M
m3m1
Guest
Ok, I'm creating a new thread for standalone stories. Seems like I can't ever make up my mind about what kinda story I want to write...
M
m3m1
Guest
Party & Punish...
Tommy was out looking for a good time and he was reasonably certain of finding one. He’d accentuated his lean, hard body with the kind of clothing Ralph liked to see him in. Tight “skinny” jeans in black, with a purple sleeveless t-shirt highlighting the contours of his smooth, slim chest, just giving the slightest hint of pectoral muscles. Ankle-high skate shoes of the same color completed his mating plumage.
He was nineteen, with long brown hair that stopped just short of his shoulders. His full red lips were surrounded with a faint fuzz of the same color; Tommy liked to image that it was a virile goatee. In reality it was a sparse haze that actually made him look a little younger than he actually was. At any rate, it certainly accomplished its purpose of attracting the eye; he got lots of admiring glances. Tonight he’d try for more than just a glance.
Ralph was sound asleep and had no idea Tommy had even left, much less taken the car. But Ralph was fat and middle-aged; the only reason Tommy tolerated him was because he had money—and was willing to spend it on Tommy. But, of course, nothing is free. Ralph liked to get fucked. Problem was, so did Tommy. So Tommy banged him and got access to the house, car, and bank account—but he didn’t get the sex he wanted.
Tonight wasn’t the first time he’d sneaked out after Ralph had fallen asleep. His slim form behind the wheel of the huge Cadillac had become a familiar sight as he trolled the back streets for hustlers. A quick pickup, some party drugs and a cheap motel room gave Tommy some release after performing for his sugar daddy all day (not that Tommy actually did anything for Ralph that day or most others, but he considered just being around the man was work enough).
Tommy, in other words, was a cheap whore looking for a cheap whore; the only difference between him and the rentboys he hooked up with was that he was filling a longer-term position than they did. But the motivations and mentality were the same.
Well, usually. Tommy didn’t know it, but tonight he’d find someone with motivations he couldn’t possibly have imagined.
He eased the big car around the corner onto the street that ran behind the clubs. This was the spot he picked up most of his tricks, but the two guys he saw—one at the corner, the other under a streetlight more than halfway down the block—had the same build he did. Tommy wasn’t interested; he wanted a real man to fuck the shit outta him tonight. These kids couldn’t give his ass the workout he was looking for.
That meant turning west and heading towards the highway. He’d expected this; it was where the rough trade was located, and rough was exactly what he wanted. He didn’t care if the guy was a junkie—hell, Tommy would take a hit or a bump along with him—but he had to have power and stamina.
He wasn’t always in the mood to get treated like a sex toy—well, no, that’s not true; he always liked it rough but that usually cost extra. Ralph would want to know where the money went. It came from his account, so he’d notice most of the time and Tommy would have to come up with a convincing lie about a necessary expenditure.
But Ralph had been generous; he’d just gotten a bonus from work and had given Tommy a large amount of cash, to do with as he wished. Naturally, Tommy couldn’t wait to get away from him and go spend it.
As a result, Tommy had promptly impaired his already negligible sense of judgment. He was slightly (read: extremely) intoxicated, having gotten Ralph to sleep by spending the evening insisting they get drunk in celebration of the bonus—knowing that the older man was diabetic and would pass out after three very strong cocktails.
He was also very high; he always had a steady supply of weed. Ralph knew and disapproved, but continued to pay for it on the basis that fucked-up Tommy was considerably easier to live with than stone-cold sober Tommy.
Long story short: one very high twink slut cruising around looking for rough sex. A recipe for disaster, but Tommy had gotten away with it before; this was far from the first time. He knew what he was doing—he thought.
He’d travelled about a mile and a half west when he spotted a dude hanging out on the periphery of a run-down convenience store; the kind of place with wire mesh in the windows and where business after dark is conducted via a drawer under three inches of bullet-proof glass.
He was standing next to a pole that had been installed thirty years ago to hold a payphone; the metal shell with the Ma Bell logo was still extant. A fluorescent light, still working, illuminated him, but the placement of a huge garbage bin blocked the view of the store itself. Tommy slowed abruptly—holy fuck, this one was hot.
