Fantasy Scenario 16

On June 28, 2015May 1, 2016 By m3mayhemIn Fantasy Scenario Series3 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a nail gun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fantasy Scenario 15

On June 28, 2015May 1, 2016 By m3mayhemIn Fantasy Scenario SeriesLeave a comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fantasy Scenario 14

On June 28, 2015May 1, 2016 By m3mayhemIn Fantasy Scenario Series2 Comments

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

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

I’ll help them out, all right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, fuckmeat, wanna see something cool?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I show him the knife again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When I wake up I’m horny again.

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

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

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

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

Oh, well. There’ll be others.

Fantasy Scenario 11

On June 28, 2015April 30, 2016 By m3mayhemIn Fantasy Scenario SeriesLeave a comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fantasy Scenario 10

On June 28, 2015April 30, 2016 By m3mayhemIn Fantasy Scenario Series1 Comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What comes next, he probably won’t want.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not good enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fantasy Scenario 9

On June 28, 2015August 2, 2016 By m3mayhemIn Fantasy Scenario SeriesLeave a comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let’s see if that hallucinogen has helped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fantasy Scenario 8

On June 28, 2015April 30, 2016 By m3mayhemIn Fantasy Scenario SeriesLeave a comment

The process of selecting a target is never a lengthy one. What takes the time is sizing up the kill. After all, it doesn’t do to get careless. If I slip up, I stop having fun.

Which is why I’m sitting on this park bench, surreptitiously eyeing the kid. He’s about fifteen feet away and I know he’s eyeing me, too. He’s wondering if I’m good for any money and how to get it from me if so.

I know this because I’ve been watching him for a while. He’s in his late teens. He’s old enough not to have to worry about the cops picking him up as truant for being out here in the middle of the day. But he’s not old enough to buy alcohol. And I know that because I saw him come out of the trees at the top of the hill with an older man who offered him money. The kid wouldn’t take it and they both went down the other side of the hill. Thought I’d lost him then, but he showed up twenty minutes later with a six-pack.

I watched him slam the beers and realized that instead of taking cash, he’d had his trick go buy him the beer.

I grin—cheap little whore.

He’s wearing a gray knit ski cap but I can see blonde curls trying to escape beneath. Think his hair is dyed, though. There’s a very faint haze of black hairs on his upper lip. His hormones are just kicking in, turning his balls into overloaded sperm factories.

Just my type.

He leans back on his bench. He’s on the other side of the pathway, about ten feet to the south of my bench. He’s looking at me quite brazenly now. Well, he’s just downed six cans of beer in about twenty minutes. He’s trashed.

He gives me a big, goofy grin—almost a leer—and I’m instantly in love. That sweet, innocent smile, those half-lidded, compliant eyes, that not-so-innocent ass in those tight, low-slung jeans, his feet laced tightly in those white leather hightops…

I can’t wait to feel him die in my arms.

Ok, no question, he is flat-out leering at me now. He’s rubbing a bulge in his crotch and I’m impressed, not just by the size of the bulge, which is nice, but also by the fact that there’s a bulge at all, given how drunk he clearly is.

All it takes is a smile and he’s staggering over to me, still grinning. He slumps down beside me in a cloud of malt and hops. When he turns to face me, he flops in my direction so that his head is nearly resting on my shoulder. His eyes are a shade of jasper—a mix of jade green and blood red.

“Ya wanna BJ?” the kid slurs, “I’ll give ya one. Or you can put it in me if ya wanna. But you’re gonna have to pay me.”

He paused and giggled. “Or you can gemme fucked up. Want ya to get me fucked up.”

I grinned back. “How about both?” I offered, “I got some weed in my van. Let’s go get high and see if we can think of something fun I can pay you for.”

“Fuckin’-A, dude, les’ roll,” the punk agreed, somewhat unsteadily. But he got to his feel easily enough and was able to follow me without stumbling too often.

I had a blunt already rolled. I let the boy smoke it himself; I wasn’t going to hit it. I’d sprinkled a ground Valium on it as I rolled it.

