Meat Chronicles 18–Boy Toy Destroyed

I almost missed him.  I was heading west on Roman Boulevard and he popped out of one of the side streets on his skateboard; I had a split-second glimpse of him, then I was past.  That glimpse was enough to make me turn around, though.

 

It’s been a while since I’ve been out hunting.  I never got back to my last meat; the used van I’d bought threw a rod the next morning.  Took me a couple of days to get a new ride—by the time I got back out to the abandoned warehouse, there was a chain-link fence around the entire property and a large sign that announced a new construction project.

 

I turned around and left; the meat woulda been too overripe to hold my dick anyway.  Wonder what they’ll do when they start tearing the place down and find what’s left of him.  In this summer heat, I bet it there won’t be much left to find—just his bones and his kicks.

 

At any rate, I gotta load that needs release.  I need to find a punk to dump my seed in, and it looks like I just spotted one.  I ease into the left lane and pull a U in my van—it’s a nondescript gray Chevy Astrovan—heading back towards the boy I’d seen.

 

He’s ahead on the left, about half a block up from a shopping center and heading towards it.  I speed up, overtaking the kid and turning into the strip mall’s parking lot.  Pulling into a spot facing the street, well away from the stores, I wait for the kid to approach.  Soon enough, he glides into view.

 

Young—no more than eighteen or nineteen, at most.  Long sandy-blond hair, almost shoulder length.  His lean, firm chest is wrapped in a black Nirvana t-shirt, and he’s sporting skinny jeans so tight it’s impressive the little shit can move at all.   His feet, in a pair of gray and white Adidas Top Ten Hi’s, cling tenaciously to his board as he rounds the corner into the parking lot, leaning into the turn.  He passes within ten feet of me, allowing me to see the large bulge in his crotch in greater detail.

 

Yeah, this one would work.  This meat would be acceptable to soak up my cum.  Now I just need a lure.

 

I watch him for a while; I got plenty of time.  He navigates the parking lot in decreasing circles that centers on the convenience store to my left.  After about fifteen minutes, he slows to stop about thirty feet away from me.  Bending down and flashing his bubble butt at me, he snags his board and heads into the gas station’s store.

 

Ten minutes later he comes back out with a pack of cigarettes and an agitated expression on his face.  He walks to the end of the store closest to me and lights a smoke, looking around for a minute of two.  Suddenly he moved towards a dude who’d just exited the store carrying a twelve-pack of beer.  The kid approached and had a conversation with the guy, at one point pulling out his wallet and offering money.  The other dude shook his head in clear refusal, then got in his car and left.

 

The long-haired kid looked dejected and continued to suck on his smoke.  Five minutes later, he was approaching someone else leaving the store—a Mexican laborer with a six-pack of Modelo.  Again, a brief conversation, an offer of money, and the kid gets shot down.

 

Took me a minute to get it, but once I did, I knew I had my lure.  The little fucker was trying to get someone to sell him beer; he was too young to buy it himself.

 

I waited till he left the store’s lot, morosely heading back in my direction on his board.  I let him get about ten feet away, starting his turn back out onto the boulevard, before I rolled down the window and called out to him.

 

“Yo!  Brah!  Hey, I ain’t from ‘round here—you know where there’s a liquor store?  I wanna get some decent booze, none of this gas station crap.”

 

His hair fanned out behind him briefly as he whipped his head in my direction.  His face was smooth, with full lips, a large nose.  He had huge puppy-dog-brown eyes ringed with lashes so long they were almost effeminate; they lit up at the word “liquor”, as I knew they would.

 

These little suburban kids; they’re so stupid, so predictable—and so much fun to play with.

 

“Sure, I know a great place,” he said, somewhat unsure of himself.  They got all kinda stuff.  But ya gotta do somethin’ for me if I take ya there.”

 

“Like what?”  I ask, as if I don’t already know.

 

“Buy me some beer.  I’ll pay for it; I mean just go in and actually buy it.  They won’t sell it to me—” he broke off and blushed embarrassedly.

 

“How old are ya, dude?” I ask.

 

His blush deepens.  “I turned eighteen two months ago,” he admits shame-facedly.  Suddenly he recovers himself, though, shaking his head so that his long hair spun out.  He looks up and grins; his face is youthful and eager and I want to slam my fist into it so badly I can barely control myself.

 

“Hop in, dude.  I’ll get ya fucked up—don’t worry about it.”

 

With a cheerful smile, the punk makes the worst mistake in his life and opens the door to my van.  Tossing his board to the floor of the passenger seat, he speaks as he climbs in.  “Hey, man, I’m Timothy.  Well, no, only my mom calls me that.  You can call me T-Money.”

 

What a tool.  I snort derisively and the kid gives me a suspicious side-eye.  Then, noticing my physical presence for the first time, he gives me a longer look-ever.

 

I’m dressed for the hunt.  It was hot enough outside that I had no qualms about dispensing with a shirt altogether, but I didn’t want to have my skin up against the cloth seat of the used van, so I’d slipped on a thin leather vest, leaving it unbutton to show off my massive pecs and flat ripped abs.  My jeans were tight, but they were old, with a number of tears, and faded to a pale sky-blue.  Halfway down my claves, they were tucked into a pair of worn black combat boots that I’d laced but left untied.

 

As he looked at me, I could see his dick start to get stiff; his jeans were so tight it was kinda hard to miss.  I eyed it rather pointedly and grinned at the boy; he flushed beet-red and turned away.  Interesting reaction.

 

“Ya see anything ya like?”  I asked in a low voice.

 

The punk turned back to me, more embarrassed that ever.  “I, um, I—wh-what’re ya talkin’ ‘bout, brah?” he mumbled, not looking me in the face.

 

I pulled over into the parking lot of a church.  In the middle of a weekday afternoon, the lot was empty.  I turned to face the kid.  “My dick.  You want it,” I said matter-of-factly.

 

What?” he cried.  “Dude, I ain’t gay.”

 

“The fuck you ain’t,” I snapped, “Yer cock is hard right now.  You want me to fuck you good and hard.  You know it and I know it, so stop pretendin’.”

 

The kid unbuckled his seat belt and inched toward the door.  “Man, I done told ya I ain’t no fruit.  Ain’t no way yer gonna fuck me, ya psycho.”

 

“The fuck I ain’t, cunt,” I hiss with an expression to match his last word.  His eyes wide with sudden fear, the punk snatches at the door handle but in his haste is unable to grasp it properly.  Not that it would’ve mattered; I’d’ve caught him before he exited the van.

 

Shit!” he yells in desperation just as I grab a hank of his long dirty-blond hair and slam his face brutally into the dashboard.  With his hair as a handle, I jerk his head back up again swiftly.  “Uhhh…” the boy moans dazedly as I ram his head forward, smashing his face a second time.  This time, when I pull his head back up, he’s silent.  I let go and he slumps limply into the seat, unconscious.

 

I head out of the church lot.  I know a place to go; I’ve been there before.  It’s not that far from the last place I dumped meat.  It’s been a couple of years since I was on the property; at that time, there had been an operating business in the building, so I’d gone there at night.  Now, it was abandoned like much of the rest of the neighborhood.

 

I could park in the back and shove the meat out into the drainage ditch behind the property in broad daylight.  And it won’t matter that it hasn’t rained in weeks; no one goes back there.  By the time anyone finds him, there won’t be anything left beyond a bloated, unrecognizable corpse.

 

A car whips out of nowhere as I start to pull out of the lot, forcing me to slam on my brakes.  The kid slides off the seat and slumps on the floorboards like a pile of dirty laundry.  Good place for him; I leave him there as I head to the east side.

 

I cruise slowly through the industrial neighborhood, tracing my way back to the kill site.  Most of the buildings around here are empty if not downright abandoned; there’s no traffic and the parking lots are empty.  I’ll have plenty of privacy while I play with my meat—at least urban blight is good for something.

 

Finally, I turn onto a side street.  Just past the next intersection is the long, low one-story building that has the strip of parking in the rear, up against the drainage canal.  It takes less than three minutes to whip around the building and back into a parking space up against the canal’s low guardrail.

 

One of the reasons I chose this van was because it had been a utility or cargo van at one point; the rear section was sealed off from the cab.  Nice and private; the only windows were the polarized ones on the rear doors.  Of course, it’s a pain to have to drag the meat out of the passenger seat, but it’s worth the effort.

 

I exit the cab and walk around to the passenger side.  Opening the sliding door to the back first, I then reach for the passenger door.   I reach down and jerk the kid up off the floorboards.  He isn’t very big; only about five-eight.  And while he’s not scrawny—I can feel some firm muscles under his smooth skin—he can’t weigh more than a hundred twenty.  I’m pretty built myself; I can lift him like a sack of potatoes and easily toss him into the back of the van.

 

Like the last one I had, I’ve made my own improvements to create a mobile killing pit.  The floor is covered with Astroturf, and the walls are bare metal.  I can hose the whole thing out with ease—and that’s a good thing.  This one is gonna get a little…messy.  The one touch I’ve added is a mirror, about two feet square, propped against the front barrier that blocks off the cab.

 

I’m gonna do this kid doggie style, but I still wanna watch his face as he dies.

 

I close the door behind me; the interior is dim but not dark.  It’s hot, though, and my chest is already slick with sweat; I slip out of my leather vest and lay it carefully by the rear doors.  As I do, I hear a loud groan behind me—the little shit is starting to wake up.  I stand up—not fully, I have to slouch some to avoid hitting my head against the roof—and dig in my pocket for the zip tie I’d brought with me.  My jeans are tight enough that it takes me a moment to retrieve it.