He wasn’t tall, certainly not over six feet, but he was extremely well-built and dressed to show it. He had a swarthy, almost Italian appearance, with short jet-black hair and eyebrows. His face, with large dark eyes, even features and a Roman nose, was almost that of a model, but dark circles under the eyes testified to some…unhealthy habits.
He wore a denim vest, skin-tight jeans, combat boots—and, as near as Tommy could tell, nothing else. His huge smooth chest was clearly visible under the vest, swelling in front before dropping to the rippling firmness of his muscled abdomen. Given the dark-blue shadow wrapped around the hustler’s jaw, Tommy guessed the guy must shave his chest regularly; otherwise, it’d have to be covered in black hair. His lower arms certainly were, but not quite enough to hide the needle tracks in the inner elbow of his left arm. His upper arms bulged with biceps, though; they looked like they barely fit through the holes in the vest.
His jeans were so tight, his legs looked like they’d been painted with denim. Tommy was kinda surprised that he’d been able to find jeans that tight that still had such a large area in the crotch; nonetheless, the long tube of flesh was clearly defined as it strained the material. Tommy’s eyes slid down the hustler’s legs to his combat boots, laced, but not tied. He caught a glint of light from something stuck inside the right boot, but it didn’t register.
He wanted this guy inside him. He wanted to feel the dude’s cum splashing in his guts.
The hustler had noticed him the moment he braked. He approached as the passenger window rolled down. Up close, Tommy noticed the guy was sweaty and jittery. Serious junkie then—good. They usually can be gotten pretty cheap.
“Dude, I got a hundred plus whatever kinda hit you want if you’ll bang me like a screen door in a tornado.”
The hustler bent down to the window and grinned. “You payin’ for the hit? Sure. Keep drivin’ and pull over when I tell ya.” He opened the door and hopped in.
Tommy went three and a half blocks further west before the trick told him to pull over outside a decrepit apartment complex. The muscled dude got out and vanished into the darkness of the complex courtyard. Tommy waited patiently. When he’d slipped the whore two twenties for the coke, he’d made sure he’d seen that there was plenty more where that came from. The dude would be back.
Unfortunately for him, he was right.
In fact, he wasn’t gone more than five minutes. He reappeared from the shadows, still grinning, striding along with the smooth feral grace of a panther. Tommy got hard just watching him walk.
The moment the hustler was back in the car, Tommy pointed it west. A mile or two away some worn-out motor court motels still stood on what had once been the state highway. But the interstate had been put in a mile still further west, some fifty years ago. What had once been valuable commercial land was now mostly vacant lots strewn with rubble and glass shards. The two motels still standing survived by renting by the hour, no questions asked, open twenty-four hours. Given the hourly rate, the low overhead and the general utility of the places, they were probably making someone a mint.
Tommy pulled into the Shamrock Motel. He threw the car into park near the office and got out. He wasn’t quite as incapacitated as to forget to take the keys with him. He doubted the dude would take the car and go, but there was no sense in taking chances.
By the time the irony of that phrase was driven home to Tommy, he was in no position to appreciate the lesson.
Tommy left the car in the middle of the parking lot—wisely, perhaps, since everyone else had parked in front of the rooms and he was far too fucked up to fit the huge Caddy between the lines. He handed the key to the whore as he shut off the engine. Once they got out and he locked the doors, he stumbled after the dude, who headed straight towards the room.
The hustler had gone in and turned on the light by the time Tommy got to the door. He already knew what to expect—the cheap, thin, mis-matched carpet; the dented AC unit squealing like stuck pig for the sole purpose of pushing the fetid air around, the antique TV chained to the dresser, and burn marks on everything.
The stud already had his kit out and had drawn up the coke powder in a couple of syringes. He turned and faced Tommy and unzipped his fly. He reached in and uncurled his long, semi-soft cock like a length of rope.
“You want my cock? Pay me. Gimme the money, we’ll do a bump and I’ll fuck ya, man. I can get hard when I’m high. But I gotta get the money first.”
