’re good fuckmeat, son. Your ass is handling my rod like it knows what it’s doing. This is what you were meant for, meat. You and your buddy are only here for me to snuff and throw out like a used cumrag.”

I sit up on my knees. David still thrashes and jerks, but he’s growing weaker.

“Hey, Brian,” I call, “lookee here. Your buddy’s a real death pig. See how hard his cock is? He’s already oozing pre-cum. Happens all the time. You little fucks don’t ever realize it till it happens, but you all want a strong hard man to fill you with his hot seed and take you down. You want to die choking and screaming on the end of my cock.”

David’s breathing has become irregular, a long congested intake followed by a brief foamy bubbling. His body shudders. I turn back to Brian.

“Oh fuck, dude he’s nearly dead. As his brain shuts down, his rectum massages the head of my cock. Jesus, it feels fantastic. Damn, bitch, I hope you work my dick this good when you die.”

Suddenly, the meat gave a loud gasp and quick, sharp jerk. “Oh fuck, yeah, that’s it! Die, you fucking punk-ass bitch, take my cum and fucking die!!” I blew my load into the kid’s guts as his body clamped down on me and his suede sneakers gouged at my back. At the same time, a spurt of semen erupted from the meat’s bound tool, leaping up and splattering on his gaping, vacant face.

I pull my thick engorged cock out of the corpse and climb up on the bed, kneeling over the body. I turn to Brian. It takes a moment to catch his eyes, dull with shock.

“Hey, fuckmeat, wanna see something cool?”

I don’t claim to have an enormous dick, but it’s big enough for this display. I turn David’s head toward Brian, making sure the mouth is open. I straddle the throat and slowly insert my cock into the massive wound. I push it up until the head of my dick, still oozing cum, protrudes from the corpse’s mouth.

Brian’s eyes roll back as he passes out. A stench fills the room; he’s pissed and shit himself in terror.

I’ll deal with him later. Frankly, I need a nap. I curl up with my fresh meat and fall asleep.

When I wake up, the meat isn’t so fresh anymore; in fact, it’s downright stiff. I shove it off to one side on the large stained mattress.

The first thing I do when I get up is check on Brian. He’s lolling in the chair, unconscious, still held in place by the rope. I go and clean myself up before I return to him.

I untie him and cut off his clothes, leaving his shoes on the way I usually do. I then spend a few minutes cleaning him up with a washcloth. He’s a real mess since he lost control of his bowels. I know that’s a turn-on for some guys, but I’m not into bodily waste.

Brian gets strapped to the bed in the same position I’d had David in. I want him awake before I start fucking him. He’s already starting to groan and stir.

I can’t wait to stick my cock up his tight hole. After watching his buddy bleed out like a pig and being strapped to a chair for hours, he should be nicely tenderized.

He’s becoming more awake with each passing second. I think it’s time to get started. I lay full length on top of him and start fondling his hard, smooth body. His blue eyes open wide and he stares at me.

“Time to wake up, fuckmeat. It’s your turn. Hope you’re ready to die on my dick, cause I sure the fuck am.”

I force his head to the left–he’s looking directly into David’s face now.

“Look at your buddy there. Ain’t that hot as fuck? Look at his mangled throat and his face, covered in his own death wad. And his eyes, see how they’ve gone white and filmy? Makes me want to fuck him all over again. Probably will, once he starts to go soft again. You too, bitch. Sometimes I like my meat cold.”

The boy is in a state of deep psychological shock, but he’s still able to react. He makes a low keening sound as tears stream down his face. “No, please, no…” he whispers.

His dick is huge, even though it’s limp. I snatch up a section of the rope I’d cut off him and wrap it around his cock and sack, the way I’d done David. His thick tube of meat swells in no time.

“Look at that fuckin’ boner. You’re gonna love this, fuckmeat, I can tell. You’re gonna love gettin’ fucked and you’re gonna love gettin’ offed even more. You’ll end up shooting the biggest load of your short useless life when you die. And you’ll want to die before I’m done with you. See, the more pain you’re in, the better you work my dick. You saw how good your buddy did it; now let’s see if you can do better.”

He closes his eyes and gulps. I take the opportunity to pick up a couple of things to show him. The first is my handy garrote. It’s a five-inch section of broom handle with a hole drilled through it near each end. A fourteen-inch loop of nylon cord is run through the holes and knotted. Once it’s around his neck, I can use it with one hand.

“See this? I’m gonna strangle you with it. You get to feel it tighten around your throat as it cuts off your air. You’ll jerk and struggle to free yourself as your brain dies. At some point, you’ll cum uncontrollably, but you probably won’t feel it. And I want you to feel something, which is why I have this.”

I show him the knife again.

“See, this other piece of shit died too soon. He was gone in a minute and a half. It’ll take you at least twice as long to die, but that’s still not long enough. So I’m gonna hurt you first. A lot. The more pain you’re in, the more fun I have.”

The meat trembles and sobs beneath me. It’s making me hard. I don’t need to wait any longer–I stuff my engorged tool into the kid’s soft, tender ass. He screams and starts sobbing again.

“Fuck, yeah, take it all, you fucking pig. This is all you’re good for, meat–screaming and dying like a dog just so you can work my cock.”

I slam the knife into the meat’s right side in an area where I won’t hit any major blood vessels. He screams in pain and his ass clenches my cock like a fist–perfect.

I want to enjoy this a good long time so I have to be careful not to let the fuckmeat lose too much blood. I’ll enjoy fucking him later when he’s still and cold, but right now I want to savor his agony and terror–I can’t let him bleed out to the point he loses consciousness.

Of course, that doesn’t mean I can’t make sure he’s in mind-bending agony. I twist the knife in the wound, slashing at his guts. The kid screams again and again, each shrill shriek trailing off into loud sobs.

I plant the knife in the center of his firm, flat belly and slowly push it in. And I do mean slowly; it takes nearly a full minute for it to sink in up to the hilt. The meat wails the entire time, writhing on the bed in a futile attempt to escape the pain overwhelming his rational thought process. With each jerk, his silky rectal lining rubs the swollen head of my cock. It’s fantastic and it gets better as I twist the knife inside him again.

I know I’m a sick fuck, but I love making the worthless little punk suffer. The blade of the knife is deeply serrated; I make heavy use of it, especially while pulling it out of the wound. I’m able to make my fuckpig squeal.

The knife goes in again, this time towards the left side of his abdomen. His other wounds are bleeding, but not heavily. A sticky trickle of blood has run down into the meat’s groin, soaking his rope cockring before seeping onto my cock.

I draw the knife back out of the gash in the boy’s side, slowly sawing my way back out with the serrated edge. The meat keeps trying to scream, but he’s gone hoarse. His face is contorted into a mask of pain, his wiry young body responding to each loving slice by gripping my dick more firmly.

The blade goes in once again, this time just above the navel. I leave it there for a moment while I loop the garrote around his neck and start turning the handle. A couple of twists and it’s up against his skin; now I only need one hand.