 

He’s still groaning as I approach him, his long eyelashes fluttering as he starts to awaken.  I flip him over onto his belly and secure his hands tightly with the zip tie.  He starts trembling.  “Whu—” he mutters thickly, “Wh-whas happen…”

 

“Shh,” I whisper, patting him gently on the back of the head.  “I got somethin’ that’ll explain everything.  Lemme go grab it.”

 

What I have is located in the large lower compartment of the center console in the front of the van.  Now that the whoreboy is bound, I can retrieve it.  I open the side door again and go into the cab. I’m gone no more than fifteen seconds, but it’s enough for the kid to be fully awake and trying to roll over when I get back.

 

Time to put the stupid little punk in the picture.  Sliding the door closed behind me, I smile sweetly at him.  “I got somethin’ for ya, darling’,” I drawl.  “I got somethin’ long and hard, and it’s gonna feel so fuckin’ sexy when I stick it in ya.”

 

He looks up, and I notice a crusty trail of dried blood extending from his left nostril.  He’s still in some discomfort from having his face slammed into the dashboard, but it’s nowhere near overwhelming enough to cause him serious distress.  His face is flushed again—but not with embarrassment; this time he’s angry.

 

“I told ya I ain’t no fuckin’ faggot!” he yells.  “Keep yer fuckin’ dick away from me, ya pervert!”

 

I allow my smile to grow broad.  “Oh, I wasn’t talkin’ about my cock.  I mean, yeah, I’m gonna fuck ya in the ass, but that wasn’t what I was talking about.”  I’d kept one hand behind my back the entire time’ now I brought it around to show the cunt what I was holding.  “I was talking about this.”

 

The moment T-Money sees my knife, the color drains from his face and his eyes open so wide they look like they’re in danger of falling out.  It’s an eleven-and-a-half inch long hunting knife with a seven inch serrated steel blade and a wood grip.  Ideal for gutting, flaying, and general mayhem on all kinda fuckmeat.

 

The kid gulps in fear like a cartoon character; I laugh aloud at his fear.  “Aw, this is gonna be all kinds of fun,” I grin, “Especially if you fight my cock.  Cause if ya do, I’m gonna start usin’ this on ya nice and slow.  Ya feelin’ me, brah?  You better be down with my D, dawg, or I’m gonna jack ya up.”

 

The boy whimpers and seems to shrink into himself, cowering.  His arms are jerking frenetically, but there’s no way the teenaged dickwad is gonna break free of that zip tie; all he’s doing is digging deep, painful furrows into his wrists.

 

He blinks and looks up at me but the moment his puppy-dog eyes meet mine, he looks away and gives another comic gulp.  “You, uh, you don’t need the knife, man.  You—you can p-put yer dick in me.  Just put away the blade, dude, please…put it away and you can do what you want to me…”

 

I can do what I want to him anyway, and will, but I go ahead and play along with it.  After all, it’s his suffering that gets me off, and if I can mindfuck him and assrape him at the same time, that just makes it so much hotter.  “Sure, bitch,” I chuckle, “But I gotta cut myself some access first.”

 

“Hey, man, wait!” he cries out as I come nearer, but I’m not going to hurt him yet.  I kick him back over onto his belly, then bend down and slip the knife under his t-shirt and start cutting.  The thin cotton parts at the slightest touch of my sharpened steel blade.  A couple of well-aims slashes and the punk’s Nirvana shirt slides off him, a mass of black shreds.  Over the kid’s protests, I cut open his jeans too.  The denim is tougher than the shirt hard been, but it’s still no match for my knife; I’m even able to saw through his leather belt in less than seven seconds.

 

I’m pleased.  I’ve honed this blade to a razor sharpness; my work is about to pay off.

 

Within about a minute, the kid is lying nude—of course the little fucker is commando; despite his denials, he’s been lookin’ for dick—on the Astroturf, only his Adidas hightops left to him.  “That shirt cost me thirty-five bucks!” the teen wails.

 

I squat beside him, fondling the silky-smooth skin of his back and his thighs.  This boy is small but strong; I can feel the muscles moving under his flesh as he squirms and kicks and tries to evade my touch.  “Get yer hands off me, ya fuckin’ sicko!” he yells as squeeze the firm, tender mounds of his asscheeks.

 

“Ok,” I say, pulling my hands back, “After all, puttin’ my hands on you ain’t anywhere near as much fun as what I’m gonna be puttin’ in ya.”

 

He goes quiet for a moment as I place the tip of the blade against the back of his neck and slide it, slowly and sensually, down the center of his back, following his spine down to the crack of his ass.  My touch is light; there’s not enough pressure to break the skin—just enough to remind the fuckboy why he’s in this position.

 

After a moment, he speaks with a sob.  “You—oh god, go slow, please—you-you’ll be the first, just d-don’t hurt me.  Okay?  Please?”

 

There’s a crack in his voice as he pleads that makes my cock throb.  I stand up and grin.  He rolls on his side to look up at me with hope and fear in his eyes.  I reach down, unbutton and unzip my jeans and let my hog flop out.

 

Once T-Money sees my dick, his demeanor changes.  The latent little faggot had been willing to get fucked in theory, as long as he could convince himself that he was forced into and didn’t really want it.  Once he sees the size of my tackle, though, he knows that this is gonna hurt—bad.  Real bad.  I don’t like to boast, but I’m hung like a stallion.  When I fuck a bitch, he stays fucked.

 

For good.

 

“Shit, dude, I can’t take that,” the helpless teen whispers, his wide eyes focused on my pulsating rod.  I step behind him, planting my combat boots on each side of his legs and lowering my jeans to my knees.  Kneeling, I slap the huge purple head of my schlong against the boy’s ass, spattering it with hot precum.

 

“No,” he begs, “For fuck’s sake, get some lube, man, yer gonna make me bleed!”

 

“Fuck yeah I am, you stupid cunt,” I whisper, mounting him like an animal and inserting my shaft into his ass.  I shove as hard as I can, encountering such stiff resistance from the kid’s clenched sphincter that for a moment I’m almost worried that I’m gonna bend my dick.  Then I can feel the flesh tear in his rectum and my cock slams home, penetrating the full length of his colon and sinking the head of my tool deep into his intestines.  I chuckle when I feel my wiry pubes grinding against those smooth buttcheeks of his.

 

“Guess you were right about one thing,” I jeer, “Damn sure made ya bleed.”

 

The teen is unable to enjoy my taunt; he’s screaming in pain—loud shrieks that end in sobs.  I laugh at his pain.  “G’wan, scream like a little girl, ya fuckin’ pussy.  Ain’t no one around for miles.  Every time ya scream, yer ass tickles my dick, so keep it up, cunt—it feels fuckin’ great!”

 

I know he heard that one, because he tries to stop.  He can’t be completely quiet; he’s in far too much pain, but he does manage to subdue his outburst to low sobbing moans.  “Aw, you spoilsport,” I whisper, “Here, lessee if ya like this, then.”

 

All I’d done so far was to merely mount and penetrate the teen.  Now I started fucking him, reaming my thick, vein-wrapped shaft in and out of his asshole.  Each brutal pump of my hips tore his sphincter fractionally more; as he bled internally, I could feel the warm liquid flow on my cock.

 

This fresh new source of pain drew an immediate reaction.  “Fuck, no!” he screeched, “Get outta me!  Oh God, no, yer tearin’ me open!  Get the fuck outta me!”

 

I reach one hand down under him, jamming it up under his flat belly and working my way down to his dick.  It ain’t huge, but it’s respectable—and it’s hard.  I knew it would be; my rod is grinding against his prostate like it’s drillin’ for oil, so the motherfucker can’t help his erection.  I grab hold of it and start jacking.

 

“Shaddup, ya dumbass little homo,” I hiss in his ear.  “You fuckin’ love it, dontcha?  You worthless teenage faggot—so full of hormones and sperm; all you needed was a real man to come along and drain it all outta ya, right?  You young pups are all the same—you just need a genuine alpha to load you up with manseed and put you in your place.”

 

“Uhhh…” the punk moans, still sobbing.  His legs are thrashing, his Adidas kicks scrabbling against the Astroturf, seeking purchase, but he can’t get any traction.  I’m lying on top of him, my chest against his back, and I can feel the fingers of his bound hands clenching and clawing at the coarse, dark hair on my abs.

 

I pump the slut’s ass like a steam piston.  He’s starting to accommodate himself to my rod; that’s a shame.  I want it to hurt him.  It doesn’t feel as good if he’s not in pain, and the more pain he’s in, the better it feels.  Then I remember—in all the swiftness of the rape, the kid hasn’t noticed the mirror.

 

“Hey boy,” I whisper, “Look up.”

 

Moaning and crying, the fucker ignores me—so I grab a handful of his hair and jerk his head back.  “I said look up, asswipe.”

 

His head bent back, he opens his eyes and finds he’s looking himself in the tear-stained, snot-streaked face.  Looking up a little higher, he meets my eyes and I grin cheerfully at him.  “Hey there, cunt,” I smirk, “Ya feelin’ me yet?”