It’s only a couple of hits before the fuckmeat is down. I strip him down in the back of the van, cutting his clothes off of him with a knife. As usual, I let him keep his shoes and his cap. I like it when they die with their footwear on.

I use a thick black zip tie to bind the bitch’s hands behind his back. I’m surprised at how resilient he is; he’s waking up much more quickly than he should. But’s he’s not putting up a coordinated defense—he’s still drunk and drugged.

He doesn’t put up a fight as I spit into my hand, lube my cock with it and stuff it up the kid’s ass. He does cry out, but not loudly enough that I need to worry. I do need to be careful, though. We’re still in the parking lot for the park. There’s a basketball court in use about fifty yards away.

Little fucker is a natural homo. He wraps his smooth tight legs around me and digs his hightops into my ass as I start fucking him. But he’s struggling, too, trying to get his hands free.

I think it’s time to get the show on the road.

The best thing I’ve found to use—so far—is a length of plastic clothesline. But no one uses clotheslines around here anymore so it’s hard to find. But I found some.

I loop it around my hands twice before I loop it around his neck. That way I’ve got a nice, strong grip.

Amazing how cutting off the air always seems to sober them up. Or maybe it’s just the terror. I’d like to think it is.

I lean down over my fuckmeat. He’s on his back, his hands bound painfully behind him. His legs are around me, my dick is in his ass and I have a cord tight around his neck.

The boy stares at me, wide-eyed. His mouth moves, but only a thick, grunting, gagging sound comes out.

“Yeah,” I whisper to him, “that’s it, you fucking faggot whore. Ya wanted to get paid for this fuck? Don’t worry, you bitch. You’ll get paid good. I’m gonna get off as you die on my cock. But don’t worry about missing the fun, fucker, cause I’m gonna make you die slow.”

I tighten down on his throat a little more. Creases begin to appear in his neck where the cord has sunk in. His face is darker now, his struggles more violent. His smooth muscular chest rises and falls beneath my own as the punk tries desperately to draw in some air. His eyes fill with tears as they plead silently with me, begging to be spared.

“Ya wanna live, boy? Too fuckin’ bad. You’re here so I can use you and toss you out like garbage.”

His face is nearly black. His red eyes bulge and dart frantically and I can seek pinprick hemorrhages in the skin around them.
The gagging and choking sounds stop as his tongue swells and pushes past his swollen blue lips.

“Yeah, boy, that’s it. Gimme what I want. Fight it to the end. Fight hard and make me cum. Work it, punk, work my fuckin’ cock…”

I wrap the cord around my hand one more time and clamp down on the boywhore’s neck as hard as I can. There’s a momentary resistance and then the cord sinks deeply into his neck, with a crunching sound. I’ve crushed the punk’s esophagus. He knows that terrible pain is the point of no return. No matter how hard he fights, he’s nothing but meat now.

The kid goes rigid, locking his legs around me, driving my tool deep inside him. His head rises up and begins to shake violently, his eyes roll back in his head.

The fucker’s head slams back down onto the floor of the van, his face covered with tears and snot and foamy spittle down his chin. I lean forward and feel something splash against the underside of my jaw.

Kid blew his death load all over me. I was almost too busy to notice it, the way his rectum had seized hold to my dick and was working it over. As I spew my burning semen into the the bitch’s hot thrashing colon, I’m still tightening the cord around his neck. As he convulses, blood leaks form his ears.

The boy’s death throes went on for another two minutes. I know, because I was squirting the entire time.

I need to go; I‘ve been in this parking lot too long. But I’m taking my fuckmeat with me. And later on—well, he’s just laying there, legs spread, white blank eyes staring dully into nothing. It’s nice to know he’ll be waiting for me.

Meat Chronicles 17–Carnivore Uncaged

On June 27, 2015February 8, 2017 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 15–Getting the Point

On June 27, 2015February 8, 2017 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 11–Emo Slut

On June 27, 2015February 8, 2017 By m3mayhemIn Meat ChroniclesLeave a comment

It’s been a while since I’ve been hunting. There was a big fuss when they found my last two. Seems one of the worthless little junkies was related to some suburban alderman. I‘ve needed to lie low a bit.