I pull the knife out and plunge it into the meat just up under the rib cage on the left side. The blade slashes through his liver and the punk goes rigid in shock. I twist the garrote and see the cord sink into the fucker’s vulnerable throat.

The kid arcs backwards—even in the overpowering grip of physical pain and shock, he still tries to gasp for air, to extend the long scream of agony that his wasted life has become. But the physical will not be denied; no matter the pain, the terror, the desperation, the body has its reflexes. The rope around the fucktoy’s cock remained as tight as ever and his dick was a thick cylinder of meat that pressed like a red-hot bar of iron into my belly as I lay on the boy.

I ream the knife in the boy’s side, fucking his guts with my blade as I fuck his ass with my cock—and fuck out his life with my garrote.

His face darkens and his tear-filled eyes dilate as blood vessels rupture deep within them. He thrashes violently, forcing the blade to tear deep into his guts, oblivious in his panic.

He’s pinned onto the mattress by my dick and my knife; as he twists his head, he finds himself looking directly into David’s dull dead eyes. I start whispering to him.

“You’re dying, you little fuck. I’m killing you just so I can drain my dick. That’s why your friend died, too—I needed a cumsack and it’s your lucky day. Ya like it, bitch? Ya like getting’ fucked to death? I guess you do, you’ve got a huge hard-on. Just like your buddy, you’re already leaking some pre-cum. I can feel it on my belly. Damn, ya fuckin’ pig, it’s burning hot—you must want this bad. Ain’t that right, boy? You ain’t nothing but fuckmeat and you know it.”

The cord has sunk so deeply into the kid’s neck that it puckers the skin. My knife is still as far up inside the boy’s body as my cock is; his liver is in shreds now and the pain from that must be phenomenal. But I can’t see it on his face because it’s far too distorted—his eyes are bulging, the whites shot through with pinpoint hemorrhages; his protruding tongue as purple as the dripping head of his cock. His whole face is swollen and blackened.

There’s a loud crunching sound as the fucker’s hyoid bond shatters and his esophagus collapses. The cord is so tight around his neck, it’s almost against the spine. In extremis, the kid goes rigid, clamping me in a grip tighter than any vice. I can feel his hightop sneakers pressing on my ass, forcing me deeper inside him. His entire rectum ripples along my shaft in his death agony. Foam drools from the side of his mouth, running down his dark, smooth cheek. His eyes have rolled back, showing only the bloody whites.

I scream aloud as liquid fire erupts from my dick; I’m plunging the knife into the punk’s chest over and over again, piercing his lungs and puncturing his heart like a balloon. At the same time, a massive flood of sperm flows from the meat’s cock, smearing between our chests as his body convulses against mine.

Dying brain cells, firing at random, cause the dead meat to quiver on my dick for several minutes. I’m so turned on, each twitch makes me shoot again. The corpse continues to pump out semen for a while, too. But the punk is dead, nothing but meat.

I’m exhausted again. I pass out right where I am, my dick still up the meat’s ass, one hand on the knife and the other on the garrote.

When I wake up I’m horny again.

I start with David. The rigor has passed and I can play with him. So young, so beautiful, so unable to resist…

I start by throatfucking him. Literally; I’m ramming my dick down his throat through the hole I’ve cut in it. I’m on top of him, facing his feet in those brown sneakers. My balls slap against his chin. His flat belly, jerking with each of my thrusts, has a slight greenish tint. But as I feel the head of my cock scraping the sides of his airway, I can’t help looking over at Brian. Even more helpless and alone…

It isn’t long before I’ve moved over and forced my dick into Brian’s mouth, moaning as his dry, swollen tongue raspes against the underside of my cock. Every time I pump my thick head into Brian’s throat, I can feel it rub against the crushed walls of his mangled esophagus. I can’t hold it back—as I cum and cum, I look over at David. I love them both so much right now.

I’ve unloaded so much seed I’ve overflowed Brian’s closed-off throat. Semen has spilled out over his face and pooled in his half-open eyes. I wish I could keep them with me longer, but they won’t be fit to fuck soon.

Oh, well. There’ll be others.

Fantasy Scenario 13

I can hear the whore moan. That’s good; I’d thought I’d killed him for a moment there.

Of course, I plan on killing him later–but not till I’m ready. I really want to enjoy this.

He’s about eighteen or nineteen, but looks a little older. He’s clearly been living hard for some time, probably on the streets. His darting eyes and nervous hand movements betray a drug addiction. He wants this over but needs the money for his next bump.

He’s beautiful. Long dark silky hair with blond highlights. Pale blue eyes with long lashes. He’s wearing tight skinny jeans and a dark red t-shirt with black and white leather hightops.

I’d take him away from this, from the life of want and necessity, but he wouldn’t come. This will only end one way for him. Down inside, it’s what he truly wants, even if he doesn’t realize it yet. He will, though. Before I’m done, before the heart stops beating and the semen stops flowing, he’ll understand the gift I’m giving him.

He’s jonesing badly, so it only takes an offer of twenty bucks to get him in my car. He starts babbling about the different things he’ll do for me for various amounts of money. That’s when I slug him in the jaw. As he stares at me in stunned silence, I grab his long hair and slam him face-first into the dashboard.

He goes limp, bleeding from his nose. There’s also some blood leaking from his mouth; his lip is cut. But he’s out good–so good, I was worried that I might have wasted him before I got to have any fun with him. It’s good to hear him moan. It makes my dick hard.

When I get the fuckboy back to the shitty apartment I use as my killing pit, I take my time stripping his clothes off, fondling his hard, smooth, helpless body. He can’t resist; he’s still out. I slowly cut off his shirt and jeans. He won’t need those again. Ever.

As usual, I leave his shoes on.

There’s nothing else I need to remove. He’s gone commando under his jeans, most likely so he can take it up the ass in some dark alley quickly, without trouble.

So now he’s moaning quietly and starting to move. He’s ready. But I’m not, not quite. I need to do something first.

And that something is to zip-tie his hands behind his back and lay him in the bathtub.

He’s on his back. Before he can fully awaken, I’ve inserted myself into him. It works better this way; I don’t have to fight him in order to fuck him. He’ll be fighting for his life in a moment but by then, my engorged cock will be planted firmly inside the bitch.

He’s awake now. Awake and very unhappy. He starts swearing and threatening me, trying to get free.

“Get off me, motherfucker! What, you got me in a fuckin’ tub? What the fuck? Get off me before I fuck you up, bitch!”

I ram my dick into him. He cries out and starts cursing again.

“Goddammit, get fucking off, you weirdo! I’m gonna hurt you bad when I get outta here, fucker!”

I smile benignantly and whisper in his ear, “And what makes you think you’re getting out of here?”

He goes quiet, staring up at me, his lovely blue eyes round with fear and his long hair disheveled by his struggles.

“Wh-what are you talkin’ about, dude?”