 

I squeeze his dick hard, feeling the thick, erect shaft of flesh pulse moistly in my hand.  He moans loudly, a sound somewhere between pleasure and pain, and I know he’s starting to submit.  He’s starting to relax, accepting my cock and letting it plunge deep into his guts with less resistance.  He’s starting to enjoy getting fucked.

 

And I’m starting not to enjoy fucking him.  The resistance it what feels good.  I like it when the meat’s ass clenches in agony on my tool.  Once the little pansy starts accepting my cock, it means I’ve reamed him out and I need to find a way to re-tighten his fuckhole.

 

“Oh…oh…oh, yeah…” the adolescent faggot is moaning as I plow his hole.  In the mirror, I can see that his face is still taut and pale with pain, but there’s a hint of a smile in his expression.

 

“Goddam, I knew you were a cumguzzlin’ queer-ass fairy,” I sneer at the kid; he opens his eyes wide and stares at me in the mirror, bewilderment written on his face.  “I’m the real man who’s gonna give you exactly what you deserve—and what you deserve is a nice long dirt nap.  I’m gonna put you in yer place, and yer place is dead and rottin’ in a ditch.  Now don’t that sound fuckin’ hot as hell?”

 

“Wha—what?” he asks, his huge brown eyes focused on mine with sudden laser intensity.  “What’re ya sayin’?  Wh-what’s goin’ on?”

 

“It ain’t what’s goin’ on,” I reply, “It’s what’s goin’ in.  You’re getting loose, asshole.  Yer fuckhole’s wearin’ out.  How many cocks you had up there, you fuckin’ whore?  What—didja bang the whole football team at yer school?  Only one way to tighten up a reamed-out fag hole, ya sperm-suckin’ homo, and that’s with pain.  I’m gonna hurt you, asswipe.  I’m gonna hurt you so fuckin’ bad yer gonna pray for death—but you ain’t gonna die till ya milked the load outta my shaft.  Remember that, boy.  You can end it any time ya want, but ya gotta make me cum to do it.”

 

And without another word—or any warning whatsoever—I stick the knife into the punk’s back.

 

I know what I’m doing; I’ve done this before.  I can have a lot of fun with my meat and a sharp implement as long as I avoid the vital areas.  And there’s a surprisingly large number of excruciatingly sensitive non-vital areas on the human body—I’ve kept meat alive for over an hour, screaming itself hoarse.

 

In this case, I’ve inserted the knife just below the ribcage and angled it upwards.  If my aim is correct—and it is—the razor-sharp steel slices through the kid’s right kidney and impales his liver.

 

The reaction is exactly what I’d hoped.  The meat screams, his voice rising to a pitch he’d not yet achieved, as his body goes rigid with trauma and shock, gripping my engorged dick life a tight velvet fist.  “Oh fuck yeah, now that’s what I’m talkin’ about!” I grunt with a satisfied sigh as the teen faggot shrieks in agony.  He buries his face in the floor as his entire body shudders rigidly—but I still have one hand on his cock, and I felt it pulse as I stuck him.  Little fuck can say he don’t like it, but we both know the truth.

 

It doesn’t matter how much he screams and cries and begs, he wants this.  And I’m the man to give it to him.

 

I leave the knife embedded in his back as I pump my erect shaft into his torn and bleeding rectum.  The punk howls in pain, thrashing under my weight.  It’s hot in here and I’m sweating—so is the kid, but his is a cold rank sweat forced out of his smooth young body by suffering.  But I only get about a half-dozen good deep thrusts before his ass starts to go loose again.

 

“Jeez, you’re a worthless assfuck, you bitch,” I sneer, drowning out the boy’s wailing.  “Yer ass muscle goes as limp as a flat tire in five minutes.  Guess I gotta keep tighten’ you manually, huh?  That what it’s gonna take to keep you workin’ my shaft right?  Goddam, yer one sick-ass painpig, aintcha?”

 

I jerk my blade out of his back and, transferring it to my left hand, slip it into his flank, as smooth as a hot knife into butter.  The vicious serrated barbs rip their way through the boywhore’s pancreas and into his spleen and again, he stiffens instinctively with massive internal organ trauma.

 

“Does that feel good, ya sack a’ shit?” I whisper erotically into his ear as he shudders and gasps, too far gone in shock to scream.  “Yer a lucky faggot, y’know?  You get to have two long hard shafts stuck in ya today, hah!”  I rub my free hand down his smooth, slick back; there’s very little blood from the wound I’ve made there—most of the bleeding is internal.  His lithe teenage body writhes and kicks and I can feel each shudder as it resonates in his colon and down my thick, engorged cock.

 

“No…” he moans shakily, his voice thick and slow with agony, “P-please…no…stop…”

 

“Stop?” I guffaw.  “I’m just gettin’ started.  Dude, I’m gonna jack up yer ass so fuckin’ bad they’re gonna have to use DNA to ID yer rottin’ meat.”   I look into his eyes but the little fuck lowers his head and sobs; I can’t see his face.

 

“Look at me when I’m talkin’ to ya, you dumbass motherfucker,” I snarl and twist the knife in the wound, gouging out huge chunks of his pancreas.  It gives me the reaction I want; the meat raises his head and squeals like a stuck pig—which is exactly what he is.

 

“Learnin’ yer lesson yet, boy?” I growl.

 

“F-fu-fuck you,” he moans between teeth gritted in agony.

 

“Wrong answer,” I say.  And it is.  I show him just how wrong by jerking the knife out of his side with a flourish that spatters blood on the side wall of the van.  Switching the wickedly sharp blade between one hand and the other, I poke his back with the tip—just enough to break the skin and elicit a tense yelp from the cunt, but doing no real damage.  Yet.

 

“Where’s it gonna go, boy?  What part of ya is gonna be lucky enough to feel the cold sharp bite of my blade?  What area of yer flesh do ya want ripped open by my serrated steel blade, you teenage fuckwad?”  I make damn sure that as I’m poking him with the knife, his boyhole is getting all the attention it deserves from my dick.  “Make up yer mind quick, you cumsuckin’ shit, cause yer ass is gettin’ loose again.  Where do ya want me to stick ya and make ya tight again?”

 

The kid is groaning sluggishly; he’s bleeding internally, but not badly enough to be in imminent danger of dying.  On the other hand, shock is setting in.  That makes it hard to keep his attention.  He needs more pain, and I need to make it drastic.

 

I reach around, down and behind, and place the tip of the blade against the punk’s taint, just behind his scrotum.  I can feel his puckered balls—pulsating sacks of sperm, shifted into overdrive by relentless adolescent hormones.  There’s a lot of things going on in a very small space in this part of the body; I had to do a bit of research to get this move down right.  I wanna see how this will work on live meat.

 

I did practice, once, on some fuckmeat that was already dead.  But that’s a story for another time.  At any rate, I’m fairly certain I know what I’m doing here.  With a loud grunt and a powerful flex of my large bicep, I shove the blade up into the scumbag’s body, behind his balls.

 

The angle of the blade is the most important thing.  It slides up between the prostate and the pubic symphysis, a mass of cartilage in the front of the groin.  The serrated steel slashes the kid’s vas deferens, separating his seminal vesicles from his penis but leaving the testicles intact.  When I yank the blade out, tearing the wound even wider, there’s a gush of warm yellow fluid—the tip of the knife had punctured the little shit’s bladder.  The muscles at the base of his cock, clenched tight due to the crushing pressure my monster hog was exerting on his prostate, had blocked the flow of his urethra at that point.

 

Now I’d cut an alternate path through his taint.  The teen was pissing himself though the knife wound.

 

This is a pain that he’d never imagined existed.  Soft suburban meat, learning the true meaning of suffering.  His head is up, his eyes meet mine in the mirror, but he’s not looking at me.  He’s looking at Hell.  I know he can see it burning in my eyes; the expression on his face tells me so.  Goddam, it’s so fuckin’ hot—he’s so cute and he’s suffering so horribly, so erotically, I just wish I could keep torturing him for eternity.

 

His mouth is open; he’s screaming, but no sound is coming out.  The pain is too great to be released that way.  “Aw, fuck yeah,” I moan in his ear, “Now you’re gettin’ it, faggot.  Now you’re working my cock right.  All I had to do was hurt ya in the right way to make ya nice and tight.  That’s it, ya worthless homo cunt, milk my shaft.”

 

His body is trembling uncontrollably; his white kicks knocking against my combat boots and his bound hands still clutching uselessly at my belly fur.  He’s making gasping and grunting noises as the flow of bloody piss from his mangled taint slows to a drip.  Suddenly, he inhales in a great shuddering breath.

 

“K-kill me…” he gasps, his tormented face white and taut in the mirror.  “P-please, n-no more, man…just-just kill me, dear God, just end it…”  He looks at me, a silent plea for mercy—those puppy-dog eyes are begging for euthanasia.

 

“You worthless faggot,” I sneer, riding his thrashing ass like a bucking bronco, “You wanna die?  Ok, cunt, I’ll waste yer useless as, but first I’m gonna make it my own personal cum dumpster.  Get up, bitch—on yer knees!”

 

I lean back and pull myself up onto my knees; grabbing a hank of the kid’s long hard, now darkened and slick with sweat, I drag him up too, keeping my thick engorged tool buried in his guts as I change position.  When we’re both on our knees in front of the mirror, I keep one hand in his hair, pulling his head back with his chin slightly raised.  The other hand still has the knife.  I hold it up in front of him.  This is the first time he’s seen it up close.