I’m still staying away from the ‘burbs for a bit. Gonna run down to the ghetto and look for a rentboy; there’s never any outcry when a hustler turns up snuffed.

It’s a hot summer night and there are lots of boys out. Lots of whores, too. Might sound like a kid in a candy shop, but I can’t have any. There are too many witnesses out here on the main drag. I have to turn down the side streets.

I’ve done this before. For some reason, I always turn west off the strip. Tonight, on a whim, I turn east. I haven’t been back here in years; it used to be kinda a rough neighborhood.

It still is. There are more gaps in the rows of crumbling old houses, cut into shoddy apartments. More rubble-strewn vacant lots and fewer streetlights. Otherwise it’s exactly as I remembered it.

The further east I go from the bar district, the fewer people are out on the streets. Within three blocks, I don’t see anyone at all. Goddammit. I need to turn around and head west.

I take the next left and as I make the corner, my headlights swing across a boy on the sidewalk. I pull to the curb. He’s a whore; I can tell just by looking.

He’s wearing a ball cap backwards—looks like it’s made of gray suede. Dangling out from under it is a long fringe of straight black hair, long bangs nearly obscuring his large dark eyes, emo-style.

He isn’t wearing a shirt. He’s slim but with some definition—his torso looks like photos I’ve seen of a certain punk-ass pop star bitch I’d love to spend an hour or two with. It’s humid and beads of sweat glitter in the shadows on his chest and highlight the biceps on his smooth arms.

He’s wearing baggy jeans halfway down his ass. The look has never done anything for me but I can see his skin-tight boxers underneath, the waistband bisecting his flat, firm abdomen a good four inches above his thick but loose leather belt. On his feet are thick-soled skate shoes, large white laces untied and flopping loose.

As he approaches me, I can see a bulge forming in his groin—just below his belt; if his pants were any lower, he could use the waist as a cockring. There’s a streetlight about fifty yards away. It gives enough light for me to catch a twinkle from the studs in his ears. There’s a large, ornate cross tattooed on his left shoulder.

He hocks and spits as I roll down the window. Idly scratching at his dick, he leers in at me. “You can blow me for twenty,” he drawls. “For fifty, I’ll knock ya around. For one fifty, I’ll blow you. ‘Course, I’ll take it in kind, too. Crack or powder. You got black tar, you can do what you want to me. But you gotta gimme some first.”

Wow. Hardcore street cunt. This little shit is flat-out offering to get punkfucked for drugs.

I grin. “Guess it’s a lucky night for both of us. I got some tar back at my place. And I got a J here to get us there.”

His eyes light up and he immediately grabs for the door handle. He doesn’t look like a heroin junkie. Either he hasn’t been doing it long or has trouble getting it; probably a combination of the two. At any rate, he’s excited enough not to question what I’m doing to him until it’s too late for him to get away.

I don’t have any heroin. I won’t need it. The joint I hand him is laced slightly with a ground-up sedative. I think it’ll be enough. He’s a cheap street whore who’s probably had to fight out of some bad situations before, but he’s shorter, smaller, and nowhere near as built as I am. There’s enough to take the edge off him, at least. From there, I’ll have no problems putting the bitch down.

He leans back in the passenger seat. As he tokes away, he pops in earbuds attached to his cheap phone. Soon I can hear the faint sound of gangsta rap bouncing off his deadened eardrums.

He’s already kinda limp when we get back to the killing pit. I still haven’t even decided how I’m gonna off the little cunt and he’s already climbing out of the van and staggering behind me in the treacherous darkness of the sleazy apartment parking lot.

Once we’re inside, he turns to me—actually, it’s more like he swings in a wide half circle. “Where’s the shit, dude?” he says. I’m kinda surprised his speech isn’t more slurred—he must have a higher tolerance than most of the meat I find. But then, I haven’t sunk quite so low on the food chain as this before.

He’s hot, though. I’m gonna snuff him in his prime. I wouldn’t give him more than a year before his looks are gone and he’s literally worthless. And since he’s a cheap skank, he’s likely to end up on meth, the bargain-basement of drugs. That shit’ll eat you up from the inside out. If that happens, he won’t last six months. Worst-case scenario—he ends up in an alley, huffing paint behind a dumpster.