I smile gently again, lean down over him, and turn the water on. Slowly.

It falls from the spout to the right of his head. He looks at me in silence for a couple of seconds while his drug-addled brain tries to sort out what this means.

When it hits him, it’s like an explosion. There’s instant panic as he starts thrashing violently. He slams his head into the side of the tub and flails uselessly with his legs, trying to work them under me so he can leverage me off him. But I’m gripping one of his legs with each of my arms, holding them apart as I continue to plow his ass. And with his hands bound underneath him, he can’t move.

He starts screaming for help. Most of the units in this run-down dump are empty and I don’t have any near neighbors, but there’s no sense in taking chances. I let go of one leg long enough to pop him on the jaw again. The blow makes him grunt, but his cries subside to a terrified whimper.

I keep fucking him as the water gets deeper. He’s been reamed out real good in his career as a rentboy, but the fear and the physical abuse tighten him up some. Not enough, but the water will take care of the rest.

The water has reached the level of his face. It feels warm on my thighs and makes an odd sucking sound as it’s pumped into the fuckmeat’s ass with each thrust of my dick.

Whoreboy has to lift his head out of the water now in order to keep breathing. It’s a strain on his neck and he won’t be able to keep it up long. He knows it, too, as he begs for his life.

“P-please, dude, don’t do this. Don’t kill me. Oh god, please don’t. You can do whatever you want, you can fuck me for a week, just please don’t kill me…”

“Shut up, fuckmeat,” I snarl at him. “The sooner you die, the sooner I cum. That’s what you’re here for, to die on my cock. You’re going to drown soon, but it’ll take a few minutes. You’re gonna struggle and convulse during those few minutes. Your body is gonna thrash and jerk as is tries to find more oxygen and that’s gonna feel great against my dick. I’m gonna cum so fuckin’ hard as you die, motherfucker.”

He can’t beg anymore; the water’s too high. Even holding his head up, it’s still above his mouth. He can only stare at me pleadingly as his tear-stained face turns to mine.

“Oh yeah, you punk faggot, that’s it. You have no idea how erotic your fear and despair are. You’re about to die, motherfucker, and that’s so fucking hot. Even if I wasn’t boning you, I’d still get off just watching you get whacked. Now just lay back and let go, whore and it’ll be over soon. Shhh. Just accept it. Take my cock and die, fucker.”

His head begins to shudder; the strain of holding it up is too much. And pointless, really, by now. The water has risen to the level of his nose and he can’t lift himself any higher, even by pushing back with his arms. He collapses back into the water.

I turn the tap off after a few seconds and let the surface of the water grow still. I’m not pumping him anymore; I’m just lying on top of him, my rod plugging his rectum. He’s very still himself, staring up at me. A small bubble rises from his right nostril.

I’m looking straight down at him, my hands pressing down on his shoulders, his legs wrapped tightly around my waist. He’d kicked and struggled well enough earlier; I’ll have bruises on my ass for days from the heels of his hightops.

He starts trembling underneath me. Fuckmeat has been holding his breath for a long time now and it’s starting to tell. As I look into his face, I can see a blood vessel rupture in the white of his right eye—then two in his left.

His trembling becomes more violent. Suddenly, a froth of bubbles erupts from his face. He’s let out the air he’d been holding. But he’d already exhausted all the oxygen in it; his body needs to take another breath immediately.

Now the only thing to inhale is water. I grip the whore’s shoulders and prepare for a ride.

The moment the water hit his lungs he bucks like a bronco under me. The reaction is extreme and involuntary; his body’s thrashing out in every way possible to reach air. As I clamp myself to the writhing meat, his rectum massages my cock with an almost fluid motion.

My fucktoy thrashes and wriggles like an eel. It takes a great deal of force to hold him down onto my dick. He’s young—and despite abusing his body for a couple of years, he’s still strong. It takes him some time to die, and he fights it as long as he can.

As the brain dies, there’s a progression of physical movement from voluntary to involuntary. I can feel the boy twisting under me as he fights to remain conscious, knowing that once everything fades away, it won’t be coming back. As he loses the battle, his deliberate efforts to save himself falter and become weak. Soon, they cease altogether and are replaced with the convulsions of irreversible brain damage—the involuntary movements.

This is when the meat starts to milk the cum out of my cock. Each seizure creates a suction effect in his rectum. It’s also at this point the whore shoots his first load; a cloudy jet muddying the water over his chest and face.

I wonder how far gone he is; I wonder if he can feel my hot wad burning inside his guts. I don’t really care, though; he’s just here to get me off as he dies. His dick, rock-hard and swollen purple in the warm water, sends spray after milky spray into the tub.

I can still see his face, though. His dull eyes are half-lidded; his hair floats around his head, the blond highlights glinting like lightning in a thundercloud. A thin trail of bloody foam flows from the meat’s open mouth.

Suddenly he clenches up on me in his final spasm, grinding his ass onto my cock as a vast white cloud erupts from his straining dick. I shudder and gasp as my balls drain into the dead whore’s ass—and by the time I finish unloading into his hole, he really is dead.

It takes me a few minutes to get my strength back. I pull the plug on the tub, climb out and sit, nude, on the bath rug, panting. While I rest, I look up at the pulley I’d hung over the tub and wondered if the fuckmeat had noticed it before he died. What’s that, fucker? What’s the pulley for? Silly faggot, that’s to drain your corpse.

Once I get my breath back, I get a ten-foot length of rope I’d bought some days earlier—longer than needed, but I figured better too much than too little, in this case. I feed it through the pulley and loop it about the meat’s ankles. I then hoist the meat up and tie the rope off on the faucet. I leave the meat there, hanging by the ankles, fingertips scraping the bottom of the tub.

After all, I don’t want him leaking water if I want to play with him again.

Fantasy Scenario 11

Young, dumb, and full of cum. It’s my favorite combination. Catch ‘em in their late teens or early twenties after all the hormones are functioning and they shoot huge wads of semen when you put ‘em down. It’s as if it were hard-wired into them, physiologically.

This one fits the bill. He looks about nineteen or so. I can see him on a bench on the other side of the empty playground. He’s had a lot of traffic, but he hasn’t left the bench. From where I’m sitting, I can only see his head, but unless he’s been giving handies, he’s not a whore. And if he is into handjobs, he’s had bad luck; no one’s been next to him for more than thirty seconds or so.

So if he ain’t selling his body, what is he selling? Drugs, most likely. He’d had a backpack when he came in. Can’t tell if he’s still wearing it, but it doesn’t really matter anyway.

I’m just curious how much money he has. He won’t need it when I’m done with him, but I might find it handy…

He’s been looking in my direction, off and on, for a while now. It doesn’t take long before he gets up and moves towards me.

Short red-gold hair; his face is broad and his nose is large. It makes me think Eastern Europe for some reason. His complexion is pale with a scattering of freckles.