 

“Look at it, you piece of shit,” I whisper to the shuddering, sobbing teen.  “That’s your blood dripping off of it.  See those shreds of flesh caught in the serrations?  That’s part of yer guts, brah; ain’t that hot?  Sure ya wanna end the fun now?  I mean, lookit how hard yer cock is, faggot.”

 

His brown eyes, ringed with great black circles of shock, look up at mine with an almost insane intensity.  His dick was slapping rapidly against his belly in time to his frantic, pain-maddened pulse.  The little shit must be bleeding heavily inside by now, but my huge dick plugging his ass kept his cock rock-hard and throbbing.

 

Suddenly I can feel the electric tingling in my balls, and I know I’m about to shoot my wad.  “Ok motherfucker,” I growl at the dying kid, “Here’s what’s gonna happen.  I’m gonna take this long sharp blade and I’m gonna cut your throat.  I’m gonna slice open the tender flesh of your neck, but when I get to your trachea—that’s the windpipe, you stupid little fuck—well, that’s made out of gristle, and I’m gonna have to saw it open.  Think I’ll cut ya so I have to saw open your larynx, too—that’ll take some time, so you’ll get to enjoy it longer.  Sound like fun?  Fuck yeah, bitch, let’s get rockin’ and rollin’!”

 

Now that he’s been told what’s gonna happen to him and he can see the weapon that’s gonna be used, he changes his tune.  I’ve been expecting it; even in nightmarish agony, the young ones hesitate when push comes to shove.

 

“Oh my fuckin’ God, no…” he whispers, a catch in his strained, pain-filled voice as he begs.  “Please don’t, just make it end, I don’t wanna hurt no more, please, just make it stop…”

 

“Even when it stops, I’m still gonna be fuckin’ yer ass,” I jeer.  “Now shaddup and die, you worthless shit.”  Yanking his head back, I place the blade up against his throat and start slicing.

 

His flesh parts swiftly, almost eagerly, as it seems to open up at the merest touch of the knife.  Blood flows from the wound—a small trickle at first but soon becoming a hot, coppery gush.  The kid’s taut, lean body is rigid, tightly clenched in mortal pain.

 

“Oh hell yeah, cunt, milk my shaft as ya die,” I grunt, my physical pleasure ringing in my voice— he knows as his life blood jets from his throat in time to his panicked pulse that his pain and death are bringing me to orgasm.  The little asswipe should appreciate the honor.

 

As I’d told him, I had to slow down once I hit the esophagus; it’s a stiff and rubbery piece of tissue.  He starts shrieking as I begin to cut in.  “Oh God no Jesus Christ help me fuckin’ stoAAAGGHHH—”

 

At the last second, his scream spirals up an octave as I pierce his windpipe, allowing his breath to whistle out of the hole I’ve cut in his throat.  The thrashing teen can’t scream anymore; all he can do is make thick gargling sounds as he coughs up his own blood.

 

His body is still so stiff and hard it’s quivering; his ass has my dick in a deathgrip, squeezing it and jerking it like it’s deliberately trying to make me cum. His fingers are clutching at my hard flat abs in agony, unable to get a purchase on my skin, slick with sweat.  All he can do is grasp at my wiry body fur.  His smooth, firm legs are kicking and shuddering, the Adidas Top Tens knocking against my black combat boots.

 

I’ve got a teenaged boy dying in horrible pain in my arms and on my cock and it feels fuckin’ fantastic.

 

I toss the knife down; I don’t need it any more.  He’s bleeding heavily from his throat but I’ve managed to do no more than nick either the jugular vein or the carotid artery—which means he’s gonna remain conscious for maybe another forty-five seconds before his heart starts going into arrhythmia from overwhelming blood loss.

 

I’m still gripping a handful of his hair, more to keep him upright than anything else.  I put my free hand to good use—reaching around his sweaty, heaving torso, I grab his thick cock, still amazingly erect, and start jacking him.

 

“C’mon, motherfucker, just fuckin’ die,” I whisper in his ear as he trembles and gargles his blood.  “You want this.  Deep inside, you needed a man to fuck you and put you down like the piece of shit you are.  I’m about to blow, cunt.  Last thing yer gonna feel in your useless faggot life is my hot manseed hosin’ down yer guts—”

 

He doesn’t give me a chance to finish.  His body jerks violently in my arms and I can feel a powerful throbbing spasm in his dick. It erupts in a geyser of teen boycum, sending a jet of sperm up almost to the roof of the van before falling back to spatter viscously on the mirror.

 

I can’t control it anymore; the pressure in my balls is too intense.  Howling and cursing, I pump my spunk up the meat’s ass.  I’m still holding the kid’s dick; I jerk it and crank it mercilessly.  As powerful as my ejaculations are, I’m still able to notice something in the mirror—a puddle of milky fluid under the meat’s scrote.

 

It takes me a minute to realize that I’d severed the kid’s vas deferens when I jammed my blade into his taint; the seminal vesicles were behind the cut, and they produce the fluid in semen.

 

The kid wasn’t just cumming outta his dick, he was cumming outta the hole I’d sliced in him.

 

The meat is gone.  His eyes have rolled back into his head and his body jerks as he strains to breathe, air wheezing sickeningly through the gash in his windpipe.  Pearly beads of cum are oozing from his hard cock as I let him go, the rank sweaty boymeat slumping lifelessly to the floor.  One of his legs twitches randomly, his hightop sneaker scuffling momentarily on the Astroturf, then he’s still.

 

T-Money is cashed out.

 

I pull out and roll over on my back.  Fuck, that was so fuckin’ good.  I just need a little nap…

 


 

It’s still warm in the van when I wake up, and the sun is still up, so I haven’t been asleep for long.  I grab the shredded remains of the punk’s Nirvana shirt and use it to brush off the dried smears of blood on my chest from the boy’s back wounds.  He’s still laying on the AstroTurf, hunched over with his ass in the air, his legs spread with his kicks splayed out, forming a perfect V leading to his fuckhole.  His face is buried in the floor; his long sandy blond hair fanned out around his head.

 

From the rear, I can see that the dead kid’s taint is completely crusted with dried cum—some of his that leaked from the hole I’d cut and the rest is mine, leaked from his torn asshole.

 

Goddam, I’m hard again.

 

I’ve already reamed out the meat’s ass; I need a new hole to fuck.  I give the corpse a good hard kick, my boot making contact with its belly and flip it over onto its back.  From here I can see the pale face and blue lips, the gruesome slash that opened the throat, exposing the severed trachea—

 

—a nice firm hole just waiting for my shaft.  Fuck yeah.

 

I squat over the dead boy’s head, facing his feet, and feed my erect tool into the mangled esophagus.  The flesh is still warm and pliant, almost moist, and it seems to cling to my thick, throbbing rod.  I sit on the corpse’s face and throatfuck it for another seven or eight minutes, my hands fondling the smooth limp body.  The dead punk jerks with every pump of my hog, his Adidas kicks scraping as his legs twitch.

 

This time, I have no warning.  Suddenly, I find myself hunched over in orgasmic spasm, shooting a load down the kid’s windpipe and into his lungs.  I remain straddling the corpse for another couple of minutes, regaining my breath, before I pull my dick back out of the cut throat.  Standing up, I pull up my jeans and tuck my shaft back into ‘em.

 

Time to dump the meat.  I open the rear doors, flooding the interior with the bright golden light of late-afternoon summer.  The drainage ditch is only a yard away, beyond the foot-high guardrail.  The ditch is deep, too; it’s a good fifteen feet to the bottom.

 

The kid is laying splayed on his back, his hands still bound behind him, naked but for his kicks.  I’m still not satisfied.  I owned this little motherfucker, and I want everyone to know it. And then an idea comes to me.

 

I grab the knife in one hand and the meat’s scrotum in the other and start cutting.  It takes less than sixty seconds to completely remove the dead fag’s cock and balls.  I bend over the corpse and grin.  “Stupid little homo, all ya wanted was some beer.  Hope it was worth it.”

 

Then I shove the severed genitalia into the throat wound, tucking the kid’s cock into his trachea, where it slid in smoothly on a lube of my cum.  If they find him before he rots, they’ll find him choking on his own dick.

 

I drag the meat out and over the guardrail, dropping it unceremoniously and watching it tumble down the embankment into the trickle of muddy water at the bottom.  I return to the van and gather up the remains of the clothing, then toss them over the rail as well.  I notice that one of the slut’s Adidas sneakers had evidently caught on the rail and been jerked off; it was sitting upright at the edge of the concrete.

 

I left it there and climbed into the van.  Fifteen minutes later, I was merging onto the highway, heading for a DIY car wash over on Third that I’d used before; I still needed to hoes out the back of the van.  Just as I entered the highway, I heard a rattling sound from the floorboards on the passenger side.  I shot a quick glimpse over there and realized I still had the fuckmeat’s skateboard.

 

It was probably dangerous to unbuckle my seatbelt and lunge across the cab, keeping one hand on the wheel, but I managed to snag the board without any major repercussions.  Just as I reached my exit, I rolled down the window and tossed the skateboard out onto the highway.  I kept an eye on it in my rearview mirror as I headed down the exit ramp; it bounced across two lanes before being run over by a semi.  It was destroyed, crushed to pieces.

 

It makes me feel even better.  I’m still tingling with afterglow as go to wash out my killing pit.

Skater Boy Down

The question, in these cases, is rarely when or where; I usually have those figured out in advance. And the question is never why—we all know why.

