Tag: teen

Fantasy Scenario 1

On By m3mayhemIn Fantasy Scenario SeriesLeave a comment

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

So I did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Meat Chronicles 17–Carnivore Uncaged

On By m3mayhemIn Meat ChroniclesLeave a comment

Finally. I’m back out on the hunt. It’s been too long; I’ve had too much shit to deal with recently to go prowling for prey, but I’m back.

I’m hungry for meat.

Among other things, I got a new van. Didn’t want to tool around too long in the last car; it coulda been recognized at a dump site. This one’s nice. Lotta nice features.

The plastic lining the back isn’t standard. Did that myself. Covered as much of the interior as I can; no sense in leaving trace evidence.

Although the way I’m feeling today, there’ll be more than just “trace” evidence. Gonna take more than that to sate the hunger and rage inside.

It’s a warm night for this time of year. I’m in a major shopping center; there’s lots of meat out and about. There’s also a fair amount of security in some of these stores, but at the moment, I’m way out in the middle of the parking lot. There’s the strip mall dead ahead, the big-box store on my left and more strip mall behind me. To my right, I can see the back side of several fast food places and boutique stores facing the main street.

It’s late afternoon. The sky is strange; huge low heavy clouds sit oppressively overhead, but the sun is shining through a break. It seems so much brighter contrasted with the dark, lowering ceiling overhead. Everything is suffused with a golden light.

There aren’t too many cars near me, so I have a pretty good view. Not much to look at, though. There are a few hot boys running around, but they’re all either too far away or accompanied by someone. So I wait.

As the bronze rays of the sun slowly begin to slant away, the security light behind the restaurant closest to me comes on. Just after it does, I see the back door swing open and my meat steps out.

He doesn’t know he’s my meat yet. He’s young; looks like he’s about eighteen or nineteen. Tall, lean and lanky but not scrawny. Above his full lips his face is angular but no more acne-scarred than the average teenager. Just below his smoky blue-gray eyes, his straight nose is interrupted by a swelling; it appears to have been broken at some point in the past.

Good. He’s experienced pain…

In this light, his long blond hair has an amazing golden glow. It’s very straight except for a slight curl at the ends, just above his shoulders. As he turns and I can see his profile, I also notice the haze of shining curls on his chin, a tuft of blond hair there catching the light.

He must be about six, six one. He’s in a black t-shirt that clings tightly to his boyish chest, his pecs two small rises with a shallow valley between. Below his flat belly tight skinny jeans hug his rounded ass and outline a long ridge in his crotch. As his denim-wrapped legs taper to his black leather hightop sneakers, I can imagine his firm thighs tightening around me in agony…

Ok, deep breath. Let’s see what it takes to get the punk. He’s smoking a cigarette and talking on his phone. I’m about twenty yards away, but with the window down I can just barely make out the gist of his conversation.

He’s yelling at someone who was supposed to give him a ride home but didn’t answer his texts. Sounds like he’s talking to voicemail. Poor little guy; maybe he needs a lift. I can do that. But I don’t just wanna pull up in my van and offer a ride; that’d most likely raise a red flag.

This is what it means to be a hunter. It’s a gamble, literally; you’re betting that you’ll get a better shot at your prey while risking allowing him to escape. I wait.

He hangs up, tosses his butt aside and paces angrily for a couple of minutes. I continue to wait, wanting to see what he does. The length and force of his strides decreases as he walks off his frustration.

I settle back, waiting for my cue. It’ll come soon. My heart is pounding with anticipation; I know it’s coming soon. My cock is hard and oozing already but I’m focused and ready to pounce.

The lithe blond punk pauses and glances around. He slips his cigarette pack out again, but what he pulls out is slimmer and more irregular then a cigarette. He lights his joint and inhales deeply, closing his eyes in pleasure. It’s the opening I’ve been looking for.

I start my van and ease out of my parking space. I slowly coast down the row and turn right. The kid is facing away from me; good—he doesn’t hear me until I’m right up on him. He turns, startled, hiding the weed behind him with a guilty expression.

I grin nonchalantly. “Dude, you got another of those?” I ask him casually. “I’ll give ya five bucks; my guy can’t find any right now.”

He gives me a startled glance, but there’s no suspicion in his naïve boyish face. “Yeah, I got more,” he says slowly, eying me very closely. Is the little cunt cruising me? Goddam faggot—I knew it. “Ya wanna buy some? Gimme a lift and I’ll make ya a deal. My ride bailed on me.”

“Not a prob,” I chuckle, “hop in, dude.” He strolls around to the passenger side and climbs in. Fuck, his jeans are clinging so tightly to his slim, firm legs—it’s all I can do to resist jumping him right now. But I don’t; not yet. I need to get someplace private.

“Where we goin’?” I drawl. He gives me directions to one of the suburbs on the east side of town. Kinda a low-rent district. “Ok, I can do that,” I reply. “So whaddaya got to sell?”

“Dude,” he grins, his young, eager face framed by his long blond locks, “I gotta half-ounce tucked down inside my shoe right now.”

“That’ll work,” I smile back, “but I gotta run by my place and get the money first. I don’t tool around with a lot of cash.”

He agrees cheerfully. Perfect. I pull over in a residential area. “Get in the back,” I tell the kid, “I don’t want my girl to see ya; I got enough explainin’ to do as it is.” His beautiful cloudy gray eyes rest hesitantly on mine for a moment, but the punk is too stoned to pick up on any danger signals. He gives another big goofy grin. “Sure, dude,” he lilts, “don’t wanna cause a problem.”

“Don’t worry,” I say as I unbuckle my seat belt and start to follow him into the rear of the van, “you won’t.”

“Huh?” he grunts confusedly, turning his wide, slightly unfocused eyes towards me, “what’s that—unhh!”

He gives a loud grunt as I drive my fist into his face. The sound makes me hard.

The kid falls to his knees, mewling in pain. I grab a fistful of his long blond hair and yank his head back until I can look into his stunned eyes. “Welcome to hell, cunt,” I whisper, smiling into his vacant, horrified face before I slam my fist back into it, putting out his lights. He drops to the floor with a thump.

Well, I ain’t gonna do him here. Too exposed, too much traffic. But I can do a little prep work so he knows what to expect.

Stripping him isn’t difficult but I take a little time—not too much; I’m still on a main street—just enough to enjoy myself. I pull off his black t-shirt, still damp and reeking with boysweat, and toss it to one side. Rolling him flat on his back, I sit on his crotch, facing him, feeling his thick dick pressing against my ass through my tight jeans—and his. He moans thickly, his long eyelashes fluttering as I run my hand down his smooth, firm chest. After fondling his flat belly, I drive my fist into it violently, just to hear that erotic grunt again.

I like to fuck my meat with its shoes on, so his don’t come off. His jeans are too tight to pull off over them. Well, I wanted to get my knife out anyway…

I haven’t used it in a while. It’s so fucking hot; I’m already hard, but holding it makes me drip. It’s a Ka-bar knife with a seven-inch black steel blade. The last three inches towards the hilt are serrated. It’s vicious and clearly designed to inflict maximum damage. It slices through kid’s denim like it was butter, laying bare his muscled legs, covered with a faint fine down of blond hair.

Little motherfucker is commando under. Figures. Stupid bitch probably wants to get used. Well, fuck, guess he’s in for a good time, then—cause I’m damn sure gonna use him good and hard.

In fact, I’m gonna use him right the fuck up.

I was right about his cock, a long snake-like tube of flesh coiled in the golden nest of his pubic hair. I flip the limp slut over and admire his smooth taut bubble butt. Goddam, I can’t wait to plow that tight fuckhole. But I gotta get somewhere private, so I restrain myself—and restrain my meat. His hands go behind his back; I make sure the zip tie is painfully tight.

Later on, I’m gonna spread his legs and rape his smooth teen ass, but right now, I don’t need him kicking around in the back of my van, so I loop his belt around his ankles—a thick black leather strap. I cinch it tight, just above his hightops and white tube socks. I need to keep him quiet; just before climbing back into the driver’s seat, I ball up his reeking t-shirt and shove it in his mouth.

I also make sure to leave the knife where he can see it if he wakes up.

I’m not too far from one of my favorite killing grounds, a semi-deserted industrial area where I know I can get some privacy for at least an hour. That should be enough time to fuck and waste the meat.

It takes a couple of minutes to find the right spot—an enclosed yard containing the loading dock for a defunct factory. Isolated and dark, it hasn’t been used for years for any legitimate purpose. Judging by the amount of broken glass strewn across the cracked, streaked asphalt, it hasn’t been used for any other in quite a while too. Which makes it perfect, but I have to drive carefully.

The meat is awake. I can hear him struggling and jerking, a series of frantic muffled grunts and cries coming from his plugged-up mouth. Good—hope he’s seen the knife.

If not, that’s okay. He’ll see it soon enough anyway.

I ease my van in and shut off the ignition. I step into the rear and turn on the overhead light I had put in, attached directly to the battery. There’s a curtain I can draw to close off the front; with the tinted windows in the rear, no one can see in—not that there’s anyone within at least a mile.

I stand over the meat, looking down at him in the dim light. His face is smeared with tears and snot; he’s clearly terrified. His fear exudes from his hard nude body like an erotic musk. It’s time.

I bend down and snatch the sweaty t-shirt, now soaked with drool, out of the teen’s mouth. It doesn’t matter if he screams now; there’s no one to hear. And I want him to scream.

I like it when the meat screams.

The punk looks up at me, his long blond hair in disarray. When he speaks, his voice quavers in fear. “What-what ya doin’ man? What ya goin’ to do to me?” he whines.

I don’t say anything. Looking down at him with a leer on my face, I pull off my shirt. His smoky eyes slide over my hairy, muscular chest before returning to my face with obvious trepidation. He still doesn’t get it.

Without saying a word, I unzip my fly and let my long, thick, dripping hog flop out.

The kid’s eyes become large round circles and his face pales visibly. “No,” he whispers shakily, “please, fuck, no. Oh God, no, please, don’t do this…” He trails off into broken sobs.

Still not saying anything, I pick up my knife. The meat sees me and gasps, then begins blubbering incoherently. Ignoring him, I bend down and cut the belt binding his legs. Deep in the iron grip of terror, the teen doesn’t try to move; he shudders and trembles as I run my hand up his smooth firm thighs, parting them forcefully so I can get at his fuckhole.

As I kneel between his legs, the boy writhes on his back, his hands bound agonizingly under him. He knows what’s coming; grimacing, he turns his head to the side, tears slipping out from under his long pale lashes.

I move slowly, caressing his smooth boytaint with the oozing head of my dick, letting him feel the massive mushroom tip that’s about to get jammed up his ass. I make sure he doesn’t miss the point. “Yeah, cocksucker, feels good, don’t it? Think how it’s gonna feel when it’s reaming your guts out through your asshole!”

He gasps in fear—or pleasure. It sounds the same. But it’s not his gasping I wanna hear; it’s his screaming. I know how to get it.

Without warning, I plunge my swollen cock into his hole, ramming my vein-wrapped dong as far in as I can, grinding my dark pubic hair into the cunt’s smooth asscheeks. His shriek is loud and piercing—and beautiful. There’s no one for miles, so he can scream as much as he want. Fuck, it’s so goddam hot, the way his body tenses and his silky rectum tightens on my dick like a velvet glove…

The punk takes a deep, shuddering gasp and screams again. The vibration begins in his vocal cords and runs the length of his taut body. I moan out loud. “Fuck yeahhhhh…..”

He turns his head back towards me, his innocent teen face staring into my eyes in pain. “You like hurting me…” he whispers faintly as he pales with horror.

I grin down at him. “Yeah, you fuckin’ faggot. And trust me, you ain’t begun to start hurtin’ yet.”

He glares up at me defiantly. “I ain’t no faggot. And I ain’t gonna help you get off, fucker. You wanna hear me scream? Tough shit. Rape me all fuckin’ night, but I ain’t gonna scream.”

I piledrive my fist into his face, straight from my shoulder. The feisty teen fuckmeat gives another deep grunt of pain and shock as his head rocks back violently. I don’t say a word—I don’t need to. I just pick up my knife and lay it on the cunt’s flat, heaving belly.

My cock remains buried in the bitch’s hole the entire time. His colon massages my swollen, sensitive shaft as he jerks and claws his way back to consciousness. He lifts his head up off the floor, looking down at the knife resting on his abdomen. His left eye is already starting to swell and darken. He’s silent. Stupid fucking teen, but he knows what it means. I can see it in his face.

“Don’t think I can make ya scream, motherfucker? Wanna bet? You’re gonna be screamin’ like the bitch you are, you worthless homo piece of shit. You’re gonna scream and scream but the only way the pain is gonna stop is when I cum. Know what it’s gonna take to make me cum? You gotta die. That’s all there is for ya, pain and death. You’re gonna be a meat puppet filled with my spunk and left to rot in a ditch. How ya like that, you fuckin’ stoned-ass punk cunt?”

Fear rendering the queer punk unable to hold his rebellious glare, the boycunt ducks his head and whimpers. He’s coming to understand that his lithe, lean, smooth body is mine to use as I want. Understanding, however, is not acceptance. And it’s not compliance.

I lay down on top of him, the weight of my muscles holding down his slim teen body, forcing his hands agonizingly into the small of his back—I can see his pain in his eyes. It’s beautiful. It makes me want to hurt him more.

I slowly pump my engorged shaft deep within the youth’s quivering, traumatized rectum. The meat responds to each thrust with faint gasp, almost a moan, his pain-wracked face taut with panic. I can feel his warm, firm body twist and press against me as he seeks to escape from the penetrating agony of my huge cock reaming into his guts.

“Yeah, you worthless little fuck, ya like that, dontcha? Goddam faggot cunt, you love that massive fuckin’ tool plugging your hole, huh? Is that it? You like the way it hurts, fuckmeat? Fuckin’-A, yeah, dude, the way you’re ridin’ my cock, you gotta love it. And I know it hurts, bitch, cause I’m makin’ it hurt. So don’t worry, you worthless pain pig, I’m about to amp up the agony—fuck, meat, I’m gonna hurt you so motherfuckin’ good!”

I grab a fistful of the boy’s hair and pull him down to the floor, forcing my full weight on top of him. As he whines and struggles under me, I slip my other hand down his side, the knife gripped tightly in my fingers. I raise my head up slightly, clenching my fist and pulling up on his hair painfully. His lashes part and I meet the plea in those smoky blue eyes with a cold stare.

I sneer slightly just before I insert the knife into the kid’s flank, slowly inching the sharp, serrated blade into his liver.