He’s wearing a grey hoodie, jeans, and Converse red canvas hightops. The backpack is slung over his shoulder as he strolls nonchalantly by me. He stares in my face the entire time. As he walks away, I get up and follow him fifty yards further down the park path, into the greenbelt. He’s waiting.

He goes through his spiel, trying to get me to buy one of the bags of cheap skunk weed he was selling before progressing to pills and coke. But he’s not trying too hard—and his eyes keep coming back to the bulge in my crotch.

I flat out solicit him. I’ll pay him fifty bucks and get him high—my own stash, not his—if he’ll let me suck his dick. His eyes light up but I can’t tell if it’s from lust or greed. Again, doesn’t matter, as long as I get to watch that light fade as he dies.

He doesn’t mind hauling his dick out in the back of my van right there in the parking lot of the rec center. I want someplace a little more private, though, so I hand him a joint to smoke while I head towards an empty industrial park just on the other side of the highway.

By the time I get there, the special mixture in my joint has done its job. The kid lies limply in the seat, awake, but barely able to move. His speech is little more than an inarticulate mumble. He’s drooling slightly—there’s something about the combination of the drugs that induces a very slight paralysis. I think it has something to do with the hallucinogen, but I’m no chemist. But his breathing is shallow and rapid; panic is starting to set in.

He’s just realized that’s he’s completely helpless. He also knows what it means—something very bad is going to happen to him.

Tears ooze from his fear-widened eyes as I drag him out of his seat into the back. I show him a sharp knife just to terrorize him; I’m not planning to use it on him directly. It’s here so I can cut his clothes off, which I do very quickly. It doesn’t take long to slash apart his hoodie, jeans, and boxers. As usual; I leave his shoes on; I like it when they kick.

I throw him down flat on his back on the carpeted floor of the van and climb on top of him, laying full length. I grab a handful of his hair to hold his head still as I talk to him.

“All right, listen up, bitch. This is how this is gonna go down. I’m gonna shove my dick up your ass and while it’s up there, I’m gonna choke you to death. Nothing personal, dude, but I wanna blow a load into some dead meat. And that means someone’s gotta die. Just your lucky night, fucker. Don’t worry, though, you’ll shoot a wad, too. Dunno if enough of your brain will be left alive at the time for you to enjoy it, but I promise you—you’ll cum before you go.”

I grinned at this witticism. The kid moaned and shuddered but wasn’t capable of anything more coordinated. Even without the drugs, his fear would have incapacitated him at this point.

Perfect time for me to whip my hog out of my jeans and slam it into his hole. Fuck yeah. He was tight. Dunno if he was a virgin; I’d like to think so but I doubt it. I know it hurt; the only lube I used was my own spit and the kid was moaning even more loudly, tears welling out of his eyes and streaming down the side of his face. I propped the bitch’s hightops on my shoulders as I bent over him, still spearing his ass with my thick cock.

I held the nylon cord in front of his eyes. See, the Inquisition knew a trick or two. They made it a practice to show the prisoner the implements of torture before they were used on him. As the true horror of what was to come sank in, the prisoner was more likely to confess with needing to be tortured at all.

Not that I give a shit about confession. The more terrified the meat is, the better it milks the cum out of my cock. I want it to know what’s coming.

“See this? I’m gonna tighten it around your neck. Does dying hurt? Yeah, bitch, it’s gonna hurt. I’m gonna make it hurt because that’s what gets me off. And somewhere in all that pain, you’re gonna cum too. So are ya ready, ya little fuck? Ready to ride my cock down into your grave? Let’s saddle up!”

I grab his hair again and gently lift his head, laying the cord under his neck. I lower his head, pick up the ends of the cords and cross them at the front of his throat, just under the adam’s apple. I position myself for maximum traction; my boots are digging into the carpet with each thrust of my tool and my elbows support my upper half. I wrap the cord ends around the palms of my hands and yank as hard as I can.

It sinks in so deeply that I can barely see it. The boy’s eyes are huge now; the expression on his face is terror. His voluntary nervous system is slowed by the drugs but not the involuntary. His face starts to go red immediately as he arcs his back in a vain attempt to draw in air.

“That’s it. You can feel the pressure building in your head, can’t you? Yeah, that’s gonna get real bad, fuckmeat. But we’ve only been doing this for a few seconds. It’s gonna be three minutes before death takes you, punk. It may not sound long, but it’s gonna be three minutes of agony and I’m gonna be fucking you each second of it. By the time your thrashing, dying body works the last drop of cum outta my rod, your brain will be so damaged you won’t feel the hot seed I plant inside you.”

He’s able to move some now. There’s no strength or focus but he can bat his arms weakly against me. Perhaps his panic is allowing him to overcome some of the paralysis effect. It’s not strong enough to inconvenience me.

His face is darker and his bloodshot eyes are bulging slightly. His lips are swelling as well and have a distinct bluish tint. His involuntary movements are stronger now; he’s writhing under me, his body lubed by the thin film of cold perspiration that’s covering him.

“Whaddaya say, fuckmeat, time to take it up a notch? Yeah, bitch? Don’t think you’re hurtin’ enough yet. Fuck yeah, let’s see if we can fix that.”

I start to pull tighter on the cord. My biceps are beginning to bulge and tendons are standing out. But I keep my breathing regular, timing it with each thrust so I can speak clearly.

“You’re gonna hear a crunching sound in a moment, fuckmeat. Gonna fuckin’ feel it too. It’ll be the sound of your hyoid bone breaking and your esophagus collapsing. Once that happens, you’re dead. Even if I undo this cord, you still won’t be able to breathe. But I’m not gonna undo the cord anyway, because you’re not completely dead yet and I can tighten it even more before you die. “

I grin cheerfully into his terrified, pleading eyes. His tongue, black at the tip, has protruded beyond his puffy cyan lips. It’s moving slightly; the punk dealer is trying to speak, to beg for his life, to plead on behalf of a sick mother or younger brother or some such bullshit. All he’s actually doing is pushing out a stream of foamy drool that trickles down his cheek. The sound came, more like a twig snapping, really.

“Fuckin’-A, yeah! Die, motherfucker, die on my dick. Fuckin’ shoot your punk-ass load and die so I can fill your worthless meat with man cum before I throw it out to rot. C’mon, dude, give up your wad and it’ll all be over. Die, you pig fuck. It won’t hurt after you’re dead.”

His arms flail around my body, hands scrabbling against my sweaty back and sides. He’s completely covered in a sheet of cold sweat himself; it’s the cold sweat of serious body crisis. The canvas of his shoes scratches at my cheeks as his feet jerk with approaching death.

I’m bent down close to his face now. This is the finale; this is what I’ve been waiting for.

“Soon, fuckmeat, it’ll all be over soon. Your only purpose on earth was as a sack to hold my cum. Let go and stop fighting. You’re helpless against it anyway. Let it come and let it be.”

His face is almost black and the whites of his eyes are blood red with hemorrhages. Some part of him hears me though—hears me in the depths of massive brain damage and accepts his fate. He becomes less frantic. His arms slow, his hands caressing my back as they wrap around me.