The question here is how. As in, how does he die? As if I didn’t already know…

He’s so fucking hot. Long strawberry blond hair, white t-shirt, “skinny” jeans and gray leather Etnies laced up on his feet. I’ve been watching him here in the park for a bit, fucking around with his skateboard. I’ve also seen him go off into the bushes with another guy a couple of times. Once, I think I saw him get paid for it. At any rate, money changed hands. The kid came out wiping his mouth after the second guy.

And I do mean kid. He’s young. Not sure how young; he doesn’t look older than eighteen. Maybe not even that old; he has facial hair, but it’s a soft down. I got a good look as he sauntered past me, looking briefly in my direction with large brown eyes. He knows I’ve been looking at him and he knows what I want.

Well, he thinks he knows what I want.

There’s no one else in sight when the boy comes gliding back on his board. He slows to a stop in front of me, rubbing his hand on his crotch and I can clearly see the long thick ridge of his junk through his tight jeans. He lowers his head, glancing at me almost shyly from under his long bangs.

“Not here,” I tell him. “Follow me. I have a van.”

Well. of course I have a rape van. It helps to be mobile when cleaning up the mess afterwards.

I get in the driver’s seat and tell the fucktoy to get in the back and get ready to take it up the ass. “I’m gonna get us someplace a little more private,” I tell him. It’s only a few miles to an alley between a couple of empty warehouses.

I climb into the back of the van to find the eager bitch already in position on the carpeted floor. He didn’t even take the time to get undressed. He’s crouched on his hands and knees with his jeans around his knees and his ass in the air; otherwise, he’s still fully dressed.

Wow, this little fucker is horny. I’m grinning; he’s bitten off more than he can chew, so to speak. He just doesn’t realize it yet.

Well, I ain’t gonna waste any more time than he did. I reposition him slightly so he’s facing a mirror I’ve attached to one side. I mount him roughly, forcing my thick member into his tight fuckhole. He’s no virgin, but a loud groan escapes his clenched jaw.

“Goddam, dude, ya shoulda warned me. Fuck, that hurts…” he tells me.

“Shut up,” I growl at him, “shut the fuck up.”

I’m on my knees, fucking him from behind. He’s looking at me in the mirror and gives me a big goofy grin.

I grin back and pick up a short length of thin plastic cord. It’s about two feet long and after I’ve wrapped it around my hands, I still have more than a foot left.

I make a loop of the cord in the air. “What’s that for?” asks the kid.

“This,” I reply, slipping the looped cord over his head and pulling tightly.

Instantly, skater boy starts twisting and thrashing. Little punk does not want to die. He tries to cry out, but the only sound he can make is a harsh gagging sound.

He isn’t tied down at all. I have to ride it out the entire time. He’s young and strong; it’s gonna take a while to put him down. Meanwhile, I’m gonna have to control him and guide him to his death in such a way that he works my cock to maximum effect.

All right, first, some physical control. I pull back hard with both hands, the muscles in my arms straining. I pull the boy backwards in a semicircle; he’s looking at the ceiling with his arms outstretched in front of him, hands clawing desperately at the empty air.

“Yeah?” I whisper into his ear, “You like that, you little whore? Ya want more? Yeah? That’s what I though, you fucking faggot bitch.”

He’s really squirming now; I think he’s going into some kind of fight-or-flight thing. His skate shoes are battering at my combat boots, but since he lowered his jeans only to his knees, he can’t really do much with his legs. I keep jerking back on his neck so that he can’t get any leverage with his arms. This keeps his firm back pressed against my chest; I can feel his muscles flex in his panicked attempt to free himself.

I lower him just enough that I can see his face in the mirror. It’s purple and distorted now; it would be hard to recognize the hot young teen punk in the mask of terror and agony I see in front of me.

God, it’s so fucking hot. The kid is dying on my dick and I can feel every last frantic kick and jerk as it travels down his hard, smooth body right to the head of my cock.

I look deep into his eyes in the mirror. They’re wide with horror and I can see the whites redden as the blood vessels bust.

Suddenly his eyes roll back—nothing but bloody white shows. His hands grasp weakly at the cord, but it’s sunk so deeply into the kid’s throat that he can’t reach it.

His white t-shirt is transparent with moisture. He’s sweating. It’s a death sweat, an automatic reflex from oxygen deprivation. His body is making its own lube, beads of sweat dripping into the teen’s ass as if to ease his passing—at least, the assfuck part of it.

His ass is thrusting up and down, smooth, creamy, the muscles of his rectum flowing like waves along the shaft of my dick as reflexive spasms cascade from the teen’s failing nervous system. I’m so close. I give a massive yank on the cord and am rewarded with a cracking, crunching sound from the boy’s neck that almost makes me cum by itself. The kid’s head is shaking and jerking violently, sending foamy spittle flying. His hands bat aimlessly at the air.

In the depths of the mirror, I can see a jet of white spunk erupt from the skater’s cock. It’s almost a fountain; it leaps and splatters against the mirror as the kid gives up his final wad.

Oh my god, his ass clamps down so hard at the moment of death—it feels like my soul is shooting out of my body in the hot flood of semen I release. I cum so hard I pass out.

I’m not out long. Can’t be more than ten, fifteen minutes. First thing I’m aware of is my cock. I can still feel the burn of the seed I planted in the dead punk’s ass. But I’m still hard. And my dick is still getting stroked. What the fuck?

I lean back and look down. It takes me a minute to get it. The kid’s not dead yet. He’s still on his way out; his body had continued to convulse and thrash about while I was out and it was still going on. It’s dead meat, still moving. There’s no brain anymore; these are nerve endings that are still firing.

Fuck, it feels good. The kid milks me for another fifteen minutes. I blow another load before the corpse shudders to a stop.

I pull his pants back up. I leave the body curled in a fetal position in the back of the van on the way to the dump. I know a back way in that isn’t watched. Skater Boy gets thrown out with the rest of the rotting meat.

Fantasy Scenario 16

It’s been a while since I’ve actively hunted. Recently, meat seems to come to me of its own accord. Today, though, I’m out and stalking. After all, I need to keep my skills up.

I’m sitting in the parking lot of a strip mall. This isn’t a good part of town and most of the businesses here are closed or seriously under-staffed. The lot is practically empty–which is why the two punks I’ve got my eye on are here; they have a wide-open space to practice their moves.

The taller one is on a skateboard. He’s got a ball cap on over his shoulder-length black hair. He’s about twenty, with a faint goatee encircling his mouth. Skinny jeans, a black t-shirt and black hightops complete the look.

The other kid is shorter and might be a year or two younger. He’s on a bike. He’s dressed just like his friend, except his shirt is blue and his sneakers are white. His blond hair is straight and not quite as long as his buddy’s. His face is smooth and hairless. As he speeds by the spot where I’m parked, I see that his wallet is attached to a belt loop with a chain.

Since I’m guessing they’re under 21, I have an easy lure. I’m parked where they can clearly see me downing a beer. I’m not actually drinking alcohol; the last thing I need is to get pulled over for DWI. This is an open can filled with water. But there’s a case in the back of my van in case they take the bait.

And they do. Stupid little shits. They deserve every second of suffering I have planned for them.

It’s the younger one, the kid on the bike, who comes by first. Hesitantly, he asks to borrow a cigarette. Sure, no problem. His name is Tommy and his buddy is Jake, who soon joins us.

I offer them a beer. They accept eagerly and soon they’re both guzzling away in the back of my van. It’s been earlier than I expected.

I tell them I have weed back at my place if they’re interested. They are, so we head out. It’s during the drive to my killing pit that Jake mentions he’d rather find some heroin. Tommy seconds him. I grin knowingly as I let them know I can accommodate them with that as well.

I hadn’t tagged the little fucks as needle freaks. It makes them easier to subdue, but I’ll need to be careful. As I’ve said before, I’ll fuck the meat even if it dies of an overdose, but I prefer a fresh kill.

Once we’re back at the run-down house I’ve rented, I leave them in the living room while I get my stash. I haven’t had the chance to use this stuff on my prey in a while; it’s extremely pure. I go ahead and load the syringes myself; they’d OD right away if I let them do it themselves.

Tommy is still on the couch when I get back to the living room, but Jake is peering out the front window. I know what he’s looking at; the house across the street is a notorious crack house–which is exactly what I was looking for.

Sometimes the best place to hide is right out in front. That house is a magnet for any law enforcement in the neighborhood. It keeps the cops so busy no one even glances in my direction.

I get Jake’s attention and draw him back to the couch. It’s not long before he and Tommy have tied off and are grinning and joking with each other. I let them have their last bit of fun.

When it’s my turn for fun, they’ll be screaming, not smiling.

It hits them hard. Jake nods off. Tommy gives me a goofy grin as he sinks into acquiescence. As I pull him up off the couch and drag him into the bedroom, I glance back at Jake. He won’t be rescuing his friend; he’s unconscious and drooling.

Tommy stumbles along with me and flops limply onto the bed when I shove him down and start cutting his clothes off with a utility knife. I slice up each leg of his jeans, running my hands along his smooth, firm thighs. He moans but doesn’t resist at all. I slash at his waistband and yank off the jeans. His shorts and shirt come off with no problems as well.

He’s lying back on the bed, eyes closed, long blond hair spread in a fan around his hair. His thick cock presses flaccidly against his inner leg. I want to fuck him badly, but not yet. He’s gonna get tenderized first–he gets to watch while I make his friend into meat. Of course, I’ll need to secure him beforehand. I have just the contraption for that.