So really, I’m doing the little slut a favor. He’d thank me if he knew. But he’ll never know, of course; he’s just a useless little whore without much of a brain, anyway.

“In there,” I reply, nodding towards the bedroom. “But strip out here first.”

He shrugs. “Ok, dude. Tell ya what, you throw in some points and I’ll let you fuck me.” He unbuckles his belt and his jeans fall to the floor. They’re so large he can literally step right out of them.

He stands before me in gray. His cap, his skate shoes, his boxers that (in contrast to his jeans) are so tight they look sprayed on—all are gray. Not only can I see his balls, large gray sacks stretching the material between his legs, I can see some of the veins running along his thick hog; they must be huge.

“Get them off, too,” I snap. “You can keep the shoes.”

“And the cap?” he asked.

“You can keep that, too. Won’t stay on long, anyway, with what I’m gonna do to you.”

He peels off the boxers, his massive dong springing free and bobbing in front of him. I nod towards the bedroom door. He gets it. He goes in and I follow.

The room is dark as he enters and I keep it that way. He’s too fucked up to really care, so he keeps walking until he stumbles into the bed and falls on it. He flounders for a moment before I’m on him, dragging him to the head of the bed and handcuffing him to the headboard. Only then do I turn on the only light in the room and reveal the slaughter room, the blood- and sperm-stained mattress he’s lying on.

He looks around dazedly, trying to figure out what’s going on. His normally sharp street sense, dulled by the drugs, takes a moment to register the surroundings. I can tell when it finally sinks in; his eyes grow wide and the expression of fear is both unmistakable and erotic. He inhales deeply in preparation for a scream. I punch him twice, hard as I can, driving my fist like a jackhammer into the cunt’s firm but unsuspectingly yielding belly, then into his jaw.

He exhales in a mighty grunt, followed by another as the blow to his face registers. Just to make sure, I slam another one into his solar plexus, leaving him writhing in agony on the crusty mattress.

As pain curls him into a fetal position, I slip off my t-shirt. My jeans are tight around my legs and my ass. It fells good and I don’t feel like taking them off or removing my black leather harness boots. I simply unzip my fly, letting my cock flop out like a length of bratwurst, gleaming and oozing with precum at the thought of the suffering I was about to inflict on this slutboy.

As the punk rolls about in pain, desperately trying to breathe, I kneel between his legs and grab his right ankle. Gipping him tightly, I start slipping the thick flat white shoelace free from his jerking skate shoe. The moment it’s out, I grab his left ankle and do the same.
The laces are about ¼’ wide and about 18” long. They’re not really long enough for me to get a good grip, but the laces from his skate shoes are good enough to choke him with. I slip them behind his head and pull them tight.

He bucks and jerks as his air is cut off. My long cock, not yet fully hard, brushes against his taint as his pelvis flails. His arms pull frantically—and vainly—at the handcuffs chaining him to the headboard. He bends his back, thrusting his flat smooth abdomen upwards as his large velvety balls slap against my belly.

Straining his arms, the emo cunt tries to pull himself up towards the headboard, planting his laceless shoes on the bed for leverage. He succeeds in getting enough slack to bend his arms, letting him swing at my head with his elbows.

I’m not taking that shit. I yank violently on the laces. They sink deeper into his neck; his being to bulge—then they snap.

The whore inhales, a deep, sobbing gasp. Angry red lines still twist about his neck where the laces had dug in. He relaxes visibly, the desperation fading out of his struggles. I’m pissed. Grabbing the slut’s ankles, I drag him back into position lower down on the bed. He begins to beg in a ragged, rasping croak.

“Fuck, don’t, man, don’t kill me—oh fuck, please don’t, do whatever you want to me, anything, dude, just please don’t kill—uhh!”

I shut him up with a blow to the face, a piledriver straight from my shoulder into his jaw. After his grunt of shock and gasp of pain, he turns his face to me.