The kid’s mouth opens. His face draws back into a rictus of pain; his slim, lithe body contracts around me, his tight legs gripping me tightly in a desperate reflex to trauma. I shudder and gasp as his asshole clamps down on my dick. Fuck, this one’s good. This one is responsive.

This ain’t just meat, this is steak. I need to savor it.

I let go of the knife, leaving it buried up to the hilt in the boy’s heaving, sweating flesh. I don’t want him to bleed out. I let him know.

“Goddam, you’re good fuckin’ meat. Lucky motherfuckin’ cunt, I ain’t gonna kill ya right away–gotta say, bitch, you really know how to enjoy the pain. Holy fuck, if this is getting’ ya off this much, I can’t wait to see what kinda reaction I’ll get from the nightmarish agony I got planned…”

The teen’s face is white but for the huge dark rings of shock forming around his eyes—on his left, it merges with the swollen, bruised skin from his earlier tenderizing. Even a good cut of meat needs some preparation. But he’s hitting the peak of the pain reaction; his body is relaxing, he’s gasping for air in a high-pitched squeal, his teen fuckhole is loosening on my cock.

“Yeah, faggot, that was good for me. Was it good for you? No? Didn’t hurt enough? Geez, dude, you really are a sick fuckin’ pain perv, aintcha? Ok, then, here ya go, ya worthless piece a’ homo shit, ya like this?”

As I lean over and spit into the kid’s face, his look of terrified incomprehension is beautiful. I’m about to recall him into the moment…

Grasping the knife tightly, I begin twisting it inside the youth. The razor-sharp steel slices effortlessly through his liver and spleen. I jerk the hilt brutally upwards, slashing into the teen’s kidney. The serrated edge comes in handy when I encounter some gristle. I look deep into the meat’s eyes as I saw through the obstruction.

He reacts exactly as I’d hoped, black sneakers kicking against my back as his legs grip me again, tightly, desperately, his firm chest slipping over mine on a sheen of cold, agonized sweat leaking out of his abused body. He tightens up even on the inside and I feel my cock swell as if his rectum was forming a vacuum.

“God-fuckin-dam, you motherfuckin’ pain whore! See, I knew it. Ya like that, yeah? How ya like this, meat—I’m about to waste your useless ass. You are about to die in screaming agony and they’re gonna find your body rotting in a ditch full of my cum. Ya like that, ya fuckin’ stoned-ass faggot pig? If not, ya got ten seconds to learn to love it, cocksucker, cause it’s time to die…

…eventually.”

It’s my favorite way of offing my meat with a knife, because I can take my time. The pain the meat endures is excruciating if I do it slowly, and they remain aware of what’s happening for a long time.

I like that.

I swiftly jerk the knife out of the kid’s side, managing to elicit another physical contraction. I have to hold him and shudder for a moment; fuck, that sensation around my shaft… Ok, ok, I need to maintain control. The best part is yet to come—so to speak. I hold up the blade, watching it glisten in the dim overhead light, before I point the razor-sharp, crimson-stained  tip at just about the punk’s Adam’s apple.

Rotating the knife ninety degrees and holding it parallel to his throat, I shove the tip up under his jaw, near the rear of the mouth. As the tip penetrates the skin, releasing a thin trail of blood from the wound, the meat begins the greatest sexual performance of his wasted young life.

Again, he clamps his hard, sweaty legs around me in an unconscious, reflexive embrace. I can feel the heels of his sneakers digging into my thrusting ass as I continue to pump my thick, engorged shaft into the dying teen’s fuckhole. He jerks and thrashes in mortal pain and fear as I slowly insert my steel shaft into his head.

As the blade moves upward, I make sure to describe what’s going on to the meat; I want him to enjoy this as much as I do.

“Ok, cunt, can ya feel that? That’s my knife slicing up through the base of yer tongue. Y’know, like ya can get sliced tongue at the deli? Think of it like that. But I’m doing it to your tongue while my dick is up yer ass. That get ya off, ya pain pig? No? Fuck, ya coulda fooled me, the way your tight fuckin’ teen ass is suckin’ down my cock as I off ya. So let’s kick it up some, huh?

He’s thrashing violently, his face purple with strain and twisted by pain into an almost unrecognizable mask. But I can still see the occasional pimple on his teen face, the golden tuft of fur on his chin, now stained with the blood leaking out his gasping mouth—he’s still my stoned teen meat, writhing against me as I put his flesh to its highest and best use…

I tighten my large bicep, shoving the blade further into the kid’s head as I shove my massive rod deeper into his helpless guts.

“Hell yeah, dude, I bet your tongue is almost cut in half by now and the tip of my blade is goin’ up through the roof of your mouth. Fuck, bitch, that’s gotta fuckin’ hurt—good thing you’re a worthless pain pig, huh?”

Suddenly, the smooth progress of my knife is interrupted. The vicious tip of the blade jams into something solid. I make sure the meat knows that I won’t let it stop me.

“Damn, looks like I hit somethin’—must be the bottom of your sinuses. Goddam, you lucky fucking piece of shit fuckmeat, you get to hear my blade getting’ rammed through the bottom of your skull while you get to feel my dick shred your punk fuckhole.”

His eyes are huge and frantic. I’m not sure how much comprehension remains behind those amazing blue-gray orbs, now bloodshot and staring fixedly. But I haven’t touched his brain yet, so there’s nothing neurologically wrong. The pain, the knife will cut through his terror. He’ll be there for the money shot.

It begins as I press down on the boy’s head with one hand while I drive the knife upwards with the other. As the cunt struggles in my hands, I’m rewarded with the deeply erotic crunch of steel penetrating bone while my dick simultaneously penetrates the meat’s quivering teen rectum.

“What’s it feel like, motherfucker? What’s it feel like to have a serrated blade rammed up though your sinuses? What’s it feel like to ride both my cock and my blade down into agonizing death? I know you’re still in there, you fucking homo piece of shit, I know you can still hear me the same way you can still feel my dick up your ass.”

I smile sweetly into the punk’s crazed, horrified face, releasing the top of his head to stoke his strained, tear-streaked face before resuming my grip.

“You won’t feel your death; you’ll just feel your body and your senses shut down. But at some point, I’ll hit the point your brain that controls orgasm. At the moment of death, you’ll cum uncontrollably. When they find your discarded rotting corpse, they’ll find your own DNA.

Everyone is gonna think you wanted this, you fuckin’ cunt. They’re gonna think you wanted to get fucked to death—and you do, dontcha? This is what ya really want. So just enjoy it. I’m gonna fuck yer ass with my dick and yer brain with my blade; I’m gonna use your body to get off and I’m gonna throw your cum-filled body into the gutter like a used rubber, and ain’t no one gonna give a shit. So get ready to spunk and die, you faggot; get ready to have your fuckin’ pain pig death left in the street for everyone to see.”

I slide my knife up slowly, lovingly, though the teen’s sinuses, holding him down and maintaining control as his body convulses rhythmically, pumping his sphincter along my shaft as it clenches my rod like a cock ring. He rocks violently side to side, his eyes staring deeply into mine, conveying his complete surrender to the overwhelming assault on his body…

And then I hit the point I’ve been seeking—the point at which the teen is truly made into meat, the point of the brain that makes the punk blow his load despite the pain and fear and trauma.

I have no idea if he even knows what’s happening at this point. His eyes roll back in his head as his legs dig into me painfully, convulsing to the point of pulling me in and driving my swollen purple shaft even deeper into the meat’s torn and damaged rectum. As the faggot fuckmeat jerks under me, I feel a hot blast of fluid across my flat, hairy abdomen.

The cunt is shooting uncontrollably, just like I promised. I always make sure the meat blows a load. This one’s no different. His long thick glistening cock stands up and presses firmly into my belly so I can feel his shaft swell and spunk as he dies.

I ream his ass and his skull, one with a hot, hard shaft—the other with a cold, hard shaft. I pump his guts full of spunk as the dying meat drains his semen over my furry belly. Gasping deeply, I hold the youth tight, stroking and kissing the shuddering corpse tenderly.

I slowly regain my composure. Pulling my still-oozing tool out of the body’s torn colon, I wipe my dick (and my knife) off with what’s left of the meat’s jeans. I get dressed and, shutting off the light, slip past the curtain into the driver’s seat. I slowly ease out of the yard, glad there’s enough of a moon that I don’t have to turn on the lights.

I keep them off till I reach a main road. Long before then, though, I pull over to a storm culvert. There’s been a lot of rain lately, so it’s pretty full.

I drag the meat out of the van. Hands still bound behind its back, its black sneakers drag over the pavement as I lift it over the railing and dump it into the runoff. I quickly toss the cunt’s shirt and jeans in behind the meat and take off.

Damn, it feels good to be back in the saddle.

Meat Chronicles 16–Make a Lunge for the Border

On By m3mayhemIn Meat ChroniclesLeave a comment

He’s young, no more than eighteen or nineteen, to judge by his appearance. Latino, with smooth brown skin. Slim, with tight jeans and a black t-shirt under a gray hoodie. There’s a knit cap over his hair and square-toed shitkicker boots on his shuffling feet.

He looks cold, out there on the corner, where the rentboys usually hang. But it’s too cold for them, and I don’t think this one’s a whore. He looks a little too rough; the sluts tend to be more hip. And he seems embarrassed, uncertain.

Think I should find out what his story is. He looks like he wants it, but is scared to death of finding it—whatever “it” is.

I grin. I know what “it” is. And he’s right to be scared.

I’ve been sitting in my van in a dark parking lot about a third of the way down the block. Despite the cold, I’ve left the ignition off. I have a very clear view of him. He can’t see me; he’s unaware of my existence. But he won’t be for long.

I start the van and pull out of the lot; he swivels and focuses on me instantly. I drive slowly past the pool of light in which he’s standing and ease over to the curb just past the illuminated circle. No one is out to see anything on this chilly night, but there’s no sense in taking chances.

Despite whatever trepidation he might be feeling, the chicoputa is at the passenger door quickly. When he opens it, I get my first clear glimpse of him in detail. I lean forward, scanning his face carefully. I’ll fuck him no matter what he looks like—after all, he’s just meat—but I wanna see if it’s gonna be doggie style or missionary.

Missionary, definitely. His huge black puppy-dog eyes are almond-shaped. My eyes are drawn into them by his long, lush eyelashes. A stray curl of hair that’s escaped his knit cap reveals his silky blue-black hair.

His full, red lips give his face an erotic vulnerability that gets a boost from the fine shadow on his upper lip; despite his age, he has the wispy moustache of puberty.

He smiles sweetly—and nervously—and hops in right away. He pauses uncertainly for a moment, then reaches over and grabs my cock, already tent-poling my jeans.

“Cin-cincuenta dolares,” he stammers.

“Fifty bucks?” I reply. “Sure, I can do that. Lemme get somewhere private. Get in the back, cholo, if ya wanna get chingado’d. And drop your pantalones.”

He obeys, scrambling into the back and unbuttoning his skin-tight jeans, letting them slide to the floor—he’s not wearing a belt. He reaches down to his waist and pulls off his hoodie in one swift, smooth motion. For a brief moment, he stands, lithe, firm torso wrapped in a black t-shirt that comes down to mid-belly. Beneath that, his smooth flat abdomen sweeps down to the haze of black curly hair from which a short, thick, uncut dick stands erect and dripping. There’s a hint of black fur on his smooth, firm thighs and calves that disappear into the tops of his brown leather shitkickers. His jeans have slid all the way down. Bracing himself against the side with in hand, he reaches down with other and works the cuffs of his jeans over his boots so he’s able to get the former off without removing the latter.

Then the t-shirt comes off. His taut, tight abdomen is tattooed. Across his smooth, flat brown belly is a huge tattoo in blue ink—two crossed knives, in the center of which is a blazing circle surrounding an eagle, holding a writhing snake in the shape of an “M” in its beak. Above are the letters “MM” several inches high.

It’s a gang tattoo. In this case, Mexican Mafia. And since I can see the word “Mexikano” on his right bicep; it’s specifically the Texas Mexican Mafia.

Oh fuck yeah. I can’t wait to shove my hard dripping shaft up this worthless little gangbanger’s asshole. Fucking cunt wants it, too. His eyes are shining with lust as he looks at my tool…

At any rate, fuck foreplay. I lunge at the meat, driving my fist into his beautiful spic face, catching him on the jaw, and utterly, completely stunning him.

He grunts before falling to his knees. It’s a deep, vital sound that gets me even harder. I bend down between his legs and grab…his wallet.

With a quick jerk, I snatch it out of his back pocket of his discarded jeans, pulling with enough force to snap the belt loop. I have the wallet and its chain, which turns out to be two feet long.

Oh, that’s perfect. The kid groans and looks up at me with a wounded expression. He sees the wallet in my hand. “Por favor, señor, no dinero! No dinero!”

I know ya ain’t got any money, cunt; that’s not what I want.

I lunge, my animal instincts taking over, forcing the kid onto his back. I grab his ankles—his boots, actually, feeling the scarred leather of his dirty workboots as I grasp them roughly and hoist his legs up to my shoulders. I’ve left his wallet, long chain attached, on the right.

I still have plans for it.

He jerks his firm, brown legs, trying to free them from my grip. I’m bigger and better-built; he doesn’t stand a chance. I lean over him, slowly bending his knees until they’re forced back to his chest. The punk tries to resist, his breathing labored and frightened, his eyes wide with bewilderment. His knit cap—it’s black or dark blue—still clings to his head, slightly askew. Several locks of long black hair have escaped and fan into the air as the kid struggles. He still doesn’t understand what’s happening.

Time for a little enlightenment. My cock is primed and ready to go; so is the meat. I think it’s time to get them together.

Judging by his scream, the kid thinks differently. There’s no one close enough to hear; the only impact the noise has is to vibrate his innards a little, making them constrict slightly as my shaft tears its way past his sphincter and plunges deep into his tender colon.

“Yeah, scream like a bitch, ya fuckin’ faggot,” I sneer at him, “feels so fuckin’ good on my cock. Go on, cholo, scream. Lemme feel your punk ass get a good grip on my dick.”

I spit in his face. He stares up at me; if his eyes had been wide before, they’re enormous now. His entire face is stretched into a mask of shock, his mouth a perfect O. He’s literally stunned and is—momentarily, at least—unable to comprehend what’s happening to him.

I get it. Little motherfucker is a virgin. This is his first time gettin’ it up the ass. Been spending his time blowing his homies in alleyways—probably hasn’t ever asked for money before. It would explain his nervousness when he first approached me.