I have a new toy as well, and Tommy’s gonna help me play with it. I’m anxious to try it out since it’s kinda unwieldy and a bit bulky; I hope it works well.

It’s a nail gun.

The bed faces the door. At the head of the bed, I’ve attached a 4X4 post upright to a base; the post is about four and a half feet high. Nailed horizontally to the post is a long 2X4, the whole forming a T shape.

I drag Tommy around the post and stand him up so that he’s facing it and looking down at the head of the bed. He giggles and drools a little while I force him up against the post and fondle his ass. He barely stirs when I fasten a ball gag into his mouth. High as he is, he’s gonna want to scream here in a sec, when I secure him to the 2X4. And as hot as I think his screaming will be, he’s not up at bat right now. Order must be maintained.

Somewhere inside the stupid little bitch’s drug-fogged mind, an awareness creeps in that something isn’t right. I don’t give him a chance to jerk away, though. I place his left hand with the palm flat against the board. Then I snatch up the nail gun and drive a three-inch nail through the back of his hand into the board. It sinks in, the head making a dimple in the back of the fucker’s hand out of which blood drips.

He reacts more violently than I’d anticipated, but it doesn’t matter–he can’t move with his hand nailed to the post. His cries are muffled by the gag and even with the pain, he’s still too high to fight back. I quickly get his right hand nailed into place on the other side. He’s permanently attached to the post, facing it, helpless to protect himself when his time comes.

Tommy is snuffling and crying but not really able to make enough noise to alert Jake–who’s too drugged himself to do anything anyway. He turns his tear-stained face to me in confusion, but I’m already on my way out of the room to get his buddy.

Jake has regained consciousness but hasn’t moved; he’s still in place on the couch. Like Tommy, he knows something is wrong but the drug has rendered him helpless to protect himself. I’m able to pull him up and get him into the bedroom with no trouble. He sees Tommy at the post, but he’s still high enough that it doesn’t register.

I cut his clothes off as well but he stays on the bed. It doesn’t take me long to get him into position; I’ve had lots of practice at this. I bind his hands behind his back with handcuffs before laying him out on the bed face up. When I mount him, I’ll be able to look up directly into Tommy’s face.

Even better, Tommy will have to watch Jake get raped and killed, knowing that it’s going to happen to him as well.

Jake gets to have a little fun himself, of course, whether he wants to or not. I snake a thick leather cockring through the bush of hair at the base of his long plump dick, encircling his scrotum as well. The moment I snap it closed, his cock begins to darken and swell.

I can’t wait. I’m fully erect at the thought of plowing the punk’s hole while life seeps out of his body. Time to rock ‘n roll.

Jake gasps and moans when I stuff my tool deep inside him. He’s extremely tight–this must be excruciating but he’s still too drugged to cry out. I’m on my knees with my arms wrapped around his legs to fuck him missionary position. I look across to Tommy’s dazed and confused face.

“Damn,” I tell him, “your friend’s a good piece of fuckmeat. Hope you’re as tight as he is. I can’t fucking wait to find out. Feels so goddam good stretching out his ass–if you’re any tighter yourself, I’m gonna have to tear your hole when I stick my cock in your ass. It’ll hurt like a bitch for you, but it’ll feel even better on my dick than your buddy–and he feels great. The inside of his ass is like silk.”

Jake’s arms are twisted painfully behind him as he lies on his back, adding to his discomfort. His body rocks back and forth with each of my thrusts; my balls slap his ass rhythmically. It’s nice, but something is missing. I know what–and I know how to fix it. I get Tommy’s attention first.

“Hey, meat, this fuckwad’s getting loose. I’ve already stretched him out too much. Gotta tighten him back up. Lessee now, what can I do to make him clench up? I got an idea…”

That’s when I hold up a military knife. It’s six inches long with a rubber grip and wicked serrations. I make sure they both can see it.

I lie across Jake and slide my other hand underneath him. I work it up between his shoulder blades until I can grasp his long, slightly curly black hair. As I do so, I lower the blade until it’s right over his head. I can see the glint of light on its razor-sharp edge reflected in his wide, fear-filled brown eyes. He knows it’s coming for him, but he doesn’t know where. I keep him in suspense for a while.

“Look at it, fuckmeat,” I whisper to him. “Look at the blade. Imagine it cutting into you, bitch, imagine how much it’s gonna hurt. I’m gonna slice your flesh open like tender roast beef. You’re gonna wallow in pain and blood, suffering unbearable agony while you ride my cock. Don’t that sound like fun, you fucking pig?”

Jake cries and babbles incoherently. He’s still too high to be able to put up any effective resistance–but not too high to know what’s about to happen. I turn to Tommy and crank up the horror.

“This fuckpig is just about reamed out. Guess it’s time for a radical retightening. Pay close attention, meat, so you’ll know what to expect when it’s your turn.”

I wrap Jake’s hair around my hand and pull down, jerking his head back. I put the knife down for a moment to savor his long, muscular neck and massage his Adam’s apple. “Big piece of gristle in your throat,” I tell him, picking the knife back up, “let’s see if we can cut it down to size.”

I slam the blade straight down into his Adam’s apple, destroying his larynx in one blow.

Jake’s eyes open wide in shock. He starts to shriek, but I’ve severed his vocal cords; all that comes out is a gagging gasp. The knife has gone straight into the front of his throat so no major blood vessels have been cut. He’s in phenomenal pain–but he’s not dying.

I decide to enjoy it for a moment. I let go of the knife but leave it buried in his throat while I continue to fuck him.

“Oh yeah, motherfucker, that got you nice and clenched. Nothing like a little pain to help you get a grip on things–like my cock. Keep trying to scream, boy, your useless wheezing is really getting me off.”

Tommy is openly sobbing now. I’m gonna have to keep an eye on him; with that ball gag in, he could suffocate on his own snot. And I don’t want him dying till he’s on my dick.

Jake is coughing up a little blood but judging by the gurgling sounds I think he’s inhaling most of it. Each time I jam my rod deep inside of him, the blade bobs back and forth in the wound, causing more damage. His face is a rictus of agony, wet with tears, his black goatee stained with blood.

“Holy shit, that did the trick, you worthless little fuck. A little tickle with a blade got you all hot and horny. Keep it up, punk, you’re working my dick real good now.”

The meat has no choice; it has to lie there and submit to my knife and my cock. Rigid with pain and panic, Jake is trying desperately to remain conscious. It would be easier for him if he just let go, but he doesn’t know that. That’s why I like them young–they struggle to stay alive longer. Any strength they possess works against them by dragging out the nightmarish scene.

I’m really pounding the meat in the ass by this point. He’s staring at the ceiling in misery, face streaked with tears and snot and blood, probably trying to tell himself that he’ll get through this if he can just hold on. Time to disabuse him–and Tommy too–of that notion.

“Fuckin’ A, happens every time. I get to fucking a nice, conditioned piece of meat and it starts to go loose again. What are we gonna do about that, boy? I must not have hurt you bad enough for it to stick. Well, I can fix that. Hold on, pig; if you though that last one was bad, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

I press one hand down over his face to hold his head in place while I yank the blade out of his throat. More blood seeps from the wound as I reposition the knife and start flaying open his esophagus.

The punk fucker opens his mouth and screams silently as the taut flesh of his neck is sliced open, exposing the raw meat inside his throat. I only cut about halfway down, still trying to avoid the major blood vessels; bleeding out would be too quick. I’m still having fun playing with him. I find myself having to put some effort into sawing open the rubbery tissue of his windpipe.

As the gurgling sound of his respiration quickens in shock and terror, pink foam comes bubbling out of the gaping hole in his neck. Even without severing the carotid or the jugular, he’s still inhaling substantial amounts of blood

I take a quick peek at Tommy to see how he’s enjoying his ringside seat. He stares dully at the horror show in front of him. I suspect he’s protecting his psyche by retreating into a catatonic state.

Well, pain will take care of that. He won’t have the luxury of denial long.

Jake is still trying to straight-arm death. He’s losing the battle, but his fight is working my dick like magic. His trachea has partially collapsed and he’s having difficulty breathing. Each agonizing breath is accompanied by a high-pitched squeal as sliced shreds of flesh block the meat’s airway.

He’s having to strain harder with each attempt to inhale. Every time he does, his entire body goes rigid with the effort, causing his rectum to close up on my tool. I run my hands up his sides and over his firm, heaving chest, slick with desperate sweat. His glands are malfunctioning in the face of swiftly approaching death; powerful manstink wafts from his hairy pits.

As I lean over him, anxious to watch the light fade from his eyes, I can feel his dick, still swollen and engorged from the cockring. It’s hot and throbbing; I can feel it spasm against my belly. A bubble of blood burst from the meat’s mouth and then I feel a warmth spreading over my abdomen as the dying punk shoots uncontrollably.

His ass seems to pulse around my rod, forcing a huge wad of spunk to erupt deep inside him. At the same time, he hasn’t stopped shooting; a jet of semen rises in the air and splashes back down onto his face, diluting the blood and pooling into his slowly glazing eyes.

The meat gives one last long groan–a death rattle not caused by his shredded vocal cords but instead caused by his last breath forcing its way out past the mangled cartilage blocking his throat. He shudders momentarily, milking the last drop of cum out of my shaft before he goes still.