Suddenly the punk’s grip tightens around me as his body arcs up, pressing his smooth, flat, sweaty belly against mine. His shoes press against the side of my head. But it’s his ass that tightens the most; it clamps down on my cock like it’s getting vacuum-wrapped.

His body thrashes a moment, then something flies between us. The dying boy has shot a wad; it splatters on the back of the seat, above his head. It’s the first of several; most land in his face. Soon his own cum is dripping off his thick swollen tongue and seeping into pools covering his dull, half-lidded eyes.

As he shoots, random nerves fire throughout his body, creating a rippling effect in his rectum. I cum so hard I hear myself cry out incoherently. I jerk the cord so tightly around the meat’s neck that it sinks to a circumference only a little larger than his spine. After I empty myself into the meat’s guts, I fall asleep with my cock still up his ass.

I can’t sleep too long; this is too public a place when I still had the meat in my possession. But I’m horny again when I wake up, so I decide to use the meat one more time.

I flip it over and fuck it from behind this time. I ride the meat like a bronco, using the cord that I’d left around the neck as reins. I get a little carried away when I have my second orgasm; I yank back a little too hard and snap the spine. By the time I stop shooting; the meat’s glazed, blackened face is bent over backwards and staring at me upside-down.

Oh well. This meat is fucked out anyways. Time to throw it away and find another one.

Fantasy Scenario 10

“Shut up, you little fucking bitch. You said you wanted some cock and now you’re getting it, so shut the fuck up.”

He had, too. Come right up to me and grabbed my junk. I’d gone to a different park this time; a place I’d heard had some good pick-ups. I’d heard right. I hadn’t been there for more than a few minutes before this one approached.

He’s about twenty, short—five foot two, if I’m generous. Stocky and well-built, though. Long sandy hair worn in a ponytail. Faint shadow of facial hair. He’s got large dark eyes with long lashes.

He’s wearing tight brown jeans with gray suede Nike hightops. His dark t-shirt clings to him, showing his muscled chest to advantage. He stands right in front of me, grinning up into my face as he tells me he wanted to get fucked.

So I say sure. He’s gonna get fucked all right. He has no idea how fucked he is.

It’s been a while. I was looking for some meat to soak up my seed.

The fuckmeat yammers away about what it likes to do as I decide the best way to off it. I’ve got several fresh layers of plastic in the back of the van. I can make a little mess…

I let him smoke the rest of the joint that I’d saved from last time. Damn, that works perfectly. He’s awake and moaning but unable to do more than bat weakly at me as I drag him out of the passenger seat and into the back.

I slip a ball gag on him; he can’t speak but he can make involuntary sounds. And he’s gonna be making a lot of them before I’m done.

Then I strip him—shoes, jeans, shorts, shirt. Shoes go back on and then I pull out a length of string for something I’ve been practicing. I loop the string tightly around the base of the kid’s dick and then again around his balls before jerking the knot closed. His cock slowly swells, purple with bulging veins.

The boy is flat on his back, arms out to his side, as I kneel between his legs. He moans loudly, incoherently as I spit on my throbbing cock and shove it into his ass. I remind him this is what he’d wanted.

What comes next, he probably won’t want.

“Your ass is kinda loose, fuckmeat. Been whorin’ it out a lot, ain’t ya? Wonder what I can do to make ya tighten it up? Huh, lessee what we got here…”

I grope around on the floor above the kid’s head. This way, I can lean over him and stare right into those beautiful dark eyes and smile benignly as I reach for the 7-inch serrated steel K-Bar knife.

I slowly caress the fuckmeat’s face with the blade, smiling and whispering.

“Feel it, punk? Do ya feel the cold, hard steel? In just a bit, I’m gonna use it to slice into your tender, quivering flesh. I’m gonna cut your throat with this. Understand me? I’m gonna saw open your neck.”

His eyes are huge, the terror in them shining through like madness. He jerks his body convulsively in a futile attempt to make a useful move towards fleeing. A babble of muffled grunts erupts from behind the ball gag.

None of it does any good; he can’t move. He has no choice but to accept what I’m doing to him.

“I’m getting’ close, fuckmeat. Gonna blow my load soon. Looks like you are, too. Damn, bitch, look at that precum drooling from the head of your dick. You’re liking this, ain’t ya?”

I lean down, stroking his face with the blade again.

“You want this, don’t ya, you little death whore? You wanted someone to breed you and off you, huh? You’re gonna get embalmed with cum, you fuckin’ punk. Gonna get my semen pumped into your ass while your blood pumps out through the hole I’m gonna rip in your throat, fucker. And your dick’s tied up so tight you’re gonna blow your load too. No matter how much you suffer, you’re gonna shoot; you won’t be able to control it.”

More inarticulate moans, rising in pitch as I close in with the knife and start slicing into the fuckmeat’s neck just below the adam’s apple. His entire body is rigid and quivering in agony; I can feel his sphincter clamp the base of my tool like a cock ring. The tempo and pitch of the boy’s cries increase as I cut through the tougher tissues of the esophageal wall.

The sound of his cries cease abruptly; now that I’ve torn a hole in his windpipe, there’s a deep gurgling gasp. The fuckmeat writhes, eyes frantically seeking my own in horror and confusion. He still doesn’t understand.

Not good enough.

“I don’t care who you are, bitch. You are fuckmeat. The more it hurts while you die, the better my orgasm will be. It’s that simple. Now suffer, you fucking piece of shit, suffer and make me cum.”

He responds by arcing his body violently upwards off the floor, accompanied by a loud high wheeze, almost a squeal. I can see what’s happening. The front of his trachea, no longer supported as a tube, is collapsing in on itself with each breath where the throat is slashed. Each tortured gasp is drawing in only the minimal amount of oxygen needed to retain consciousness.

His hands come up, flailing uselessly at his throat. By the way he’s pawing at his wound, I can tell this is a desperate effort to claw open his plugged airway. But he doesn’t have the coordination to successfully grasp the flap of flesh that’s been sucked back down his throat. And the blood, acting as lube, doesn’t help his fingers gain any traction on the mangled gash.

Now he’s fighting for air. The agony in his throat, in his ass, in his rigid, straining cock—these fill his awareness as death overwhelms the fuckmeat. His hard, muscled body begins the rhythmic convulsions that occur at the onset of brain death. I’m not sure if the fuckmeat knows I’m here; I don’t know if his brain is still functional enough to perceive more of me than the horrible tearing sensation in the rectum. But just in case…

“Bleed and die, you little fuck. The only thing I’m gonna remember about you is that you got my rocks off when you died. I probably won’t remember where I toss your rotting cum-soaked meat when I’m done fucking it. Ya like that, ya fuckin’ deathpig? Yeah, I thought so, ya worthless fuckwhore…”

He ejaculated a solid stream of cum that splattered in the pool of blood over the kid’s right shoulder. The pool had spread out around his head and his ponytail was dark with the blood. Pink foam was oozing out of the throat wound as blood flowed into the airway.