I grin down at him. “Helluva time to turn puta, esé. You’re gonna love this. I’m gonna give ya the hardest, best, most painful fuck of your entire life.” I can’t stop myself from chuckling as I smile down into the spic’s eyes, brimming with tears. “And the last. La ultima cogida.”

It takes a moment for my words to work their way into the Latino slut’s fear-jammed mind. I can see when it happens; that moment of terror, the eyes widening with the realization that his life might be ending tonight. I can see it processing. He’s gonna scream. I don’t care if he does; like I said, there’s no one to hear him.

So I don’t know why I stop him, but I do. Just as he gasps, filling his lungs with air in order to heave out what would surely be a tremendous cry of panic, I slam my fist into his face with the force of a piledriver. I can feel the satisfying crunch of his cheekbone under my hand.

He expels his lungful of air—not in a scream, but in a deep, shocked grunt that reverberates through his firm body. I can feel the blow in my cock. “Hell yeah, you fuckin’ spic puta, ya love getting’ hurt, huh? I can tell by the way yer fuckhole milks my cock when you’re in pain. Tell me, vato, did your gangbanger buddies slap ya around while you were blowin’ them? Bet ya loved it, ya fuckin’ pain pig; bet ya begged ‘em for more. Lessee how much more you can take, si? Mas dolor, perra, mucho mas dolor.”

He moans in pain and confusion, but it doesn’t last long. He’s smaller than me, but he’s a tough little street punk nonetheless and he doesn’t want to go quietly.

Good. I’m in the mood for a little workout. And the longer he struggles on my cock, the better it feels. And the better it feels for him, too, the little fag slut, judging by the way his cock is suddenly erect; its dark swollen head leaving a trail on my skin as it slips over my firm flat belly.

He looks up at me—now there’s a look of rage to go with the pain. I’m already anticipating him when he suddenly explodes into a scrabbling, scratching fury like a feral cat—which is pretty close to what he is. A wild little street punk whose wasted life is gonna end agonizingly on the head of my dick without anyone ever knowing or caring.

My hands are pressing against the inside of his thighs, just above the knees, forcing his legs up against his chest—and slightly apart. I’ve thrust myself between them while fucking him so that by now, his smooth, taut legs have wrapped around my sweaty torso of their own accord.

The useless little cocksucker, enraged by the pain of getting his ass violated, kicks violently now. The thick soles of his dirty, rough workboots catch at my flanks as the boy thrusts his legs down, trying to pull me off using just his legs. He’s trying to find a weak spot on me, something to use to his advantage. Luckily I’ve built up a good sheen of sweat—these feral little street whores are always a good workout—so his boots don’t find a purchase.

Still, the scraping is painful. And this piece of shit is here to be on the receiving end, not the giving.

I think the cunt needs a reminder.

The next blow comes straight down from my shoulder into the kid’s mouth. His head bounces off the carpeted floor of the van as his arms and legs splay out in shock; his boots leaving one last bruise as they fall back limply onto my back. The meat rolls his head to the right and coughs out something small, red and white. It’s an incisor. His head moves back, his eyelids fluttering as he struggles to maintain consciousness. His lips are already split and swollen, a trickle of blood leaking from the right corner of his mouth.

He’s limp and jerking, not fighting me, at least for the moment. He’s still pinned to the floor by my cock; he ain’t goin’ anywhere. I wanna admire his wallet.

Specifically, I wanna admire the chain he’d used to secure it to his jeans. It’s a small gauge, but sturdy, and there’s more than two feet of it.

I hold it in front of the stunned whore. His eyes follow the chain blearily. “Mira, puta, su cadena. Your own chain.” I lay it across his neck as I reach up and snatch off his cap, finally revealing an untidy mop of long, slightly curly black hair. I grab a handful of greasy black silk, jerk his head up, and wrap the chain all the way around his neck.

He moans, clears his throat and opens his eyes. His hands crawl up his chest to his neck; just as his questing fingers encounter the chain, I wrap it around my hands and jerk as hard as I can, my biceps bulging as the links of the chain compress the punk’s throat to the point that they sink into the flesh.

He fights, of course. This is the kinda struggle I’d wanted. Before, the kid was thinking and planning.

Now, I’ve got the feral street whore back. He claws and scratches, reaching instinctively for my face. I lean back, keeping him out at full arm length. And my arms are longer than his. The tips of his fingers scrabble in the stubble of my goatee on my chin, but he can’t quite come close enough to actually grasp anything. All he can do is fondle the facial hair of the man who’s raping and strangling him.

“Hey, cholo,” I tell him, my jaw dropping just enough when I speak to allow his frantic hands to stroke my chin. “Tiempo de morir. Did I get that right, cunt? Time to die. Here, if ya didn’t get it in two languages, maybe this’ll get the point across.” I jerk my arms further apart, grunting with the exertion as tendons stand out in my arms.

The spic arcs violently. Balling his hands into fists, he beats at my arms, desperately trying to break my grip. His face swells and darkens as his eyes focus frantically on my face. Despite the excruciating pain of strangulation, he still doesn’t realize he’s dying. He can still feel my cock plugging his hole, after all.

I grin at him before spitting in his purple face. His eyes bulge up at me, blood vessels starting to burst and stain his whites with red. “Tu es carne. You got that, concha? You’re nothing but meat. You’re gonna gag and choke and milk the cum outta my shaft as you die. When I’ve filled your worthless ass up with my spunk, I’ll throw your useless corpse into the canal like the pile of rotting meat you’ll be. Even if anyone finds ya, they won’t give a shit. So keep fightin’ it, cunt, the longer you live, the more ya jack my dick.”

Man, this one’s hot. Little spic slut is stronger than he looks; he fights for more than five minutes.

At first, he’s wild. I didn’t expect him to last long; he fought so hard that I was sure he was using up all the oxygen left in his bloodstream. He continues to beat and kick at me for about ninety seconds, his eyes looking up into mine, tears leaking from the corners the entire time.

“I know, I know,” I tell him softly. “Sucks, don’t it? Didn’t think you were gonna go out like this, huh? Not tonight, huh? Tough shit. You’re just a useless spic cumpig. No one cares how or when you go out. So ya might as well make me cum and make your death have some meaning, huh? Not like anyone’s gonna give a fuck about your worthless puta ass.”

He’s not fighting as hard now. I can lower my head. When I do, he doesn’t try to rip and gouge my face, now he caresses my cheeks.

His legs, too, have slowed. He’s not kicking the living shit outta me anymore; now I can feel his smooth firm thighs embracing my flanks, our entwined bodies writhing together in a vital dance of sex and death. Between us, his uncut tool burns and twitches violently as if it has a mind of its own.

As indeed, it must. I recognize the signs. I can stop my inept attempts at Spanish. The kid isn’t dead—not by a long shot—but there’s not enough working brain matter for him to appreciate my taunting. He’s still conscious (in a way) but my ability to use his fear to chemically stimulate his own body is at an end.

His brain is too damaged to comprehend my words. Well, that’s a goddam shame. But I ain’t done havin’ fun with my meat. And fuck, it ain’t even really meat yet.

The wiry muscular little cholo begins to convulse rhythmically as more and more of his brain dies and his nervous system begins to collapse. His rectum spasms and writhes, his guts clenching around my thick, hypersensitive shaft as his taut teen body grips me tightly in its death throes.

As I feel my seed boiling up in my balls, ready to overflow and inject this dying teen meatpunk with my genetic material, claiming his unwanted fuckhole as my own to dispose as I wish, I spit into his grotesque mask of a face. His beautiful Latino features are blackened and distorted, his eyes bulging, his tongue a purple protrusion surrounded by foam that oozes from both corners of his mouth. On the left, it leaves a trail of white slime down the punk’s cheek. On the right, it’s the same—except the drool has mixed with the blood from the split lips. The trail is pink.

I don’t think there’s enough left of him to hear me—and if there is, it damn sure ain’t enough for the spic punk to understand English—but I let him know anyway. Just cause the meat’s tender enough doesn’t mean I can’t pound it a few more times.

“Almost there, cunt, almost there. Fight it, you bitch, keep scrambling to stay alive. Lemme feel ya fight to the very end, ya fucking whore, lemme feel you die like a worthless cumsucking pig on my cock—“

There’s a loud crunch as his esophagus collapses. In the ultimate agony of death, his arms and legs contract around me; he clings to me desperately as life leaves his body and the neurons in his brain begin to fire at random. As he shudders and trembles, holding me in the iron grip of one suffering a traumatic death, I feel his orgasm; his cock is so swollen I can feel it pulse and writhe as jets of semen erupt between us, hot on my skin.

At the same time, his stretched and torn sphincter gives one last convulsion, cinching about my dick like a cockring. As the punk’s rectum flutters and spasms over the engorged head of my tool, I can feel my release pumping the meat’s ass full of my seed. I grunt and cry out, but then I’m dizzy…

…I can feel hot jizz flowing out of me, pumping so hard it hurts…

…I don’t let go; I have to hold on to something as I cum, something to brace myself—this chain in my hand…

…oh fuck you gotta be feelin’ this cunt, my huge load’s gotta be the last thing ya feel…

 

Ok. I’m ok. I’m back under control.

I’m on my knees with my cock still sunk deep in the quivering meat. And now it really is meat. I don’t think there’s any brain activity left—and if there is, well, that chain is buried too deep for me to bother digging it out.

I pull out and stand up, cum still dripping from the head of my cock. I let it drip onto the meat, watching it vanish into the pools of the slut’s own semen that spread over his flat belly.

I get dressed quickly. There’s no real reason to rush; no one has seen me and no one knows we’re here. But still, the sooner done the better, as long as I’m careful. And I have been careful.

I open the back doors of the van. Barely a foot beyond is a short wood and metal guardrail intended to prevent anyone from driving into the drainage ditch. It’s about eight feet down at that point. At the moment there’s just enough water to cover the body, but a front is coming through tonight and it’s supposed to rain for two days. By the time he rots enough to pop up, he’ll be halfway to the ocean.

I grab the meat under the armpits and drag him out. His leg spasms, making his scarred workboot kick. I drag him up over the guardrail and tumble him headfirst into the ditch. I make a second trip, picking up his clothes and belongings and toss them in after.

Well, I’d wanted a little Mexican tonight. Now what do I want for dinner?

Meat Chronicles 15–Getting the Point

On By m3mayhemIn Meat ChroniclesLeave a comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I like it when the meat sweats.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For me, that is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good.

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

Meat Chronicles 8–Shanks for the Memory

On By m3mayhemIn Meat Chronicles1 Comment

Yeah, I know, it’s been a while. Goddam vice raid is why. They went in a scooped up the entire contingent of rent boys last weekend, right after the body of my last toy was found. Since they had no clue to lead them to me—the meat had been exposed to the elements too long for any DNA traces to remain viable—their next best plan was to clamp down on my prey and work that angle.

Well, I wish them luck. None of the whores know who I am.

But it’s put me in a tight spot. My hunting grounds are shut down. And the ‘burbs are still off limits. It tends to require a bit more finesse working out there anyways; the stakes are higher since there’s more of an outcry.

Seems they value the teen hoods more than the rentboys. I don’t.

But that’s beside the point. I need relief, and I need it now. There’s too much cum boiling in my sack; I need to drain it into a writhing piece of meat. This is gonna be a quickie. Whatever unfortunate fuckpig I find isn’t gonna last long, not when I’m in this mood. I’m not in the mood for subtlety tonight.

I’ve even got myself a new toy to use. It’s very…primitive, I guess, would be the best way of phrasing it. Not sure how effective it’ll be.

May be a moot point if my luck doesn’t improve. Not sure where I can turn to find a decent meat puppet. I’m on the highway, heading north out of downtown. I’m at a loss; I take the first exit in the suburb and prepare to go home.

And that’s when I see him, although it takes me a moment to realize it. I’m at the light at the end of the exit ramp and he’s standing just beneath the underpass, with a cardboard sign. It read “Please help. Unemployed for 3 months. Wife unemployed 6 months. Newborn baby girl. Will work for money.”

This kid is seventeen, eighteen tops. Short black hair, large dark eyes, not even five and a half feet tall, he doesn’t look like a husband and father. Especially not dressed like that.

Or, rather, undressed like that. He isn’t wearing a shirt and on this hot summer evening, his broad muscled chest is glistening with sweat everywhere but the valley between his pecs, where a hint of fur shows that enough hormones have kicked in for him to be capable of fathering a child.

He’s wearing black sports shorts. At the end of his thick, well-built legs are a pair of Nike Air Jordans, laced up tight around his ankles. Sweat trickles down his forehead; he wipes it away as he insolently stares me in the face.

Will work for money, hmm? I wonder what kind of work he’ll do…

I’m a monster; a sadistic sexual psychopath of the worst kind, but I do have some scruples, hard as that may be to believe. I have no intention of depriving a family of its breadwinner. Maybe he’ll blow me for some dough.

On the other hand, if it turns out that his story isn’t true, I’m gonna fuck him to shreds.

I pull over and ask him his story. He says his name is AJ. He starts his spiel about being a mechanic and getting laid off from a quick lube place. He said his wife had been assistant manager at some fast food joint that had closed down.

I’m pretty obvious, sliding my eyes up and down his body as slowly and sensuously as if they had been my hands. He gets the message, standing up straighter, dropping one hand to his crotch. I grin and ask what exactly what he’ll do for money. He blushes and looks away, mumbling something about having a girlfriend and not swinging that way.

I tell him I’ll give him fifty dollars if I can suck his dick. His entire demeanor changes; he chirps happily, coming around to the passenger side of the van. I let him in and offer him a joint, certain he’ll take it. And, of course, he does.

There’s nothing in this one; I just want him mellow before I gut him like a pig. I’m curious, though, about how his wife became a girlfriend. Under the influence of some really good medicinal-grade weed, the kid is soon giggling and confessing everything.

His name really is AJ and he’s eighteen, from Oklahoma. Yes, he is a father, but his “baby mama” took the child back east; he didn’t know its name or gender and didn’t care. Perpetually unemployed, he worked the welfare system, was considered incapable of paying child support, and supported himself by dealing drugs and petty thievery for extra cash.

His girlfriend—he described her as “this skank I hooked up with coupla weeks ago”—was on her way out; between her warrant for prostitution and her possessive pimp, AJ was on the verge of “telling that nasty whore to get her slack ass outta the fuckin’ motel room—not like she brings in enough to pay her way, and anyway, her pussy is so fuckin’ reamed it’s like fucking a pickle jar!”