But I ain’t done yet. There’s still plenty of cream boiling in my sack. Time to drain it into my next fucktoy.

The first thing I do after pulling my cock out of the dead meat is remove the gag from Tommy’s mouth. Tommy’s eyes are half-closed. He drools and makes a low keening sound, terror rendering him non-functional. I approach him from behind, running my hands over his smooth ass, reaching between his legs and jacking his dick for a bit. He may be out of his mind with fear, but his tool responds like he’s really into this.

Maybe he is. Most of these little punks usually submit to their buried desire by the time death takes them. They’ll fight it to the bitter end, but they finally come to accept and understand. Some of them, I’m convinced, enjoy the pain and fear and domination–judging by how hard they cum when it’s all said and done.

Of course, I’ve learned a lot about human physiology over the years. Whether they want to or not, they all blow a huge load when they die. I see to that. But still, as they sink into the cold embrace of oblivion, I can see in their eyes gratitude for showing them their ultimate purpose and giving them the greatest orgasm possible, one fueled by the body’s instinctive need to expel its reproductive seed before it dies.

On the other hand, I leave some of the meat so brain-damaged that it’s incapable of realizing that it’s cumming. The orgasm is reflexive, caused by misfiring neurons. I really don’t care, as long as it gets me off. It’s just meat, after all.

There’s a recliner in the room. I pull it up behind my fucktoy and sit for a moment, admiring his tight ass, his muscular calves rising from his skate shoes, his smooth back widening to his shoulders. It’s not long before I’m hard again. When I get up, I leave the chair in place. I have plans for it, if I can manipulate the meat just right.

Tommy’s low moaning spirals into a wail as I split his asscheeks with my cock, mounting him from behind like a dog. The kid is clearly a virgin; he’s so tight it hurts my dick. His own pain is much worse, of course–I’m tearing his sphincter. I can feel a thick, viscous fluid on my tool. He’s bleeding inside.

I hold the meat tightly to me as I brutally fuck him. He sobs and moans in time to my thrusts, each pump of my hips eliciting a cry of pain. My hands slip down his belly to grab his dick and cup his balls. As I masturbate him, he starts to respond, growing erect in spite of himself.

“Horny little faggot, aren’t ya?” I whisper in his ear. “You just love my thick rod plowing your hole. Fuckin’ hurts, don’t it, but deep inside you’re a little fuckpig who gets off on gettin’ hurt. You’re really gonna like what happens next. I’m gonna hurt you so good you’ll scream with joy.”

I reach for the nail gun. I’ve really been looking forward to this. These three-inch nails will pitilessly tear into his young, hard body, embedding themselves into his muscles and bones. His agony will be exquisite and I’ll enjoy every second of the torture.

I reach around Tommy’s chest and up to his face, grabbing it and pulling him back so he’s pressed against me. I bring up the nail gun and fire it into his side.

The first one shatters a rib on the way in, spewing bone fragments like shrapnel. The kid stiffens and I can feel his scream vibrate down his body and up through my cock. He’s making too much noise; I need to quiet him down. Traumatic shock will do the job nicely. The next nail goes into his kidney.

The meat gasps and trembles. He’s panting like a dog and his blond hair is dark and slick with sweat. He jerks his arms but he’s held firm with his hands nailed to the board.

“Try as hard as you like, motherfucker. There’s no escape. You’ll take all the pain I give you until I’m ready to waste your punk ass. And you’re gonna die hard, bitch. Your last few minutes on earth will be a nightmare of agony. You’ll squeal like a pig as I off you and fill your corpse with cum.”

As his back writhes against my stomach, I slip the gun around to Tommy’s front and fire again. This nail misses the ribs but rips through his pectoral muscle and penetrates his lung. The punk kicks and twists vainly, unable to break free of the iron grip of pain. The hole in his lung makes it difficult to inhale; each breath is labored and panicked.

He’s so fucking hot–young, smooth, strong, bleeding and crying. Suddenly, with gasping words, he starts begging–not for his life, but for his death. He wants me to kill him and end his misery.

“I knew it, you worthless little fuck. This is what you want, what gets you hard. You’ll cry and piss and scream, but your fucking pig soul wants to be used and thrown out like the piece of shit you are. Now shut up and take my cock, whore; the only thing I wanna hear you beg for is more of my dick.”

I put a nail into the meat’s flat belly. His broken sobbing is beautifully erotic; in a haze of lust, I pound his ass furiously. Slippery with sweat, he moans and struggles, his silky skin sliding frictionlessly over mine. I’m close, I’m so close.

“Going into the home stretch, motherfucker. It’s just about time to pop one of these bad boys into your skull, dude. Are ya ready, bitch? Ready to feel steel in your brain and my cum warming your guts as you sink into a cold, agonizing death? I sure the fuck am. I’m gonna fuck up your brain so bad you’ll end up as a meat puppet dancing on the end of my dick and after I cum, I’m gonna toss you and your buddy in the trash like used rubbers.”

I’m hunched over him, hips gyrating in a blur, pressing the nail gun against the back of the meat’s head. After I speak, I stay silent for a while, fucking him continually, letting his terror build. After about sixty seconds, I feel him relax slightly. That’s when I fire the gun.

The nail penetrates his skull smoothly, the head resting flush against the skin, buried in his sweat-soaked hair. The punk’s soft, vulnerable cerebellum is peppered with shards of cranial bone. Tommy’s spasm is instant and incredibly violent; he arches his body back against mine. His arms pull back with a mighty yank, ripping his hands free by jerking the heads of the nails through the backs of his hands. As his fists clench and release convulsively, they bleed like stigmata. The nails I used to secure him remain in the crossbar, dripping blood and flesh. One has a length of tendon dangling from it.

Holding the meat to me, I stagger backwards and fall into the recliner. My cock never leaves the pig’s ass as I pull him down on top of me. I lay back and blast another nail into his brain, this one in the temple.

This one short-circuits the electrochemical pulses in his nervous system. He flops back in my lap; looking over his shoulder, I can see his thick rod, erect and corded with veins, throbbing and oozing pre-cum. He’s just about there. I just need to make him shoot.

I take my time. He’s bouncing up and down on my tool like he’s riding a pogo stick. His respiration speeds up; he’s breathing in short, irregular gasps. Each exhale is accompanied by an involuntary moan. I fondle the dying meat’s cock and balls as he seizes and convulses on top of me. This is my reward; this is what I wanted–this little skate punk bobbing mindlessly on my dick, helpless, vulnerable, completely in my control.

I’m set for the ultimate domination–working the agonized punk to orgasm as his life drains away. He’s nearly there already; the trauma to his brain has made him susceptible to physical manipulation. I jack him with one hand while I place the nail gun in his groin.

An explosion of semen, boiling like magma, erupts from the head of my cock and floods the meat’s rectum. Simultaneously, I fire the gun, driving a nail deep into the base of the punk’s sack, cold steel penetrating his scrotum and skewering the root of his cock. His velvety balls pucker and spasm instantly. The final blast of pain was all he needed–the extra stimulus to his nervous system pushing him over the edge of orgasm. Ropy white strands spew out of the straining purple head of the meat’s dick. His shuddering, rigid body locks up, forcing a series of grunts out of his mouth. At the same time, a chunk of meat slips from between his lips and off his chin, leaving a bloody trail. In his convulsions, the fuckpig bit off the tip of his tongue.

I don’t know how long I shoot. My orgasm seems to last for half an hour; I unload so much sperm into the meat’s intestines that I’m amazed my balls don’t collapse. My fucktoy is packed full of cum. I can feel it oozing out of his torn, reamed-out hole and matting my pubic hair.

I slump back in exhaustion, glancing over at Jake’s gorgeous corpse lying in a puddle of piss and cum. I may go another round with both boys–there’s no sense in wasting fresh meat, after all–but right now, I need some sleep. I start drifting off with my rod still sheathed in Tommy. As I close my eyes, I can still feel him quiver and twitch. When I wake up later on, he’ll be stiff and cold on my cock, but right now there’s still a tiny, dwindling spark of life left in his sexy, traumatized body. I hold him close, turn his trembling, innocent face to mine and kiss his bloody lips as I fall asleep.

Fantasy Scenario 15

Y’know, there are some times when I have no interest in hunting. I can be distracted just as much as anyone. I can have other things on my mind.

But when fresh meat falls in your lap, what are you supposed to do? Say no? Fuck that.

This one happened because of a red light camera. There’s a new one installed at an intersection near one of my hunting grounds. I go out of my way to avoid going through that intersection now, just in case.

Sometimes, though, I do need to go that way. This time, I took a shortcut; an alleyway behind a run-down strip center on the corner. It was late, but there was still some traffic. I turned out my headlights as I swung behind the building; no sense in letting anyone see me.

The boy was about two-thirds of the way down the alley. He was locking the back door of one of the businesses—a head shop, I think—when I caught sight of him.

I had a clear view; he was standing under the only working light in the alley. No older than twenty-five, if that. Baseball cap on his short, spiked red-gold hair. Tight skinny jeans and a dark red t-shirt, white hightops with untied blue laces. His left arm was a tattooed sleeve.

I stopped and shut off my van. He hadn’t heard me and I had been in the shadows with no lights on—he didn’t know I was there. He fired up a joint the moment the door was locked and got busy getting high.

I switched the interior light off before opening the door. I was able to approach the kid in such a way that a trash bin was between us for much of the time. I within a yard of him before he realized he wasn’t alone. He’d finished the jay and was about to go; he already had one foot on his board.