His full lips are swollen and bleeding. His straight black hair is plastered to his forehead by a slick film of sweat. His large dark eyes are wide with the awareness of how completely he’s in my control. I can do whatever I want to him and kill him anyway, and he knows it.

Time for him to realize I know it, too.

“Ok, here’s what’s gonna happen, you piece of shit. You’re gonna die tonight like the fucking whore you are, riding my hog as you kick away your last few minutes on earth.” I grin down at him as I lean over, gripping his legs behind the knees and throwing his shoes up on my shoulders. “Ya ready for it, meat? Ready for the last cock you’re ever gonna have slammed up your reamed-out hole? No? Tough shit, you fucking worthless slut, cause you’re getting’ it anyway.”

I hock and spit the same way he’d done when he approached me—except mine was for lube. And it was all the lube there was gonna be. I just wanna make sure I’m comfortable. I could give a shit about the meat; he’s only here to die.

I shove my fat, dripping head in, feeling it push forcibly past his sphincter. His groan rises into a shrill scream. I don’t want too much noise, so I pop him in the face again and he quiets into a subdued moaning. I shove in another inch and he begins to build into a squeal. This time, I bust his nose, feeling it crunch under my knuckles.

I shove in another inch. His moaning and snuffling rises in volume, but not to unacceptable levels. Little bitch is starting to learn his place.

Let’s see how well. Enough inching in. I plunge the rest of my dick into his hole in a long, sustained thrust, feeling his tight asshole being stretched out of shape around the base of my cock, skin splitting, making the whore bleed. And scream.

Good. I punch him again. “Shut up, you useless pussyboy. Take my cock, slut and learn to love it, cause it’s gonna love you to death. When you die, I’m gonna hose your guts with cum.”

I rise up on my knees. His legs remain thrown up over my shoulder; I can feel them trembling. He’s clenched his muscles so tightly in the agony of having his ass split open that his thighs and calves have locked in a cramp. Much as he might want to, he can’t stretch them far enough to get them off of me; he’s stuck there.

I look down at him, his snot- and blood-smeared face, tears trickling down from the corners of his huge eyes—eyes that look so innocent even though they’ve seen every perversion under the sun…

I start unbuckling my thick brown leather belt. “Little piece of shit broke your own laces, huh? Bad move, dude, seriously bad. See, now you’re gonna have to deal with whatever I can improvise and it looks like it’s gonna be my belt. Now, you’da ended up just as dead with the laces, but they’d have hurt less. I’m gonna fuck you up so bad with this belt you’re gonna welcome death as a merciful escape from your own private hell. You think it hurts when I stick my dick in ya? Wait’ll you see what it takes to make me cum, whore.”

I’m a sick and cruel bastard, I know, but this worthless little street tough isn’t worth anyone’s sympathy. And I love raping their minds as much as their assholes.

Which gives me an idea; I may try that literally at some point…

But not now. The kid is where I want him. He lies still, quivering and sweating in physical and mental shock. His hard, lean body is my toy, waiting for me to use it as I wish. Beads of sweat trail across the elaborate cross tattoo on his shoulder. From between his swollen, parted lips comes a faint keening sound, somewhere between a moan and wail.

Grabbing a handful of his hair, I raise his head to slip the belt behind it. He must know what’s coming, but he doesn’t resist. I’m a bit surprised how acquiescent he is; I’d’ve thought a cheap junkie hustler would put up a fight. After all, these types will go into any situation, no matter how sketchy, for the sake of their high. They have to have a certain innate sense of danger to survive long.

Of course, this one won’t survive long. Maybe that proves the point.

I slip the belt back through the buckle, pulling up into a simple loop around the kid’s neck. As I tighten it around his throat, I slip the buckle around to the front so that it’s placed directly over the Adam’s apple.

“Time to get down to business, fuckmeat. Don’t worry, dude you don’t have to do much, just lie there and die in nightmarish pain. And, see, I don’t have to do anything either, cause as you die you’re gonna work my cock like a good little whore. You might even get off yourself, but your brain will probably be too damaged for you to enjoy it. But this way we both win. I get a load of spunk milked outta me by a dying cumpig and you get the death you deserve, you fucking slut.”