I tell him I want to go somewhere more private so I can give his cock the attention it deserves. And I will, too. Of course, whether or not he’ll agree my attentions are deserved remains to be seen.

Frankly, I’m stunned by my luck. I’m also in a hurry; I’m gonna fuck this kid up so bad I can barely avoid creaming my jeans just thinking about it. And he has no idea.

He’s leaned back in the passenger seat, taking huge hits off the joint I’d handed him. I’d declined hitting it myself on the grounds that I was driving and the very last thing I needed was to get pulled over with a jay hanging out of my mouth. I let him get higher and higher, watching him relax back into the seat, each passing streetlight seeming to focus attention on his moist, smooth skin, his tight, youthful body.

There are times I feel a certain remorse. So many of these boys end up in my clutches as a result of a stupid decision on their part; perhaps the hell I inflict on them is out of proportion to the crime. I do feel pity towards this young man who has been gifted with a beautiful appearance and has utterly wasted and misused it.

The pity passes. I’m hard and dripping; it’s time to fuck the meat to death.

I’ve arrived at a place I’ve long since scoped out and wanted to use. Massive construction site; there’s a vast office park going in on the northwest side of town. There’s a security patrol, naturally; a single rent-a-cop in a slightly battered Crown Vic circles the lot periodically. I’ve timed it; it never takes them less than fifty minutes to complete the full circuit.

I can fuck this piece of shit up badly in fifty minutes.

I slow as I approach the site. Damn, couldn’t have timed it better if I’d planned it. There’s the car now, passing the entrance. The parking garage for the first building is directly behind. The structure is complete; once the guard is out of sight, I can drive in and enjoy a little alone time with my new friend.

Once safely berthed in a space against an inside wall of the garage, I tell AJ to head to the back of the van. He steps back, slipping out of his short as I follow; his firm, taut ass makes my dick throb. He stands before me, revealing his hard, young body, his erection pointing straight up at his face, wearing nothing but his Air Jordans. At first I wasn’t sure he was even wearing socks, but from this angle, I can look down and see that he’s got black ped socks.

I lean back, my body obscuring a metal post, about a yard high, that I’d welded to the floor of the van. There was a steel ring welded to the top of the post, through which was draped a pair of handcuffs.

AJ steps forward, lust paining his dark eyes, saying, “C’mon, man, ya gonna go down on me or what?”

I smile gently at him and slam my fist into his jaw, stunning the kid. He staggers and sinks to his knees. I bend down and grab his wrists, dragging him roughly to the post. Before he has a chance to recover his wits, I’ve handcuffed him into place on the post.

Whatever happens beyond this point, the teen can’t get away.

It takes a bit for him to realize that he can’t escape. The knowledge dawns slowly as he comes to and tries to stand, only to find that if he does, he’s bent over with his ass in the air.

I’m not a man to miss an opening. As he rises shakily, presenting his pink rosebud hole to me, I grab him and mount him roughly from behind. He wails loudly as I thrust the swollen head of my cock into his tight hole.

“Shut the fuck up, you worthless slut,” I snarl; “you think this hurts? I got something special for you, boy. I made something to stick into you, to see how bad it hurts. Scream as loud as you like, bitch, ain’t no one gonna hear.”

And he does. He threatens me, too, dire curses and promise of physical retribution. I let him go on for a while; I love it when the meat plays tough. I’ll reduce him to a squealing little fuckpig soon enough. Let him put up his last futile resistance.

Besides, it gets me off when they scream and yell. I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s like it vibrates their colon. It’s a slight buzzing, tingling sensation along my dick. But not for long.

After all, by this time, I’ve wasted dozens of these little fucks. This feeble bleating isn’t gonna do it for long. A good, sustained screaming, on the other hand…

As his rectum clenches my shaft in a spasm of agony, I decide it’s time to see if my new tool works. It’s just to the right of the post. It’s a screwdriver, or was to begin with. I’ve spent a little time with a metal file, lovingly grinding it down to a shank. I made sure to leave all the edges with rough, jagged shards of metal.

This isn’t designed to part flesh surgically. It’s supposed to tear and punch its way through the body, mangling the wounds and causing unspeakable agony.

Let’s see if it works.

He gets it in his belly. I sink it into his hard six-pack abs, feeling the resistance as the shank rips through and plunges deep into the teen’s tender innards. The boy emits a high-pitched screech as his ass starts bouncing backwards, almost as if he’s twerking on my cock.

“Fuck yeah, asswipe,” I whisper with a shudder into his ear, “squeal like pig with my shank inside you. Let me feel how much it hurts, meat. Pump my cock in your motherfucking agony, you sack of shit.”

The kid gasps and starts babbling. I’m sure he’s pleading, but he’s so hysterical, I can’t make out the words. He’s bawling like a baby as he struggles uselessly to get his hands free. He’s already figured out that every time he moves his legs, his pelvis works backwards onto my raging hard-on and causes more pain, so he keeps his legs still.

Well, that’s not any fun. I raise the screwdriver and slam it down in his back. I drive it in with such force that it shatters a rib, peppering his thoracic cavity with bone shards as five inches of jagged steel punches through his lung and into his pectoral muscle from behind. I twist the shank in the wound before jerking it back out.

The punk mews like a kitten in his agony. At least I got him moving again; those hot-as-fuck Nikes are rubbing my legs again as the boy thrashes in excruciating pain.

“Hey, AJ, lemme ask ya something,” I mutter in his ear. “Was it worth it, askin’ for dough on the street? Was this what you wanted to happen? Quit squealin’, you fucking worthless whore, this is exactly what you wanted. You couldn’t handle being a real man, could ya, you useless fucking piece of shit? Gave up on your kid, gave up on your life… hope ya like what’s comin’ to ya, fuckwad, cause you deserve it.”

I’m holding him down and fucking him doggie style. Worthless lying sack of shit doesn’t even get to see the face of the man who’s fucking him to death. As he squirms in terror, begging me not to kill him, I ram the sharpened steel screwdriver into the punkass bitch’s right side. As I ream the shank into the wound, slashing his liver and spleen to hamburger, the teen goes rigid in the shock induced by major organ trauma. His hard muscled body presses firmly against my own; the trembling caused by the physiological reaction to pain is lubricated by sweat.

The little motherfucker slips and slides across my belly, quivering on my engorged shaft as if this is the most erotic thing he’s ever experienced. The kid is hovering somewhere in the gray area between pleasure and pain.

This is what I’ve been aiming for. AJ is totally under my control; my own meat puppet waiting to jack me off and milk every last drop of sperm out of my aching wrinkled balls. He just needs the right stimulus—and the right damage.

“Are ya ready, you fucking faggot?” I scream, spitting furiously on the helpless meat, “Ready to die so I can unload in your worthless ass, fuckwad? I am, you fucking cumpig. Yeah, you though I was gonna pay ya to swallow your wad—guess what, you fucking homo, you’re gonna die with my load plugging your guts. But I haven’t hurt you enough to cum yet, bitch. You’re gonna die in a nightmare of agony, fuckpig!”

Long streamers of snot flow from the youth’s nose as he babbles incoherently, begging for a quick death. He’s accepted his end and only wants to get through it with as little pain as possible.

At the very end, just before I inflict the last nightmarish blast of agony on the poor kid, I kiss the back of his neck tenderly. I empathize, I really do. But we’re at cross purposes. He wants to die with no further pain; I want him to die in much more pain than he’s currently experiencing.

Unfortunately for him, he’s the one in the handcuffs.

I hold the shank in front of him, whispering for the last time. “It’s over, meat. This is what your life has come down to. Make me cum, meat. Don’t die for no reason. Die so I can get off in your quivering ass. This is your last chance to make a difference. Make me cum, you worthless fuck; give your sad fucking death some meaning by soaking up my sperm.”

Angling the shank back towards me, I slam it into the meat’s neck, punching a hole in his esophagus. As he coughs and gags, his sphincter tightens around the base of my cock and I know he gets it. He’s ready. He knows that the last thing he can impact in life is whether or not I cum and he’ll give his last dying energy to achieve that, an instinctive grasp at life beyond death.

I reverse the angle of the shank. Grabbing AJ’s head in one hand, I slam the screwdriver up under his jaw. The sharpened steel head rips up through the kid’s tongue, punching through the soft palate.

As the boy goes rigid in the unspeakable agony I’m inflicting on him, his smooth, firm buttcheeks pump back against my groin; the kid’s rectum greedily contracting around my sensitive shaft, each ridged vein engorged with blood.

Jagged metal tears upward into the teen’s skull, rendering his hard firm body utterly uncontrolled. As my homemade shank shears through AJ’s optic nerve, his eyes roll back in his head. I can see this because he’s convulsing so badly, his head bends backwards. His blank, drooling face, devoid of any personality, shows only the whites of his eyes.

As AJ shudders in death, his rectum begins to convulse in a rhythmic manner, fluttering along my shaft. As always, the meat milks the seed out of my cock smoothly; it’s how I know that what I do is right. After all, if I wasn’t giving the meat what it needed, it wouldn’t drain my load so well.

As I tighten my biceps, grunting with the strain, I force the shank deeper into the pig’s skull. I’ve mangled his brain and my only regret was that I couldn’t fit my cock up inside his cranium so I could fuck the teen fuckwad’s brains out literally. But it’s ok; the meat has responded the way it usually does. There’s a splash of semen on the floor; the same time I hear the crunch of my shank penetrating the base of the meat’s skull, it starts spunking uncontrollably.

I’m up on my knees, holding the meat to me. One hand is gripping the boy’s forehead; the other is forcing the screwdriver up behind the kid’s chin. The meat is spewing a steady stream of cum as my roughened steel shank destroys its pleasure center; its contracting sphincter manages during massive convulsions to jack a huge wad of spunk out of me, filling the trembling meat with my built-up sperm.

There’s more in me after I waste the pig. I spend another twenty minutes fucking the corpse, sticking my cock into the gaping dead mouth and plowing the slack asshole, flaccid but convulsing from the intermittent commands of a reamed-out cranium.

I get dressed again. On my way out of the construction site, I remove a sheet of plywood from a foundation excavation and shove the deathpig in. Sometime, this week, they’ll pull the plywood off and fill the excavation with concrete. No one will see the pile of rotting meat at the bottom.

Damn, he was good. I’m still dripping. Wonder if I can find another pig. There’s still more sperm inside, just waiting to spew over some punk’s corpse…

Meat Chronicles 6–A Cut Above

On By m3mayhemIn Meat Chronicles4 Comments

Been a while since I’ve been out hunting. I’ve had some shit to deal with. Not very fun. But ya gotta do what you gotta do. But tonight I’m free. And speaking of what ya gotta do…

My dick is tingling. I need to stick it in some meat, but I gotta find some first.

Luckily, I never have to look far.

I’d stopped off at a convenience store when I spotted him. Young, about eighteen or so. He’s wearing a black and white check sleeveless shirt with white cargo shorts. His sneakers are black, white, and red and come up over his ankles.

He’s slightly shorter than I am. The sides of his head are shaved, with short gold fuzz on the top. He’s slim, but muscles bulge on his arms and furry legs–to say nothing of the enormous bulge in his crotch. He’s got a strong jaw, narrow blue eyes and a propensity for shoplifting.

I can see it while we’re both at the register. He buys a pack of gum and slips a pack of cigarettes out of the counter rack while the clerk is working the register. I watch as he leaves; he’s riding a bike. He heads west down the street.

I leisurely make my purchases. I’m in no rush; I can catch up to him. And I want to do it away from here, where we’re both on the security footage.

I exit the store lot heading north and circle the block. When I get back onto the main street, he’s still ahead of me, but not by much. Suddenly, he veers off in a strip center parking lot.

It’s a large center with a department store and a supermarket. Large parking lot with plenty of cars. If I can snatch him at the back end of the lot, I’ll be far enough away from the cameras up at the entrances…

He obliges by circling his bike at the back end of the lot. I pull into a spot a couple of rows away, where I can keep an eye on him.

He’s lit one of his stolen smokes. I think he’s sizing up parked cars to break into; he appears to get peering into windows as he rides by, his head turning this way and that, the sunlight glinting off his short golden hair.

An image of the boy screaming and writhing on my cock flashes across my mind and I have to grip the steering wheel and breathe deeply for a couple of minutes.

He’s moving my way. Good. And he’s clearly trying to break into cars. He’s trying the doors, but not finding any open–wait, there’s one. He’s inside. And right back out, empty-handed. Luck of the draw, I guess, but I’m relieved. He’s moving my way again.

I picked a good parking spot. There’s a Lexus next to me. When I look out my passenger window, I can see packages on the back seat and an iPad in the front. Even if the car is locked, he’s gonna want to take a bit to try it out. And that’s when I’ll get him.

The little fuck is getting sneaky. Every time he spots someone walking out to their car, he pedals off and rides around in big, lazy circles until they’re gone–then he’s right back at it.

Hang on, he’s noticed the Lexus. He’s coming over–perfect. He dismounts, leaving his bike on the median between the rows of cars. I watch as he approaches the Lexus. As he bends down to look in the window, his shorts ride up, stretching tautly over his ass.

I wait till he moves around to the driver’s side. As he tries the handles, I slide the door of my van open, carefully and silently. Once I have enough room to swing my arm. I go upside the punk’s head with my tire iron. He grunts and drops, and I quickly grab him under his arms and drag him into the back of my van.

He’s breathing deeply and bleeding from a cut in his scalp. I’m not worried about him; he’ll be out till I get back to the apartment. If I have any worry at all, it’s that I hit him too hard and he might not wake up.

Not that that changes anything. I’ll still fuck him and waste him, but it wouldn’t be as much fun. But I don’t think I’ve caused any permanent damage.

At least, not yet.

It was early evening when I caught the meat; it’s dark by the time I get to the apartment. As usual, most of the exterior lights are out and there’s no one around to see me drag the kid into my unit. I bypass the living room and toss him directly onto the blood-stained mattress. He’s still out as I cut him out of his clothes, leaving him nude except for his sock and shoes.

I sit beside him for a bit, fondling his firm, smooth flesh, running my hands over his flat belly and his broad chest, playing with his nipples, before I grab the long tube of meat dangling between his legs. It’s a thick, veined root emerging from the cloud of honey-colored pubic hair. The same fine, golden fur runs down his muscular legs–I slide my hands down them, all the way to the top of his sneakers as my dick gets hard.

I’m ready to fuck the meat now, but I need to make a couple of preparations first. I flip the boy over and bind his hands behind him with a zip tie. I leave him lying in his belly; I’m gonna fuck him from the back.