More blood continued to leak from the massive rip in the boy’s neck. The convulsions became more frequent as the squeals from the fuckmeat’s closed-off windpipe became more desperate. Suddenly his legs clamped around me, his shoes digging into my back as a massive final convulsion held us both in its embrace and I filled the meat’s guts with my load—a last bit of warmth inside him as he bled out into a cold, cold death.
************************************************************************************************************************************************************
When I throw the meat out, I like to wrap it loosely in the plastic. That way, it traps warmth and moisture and gasses and rots faster. Just make sure it’s not wrapped too tightly. Let the bugs in; they’re your friends.

See, if I do that, I can go back to him one last time before disposal and not have to worry about evidence. And I am going back to him. He’s lying there, pale and helpless, legs spread, blood matting his hair, and I can tell by the look in his dull, glazed eyes, he still wants my cock.

Fantasy Scenario 9

I’ve heard it said repeatedly that the anticipation of having something is better than actually having whatever it is you’re anticipating. In many cases, that’s true. In some, however, it’s not.

As much as I’m enjoying my plans to hurt the boy on the bike, I think I’m gonna like actually hurting him more.

He’s been out on his bicycle for a little while now. He caught my attention because he’s riding around without a shirt on and it’s been kinda cool for the past week or so. Not weather in which to go shirtless. I’m glad he is, though.

He looks like he’s in his late teens; I’d say no older than twenty. Slim build but his smooth skin is stretched taut over his biceps and pecs. He’s not overly developed but instead has a strong, wiry swimmer’s body.

He’s wearing a pair of tight gray jeans that just barely come up over his ass. His tightly laced white leather hightops are pumping the pedals furiously.

I have to close my eyes and breathe deeply for a moment. I’m imagining those shoes pumping futilely in the air as life ebbs from his body. Yes, there’s something to be said for anticipation, too.

He’s got a shock of curly brunette hair, but most of it is covered by what appears to be a battered gray fedora. It’s somehow both ridiculous and adorable.

I’m going to take this boy. I’m gonna get off by killing him. I’m gonna use his worthless meat to wipe up my semen. His corpse is gonna end up as nothing more than a used cumrag.

He’s been circling the parking lot for the better part of an hour by now. He pops a wheelie now and then but isn’t really doing much else. He’s been glancing at me from time to time. Clearly wondering why I’m watching him. It’s also just as clear that he doesn’t suspect my real motive, because he starts circling closer and closer, staring at me a little longer each time he passes by
.
As he gets closer, I notice the tattoo on his left shoulder. It’s a smiley face with a bullet hole in the forehead, leaking blood. I can’t help but to grin broadly at the kid; it’s too perfect.

He also starts getting a bit bolder on the bike. I’m not sure what he’s hoping for, but I think he’s trying to impress me. At any rate, he gives me my opening when he fucks up a stoppie right in front of me and falls headfirst onto the asphalt.

“Hey, dude, you ok? That was wicked!” I grin and lay it on thick.

“Shit, man, I dunno. Guess I got owned. Think I should sit down for a sec.”

“C’mon into my van and have a seat. Lemme get you a beer.”

His eyes light up—so, under twenty-one then. When I offer a joint as well, he becomes downright eager. They make it so easy. Poor little fucktoy has no idea how close he is to an agonizing death.

I open the door on the side of the van so we can get in the back, telling the punk to grab himself a beer from the cooler. Of course he’s going to ask about the layer of plastic covering the floor, so I have a story ready.

“I paint houses, man. That’s so I don’t get paint all over the place. Put a new sheet of painter’s plastic down after each job.”

Little fuck buys it and helps himself to a can of cheap beer. Slams the fucking thing, in fact; I’m impressed. I’d puke, trying to get that swill down that quick…

The joint, as usual, is pre-rolled and spiked. Not heavily; I don’t want him unconscious. This is gonna be something like GHB. He’ll be awake but unable to resist. I’ve added something new; there’s a bit of a hallucinogenic in there too. I’m hoping to make this the ultimate bad trip. The greater his terror, the more he’ll thrash about on my cock. I let him smoke it alone while we talk.

“I was watchin’ you for a while, dude. You ain’t bad,” I tell him.

He grins and blushes a bit, then turns away, embarrassed. Tries to play it tough. “Yeah, I seen ya lookin’. Thought you was a faggot or something at first. But this is some good weed, so we’re cool, dude, even if ya are.”

He stares me directly in the face with his hand on the bulge in his crotch. He’s telling me he can be had, as if I didn’t already know that. As if it mattered, anyway. His coordination is getting worse with each passing minute.

He’s limp by the time he’s smoked the joint halfway. I make sure to put it out and save it for later; this mixture might come in handy.

I pull the boy next to me and take that stupid fedora off his head. I grab the thick rod silhouetted in his groin and massage it for a moment, enjoying its thick heft. In a moment, his shoes are off and I’ve got his jeans down, running my hands down his thighs as he lies limp in my arms. He’s gone commando under the jeans—of course; ready for action at the drop of a hat (a battered fedora, perhaps).

I grab at his tool again; long and thick and yet still not hard. I cradle his balls in my palm for a moment, then bend down and slip his hightops back on.

I lean back and look in his face. As I’d hoped, he’s conscious but not able to move much. He’s moaning slightly, fear building in his eyes as he realizes his helplessness. He’s becoming aware that I can do anything I want to him and there’s nothing he could do to stop it. He can’t really even cry out right now.

I still strap a ball gag into his mouth, though. It doesn’t matter how drugged he is—the pain I’m gonna inflict on him will have him screaming. Only way drugs could help would be to put him out of his pain with an overdose. And that, of course, is no fun.

The boy is laying on his back now, legs spread. With apprehensive eyes, he watches me strip. I put my work boots back on afterwards—helps to have some traction on the plastic.

Then I jam my engorged purple cock into the punk’s tight hole.

He moans loudly, grimacing in pain. He looks at me desperately, tears leaking from the corners of his wide green eyes. He still has no control over his muscles, so I place his legs on my shoulders and hold them in place with my arms, feeling the leather of his shoes against my head. I spend the next few minutes raping him while he lies immobile on the bed, arms out to his sides.

After a while, I’ve stretched out the natural elasticity of his sphincter. I need to get his ass to tighten down on my dick again, but from now on it’ll have to be the tightening of muscle. And since his voluntary muscle system is kinda paralyzed at the moment, I need something to manipulate his reflexes.

Although I don’t use it often, the icepick is one of my favorite toys. In reality, though, I don’t like calling it a toy. It’s a weapon of accuracy and finesse. Flailing away with one, stabbing at random (as it seems to be most commonly used), is like using a Stradivarius for high school band practice.