I came at him from behind. He must have heard something because he started to turn but I was on him so fast he never saw me coming. I put out his lights with a quick right to the jaw and he dropped like a sack of potatoes.

I dragged him back to my van and piled him into the back. There was no need to move; no one could see me between the building and the back wall without coming down the alley. And there was no reason for anyone to come down the alley. The few occupied spaces were all closed for the day.

I cut the skate punk’s jeans off with a utility knife. There was a tattoo that rose on his right calf and blossomed into curlicues. I cut his shirt off, too, running my hands over his smooth, firm chest and belly and twisting his nipples viciously. Little shit was going commando. His thick hog ran limply along his thigh.

He moans and his eyelids flutter—he’s starting to regain consciousness. Good. I want him awake; I want him to know, to experience everything that’s going to happen to him. But first…

I’ve already gotten undressed myself. I could fuck him with my clothes on, of course, but that can leave trace evidence—to say nothing of the mess itself—so I choose not to.

His moaning becomes louder as I prop his shoes on my shoulders and stuff the thick mushroom head of my cock into his tight hole. He’s not fully awake but he’s starting to resist. That’s ok; I expect him to resist. It’s part of the fun. He’ll come to accept his role in time. I just need to teach him to submit.

I have a tool for that. It’s a very simple loop of wire with the ends attached to a thick length of sawed-off wooden dowel. A garrote, but not like my usual ones—this one, the wire, has some bite. This is gonna hurt wicked bad.

The thought gets me so horny I slam myself full-length into the fuckmeat. He opens his eyes wide—they’re green, I hadn’t seen them before—and gasps. I don’t give him the chance to scream, though. I’m already tightening the wire down.

I don’t choke him off, though, not yet. He glares at me, rage masking pain and fear. His breathing is constricted and labored but not interrupted. He plants his left hand on my chin and pushes hard while his right claws at the wire. He jerks and twists under me, trying to get free from the penetrating pain in his rectum.

“Fuck yeah,” I moan, “that’s it, fuckmeat. Keep fighting it, keep working my dick. Goddam, bitch, you ain’t never let anyone up inside you before. You wanted to, though. You’re gonna love this, you worthless little fuck. I’m gonna show you what a real man does with a useless fuckhole like you.”

I hold him down with one hand placed in the center of his chest. I’m holding the handle of the garrote in the other hand. I don’t twist it often—I want him to strangle slowly. My cock spears his ass to the floor. The last thing he’s gonna see as he dies (besides my face snarling at him) will be the roof of my van.

I don’t twist the wire often, but I do twist it. He becomes more frantic with each revolution of the handle. He flails his hands and grabs at my face briefly, but I’m both bigger and stronger than he is. He’s completely helpless. Panic will set in once he realizes this fact.

His eyes, bloodshot from the weed, stared into mine with mute pleading, the look in them conveying the confusion common with dying fuckmeat. Experience has taught me patience. He will not accept his purpose as a receptacle for my semen until a certain proportion of his brain has died. Only then will things become clear to him. But I must tell him, educate him on this point.

“My purpose now is to guide you,” I whisper to him, “to the point of brain death, to your fulfillment, to the highest and best use of your body. I’m gonna manipulate you physically so that your death throes make me cum—so I can properly anoint you with my seed as you achieve your reason for being and so leave this world.”

One more twist of the handle and his air is gone for good. His eyes bulge frantically and he claws furiously at my face. I tighten down harder on his neck and the wire breaks the skin. He grabs at his throat, smearing the blood. His chest heaves in a desperate attempt to breathe, the effort making his ass rock up and down on my dick.

Slowly but inevitably, I feel something press into my abdomen. The meat is getting hard. This is a good sign, but it doesn’t mean acceptance. This is a physiological effect from the lack of oxygen; the only thing unusual is how quickly it’s happened. Normally the meat is much closer to death before he gets hard.

This one must want it bad. I grin as I slam my cock into his writhing colon. I’ll make sure he gets it bad. I’ll make it as bad for him as I can.

I loosen the wire for a moment. For one breath; that’s it. I want to string this out for as long as I can.

“Still with me, punk? Good. Let’s play a game. Let’s see how long I can keep you dancing on my dick. At some point, we’ll cross a line and your brain will be irreparably damaged. You’ll convulse uncontrollably and that’s when I’ll reward you with my load. But I wanna see how long I can keep you going before we get there.”

I twist the wire a couple more times. More blood flows from the thin slit encircling the skater’s neck. His face darkens as he paws at his throat, his fingers slipping in the blood. He slides around under me on a cold, slick sweat that has spontaneously oozed out of him, coating his hard, smooth body and darkening his hair.

I loosen the garrote to allow him another gasp and then close him down again. His lips swell and part as his engorged tongue protrudes. Streamers of drool run from the corners or his mouth. I lean over him to watch blood vessels hemorrhage in his beautiful green eyes with the long dark lashes.

“Fuck yeah, asshole; you know how to die good. I’m so fucking glad I found you. You’ve wanted this so much, haven’t you? You’ve wanted a real man to come along and choke you out, to spurt a burning wad of cum up your ass as you gag and spasm and shoot and die. Only thing you’re any fuckin’ good for, faggot, ain’t it? You’re gonna rot like the fucking garbage you are, motherfucker, with my load inside ya.”

He’s in full crisis mode now. I’ve seen this before. I think the oxygen in the meat’s bloodstream drops below a certain level or something. His feet are hammering at my ass, his hightops scraping at my legs and back. His arms are straight out and rigid, his hands clutching my cheeks, fingers digging painfully just below my eyes. I’m looking directly into his face. I can see the light start to fade from his eyes. I loosen the wire. The meat inhales raggedly.

“Not yet, fuckwad. You ain’t gettin’ out of it yet. You haven’t earned my load yet. You gotta work my dick better than that, motherfucker. You want the pain to end? Make me cum, bitch, that’s your only way out. This agony will only end with your death and you don’t deserve to die till you make me cum.”

I clamp down on his neck again. I kneel on the floor of the van and pull him up so that I can look him in the face. His eyes have hemorrhaged so severely that’s there’s no white left. They bulge grotesquely, showing the inescapable horror of his last moments alive. His face is back and almost unrecognizable, his purple tongue protruding obscenely.

This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. His brain is dying; he’s unable to reason, only to feel. He can feel his purpose now. His cock is as swollen and purple as his tongue. His face is slick and shiny with snot and tears and frothy drool; the head of his dick is slick and shiny with precum.

The punk’s hands no longer snatch at my face. The frenetic pace has slowed and now he caresses me. I can feel the gratitude in each stroke; I have made him aware of his place in the universe. All he needs to complete his existence is my seed. He’s nearly there; he just needs some encouragement.

“Die, you fucking useless punk. Let go and let your body take over. Thrash and die on my cock, you little fucking faggot. C’mon, bitch, I wanna feel you die. That’s it, fuckwad, ride my cock to your grave.”

He’s jerking spasmodically, the bicep on his left arm twitching under the colorful tattoo. His legs tighten at my neck, the heels of his loose hightops digging into the back of my neck as I bend the dying meat double.

I can feel the muscles of his colon ripple as he loses control of his bowels. The velvety feel of his rectal lining flowing against the sensitive head of my cock is addictive. This is how I know what I’m doing is right; how could something as intense as this not be a religious experience?

That’s when it happens. The meat reaches epiphany. He jerks and spasms, head thrown back and eyes rolled back to show nothing but blood-streaked white. Foam bubbles from the corners of the thick blue lips. There’s a massive twitch and a stream of semen erupts convulsively from the meat’s straining purple rod. It splatters on my chest and my chin, then jets up to fall in thick creamy gobs on his black congested face.

This is what I’ve been waiting for. He’s reached the critical point; his brain is so damaged that he could never again be functional. This is why I jumped the skate punk as he left the head shop; I wanted to feel his sphincter tighten around the base of my dick like a cockring as he succumbs to brain death. He never had a chance to escape. I chose him at random to receive my seed and my revelation of his purpose.

“This is it, fuckmeat. This is why you’re here. Take my load, you fucking death pig. You want it. If there’s enough of your left to be able to understand me, you want my cum burning in your guts before you go. I know that because you’ve already blown your own wad like the fucking choke whore I knew you were. I’m gonna fuckin’—fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

I shoot a stream of semen into the meat’s guts, hosing his intestines with my cum. He gives me one last embrace, clenching me in a final dying spasm that tightens his sphincter around my cock again, forcing another load of seed to discharge convulsively from the corpse’s dick as I shoot my last load uncontrollably deep into his intestines.

I hold him for a while and tell him how much I love him and how grateful I am that I was chosen to show him his proper place in the scheme of things. I kiss him, thrusting my tongue into his mouth, forcing my way past his own swollen tongue. I stoke the flaccid muscles in his tattooed arm; I lower his legs to my side and run my hands down his firm thighs.

Later, I dress myself. I start my van and move it slowly forward. I park at the trash bin long enough to drag the meat out and throw it in. I make sure to go back and grab the punk’s cap and skateboard, both outside the head shop where I’d found him. I throw them in as well. Truck should be around in the morning; it should be several days before anyone notices this worthless little shit was missing.

Like I said, I wasn’t hunting—but when there’s a nice piece of meat right in front of me, I’m not gonna ignore it. I mean, I’m no saint.

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 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.