I wrap the belt around my right wrist and place my left hand on the cunt’s jaw. I pull towards me with my right hand and push away from me with my left, maintaining a rhythmic pumping in the whore’s ass the entire time.

The belt tightens instantly, cutting off all sound from the whore. He’s registered his last protest. From now on, he dies in silence; mute, unable to cry out in pain or fear. He can only communicate with his body. And he makes his message clear right away.

He fights, oh my god, how he fights. Fuck acquiescence, this kid doesn’t wanna die, judging by the way his body twists and writhes under me. The loud rattling of the handcuffs testifies to the frantic flailing of his arms. I can feel his belly slide under mine, friction eased by a sheen of slick perspiration.

His agony is beautiful. It gives meaning and purpose to his useless, wasted life. This is his reason for existing, his raison d’etre. He was born just so that I could drain my seed into his corpse.

The steel buckle sinks below the surface of the skin, compressing the larynx into the back of the esophagus. My left hand is clamped over the kid’s face, fingers spread so I can still see the look in his eyes…

He’s in excruciating pain, his eyes swelling and protruding from their sockets. I can see the skin on his face darken with each passing second. I remove my hand from his face, slipping it down to his throat, just above the belt. I continue to apply a string downward pressure, just as I continue to pull up on the belt, as brutally as I can.

“How’s that feel, motherfucker? Hurt enough for ya, bitch? How ya like dying? Feels pretty fuckin’ good to me, cunt, I gotta tell ya. You’re jackin’ me really good, whore. See, this is what all of ya really want; it’s why you’re out there on streets. You want an alpha male to come and fuck ya to death. Well, guess what, you cockpig—it’s your lucky night.”

His face is growing distorted as the pressure builds above the constriction in his throat, but I can still make out an expression of denial and disbelief. He’s getting away from me by retreating mentally. I need to bring him into reality.

I sit up on my knees again. My jeans tighten around my ass as I pull up, but even though my dick pulls back out of the whore’s ass, it’s long enough that the head still stays inside his rectum. I’m far enough down the bed that my boots dangle over the end.

The leather belt is still wrapped around my right wrist. I lean back, pulling my arm tight as I do. The slut’s head rises off the bed, pulled up by his neck as I yank on the belt. His arms, cuffed to the headboard over his head, twist behind him as he rises.

I keep pulling, staring deeply into the boy’s eyes, waiting for the moment he comes back to me. I know it when I see it.

“Fuck yeah, you piece of shit, you don’t get to take an easy way out. Suffer, motherfucker, feel every second of the pain I give you. It keeps your ass tight. As long as you can do that, you live. The moment you stop, you’re useless to me and I make you into meat. Understand, you worthless rentboy scum? Take the pain, bitch, or die. Your choice. I’m willing to bet you’ll take all I can give you and more, just to keep clinging to another second of your wasted life. I hope so; fucks like you always make me cum so hard when you fight the inevitable…”

I violently yank the belt, pulling the meat close to me. There’s a sound like the ripping of gristle as his shoulders pop out of joint and the tendons tear apart. His eyes, even bulging as they are, swell to the size of hubcaps in horror; he’d be screaming in agony if he could push air past his throttled larynx.

“That’s it, bitch, now you’re working my dick like a good little whore. See how easy it is with the right motivation? I can do this all night. Sounds like fun, huh, you slut? Was this what you wanted when you went out tonight to get fucked? Isn’t this what you’ve truly desired in the depths of your disgusting fucking pig soul?”

His face, black and puffy, stares back at me, his protruding, bloodshot eyes locked helplessly onto mine. He can hear me; he knows what I’m saying. I think he’s turned on; at any rate, his cock is erect and glistening. It pokes into my belly; he’s up against me at an angle that makes it stick into my abdomen like a heated metal bar.

His legs thrash violently, slipping off my shoulder to kick aimlessly at the mattress. His physical condition is so extreme that it overrides his leg cramps, tearing muscle tissue in the process. As he flails, the right skate shoe flies off, ricocheting off the far wall and landing in the middle of the floor. The left shoe stays on. It continues to kick at me as his rank right foot, scraping at the mattress, soon frees itself from its reeking sock and I can see his toes curl as he dies.