But I still want to see his face as I rape and kill him, so I prop a mirror against a chair at the head of the bed. Now, I’ll get to look into his eyes as he dies. Sexy little fucker. Can’t wait to start hurting him…

He’s gonna scream. I like it when they scream; it makes my dick so much harder. But even though I know none of the other units in this building are occupied, I still can’t take the chance. I pick up the slashed remains of the kid’s briefs and stuff them into his mouth. He’s stirring and moaning, staring to waken–I got them in just in time.

Now I can set out my toys.

I have a low table set next to the head of the bed. Not only can I reach it easily, it’s right in the meat’s line of sight. He gets to see every sharp object I’m gonna stick into him; I’ll make damn sure he does.

First up is my knife with the serrated blade, my favorite. I’ll off the meat with it, but I’ll have a little fun first. I had some trouble deciding between the staple gun and the nail gun, but eventually decided on the latter. There’s an outlet on that side of the room, so it’ll be easy to use. Plus, I’m almost out of staples.

I have lots and lots of nails.

The meat is becoming more active. I need to start.

I mount him from behind, feeling the fine hair on the backs of his legs press against mine. My cock is already engorged and dripping; I take a moment to position myself, then shove as hard as I can. There’s a brief, intense pressured, then I can feel it give. The meat’s sphincter tears and I can feel blood lubricating my shaft as it sinks full-length into the kid’s ass.

He screams. It’s muffled by the underwear gag, but it’s definitely a scream. I lie flat on top of the boy and grab his head with both hands, turning it so I can whisper in his ear–and so he can see the table with the toys.

“Fuck yeah, you piece of shit, does that hurt? No, not enough? Ok, bitch, there’s more coming. See all that shit on the table? I’m gonna stick it all into you. The more you jerk and squeal like a little fuck pig, the better it feels on my dick. So get ready for a hard ride, fuckwad, it ain’t over till I cum. And the more pain you’re in, the sooner I shoot. Got it, meat? This is hell and you’re about to get fucked to death. Now let’s start this off right.”

I pick up the nail gun. I spent a little extra for this model, but it’s worth it; it’s so lightweight I can use it with one hand. That’s handy when you have meat to control.

After all, sometimes the meat resists, like this kid. He’s fighting me, struggling and squirming as he tries to crawl out from under the agonizing onslaught of my dick–not that he’s getting anywhere, of course, but it’s pissing me off.

And that’s bad news for the meat.

“Goddam bitch, ya like squirmin’ around? Let’s see ya squirm some more, motherfucker.”

I hold the meat down with my hand on his head, place the nail gun on his back and gently pull the trigger. The gun fires with a loud metallic punch and the meat jerks violently, his rectum closing up on my rod.

“Fuckin’ A, that’s what I’m talkin’ about! Shake that ass, fuckmeat. Work my dick!”

The mirror is perfect, just the right spot. I can see the meat’s face, flushed red up to his scalp, tightly drawn in pain. His clenched teeth and slitted eyes show how much it hurts.

“Ya think that’s bad? We’re just getting started. You’re gonna hafta be in a lot more pain than that to get me off, you worthless fuck. Gonna be a long night.”

The head of a single nail protrudes from the boy’s smooth, hard back, a thin trickle of blood winding away to spill down his side. His back is an open canvas, waiting for me to create art with steel and flesh and blood.

I move the gun slightly and fire again. The meat twists and writhes; this nail shatters a rib and doesn’t go in quite as far. “Damn, fuckpig, that’s gotta hurt. Let’s see if it can hurt more.” Using my fingers, I slowly push the nail into the wound. As it slides smoothly in, the boy’s pelvis rises and falls, massaging my dick.

“Now you’re getting it, meat. Your ass feels good on my cock–but not great. Think you need a little more incentive…”

I work the fuckmeat over. In quick succession, I fire five nails at random into the kid’s back as I work out the rhythm. The meat bucks his hips backs as a reflexive reaction to the pain, so I fire a nail, then thrust forward as the fuckpig pumps backward. I get a long, smooth stroke that plunges my swollen mushroom tip deep into the meat’s satiny colon. Fire and fuck, fire and fuck…

I grin at the sobbing teen. “Guess I picked a good fucktoy. Keep working it, you piece of shit, I ain’t done yet. I’m gonna ream you out and throw your torn, bleeding corpse in the garbage. Alive, you’re a worthless little thief. Dead, you’re gonna make a good cumrag. You’re useless for anything but fucking and killing.”

His face, smeared with tears and snot, is reflected back to me from the mirror. It’s contorted with fear and pain. His jaw is working as if he’s trying to speak–and I’m sure he is, most likely to plead and beg–but the briefs I jammed down his throat are preventing him from making any audible sounds.

I hunch down over the kid, feeling my chest slide over his sweaty back. I hold the nail gun against his side while I reach my hand underneath him to grab his thick cock. I press the gun hard into his right side and fire. As I do, I feel his dick jerk and swell in my hand.

“That’s what I thought,” I whisper into the boy’s ear. “Little fuckin’ pain pig, ain’t ya? I could see it in your face. You like gettin’ hurt, bitch. It gets you off. You’ll snivel and blubber, but it makes you hard to have a real man on top of you, plowing your ass as you submit to the erotic agony. Yeah, you love it. Don’t worry, fuckmeat, I’ll make sure you’re in pain you never dreamed possible. I’m gonna hurt you so bad you’ll scream and die–and blow your load like a good fuckpig.”

The nail gun is small, but my nails aren’t. They’re a good three inches long. If that doesn’t sound like much, imagine a steel spike inserted three inches deep from the surface of your skin.

The meat doesn’t have to imagine it.

I fire a series of nails into the punk’s right side, below the rib cage, filling his intestines with holes. Each blast of the gun causes the meat to tense his muscles in misery and squeeze my rod. I almost don’t have to pump his hole; I can work his rectum just by torturing him.

The meat is shuddering under me, making a high-pitched whine as he struggles to free himself from the ordeal he’s undergoing. It’s hopeless, of course; my huge tool is pinning him to the mattress as if he’d been impaled.

“Shut up, fuckmeat. Quit fighting it. You want this. You love my hard cock and hard steel inside you, you fucking whore, don’t ya? You went out looking for trouble and you found it. Too late to stop now, motherfucker, you’re gonna ride my dick all the way to the end as you choke on your own blood. Shit, dude, you’re hard already. Goddam pig. There’s more where that came from.”

His struggles become more violent. I can feel his hands, pressed between our bodies–he’s clenching and unclenching his fists in desperate futility. I move the gun to his left side and continue to hit the trigger. Now I’m spearing his spleen and liver.

Suddenly, the kid tries to fight back. I can feel him bucking and twisting, trying to rise up on his knees, despite having his arms bound behind his back and my weight on top of him. I clock him on the back of the head with the nail gun, hard.

“Lay still, asswipe, I ain’t done with you yet. Just keep still…” I fire another nail into the meat, shattering another rib. “Goddam, that’s it, motherfucker. Keep milking my rod, boy. Feels so fucking good to hurt you, bitch.”

I reach under and grab his cock again. It’s fully erect now; my hand, sticky with the meat’s precum, slides along the veined shaft. His balls, huge and soft to begin with, have shriveled to hard wrinkled walnuts. Little fucking pain pig is gonna shoot soon.

I’m surprised; most of the time, the meat doesn’t react until it’s in the extremity of its death throes. Excruciating pain makes this one horny. I love it.

By now, we’re both sweating and breathing heavily. An audio recording would sound like ordinary sex.

If you edited out the metallic clank of the nail gun, that is. And the agonized bleating of the fucktoy.

I run my hand along the kid’s flanks, slick with the cold sweat of torment. His golden hair is dark with sweat as well. It trickles down his forehead to merge with the tears on his face. I catch his expression in the mirror–still contorted with pain and effort, eyes shut hard, streams of drool leaking from his blocked mouth. His eyes open and catch mine in the reflection.

His eyes are blue, huge and beautiful, with and expression of anguish and despair so erotic I almost blow my load. Gorgeous little punk, wasting his beautiful body until I grabbed him and put it to its best use. But his struggles are slowing and his colon isn’t stroking my rod as firmly as it had been. I think the meat is wearing out.

“Fuck, whore, you’re getting loose on me. You’ll never get my spunk like that. Guess I need to tighten your hole up. I know how much you fucking love getting shit stuck in ya, meat, but I don’t think you’re enjoying the nails any more. Think it’s time to turn the pain up to eleven. Whaddaya think, fuckwad, sound like a plan?”

I toss the nail gun to the side and pick up the knife. I hold it down in front of the teen’s face so he can see what’s coming for him.

“If the nails made you hard, you worthless fucking pain slut, this’ll make you cum so hard you bleed. It’s a Ka-bar utility knife. Look at it, motherfucker. Ain’t it sexy? See these serrations on the blade? When I stick this in you and twist it, those little pieces of metal are gonna shred your guts to hamburger. Ready for it, punk? No? Tough shit!”

I start thrusting my cock into his ass, pounding it mercilessly. The teen moans and writhes under me, but his eyes are fixed on the mirror, where he can see my upraised arm holding the knife. He has a fraction of a second to brace himself before I plunge it into his back.

It slips between his ribs, sinking like butter. It works, too. The fuckmeat goes completely rigid in his suffering. His asscheeks grasp my cock like a fist, his soft, creamy innards caressing the throbbing, oozing head of my tool. As I promised, I twist the knife brutally in the wound before jerking it back out.

The meat thrashes in agony. His eyes, wide and ringed with shock, stare frantically into mine as he tries to process the wave of agony sweeping over him. He’s sweating even more now; it runs off his body and makes a wet spot on the mattress.

It’s not the only thing making a wet spot. The punk’s dick is leaking. Throughout the entire ordeal, I manage to keep one hand underneath, jacking the meat. I want to make sure he stays hard; they usually go soft once the knife is used.

Not this fucker, though. He really is a masochistic little death pig. For all his crying and moaning, he’s enjoying this on some deep level. The fear of impending death—to say nothing of the pain itself—is not having any noticeable effect. I stab him again in the back and then in the side, reaming and twisting the knife each time. The meat shudders and trembles against me as I keep fondling his swollen shaft.

“It’s time, fuckmeat. I can feel my cum starting to boil in my balls and I’ll bet yours is too, you useless fucking whore. Get ready for it, motherfucker, I’m gonna cut your cut your throat wide open. I’m gonna fuck you as you die and fill you full of my sperm as your life drains out along with your blood. You want this. You know you do. You know you’re a fucking worthless piece of shit and you love being treated like it. You’re useless for anything but raping and killing and you’re gonna cum like a worthless piece of shit when I slash your throat because you know that’s all you deserve, motherfucker. Get ready to shoot the most intense wad of your short, wasted life, bitch.”

I sit up on my knees. Grabbing the kid by his chin, I pull him up with me. Our hard bodies slide against each other, lubed not only by sweat but by blood. The punk is yanking his head around, trying to break free of my grip on his jaw. Stupid fuckwad, must be an instinctive reaction. The boy wants it—my knife, my load, everything.

The long, hard, dripping cock I see bobbing in the mirror tells me so.

“Shhh,” I whisper in his ear. “Let go. It’ll be over soon. Enjoy it while you can. Feel the razor edge against your tender flesh? Picture it slowly slicing through, those sharp serrations starting to saw into your trachea—that’s a rubbery bit, so it’ll take some time. You’ll get to enjoy that. At some point, I’ll reach the jugular and the carotid. If I leave the knife in your neck, I may be able to stretch it out a little. Make it so that you don’t bleed out as much as you drown in your own blood. Sound fun? Sure the fuck does to me. Fuck yeah, bro, let’s get the party started!”

I dig my fingers into his face as I lift his chin. I’ve got an excellent view in the mirror. I move the blade up and down his neck, looking for just the right spot. I stop right on the bulge of the Adam’s apple.

And start sawing.

The high-pitched squeal the teen makes really is that of a pig. He grimaces, lips pulled back, revealing his briefs still wadded in his mouth. With his bound hands between us, his fingers scrape and claw at my belly.

There’s resistance on the blade as I cut through the larynx. It’s a tough piece of cartilage, and it took me a good fifteen seconds to slice through it—long before I could reach any major blood vessels.

The meat liked pain—and he got it. And I made sure he knew it.

“What’s it feel like, meat? Does it burn? Does it hurt your sorry ass good? Yeah? Ya liking that, you sick fucking death pig? Fuck yeah, you must be. God, your ass is jacking me off so good right now. This is why, fuckmeat. This is why I do this. This is why you have to die, so I can feel it on my cock. You’re no good for anything else, you fucking piece of shit, so you may as well make me cum as you die!”

And he does. He gets it. As the resistant tissue gives way to softer flesh and his trachea parts as if it’s been unzipped, the meat gives a last, despairing squeak and starts gargling blood. Pink foam bubbles past the knife out of the wound.

The meat has gone utterly stiff. I don’t know how he does it, but in the throes of orgasmic death, he’s creating suction in his colon. At the same time, I can see in the mirror a fountain of jizz rising from the fuckpig’s straining, purple cock. There’s no penile spasm; it’s just a steady jet of semen shooting up and splattering back on the dying teen’s face and chest, where it turns the blood pink.

Oh my god, the way his ass sucks my dick dry… It’s incredible. It seems to go on forever, my seed flowing into the dead kid’s ass as I curse him and keep sawing at his throat.

At some point, I become aware of myself again. I’m still kneeling on the bed. My cock is still spasming, but nothing is coming out. It isn’t in the meat anymore; at some point, the meat has fallen back down on the bed. But I haven’t let him go…

And then I get it. My knife is in my right hand. The meat’s head is in my left. I’d cum so hard, I didn’t realize I’d just kept sawing until I’d decapitated the meat.

Man, I’m tired. I shove the meat onto the floor and jump into the shower. After I finish, I fall asleep on the couch.

When I awake, it’s the early hours of the morning. I’m hard again. No idea how that happens; I thought I’d spewed out several days’ worth of spunk. But here I am, ready to go again.

I stroll back into the bedroom to get the meat and find myself disappointed. I’d wanted to fuck it again, but it has landed badly, with the legs splayed. Rigor mortis has set in and it’s kinda unfuckable.

But the head is still there. I pick it up and go back out to the couch.

I sit down and, opening the mouth, remove the blood-soaked briefs still crammed in the back of the throat. The huge blue eyes are open and a little cloudy; they’d rolled slightly up.