The kid has his head back and his eyes closed and seems to have calmed down. He clearly enjoying getting fucked. I lean down over him, my belly against his firm, flat belly. I’m looking into his face as I insert the icepick into his side—slowly, smoothly.

He’s screaming now, but it only comes out as a long, emphatic moan. He’s crying, tears trickling down the side of his face. But he can’t move; he can’t twist away from the thin shaft of steel that’s slowly—oh god, so slowly—skewering its way into his left side, puncturing his abdominal cavity below the ribcage, piercing his intestines multiple times.

His muscles tighten with the agony. It makes his rectum clamp down on my cock. Once you get down the right speed, everything else happens automatically.

Let’s see if that hallucinogen has helped.

“How does that feel bitch? Ya like that? Good, cause you’re gonna get more. See, I already reamed your ass out. But every time I stick you, your ass tightens, along with most of the rest of your muscles. It’s a reflex over which you have no control. But I do, with this.” I held the icepick right in front of his face so he could see his own blood dripping off it. “I can use this to make your ass keep squeezing my dick. But only for so long, fuckmeat, only for so long.”

I’m grinning at him the entire time, not losing a single thrust in his ass while I talk. I switch the pick to my other hand and slide it into the fucker’s left side, enjoying the velvety smoothness of his rectum clenching my rod. He moans loudly.

For the next half hour, I run the icepick into in various parts of his chest and abdomen, very carefully avoiding organs and major blood vessels. Even so, internal bleeding was starting to take a toll. He was a long way from death yet, but the reflex reaction was starting to fade.

“Fuck, dude, you’re getting’ loose,” I whisper to him. “Gotta tighten ya up again. Guess I better amp it up a notch. Ready to take it to the next level, fuckmeat? Ready to get fucked up for good? The more it hurts, the better it feels. So I’m gonna make sure this hurts wicked bad, dude.”

This time, it goes into his kidney. He doesn’t scream; he tries to gasp around the bright orange ball tied into his mouth. As the fucker goes into shock, his ass muscles ripple up and down my shaft.

God, I’m so close. I get one more of these and then it’ll be time for the finale. Timing is everything; it’s what lifts this above a sordid physical interaction into a form of art.

I slam the icepick into the right side of the kid’s chest, feeling the resistance of the pectoral give way as the tip passes through and punctures the lung. The boy gives a low, despairing bleat.

I’m back over him, showing him the pick again. There’s a miniscule nick in the shaft and a tiny sliver of lung tissue is caught in it.

“Just about fucked you out, bitch. It’s been fun but I wanna shoot my load and you gotta get wasted for that to happen. Don’t worry, dude; I’m gonna make sure you drain your dick, too. Don’t know if you’ll get to enjoy it, though; you’re gonna have other things on your mind. Or in it. Same difference. All that will be left will be your highest and best use—meat to soak up my cum.”

He’s still there. He’s on his way out; it’s only a matter of time. And not much time, at that. He’s been crying continually and his nostrils are getting clogged. With that gag in his mouth, he’s gonna suffocate in a few minutes.

But the hallucinogen did what I’d hoped. He’s still there–even in a state of trauma-induced shock, he’s heard every word I’ve said. Even better, he’s understood them all. He knows why this is happening. He knows that he’s suffering this indescribable agony so I can get off. I don’t need to know his name, who he is, what his hopes were. As far as I care, his only purpose on earth is to die slowly and painfully so his death throes can jack me off.

“Ok, you little fuck; this is what’s gonna happen. I’m gonna stick this in your ear. You’ll feel it tear through you eardrum before it thrusts its way through the fragile bone structure in your inner ear. This part, I’ll do slowly, so you can enjoy it. After that, it’ll be in your brain. You don’t have any nerves there, but I have another way to have fun at that point. Time to get saddled up, fuckmeat. Gonna be up your ass and in your skull at the same time.”

I’m a man of my word. I’m laying full on top of him, watching his face the entire time, my cock up his ass as far as I can get it while I patiently, lovingly insert the icepick into his ear.

Tears flow down his face and his breathing becomes swift and irregular. I can feel his chest jerking beneath mine, his smooth, tight chest, well-greased with a desperate sweat forced out by the pain. His body, naturally oiled, squirms beneath me, but it’s his eyes I’m watching.

I can tell when I’ve reached the brain. His eyes—oh my god, his eyes, the beautiful terror in his helpless green eyes—dilate when I penetrate to a certain depth. Then I jerk down, a little jog to the left…

Suddenly there’s a red hot bar of iron pressed against my belly. Fuckmeat has a hard-on; I’ve hit the pleasure center of the brain. One little twitch to make him blow…

It takes pin-point accuracy to get that massive convulsion that causes the fuckmeat to shoot. It’s worth finding the right spot, though, because that same convulsion somehow seems to collapse the meat’s asshole around my cock and apply suction.

As the kid goes rigid with the massive brain trauma I’ve inflicted, his legs tighten around my back in a kind of embrace that forces his ass down further onto my dick. The drugs have no effect on his death spasm. His body arcs up off the floor; violently, it brings me up with it.

He shoots his wad. A reflex from the brain damage; the boy is dead. This is a corpse, spraying semen as a reflexive attempt to preserve DNA. A fountain of cum sprays between us; he keeps pumping out thick creamy ropes. My god, his balls must have been full. It keeps flowing and flowing…

The seizure works the fuckmeat’s ass beautifully; I shoot a solid stream of cum up into the dying kid’s guts. Holy fuck, I keep spraying too. I remember collapsing on top of the quivering fuckmeat, still skullfucking the steel shaft into his brain and feeling the spasms flowing along that hot iron bar that was still pressed against my belly…

It’s dark when I wake up. My cock is still nestled in my fuckmeat’s ass. We’ve both cum so much that I’m stuck to his body by a glazed coat—a glaze that matches the look in his beautiful green eyes.

I need to get moving. Have to get out of here, have to get rid of the body—oh, but not for a while yet. I’m getting hard again. The ball gag has kept his mouth open and his eyes are tilted slightly upwards.

They’ll be looking right into mine when his lips are resting on the root of my cock.

Fantasy Scenario 7

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fantasy Scenario 6

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

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

Thank God!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost. Not quite. Time to turn it up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Slowly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What shall I do with my next true lost soul?

Fantasy Scenario 3

Oh my god. So many lost souls out today. Who among them deserves the love and death I can give? Who is the most worthy of my baptism of blood and semen?

That hot little Mexican kid over by that tree? Nah—he’s dealing. Too hard to get back to my place. I need a buyer for what I have to offer.

Ok, that one has promise. White kid, early twenties. Wearing a ball cap but I can see he’s practically a skinhead underneath. Razor-thin sideburns running down his cheeks to meet a near-invisible goatee. Cold, squinting eyes. Plaid button-down shirt worn open over a stained white t-shirt. Tight, faded jeans tucked into worn, scuffed work boots. Clearly looking to buy. Perfect.