As damage from lack of oxygen progressively destroys his brain, the cunt’s ass convulses along with the rest of his body controlled by his increasingly unstable nervous system. I can feel it spasm, the seizures flowing along my shaft like—god, there aren’t words. He’s dying on my dick. These are the last seconds of his life and he’s still working my dick like the fucking cumwhore deathpig that he is.

I stop the mindfuck. He has no mind left to fuck. He’s nothing but spasming, jerking meat, squeezing my cock in his death throes. Drool oozes down his chin and drips onto his chest, forced out of his mouth in a bubbling froth by his thick, black tongue, protruding from between his lips. The tip wriggles in an obscene manner; the fucking piece of shit is such a whore that he’s coming onto me in the extremes of death.

I’m ready to end it—ready to blow my load. But the slut hasn’t earned it yet. He’s worked hard and given his all, but his worthless fucking hustler all wasn’t good enough to deserve my wad. I need one last physical reaction out of his fucked-out meat.

I yank up on the belt as hard as I can. Simultaneously, I bring my left hand up, driving my hand directly back into his face. Fuckin’ A, it’s exactly what the slut needed.

As his head snaps back under the force of my blow, the belt tightens around his neck, jerking forward and rupturing his vertebrae. At the same time, his larynx collapses into his esophagus with a loud cracking sound, like a large tree limb breaking.

It’s massive, fatal trauma to the central nervous system, and his entire musculature reacts in a death agony. As his torn sphincter tightens uncontrollably around the root of my dick like a cockring, his own dick suddenly rises up like a cobra. I can see it spasm visibly as it expels a phenomenal amount of semen in thick, ropy strands, shooting up to splatter and mat the hair on my chest. Before too long, my hard pecs, straining in the effort to waste the whore, are covered in his cum.

At the same time, I can see he finally knows his place by the way his colon vacuums the seed out of my tool like a Hoover. He’s nothing but an emo-style meat sack designed to hold my load and he’s finally realizing that. I had to destroy his brain to show him. It’s a shame that it’s the last thing he learns, but it had to happen at some point. As I fill his rectum with a boiling froth of spunk, I’m giving him the best exit he could have from his wasted life; after all, he’d probably die of an overdose soon enough, after a brief, unpleasant, degrading life.

At least I didn’t lengthen his suffering when I gave him a brief, unpleasant, degrading death. It’s what he’d have wanted, anyway.

Like most guys, I fall asleep after blowing a load. I as I drifted off, I marked the corpse as my territory by leaving my dick in its ass, letting my sperm continue to leak into the colon.
.

After a couple of hours, I woke back up, stiff as a board. There must be something wrong with me; maybe I produce too much testosterone. All I know it that I still wanted to claim the dead whore.

After freeing his hands from the cuffs, I drag him off the bed by the belt, pulling his flaccid body across the floor to the closet. I let the meat slump to the floor as I opened the door, but it wasn’t there long. I lifted it by the belt, grunting in effort, as I looped the thick leather strap over the hanger bar. I pulled the belt back after it crossed the bar, lifting the body up and, in effect, hanging it. I pulled the belt back out the closet door—the body hanging on the other side of the bar, facing away from me.

I’d thought this out beforehand. There’s already a nail hammered into the doorframe. I didn’t know it was gonna work out like this with this particular whore, but I’ve done this before.

Anyway—I pin the belt to the frame by the nail, sticking through one of the holes on the belt. The whoremeat is left dangling. The meat was slightly shorter than me, so his asscunt is right at the level of my hard cock as he dangles several inches off the ground.

I fuck his dead ass for several minutes. As his legs flop limply against mine, his other shoe comes off. His feet, one in an ankle sock and one bare, now kick in the air as I bang the corpse’s hole.

I grip his cold, firm thighs, my nails digging into his helpless, vulnerable flesh as I cry out and spew another load into his slowly stiffening ass.

I pull out, dripping, and stagger back to bed, seeking sleep. The street cunt can hang around like an old salami; I’ll take out the trash tomorrow.