I position the open mouth over my erect dick and lower it. I spend a few minutes literally skullfucking the dude, using his head as a jackoff toy. If I hold the head just right, the eyes are looking directly into my own.

As I blow my wad, I spit into the boy’s blue-tinted face, calling him a fucking piece of shit whore and watching my load ooze out of the ragged stump.

I put the head in a garbage bag. The rest of the meat goes in another and they both go into a plastic tub and then out into my van. Eventually, the body will end up in the landfill and the head—I dunno, maybe into the river.

Doesn’t matter, really. Just a rotting piece of meat.

Meat Chronicles 5–Doublecunt Cum

On By m3mayhemIn Meat ChroniclesLeave a comment

He’s only about eighteen. I’ve got a great view of him as he crosses the street. Damn, he’s hot. Broad, muscled chest in a tight brown t-shirt. Khaki cargo short shorts cradle his firm ass and show off his tight calves, covered in a fine dark fur. A long, unruly mop of black hair hangs down, nearly obscuring his eyes, but the strong sun brings out the golden highlights in the hazel shaded by long lashes. Yellow construction boots with white socks rolled just above the black leather ankles…

He strides along confidently. He has no idea at all that I’m watching, planning, anticipating his agonizing death.

I think it’s about time to get that idea into his head. The question is, how do I lure him? I’m in the parking lot of a strip mall on a major street. I’m not hunting. I need to be very careful; it’s the unplanned situations that lead to mistakes and exposure. Dammit, this kid is almost up to my van. I really, really wanna fuckin’ hurt him. I need some time…

Hang on. He’s slowing. Right here, right beside my van. I crack the window; he’s talking to someone. As I listen, I adjust the side mirror until I get a glimpse of the other guy.

He’s about the same age as the kid I’ve been watching. His short brown hair is carefully sculpted and probably stiff with product. His face is pointed, with a sharp chin, but he’s compensated for this with a rigidly groomed goatee and a haze of brown stubble on his cheeks. His brown eyes are enormous and give an unexpected vulnerability to his arrogant expression.

He’s wearing a blue polo shirt that shows of his broad, firm pecs. The short sleeves bunch at his bulging biceps. His ‘skinny” jeans, straining tightly around his junk, outline the muscles in the kid’s thighs. He’s got on a pair of running shoes in a startling shade of neon yellow.

They called each other by name, but I never pay attention. As far as I care, they’re walking fuck toys. And when I’m done, well, rotting piles of meat don’t need names. But since there’s two of ‘em here, I’ll tell ya that the kid I’d first noticed was called Steve and the alpha punk was Kevin.

I think. Like I said, I don’t really give a shit. Most of the time, I don’t learn what the name is until they ID the body on the news.

I’ve run the numbers. I know the name of 13% of my victims. Most of them, I’ve learned after the kill.

Anyway, Steve and Kevin are looking to get high. Seems they haven’t had any luck. Nobody wants to sell these two poor little meat sacks any joy–what a shame. Perhaps I can help.

“Hey, you dudes lookin’ to have some fun?” I shout out the window. They both practically jump out of their skins. Stupid shits hadn’t realized I was here. Kevin gives me the hairy eye while Steve blushes and looks away. He’s embarrassed that he’s been caught looking for drugs. Kevin doesn’t care.

“I got whatever you need. Weed, crack, X , meth—what ya want?”

Kevin’s huge eyes are still slitted in distrust. “You ain’t a fuckin’ cop, are ya?”

“Fuck no, dude. I’ll take ya back to my place and let you sample whatever you wanna buy. Does that sound like a cop, showing ya where he lives?”

He’s still suspicious, but he agrees. I open the passenger door. I notice he lets Steve sit in the passenger seat while he crouches in the back of the van. That’s ok. Steve is hot and clearly well hung: I don’t mind him being my eye candy for the drive back to my killing pit.

Both boys follow me willingly into my apartment. Kevin wants coke, and he wants it now. He wants to mainline, to shoot it directly into his veins.

I know the feeling. I used to do it myself. Christ, it sucked getting off it; I went cold turkey. I shook for two straight weeks. This kid can’t have been doing it for too long; his body is too good to have been exposed to years of drug abuse.

On the other hand, he’s not likely to be able to get off this by himself, statistically speaking. Better for his sake to end it now. Same goes for the other punk. Trust me, I’ve been there. I know what I’m talking about.

Killing these two little fucks will be an act of mercy. And as long as I’m helping them out, what’s wrong with having some fun myself? After all, no matter how agonizing and drawn-out I make their deaths, it’s better and less painful than letting them live in such conditions.

Of course, this is still gonna hurt like fuck,

I’ve added ground-up diazepam to the coke they’re injecting. That’s generic Valium, by the way. I watch—and find myself getting harder by the second; I can feel precum oozing from the head of my cock as I watch the fucking punks get high.

It’s hard for me. Once an addict, always an addict. I don’t deny that I want to join them. I know what it feels like, after all, when the train hits. That’s what it’s called when the coke rush hits you; it’s the train. You can tell when the metallic taste hits your mouth. Your tongue sticks out as the rush begins. After that, no matter what happens, you’re ready to cum—you just need the proper physical stimulation. Problem is, you can’t get physically stimulated enough.

At least, not in the usual way. I’m gonna have to tinker with the meat. A steel shank embedded in the nervous system is a good way to override cocaine droop. There are other ways, too…

Once glance at the boys tells me it’s party time. They’re both leaning back on the sofa, eyelids half open, tongue sticking out. Steve is drooling slightly. They’re riding the train, all right—riding it straight to hell.

A box cutter makes quick work of their clothes. Kevin gets dragged back first. He moans incoherently as he’s sucked under by the cocaine. I tie him to a chair and duct tape his mouth after I remove from his left arm the strip of rubber that he’s used to tie off. At the same time, I place another small strip of duct tape on the back of the chair—that’s for later. He’s completely nude except for his white athletic socks and those day-glo yellow sneakers. His thick cock, four inches flaccid, lies on the black cloud of his pubic hair. He stares dully at the bed, so caught up in his coke rush that he has no clue what’s happening.

I grin. Kevin is going to be fun to play with. I can’t wait to fuck him.

Steve is young, dumb, and full of cum. Since I’m gonna fuck him first, I drag him to the bed. I bind his hands behind his back. I’m also gonna off him first, and I’m gonna make Kevin watch.

I think Kevin will be ready to die on my cock after I make him watch me kill Steve. He’ll feel responsible. Of course, that means I’ll have to make Steve’s death as painful as possible. I can’t fuckin’ wait.

It’s hit them both by now, worthless little fucks. They’re drooling, tongues protruding, eyes bulging, both of them—higher than kites. The coke may make it difficult for them to get off, but I can help them with that. A little breath control, a little pain, some manipulation of the nervous system and I can make these little punks cum no matter how much pain and fear they’re in.

So Steve is on his back on the bed—on the blood-and cum-soaked mattress. Kevin is bound to a chair and forced to watch. Steve’s arms are bound behind his back by a zip tie. He moans as I shove my engorged cock into his quivering asshole, but he’s still riding the coke train. He can’t resist, even if he wants to. It feels too good.

It’s about to feel a lot less good. Steve—or whatever the meat’s name is—is about to learn that I’m a lot less interested in getting him off than in getting myself off. That means that it doesn’t matter to me how much pain he’s in as long as it makes me cum.

In fact, the more pain he’s in, the more he’s gonna work my cock. And I’m gonna make sure Kevin sees it so he’ll know what to expect when it’s his turn.

Steve moans as I thrust the engorged head of my cock into his tender asshole. The pain is more than he’d anticipated. He’d wanted to be fucked; I can tell, but he didn’t know it would hurt this bad. I smile, knowing that it’ll hurt much more than this before I’m done.

They won’t admit it and may not consciously know it, but I’m giving them what they truly desire. They long for death; they show it by abusing their young, strong bodies. And they have a deep need for control or else they run wild like these two little shits. I can fulfill that need. The one thing they lack to complete their task on this planet—is me.

I am the missing father figure they’re yearning for, the adult male who can dominate them like the dogs they are and put them out of their misery. I’ll fill the void in their worthless souls by showing them just how worthless and empty they truly are.

And then I’ll fill that emptiness with cum.

Steve’s ass is so soft and smooth, it’s like fucking velvet. His eyes are wide with pain and shock; it’s clear that he never expected this. He’s on his back and his boots clamp tightly on my head. I can feel the soft leather on my ears as the meat stiffens in pain…

Kevin is squirming and trying to free himself from the chair. I can ignore him for the moment and focus on Steve. His eyes open wide and I can tell he’s about to scream. Good; I can stop that and show these pieces of shit that I’m not fucking around.

Steve inhales deeply, as if he’s about to scream. Before he can do that, I ram my knife into his throat. It’s a Ka-bar seven inch utility knife with a serrated edge. I stick it straight into his Adam’s apple and watch his face react to the pain.

His face contorts in agony as my blade punctures his larynx. I twist it, shredding the little fuck’s vocal cords, but I leave it in the wound. The hilt bobs in the air, matching the pace at which I’m fucking the meat. No matter how hard I make him work my dick, he won’t be able to cry out.

Kevin is conscious. I can tell that he’s watching, so he’s the one I speak to.

“How’s this look, fuckwad? Your buddy ain’t ever gonna speak again, not that it’ll matter. Neither one of y’all will need to speak by the time I’m done fucking you. Watch him die, asswipe. Whatever I do to him I’m gonna do worse to you. Watch him ride my cock until he dies, so you’ll know what I want you to do. Do it good and you won’t hurt as much. Watch, bitch, watch him die.”

The bedroom in this apartment is small. This mattress is already soaked with blood and cum. This is a nightmarish place to live your last moments, to suffer the pain that will be your last physical sensation on earth. The pain and fear that overwhelm Steve as I fuck him, as he tries to breathe with my knife embedded in his throat, must be unbearable.

“You wanted to get high?” I snarl into the teen’s tear-stained face. “How’s this feel, bitch? Are ya fuckin’ high enough? No? You’re fuckin’ loose, I can tell ya that, you worthless whore. Gotta tighten your ass up, bitch. Lessee what we can do about that.”

I yank my blade out of his throat and thrust it into the whore’s left flank. He writhes and massages the head of my cock, but Kevin doesn’t seem to be paying attention. I suppose I need to get a little more—dramatic, shall we say.

“Enough, you worthless fuckmeat,” I whisper into Steve’s ear. “You’re not gonna get me off. I’m gonna have to waste you just to get hard again. Maybe you’ll get my dick stiff as you die, fucker, but I doubt it. You really are a useless piece of shit.”

“Hey, dude,” I call to Kevin. “Wanna see something really fuckin’ hot? Watch this, asswipe, cause this is what I’m gonna do to you.”

As I say this, I grab a handful of Steve’s unruly black hair and jerk his head back. He gasps and grunts as this unexpected position makes it difficult for him to breathe. I could give a fuck; I yank Steve’s head back and slash his throat because I know that it’s gonna clench his sphincter around my cock.

Kevin stares wide-eyed as his buddy bleeds out on my cock. It takes a bit for Steve to die. I make sure both know what’s happening. The knife passes beneath Steve’s larynx. The tender flesh of his throat parts like it was butter. A fount of blood erupts from the punk’s throat. His eyes widen in shock—he’d thought he was gonna break into a car or two today, mug somebody, do whatever it took to get high. The muscular teen punk had thrown on his tight clothes and boots, prepared to break the law, but had no idea that it would lead to his agonizing death. He’d pulled on those tight cargo shorts and tied on his boots without realizing he was going to die in them.

“That’s it, you fuck, work my cock as your blood drains out. Come on, fuckmeat, you can do better than that. You’re dying, bitch, not taking a nap. I can make it hurt worse if I have to.”

Steve hacks up gouts of blood as he chokes and gasps. His sphincter spasms on my cock; a cockring that adjusts to the agony of my meat. He paws relentlessly despite the zip tie that renders his desperate flailing useless. His ass bucks and thrashes against my thick, swollen tool.

Suddenly, Steve’s dick begins to spasm. The meat’s brain has been deprived of oxygen too long. As his blood pressure drops, his consciousness fades and his struggles become more disjointed. The meat shudders and twitches and its cock, suddenly swollen, begins to expel seed. He’s not exactly shooting a wad; he’s just leaking a steady stream of semen. I don’t think I’ve seen anything like it.

It feels so fucking good on my cock. Despair and fear—those who have never experienced it have no clue of the pleasure in store when these emotions are given full reign. But it’s over too soon. Steve has managed to give up his death load and escape my grasp without getting me off.

I’m very angry. I want to hurt someone very, very badly. Kevin is still awake. He’s the one I want to hurt; this cunt I’m fucking now is dogmeat.

I place my boot in Steve’s face—as always, I wear combat boots when I fuck; they give me a better purchase—and shove the meat onto the floor. “Fucking useless piece of shit,” I snarl at the corpse. “Couldn’t even make me fuckin’ cum.”

I stand in front of Kevin, my arms crossed and my legs spread. I’m nude except for my white socks and black combat boots. Blood glistens along my hard body as I look down into Kevin’s pleading, upturned face and hold the knife up. I can see it reflected in his huge, stunned eyes. On the floor behind me, visible between my legs, the huddled corpse of his buddy quivers, his boots making faint scuffling sounds on the floor.

The boy can’t bring himself to look at the knife—his eyes turn down and he’s confronted with my dick, engorged an angry red, dripping in readiness for him. He looks back up, and I can see in his face, that beautiful furry face with the huge brown eyes, that he knows what’s about to happen.

I cut him free from the chair. I leave the duct tape on his mouth, but I don’t bother to restrain him in any other way. I lead him to the bed by hand and lay him down before climbing on top of him. The mattress is still slick with Steve’s blood. I lift Kevin’s feet up as I had Steve’s, and placing his shoes on my shoulders, plug my cock up his ass. Kevin’s face clenches into a grimace as his cry is muffled to a loud grunt by the tape. He opens his eyes wide and they well with tears. I bend down and lick his tears as they run down his cheeks.

No, they’re not sweet. They’re salty.

I talk him through it. “You know what’s coming, boy,” I whisper as I stroke his face. “Your buddy couldn’t hack it. My fault, really, cutting his throat like that. I should’ve known he’d croak too soon. With you, it’s gonna take longer, at least a little.”

The meat flinches and turns his face away, excepting the sharp, cold pain of my knife. But that’s not what he gets. Remember that piece of duct tape that I’d put on the back of the chair? This is why. It goes over his nose.