I pull up and start the usual routine. Coke? Sure, I can hook you up. Friend will bring it, sample back at my place, blah blah blah.

He gets in. Quiet and kinda nervous—doesn’t offer his name. Wonder if it’s his first time buying. His button-down shirt has short sleeves and I can see his arms. There’s a couple of recent tracks but no old scarring. A new convert then, thinking he was being a man by buying his own drugs.

I grin to myself. He’s gonna die like a man, slowly and painfully, as I choke the life out of him. And somewhere within, he’s gonna realize his only worth is as fuckmeat and he’s gonna give me his seed in his gratitude as he slides into eternity…

Don’t get carried away. Almost home; wait till he’s too drugged to notice. Don’t give the surprise away too soon.

Once inside, I tell him I’ll load his sample myself. It’s strong, I say, and I don’t want him flopping on me. There’s a puzzled look on his face and I realize he’s so new at this that he doesn’t know the term for overdosing. I explain and he agrees, saying, “All right, but don’t try nothing weird on me. I can fuck you up bad if I hafta.”

I really don’t want him to OD. It’s heroin I’m giving him, not coke. He’s not used to it, clearly, and I want to take my time with him—there. Just a tiny amount should be enough to make him tractable.

He’s already tied off his left arm when I hand him the syringe. He’s learned enough to flush back the needle after inserting it; the flow of blood back into the syringe proving he’s hit a vein.

He removes the needle and instantly slumps back on the sofa. I carefully pick the syringe up off the floor and dispose of it before sitting down beside him.

He’s turned to me, so high he can barely keep his eyes open. He’s drooling, a slight froth running from the corner of his mouth. Fear is on his face; coke has never done this to him and he doesn’t know what’s happening.

“It’s okay,” I say soothingly, stroking his taut, hard body, “just let what’s gonna happen, happen. I’m gonna hurt you bad, but in the end you’ll be happy. I always make my fuckmeat happy before they die.”

His eyes widen slightly and he gives a pathetic moan. The drug has made his breathing weak and shallow; he doesn’t make much noise. His hands batter limply at my chest. I won’t even have to bind him. He’s completely in my power, to do with as I wish.

But what’s getting me hard is that he’s just awake enough to realize it.

I slowly strip off his clothes, ignoring his faint attempts to resist. After removing his cap and shirts, I pull off his boots and jeans, revealing his tender ass and thick cock. Then I slip his boots back on. “There you go,” I tell him, “now you can die with your boots on.”

He’s lying back on the couch, his face turned slightly away from me. But from the corner of his eye, he’s watching me frantically, his hands pawing ineffectually at my face. “Time to rock and roll, motherfucker. This thick hog’s goin’ in your ass.”

I lay him flat on his back on the couch, propping his head up on the armrest. I easily force his legs apart, sinking my shaft into his pulsing fuckhole. It feels like a rubber band around my dick; no one’s been up there before. I slammed myself into him, feeling flesh tear as I penetrate his rectum. Low guttural sounds emerge from his throat as his face is drawn into a rictus of pain.

He instinctively wraps his muscled legs around me; I can feel his boots scuffling on my ass. He’s pawing at my chest and face, doing his sad best to resist. “Shh,” I whisper to him, “stop fighting it. You know you want this cock up your ass. You know when you’re out getting fucked up with your buddies, you want their dicks inside you. It hurts so good, doesn’t it? You know you like it, you fuckin’ bitch, now take my cock!”

Pain and confusion have spread over his face; he still doesn’t realize what’s really happening. I’m not even sure he fully understands that he’s being raped. Time to remove all doubt. I wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze.

Instantly his hands come up, plucking weakly at my wrists. I’m holding him down by his throat while I fuck him and I can see the erotic gleam of terror in his eyes. The concept of death has penetrated his drug-fogged mind and he scrambles to escape it. His struggles are hopeless; he’s pinned to the couch by the unbearable pressure on his throat and by the stabbing, searing agony in his rectum.

“Yeah, bitch,” I moan, “This is what you were looking for. This is why you went out today, so you could find a man who would give you what you deserve. All you’re good for is dying on my dick. Yeah, you piece of shit, I’m gonna use you and throw you away, you fuckin’ wad of garbage.” I spit in his face and his mouth.

He claws at my hands as gagging sounds erupt from his clenched throat. His eyes, wide and bulging, stare into mine, begging in desperation. Oh god, his pleading and fear and pain—it’s driving me on to hurt him more. I’m reaming him like a jackhammer now, plunging myself deep within his helpless ass, inflicting as much agony as possible. I’m so close to blowing my wad…

I squeeze my hands together with as much force as I can. I damn near shoot as I hear the sound of cartilage and bone cracking and feel his esophagus crushed in my hands. The fuckmeat’s face has turned a dusky blue and his gagging sounds have become intermittent but much more intense. I spit in his face again, my saliva lost in the foam flowing around his swollen tongue.

“Die, motherfucker. Shoot your worthless bitch wad and die. Die so I can fuck your sweet lifeless corpse. C’mon, you piece of shit, give me your death load. You always wanted a man to choke the cum out you. Gimme your hot dying spunk, you fuckin’ death pig…”

His struggles weaken as his brain dies. He’s not resisting me anymore; instead, his hands are caressing my face and my chest. I grip his neck more tightly, eliciting a final crunch, and his ass responds by tightening around my shaft like a hand. He arches his body upwards, pressing his smooth flat belly against mine. His boots dig into my back, holding me in a desperate dying grip.

He’s accepted my gift and embraced the death I’ve brought him. Spunk boils out of me, filling the fuckmeat with hot cum. His hard rod, pressed between our bellies, disgorges a steady stream of semen that splatters against the underside of his jaw and splashes my face. I’m vaguely aware of my own inarticulate cries as the fuckmeat writhes and jerks on my dick and showers me with cum.

It’s pitch black when I wake up. About twelve hours again, then. I’m stiff and sore and still on top of the corpse. I’m stuck to the meat by a glaze of dried cum and my hands are still wrapped around his throat.

Oh, such hot meat. His smooth body is now flaccid and limp and fit for love. The dull look of resignation in his cloudy eyes is irresistible. My pretty, sweet, helpless fuckmeat…

His tongue begs for my cock. I pull him lower on the couch to skullfuck him with more ease. I shudder as his dry, swollen tongue rasps against the rosebud on the underside of my oozing mushroom head. I pump his mouth hard, ramming my tool deep into his ruined throat. My sweet fucktoy, swallowing my entire dick without protest.

When I give him my second load, it’s with all my love. I had to hurt him, but only to perfect him. Now he’ll always be mine, even after his meat rots, and he’ll be beyond all pain.

As I drag him to the bathtub for dismemberment, I draw fresh inspiration from his dark twisted face. So many boys out there who need to be saved, to be made perfect. How lucky am I that I so enjoy my calling…

Meat Chronicles 15–Getting the Point

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I like it when the meat sweats.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For me, that is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good.

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

Meat Chronicles 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