He fights. They always fight, even the ones who’ve accepted the inevitable beforehand. They can’t help it; it’s physiological, part of the involuntary muscle system. The body fights to live under any circumstances.

Thank god it does; that’s what gets me off.

The meat—it doesn’t need a name anymore—reaches up, hands scrabbling desperately at its blocked-off orifices. The kid’s brown eyes grow larger still, revealing a world of hurt panic that nearly makes me as hard as the soft sponge-like texture of the fuckmeat’s rectum massaging my swollen tool.

I grab the boy’s flailing arms by the wrist, forcing them to the blood-stained mattress. The furry-faced twink bucks and jerks in a futile attempt to throw me off. I straddle him, feeling his thick, limp rod slapping against my belly with every thrust of my cock. I spit in the meat’s face as I sneer down at him.

“That’s it, boy. Good little death pig. Yeah, you’re getting’ it. Fuck yeah, does it hurt? I hope it does, you fucking piece of shit. My cock is killing you. I’m fucking you to death. Your buddy died to get my dick hard; now you’re gonna die to make me cum. Worthless little punks, had to waste two of ya to get off. Goddam, I’m going through meat like it was Kleenex. You better be worth it, fuckwad.”

The kid is shaking his head violently from side to side. His bright yellow sneakers drum against my back, my ass. His hands clench and unclench as I maintain my grip on his wrists; his chest heaves upwards, pressing against mine, sliding along on a thin film of sweat.

His eyes are no longer beautiful; they’re grotesque, bulging horribly from his purple face. There’s a bulge in the duct tape over his mouth as well, accompanied by a mewling sound; it’s his tongue, swelling but unable to protrude, backing up into his throat.

As the meat’s brain begins to die off from lack of oxygen, its dick starts to grow erect. I can feel it pressing into my belly, hard and hot. He’s finally giving in; I’ve brought him to the point of ultimate surrender.

“Die, you fucking bitch,” I scream, spitting into the meat’s face again, “die on my fucking cock. Make me cum, fuckmeat, die for me. I want your death throes to jack me off. Come on, you useless piece of shit, work my cock until I pump your guts full of spunk and throw you away like a used rubber.”

The embrace of death is hard and tight. He grabs me convulsively, entwining me with his arms and legs. His face is close to me; I can barely recognize the beautiful teen with the furry face and the brown eyes. Bloodshot and swollen, his eyes now convey nothing but the resignation of eternity. His lithe body, slick with perspiration, undulates beneath me and I suddenly feel a sticky warmth spread across my abdomen. The meat has unloaded his death wad all over my belly.

I moan and curse as I cum, fucking whore piece of shit fuck drain my load you worthless fuck oh god oh fuck you fucking shit meat…

The meat has stopped twitching by the time I come to. I have to yank my dick out of his ass; my spunk has dried to a crust inside the colon. He’s lying there on his back, arms at his side, legs spread, flaccid cock still lying thickly on his belly on top of a glaze of deathseed. The blood has drained from his face; it’s no longer black but a pale blue. His eyes have glazed to the point of opacity; he stares milkily into space.

God, I’d love to fuck him again, but I can’t take the chance. I gotta get rid of two of ‘em now, and it need to be done before they get stiff. It’ll be nearly impossible to dump them then.

Now, where the fuck am I gonna dump all this meat?

Meat Chronicles 4–The Wages of Sin Are…

On By m3mayhemIn Meat Chronicles1 Comment

I’m back hunting in the suburbs. I’ve had good luck at malls, especially the extreme ends of the parking lots, so I figured I’d try a different one this time. I park in the shade, step into the back of the van, and wait to see what develops. I ain’t offin’ this one in the van, though.

Whatever I catch is going back to the apartment. I have something new I want to try. And anyways, I need to lay off that industrial park for a bit. Something washed up in a creek several miles downstream of the drainage canal, and I think it’s one of mine.

It isn’t long before something catches my eye. There’s a punk wandering through the lot, peering into the cars. I see him try to open a car door surreptitiously, glancing around to make sure no one’s looking. He can’t see deep enough into the van to see me.

He’s about eighteen or nineteen, with a broad face and large blue eyes. He’s not very tall—not quite six feet. He’s wearing a black baseball cap worn backwards; in the gap above the cap’s band on his forehead, golden hair about an inch in length stands out.

He’s got on a blue t-shirt with the red Superman symbol on the chest. Below his jean shorts I can see thick, strong legs covered with a golden fur, a finer and curlier version of the hair on his head. Underneath the golden haze a dragon tattoo on his left calf flexes with every movement of that muscle. His blue-and-white hightop sneakers dance nervously on the hot pavement as the kid keeps turning and looking around.

He was two rows out when I first noticed him, but he’s closer now. This is perfect; the meat is coming to me. All I have to do is bait the trap—and make sure it’s not too obvious a trap.

I set my wallet on the dashboard, lock the doors, and roll down the passenger window about three to four inches before retreating to the darkened rear of the van. I don’t have to wait long for him to notice it, but it seems to take him a while to decide to go for it.

He paces the length of the van a couple of times. I even hear him try the rear doors, but they’re secure. I can’t tell if he’s suspicious of the open window or is just too oblivious to notice it.

Turns out to be the latter. As soon as he sees it, his arm is in the window. He has to go up on his toes to get it in all the way to the elbow, but once he does, he’s able to unlock the door immediately. In a flash, he’s in the passenger seat and scrabbling madly for the wallet.

He’s so intent on his work that he never sees me coming. I take him by surprise, slamming his face into the dashboard, feeling the satisfying crunch of the little shit’s nose being broken. I draw back and he sits up, shaking and gasping, blood streaming from his nose, his cap remaining on the dash. He turns and looks in my direction, but I’m not sure he actually sees me. Doesn’t matter. A rabbit-punch to the jaw and his lights are out.

They stay out, too, which is good. I need that to get him into the apartment. He gets dumped into a large plastic tub with a lid, then takes a short ride on my dolly. I wheel him straight back into the bedroom and empty him out there. I can use this setup to get the meat back out for the garbage run, as well.

I cut off his shorts, boxers, and shirt, leaving him with nothing but his socks and shoes. Now that he’s ready, he can go on the table. I put a lot of time into building this thing; I hope it works well.

The basis for it is a rough plywood rectangle, about three feet wide and four feet long. The meat goes on it on his back, his ass hanging slightly off one end so I can fuck him. Just below the other end, I’ve drilled two holes, five or six inches apart. A length of nylon cord snakes out of one, forms a loop, and vanishes down the other. This cord is firmly attached to the underside of the table on the left side. It’s guided to and away from the holes by a series of metal hasps, also bolted to the underside.

The cord ends up on the right side, just by my hand, where’s it’s connected to a spindle on a ratchet gear that I can crank. In other words, it’s a fuck table with a built-in garrote that I control by a crank. I’ve even got restraining straps for his arms and legs.

Fuck yeah, I’m gonna dominate this worthless fucking thief.

Like I said, I’ve been having some control issues lately. I’m not waiting for the blond bitch to wake up. I strap him in, hock up a huge wad and spit it onto his pink puckered virgin hole, and insert my thick purple head, already oozing in anticipation. I can feel the resistance of his sphincter, unused to being stretched to such a diameter.

I’ve already loosened the cord to allow his head under it. Now I tighten it until it’s flush with his throat—just lying across it, really, not actually tight.

It takes a couple of minutes for him to awaken. That’s fine; I keep fucking him, waiting for him to come around. After all, I’m probably gonna be fucking him later on, too, after he’s dead. He won’t be moving any more then than now.

But now I want him awake. It’s not enough that he suffer. I want him to know exactly what’s happening to him—and why. I’m so excited that when he starts stirring, I can’t control the huge, sharklike grin that breaks out on my face.

He bats his long, dark lashes confusedly, staring at my face. He jerks his arms and legs, only to find the former held to his sides by a leather strap around the wrists and the latter spread wide to receive my cock with leather straps just above the knee. Below the knee, his legs are free to flail, his bright new sneakers kicking uselessly at the air…

Not yet, not yet. Control, goddammit!

I lean down over the meat, stroking his swollen nose. Caked blood trails from both nostrils. He’s gasping and making a low keening sound. More of a whimper than a moan, really.

He may whimper now, but his world ends with a bang.

“Hello there, you sorry little fuck.” I spit down into the meat’s tearful, bewildered face before I start talking again. “Picked the wrong car to break into, dintcha? You ain’t got no idea how wrong, but you’re gonna learn. Gotta tell ya though, dude, it’s gonna hurt a little.” I tweak the punk’s broken nose; he cries out in pain. “In fact, you piece of shit, it’s gonna hurt like fucking hell.”

I stroke his dragon tattoo with my left hand as I turn the crank with my right. The cord grows taut and starts to sink into the flesh of the meat’s neck. I stop before I completely cut off his air, though.

I want to enjoy this a bit. I can stand still for a few minutes as the meat struggles. He can breathe, but it’s requiring a lot of effort. As he fights for air, his sphincter tightens and his colon constricts, massaging my shaft. It would be so easy to blow my load now, but the meat is nowhere near ready. I have to maintain control of myself in order to maintain control of him. I have to hold out long enough to inflict a certain amount of brain damage…

In the meantime, the meat is trying to scream—without much luck. His deep, labored breathing is accompanied by gagging, choking sounds. Already, I can see his face turning red. He’s still getting air, but not enough. He’s being strangled very slowly.

“Hey, dude, how much ya get from breaking into cars? Was it worth it? Worth getting’ your ass plugged while I choke the life outta ya? Bet ya though only chicks got raped and strangled. Get ready for this, you worthless fuck, ‘cause it’s gonna hurt worse than you can imagine. I’m gonna make sure it does, ‘cause that’s the only way I’m gonna cum.”

His eyes, wide, clear, eloquent in horrified confusion, stare into mine. He looks like he’s trying to speak. I can make out the word “please” on his writhing lips as he spews spittle in a frantic attempt to beg for his useless life.

“What’s that, bitch? Still don’t get it, do ya, ya worthless fuck? You’re gonna die so I can cum. It’s that simple. Here, lemme show ya.”

I twist the crank mercilessly. The cord sinks so deep it nearly vanishes. There’s a cracking, crunching sound as the esophagus collapses; its cartilage shattered beyond repair. The damage is reflected in the blond punk’s face as more blood leaks from his nose.

His face darkens as the tip of his tongue parts his lips, accompanied by a froth of drool. More of this foamy drool is pushed out as the tongue extrudes, bubbling over his blue, swelling lips.

The meat convulses helplessly, his torn, ravaged rectum fluttering along the surface of my engorged tool. His balls contract as his own thickly-veined dick responds to asphyxia, rising and glistening as precum drips involuntarily.

His eyes, huge and desperate, bulge frantically as the pressure builds above the cord that has now sunk back nearly to his spine. His skin and eyes grow darker as I watch, as blood vessels rupture until the meat’s face is black and unrecognizably contorted. As I’d hoped, his shoes are kicking and flailing in the air. His broad, smooth, well-muscled chest is slick with deathsweat; the odor of it wafts from his pits.

He’s almost gone. There’s only a few more seconds until his brain is so damaged that he’ll never be a functional being again. A few more seconds before I perform a miracle and make meat into a vegetable. There’s just enough left of him to understand my words.

“Do you get it now, fuckmeat? See what a worthless little fuckwad you really are? Ain’t no one gonna miss you when you’re gone, bitch. You’re a fuckin’ thief. I don’t give a shit what the fuck you do, meat, but bein’ a thief is what got ya here, you stupid little shit. If you’d been a good little boy, you wouldn’t be choking to death with my cock pluggin’ your ass.”

His eyes had been losing focus and drifting, but as I speak, they turn and orient themselves on me. I can tell his brain is still functioning enough to understand my words, and his eyes well enough to see me despite the excruciating pain of the swelling and hemorrhages. His convulsions slow as his body strains futilely against its bonds, a single rigid clenching of everything. My god, the way his ass sucks down my cock…

“Let go, you useless fuck,” I snarl into the dying kid’s face, “you want this. You know it. Give up and let it happen. You worthless little pig, you wanna give me your load as you die. You can’t help it, I’m gonna get it whether you like it or not, but we both know this is what your sick little fucking soul has always wanted. You were out prowling the mall, looking for someone like me to find you and give you the best fuck, the most intense orgasm possible. You’re gonna cum when you die, fuckmeat, and that’s gonna make me cum too. The last thing you’re gonna feel is the hot splash of my spunk in your guts as your shudder and shoot and die. Stop fighting and let it happen. You’ve always wanted a man to hold you down and control you till you cum and die. It’s your lucky day, meat.”

He hears me and he understands. I know he understands because there’s a massive spasm that visibly runs along the meat’s dick and results in a fount of semen. He gets it. He relaxes, surrendering to death, allowing himself this ultimate orgasm as the last physical sensation of which he’s capable.

His ass clenches as well, gipping my cock tightly in a velvet glove of soft rectal lining, squeezing and rippling. It’s too intense for me to resist. Before I’m aware of my actions, I’m screaming and spitting on the meat as I blow my load deep inside his dying asshole. I’m lying flat on top of him, feeling him arch and twist, his hot, smooth, sweaty skin sliding across mine. The firm flesh inside his thighs caresses my flanks as his legs kick and tremble. I pump the bitch full of cum, cursing uncontrollably, as darkness overwhelms me.

When I come to, I find that I’m still hard. I couldn’t have been out long.

On the other hand, the meat is still jacking my dick. The fuckwad isn’t completely dead yet. It’s still convulsing; the aimless thrashing caused by massive trauma to the brain, but it massages my still-sensitive shaft beautifully. I look down into the meat’s face—bloated, black, every inch expressing the unspeakable agony of the garrote. Its eyes had rolled back into its head, only blood-streaked white showing beneath the half-open lids.

Its taut, firm body kept bucking and jerking on my cock. I found myself moaning, pawing at the meat, running my hands down its slick muscled flesh. I can feel a burning sensation in the head of my dick; I can tell I’m going to shoot again.

The meat is fading fast. Time for me to commit one last act of brutality on this hot little teenage punk. One last blast of pain to send him off right. Christ, the pain in the head of my dick; I’m gonna blow…

As I shoot, I crank the cord one last time. The meat’s neck snaps with a sound like a branch breaking. The corpse goes rigid one last time, encasing my cock, milking the last drop of semen out of me like a greedy little deathpig.

I stand up, my back aching. I’ve gotten a lot of exercise. Excellent piece of meat, but it’s completely fucked out now. I need to get it into the tub before it gets stiff and unwieldy. I also need to find a new dumping ground.

Good thing that tub is airtight. Depending on how long it takes me to find a dump, the meat could get pretty ripe before I’m done with it.

Meat Chronicles 3–Dicked Down Douchebag

On By m3mayhemIn Meat ChroniclesLeave a comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It will, however, fit my dick perfectly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I love a good fuck that lubes itself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Meat Chronicles 2–Grab ‘n Go

On By m3mayhemIn Meat ChroniclesLeave a comment

It’s time. I’m out hunting again. But tonight I’m not fucking around.

It’s been weeks. I came too close last time. Got pulled over for having a tail light out, for Christ’s sake. I’d already dumped the meat. As far as I know, they haven’t found it yet—but when they do, they’ll have a record of my van in the area.

So I don’t have that van any more. I traded it at a used lot way out in the ‘burbs, then laid low for a while. And I won’t be using that dump site ever again.

I registered the new van in the name of my ex’s new boyfriend.

But it’s been too long. My balls are so full of cum they’re about to explode. I’m not playing any games tonight.

I’m grabbing the first punk bitch I see and fucking him to pieces.

I’m in one of the suburbs now; it’s closer to the city than where I dumped the last one. Run-down neighborhoods, mostly lower class white and Hispanic. It’s a long way from the apartment.

I’m too horny tonight. I won’t be able to control myself long enough to get back to the killing pit. I’m gonna end up tearing the meat to shreds in the back of the van; I’ve already lined it with plastic sheets–my mobile killing pit. Luckily, there’s a couple of half-empty industrial blocks on the other side of the highway. I can park there without being disturbed—at least, for as long as this will take.

I don’t think it’ll take long.

It doesn’t take long to find some meat. He rides up on a bicycle, stoned out of his gourd and offering to sell me a dime bag. He sticks his head in the window while I’m stopped at a stop sign. It’s past dark and no one is on the street. The timing is perfect.

I have just a moment to notice his appearance. Hair is a mop in a shade of dirty blond, partially covered by a ball cap worn backwards. Late teens, I’d say, no older than twenty. He’s got a large nose and a big grin. Combined with the long lashes of his blue eyes, they give his face a vulnerable look that begs to be hurt. He’s tall and thin but not scrawny. A simple white t-shirt stretches tightly across his chest, outlining large nipples resting on broad pectorals. Denim shorts show that his legs are covered with a light golden fuzz. He’s wearing dark blue hightop kicks with black laces.

I pop him in the face and put out his lights. As he goes limp, I manhandle him in through the open window, dragging him across both myself and the center console to stuff him in the passenger seat.

I roll up the window and accelerate through the intersection, leaving his bike propped up on its kickstand in the middle of the street.

The highway is behind me; I need to turn around. I make two rights to get on the next major cross street and so reach the industrial lots. I’d forgotten that this street had more lights. It takes me a couple more minutes than I expected.

The meat begins to stir. As he grows more awake, he starts to make more noise. I want him out till we get where we’re going.

At the next stoplight, I grab his hair in one hand—his cap is lying back in the road by his bike—and clip him in the jaw with the other. One swift sucker punch straight from the shoulder shuts him up good.

I’ve already scoped out this neighborhood. It’s what I do when I can’t actively hunt. I already know the perfect spot; it’s an empty lot between two abandoned factories. There’s a warehouse across the street that’s still functioning, but it’s closed on the weekends. There’s a security guard who never gets off his ass and since his guard shack is on the other side of the building, I figure I’m good.

I climb into the back of the van and strip until I’m wearing nothing but my rubber-soled combat boots. They’ll help me keep my traction on the plastic I’ve placed on the floor.

I drag the meat into the back and pull out my favorite knife, the Ka-bar. It’s seven inches of steel, partially serrated, and just looking at it makes me hard.

Using it makes me cum.

But I start slowly, cutting the punk’s shirt and shorts off. He starts moaning again as I’m slicing through the elastic waistband of his briefs, revealing a thick plug-like cock and large nuts like goose eggs resting in a nest of golden down.

Before he can fully awaken, I bind his hands behind him with a zip tie and slap a piece of duct tape over his mouth. My dick is already dripping in anticipation; I’m not waiting any longer.

I spit on my hands a couple of times and lube the head of my cock. I grab the bitch’s legs, prop his expensive kicks on my shoulders and shove my rod into his ass. His moaning increases in pitch and intensity. By the time he’s fully conscious, I’m plowing his ass mercilessly. His eyes suddenly focus on me as the center of his world of pain.

“That’s right, motherfucka, I’m all up in your ass–ha! Feel the burn, bitch, feel my cock tearing you open. Piece of shit small-time dime bag dealer—think you’re hot shit? Guess again, fuckwad. You’re gonna learn your place tonight. Your place is on the end of my dick and you’re gonna spend the rest of your life there.”

As I whisper, I lean forward and stoke the meat’s youthful, innocent face. His eyes are wide, but I don’t think it’s fear; not yet. He’s angry.

That means he won’t accept his place willingly. I have to teach him. I have to tenderize the meat.

“You think this is bad? It hurts when I stick my cock in ya? What if I stick something else in ya?” I hold up the knife. Matte black, the serrations catch the lights. It’s so clearly designed to cut and slice, to inflict maximum pain—it’s so fuckin’ sexy. “How about I stick this into ya, bitch, and see which ya like better—my long hard hot cock or my long hard cold blade? Does that sound fun? It does to me, fucker, it sounds hotter than fuckin’ hell. And I gotta promise for ya, meat—sometime before I off ya, you’re gonna cum. I may have to fuck your brain to do it, but you’ll blow a load before you die. Well, technically. It may be kinda hard to tell you’re still alive at that point.”  With this I leer into the meat’s face.

The boy’s eyes gaze up at me uncomprehendingly. He’s being raped, physically assaulted and traumatized. His brain isn’t really processing my words. He sees the knife, but he doesn’t understand what it means.

I help him understand what it means. I sink it up to the hilt in the punk’s smooth, firm belly.

His eyes, already wide, expand to saucers. His whole body tenses and shudders—holy fuck, the way his asshole tightens up and clenches my cock—as a loud squealing erupts from behind the duct tape.

“That’s it, pig, squeal as you die,” I smile down as him as I reach down and grind the knife into his abdomen. Seven inches of razor-sharp steel slash their way through the kid’s tender innards. Now his eyes are frantic; rimmed by dark circles of shock, they’re almost insane in their intensity.

He’s starting to understand. I don’t anticipate his reaction.

In retrospect, I should have. I mean, he’s a small-time suburban pot dealer. He’s soft. I thought he just looked vulnerable, but it turns out he actually is. He can’t handle pain.

He vomits.

I don’t realize what’s happened until I see his face turn red and fluid leak from his nose. He’s choking on his own puke.

Quickly, I pull him upright and rip the tape off his mouth. I grip his head tightly and turn it to the side, letting the stream of vomit spew harmlessly onto the plastic. His throat is clear, but not his nostrils.

I can fix that. I clamp one hand down over his mouth, hard, and punch him in the solar plexus. His head, still pointed to the side, expels a vast amount of snot.

I lean back, pulling him up with me by his hair. He struggles for air, gasping deeply, two, three, four times, then I plant the tape back over his mouth. His nose is clear.

“Bad pig,” I snarl. “No easy way out for you. You’re gonna suffer till I cum and the only thing that’s gonna make me cum is hurting you. Do you get it now, meat? You are only here so I can get off by hurting you. That’s your only purpose here, to make me spunk by dying in excruciating agony.”

My dick has remained firmly in the meat’s hole the entire time. I decide it needs some attention—some stimulation.

I thrust the knife into the bitch’s right side, just under the ribcage. The meat jerks to the left, trying to escape the burning tip of steel that tears through his intestines. I made sure to stay above the liver and spleen; I don’t want the little fuck bleeding out before I’m ready.

He thrashes violently, his brightly-colored kicks flailing around my head. I’m holding both ankles, though, leaving the knife stuck in the meat’s flank. Every time he tenses up and jerks in pain, he moves the knife within himself, causing even more pain—which make him writhe in agony and repeats the cycle.

I sit up on my knees, holding the fuckmeat’s legs, watching him twitch and massage my tool. But I’ve been waiting too long to remain this passive.

I yank the knife out, twisting it on the way to cause maximum pain, before I hold it in front of the meat’s face. His eyes are dilated with adrenaline as he goes into physical shock. He’s helpless and immobile, completely and utter under my control, his smooth, taut flesh mine to abuse and desecrate.

I hold the knife so as to make sure he can see his own blood dripping from it, shreds of his own guts caught in the serrations.

“Made up your useless waste of a mind yet, motherfucka? Which ya like, my cock or my blade? Gotta tell ya, dude, I’m having fun with both. ‘Course, right now, I’m havin’ more fun with the knife ‘cause your worthless pig hole is all stretched out already. You must be takin’ it up the ass every day, you fuckin’ whore. Little fuckin’ suburban shit thinkin’ he’s a bad-ass gangsta dealer. See where that got ya, fucker? Thought you were ready to play with the big boys? You’re gonna end up squealing your life out on my dick, you worthless little punk. I’m gonna blow my load into you and toss your sperm-filled corpse into a ditch for your momma to find. How’s that sound, meat? Fuck, yeah, sound pretty hot to me!”

Nothing like pain to tighten a loose hole. I slam the blade into the right side of the meat’s chest, slicing neatly though his bulging pec, between his ribs and burying the razor tip seven inches below in the fucker’s lung.

His entire body seems to contract and clench in agony. It’s like a fist grabbing my cock and squeezing, a fist of satin.

I lean over the meat. I spit in his anguished, tearful face. Twisting the knife slowly but brutally in the wound, I start whispering.

“How’s that feel, bitch? You’re dying. It’s too late for anything to save you; the only question is how long it’ll take you to actually die. And, of course, how painful it will be.”

I kiss the tip of his large nose and stroke his face, feeling the stubble that was so light it’s nearly invisible, as I ream and crank the blade into the boy’s chest, carving chunks of lung tissue.

“The answer is that it’s gonna be as painful as possible, you little fuck. Welcome to hell. The last few minutes of your life are gonna be worse than anything you could have imagined.”

I pull the knife out of his chest. His lung collapses almost instantly. His breathing grows labored and irregular; his face takes on a slight bluish tint.

Oh well. He’ll live long enough.

I’m ready. I want to ease my way into orgasm; I need to time this right. There’s a certain artistry in manipulating the meat to make it cum at the right time, despite the pain and fear. It involves increasing the stimulation in the central nervous system to the point of overload, accompanied by a certain amount of physical trauma to the system itself…

I tell him about it.

“Time for the finale, fuckwad. Ready for the big one? The big blast of horrific pain that’s gonna overload your brain and give you your last and best cumshot? No? Tough shit, bitch, I control your hot little body now. I’m gonna hurt you so fucking bad and you’re gonna spunk your biggest load ever anyway. Time to die, asswipe. Enjoy it, meat; this nightmarish agony will be the last thing you feel on earth and it’s gonna make me fill your jerking, twitching corpse with semen. Here we go, motherfucker!”

I press the tip of the knife against the underside of the meat’s jaw. The meat is turned to the side, eyes clenched closed, sobbing relentlessly. Not fighting. He’s finally submitted; deep within his terror, he’s eagerly awaiting my load and my blade, awaiting the ultimate release of his life and his seed.

I slowly increase the pressure on the knife. The boy grunts as I break the skin. “Shh,” I mutter, “Almost done. A little more pain and then it’ll be over.”

He shudders. It feels like a shudder of pleasure to me. His unruly blond hair, dark and rank with the sweat forced out by the torture the boy has endured, clings to his face, itself shiny with agonized perspiration.

The knife has punctured the jaw and is slicing upwards through the thick, muscular base of the tongue. I don’t have words to describe the sound he’s making. It blurs the fine line between agony and ecstasy.

The kid is starting to resist. He jerks and flails as he experiences a pain he’s never known was possible; a pain which he struggles vainly to escape. One last show of independence. I lean forward, one hand planted flat on his face, pinning his head to the floor as I continue to insert the knife into the punk’s head slowly—oh, so slowly…

The knife creeps upward, the tongue now utterly pierced and the steel tip of the blade spearing the soft palate at the roof of the mouth. A bit of force shatters the septum as the blade continues up through the sinuses.

The meat is still conscious, still aware of everything that’s happening. He feels the tempered razor edge tearing its way up behind his nose. He can tell when it passes behind his eyes as his optic nerves are severed and he’s plunged into a screaming blackness of indescribable suffering.

And he responds to it all by tightening his colon on my dick. Each millimeter of agony, of sharp steel slicing though tissue causes the meat to contract his sphincter around the base of my cock, to massage my thick, oozing head with uncontrollable convulsions of his rectum.

I’m ready.

“Die, motherfucker,” I snarl as I push the knife further into the fuckmeat’s head. I hear the crunching of the blade shattering the cranial cavity behind the orbit of the eye. The meat hears it, too—it must be deafening in that howling vortex of pain and panic, the sound of death that he has been both dreading and desiring his entire wasted life.

As my long hard blade slides into the punk bitch’s cerebrum, his personality is gone. Whatever happens with his body, this kid, whatever his name was, is gone.

This is what I wanted. A jerking, twitching puppet of meat dancing on my cock. As it spasms, the sphincter tightens even further on my dick. The convulsions caused by massive brain trauma make the meat’s hips buck and twerk like a stripper. The fuckmeat’s dying convulsions are jacking me off.

Just before I cum, the meat goes rigid. His knees lock together, clamping my head tightly in the soft leather embrace of his blue kicks. His fireplug cock rises like a cobra and begins spitting hot venom. A jet of cum rises between us to fall, splattering the punk’s face and bleeding chest. Semen pools in the dilated, unseeing eyes, matting those long, seductive lashes.

It’s too much; I’ve waited too long not to enjoy this moment. I don’t understand how I can unload so much spunk inside the little fuck’s ass without having it leak out his mouth. As I shoot I find myself screaming curses at the meat while cranking my blade in great circles within the corpse’s cranium, grinding the brain to hamburger.

I don’t know how long it takes me to recover after I cum. I lie there for a while, stoking the meat as it cools and stiffens. When I get up, I roll the meat in the plastic that covers every surface. Glad I kept my boots on; it’s slippery in here.

After I get dressed, I drive away from the highway. I kept my promise to the meat, too, tossing his body in a drainage ditch on the west side of the industrial area.

I’m sure that once they find him, they’ll notify his momma.