Tommy had been stripping while the hustler was talking. He bent down and retrieved his wallet from the pocket of his jeans on the floor. He made sure the hustler saw that the Franklin he slipped out had company, figuring the dude might be willing to go a bit further than most if he know Tommy would make it worth his while. For once, Tommy was dead right.
He placed the wallet on the dresser and continued to undress until he was wearing nothing but his socks and purple skate shoes. His dick, thin but long, jutted in front like a flagpole. The whore tied Tommy off with a strip of rubber and shot him up. As Tommy started to feel the train, the hustler injected himself. As the rush set in, he grabbed Tommy and threw him face-down on the bed.
Tommy had a metallic taste in his mouth; he knew he was seriously high and about to get plowed. He was happier than a pig in shit—which was a pretty good description of his situation. He moaned in pleasure as he felt the hustler grab his wrists and roughly twist his arms behind him. “Stay like that, bitch; I’m gonna tie you down before I fuck ya,” he heard whispered into his ear. He did as he was told.
He felt a cord wrapped multiple times around his wrists, painfully, before being tied in an excruciatingly tight knot. He moaned again, his mouth stretched into a broad grin. “Fuck yeah, man, rape the fuck outta me, dude,” he muttered. “Shut up, bitch,” the whore snarled back. Tommy buried his face in the pillow in a wave of pig lust, never wondering how the hell his hands would get untied after being bound so securely.
When it came, it was even more brutal than Tommy had been expecting. His head was forced violently down into the thin, scratchy pillows a split second before the dude’s cock tore its way through his sphincter.
Tommy screamed. It was muffled to a faint cry by the pillows. He twisted and writhed, instinctively seeking escape from the pain; it felt like someone had stuck a light bulb up his ass. He hadn’t realized the whore was this big—and as much as Tommy had whored his own ass out, that said a lot.
“Shut the fuck up, you piece of shit, and take my fuckin’ cock,” snarled the rough trade trick. Tommy writhed in pig lust, enjoying the pain. Deep in his slut soul, he loved being treated like the whore he truly was, and he didn’t mind paying for it.
The dude pulled Tommy closer to mount him more securely. Tommy could feel his jeans rasping against his outer thighs with each thrust, could feel the older man’s boots flexing against his own feet in rhythm with each agonizing penetration of his ass. Suddenly, the trick straightened his back and pulled his vest off, his massive, muscled chest slick with sweat, his pecs and biceps glistening in the dim light—not that Tommy, face down on the bed, was in a position to appreciate any of it.
“Ya like that, ya little fuckin’ faggot,” sneered the trick as he pumped Tommy’s ass. Given that he was still forcing Tommy’s face into the pillow, the expectation of a reply would probably be unreasonable. He let go, disentangling his hand from Tommy’s long hair for a moment. Tommy raised his head and gasped for air, emitting faint whines with each lungful.
The trick grabbed him roughly and turned him slightly on his left side, bringing his own right leg up and planting his right boot in front of Tommy’s face. Tommy had a perfect view when the dude pulled the folding buck knife out of his loose boot. His eyes widened as the trick opened it, revealing a serrated five-inch blade.
“What the fuck, man?” he whispered hoarsely. “What’s that for?”
“”It’s to stick into you, you worthless faggot. Fuckin’ homo. You deserve to die, you fuckin’ pervert.”
Tommy gulped, then giggled nervously. “Dude, stop kidding. You’re fucking me too good not to like this. What’s it for?”
“It’s for you, you fucking cocksucking slut. Goddam fucking cock pig, I’m gonna waste ya and have some fun with your money. You’ll keep me high for a week at least, maybe more. Understand this, you fuckin’ bitch, I ain’t no faggot; I’m just wastin’ ya for your money. But I figure, why not enjoy myself while I put down another useless homo cunt?”
Deep within Tommy’s drug- and alcohol-hazed brain, the true danger of his situation began to seep through. He started to snivel and blubber, begging incoherently, not realizing how much his desperate babbling was turning the trick on. The fact that the guy’s rod seemed to have swollen to fill his entire rectum should have been a clue; Tommy had never experienced so painful a fuck to begin with. Every vein wrapped around his massive shaft seemed to force Tommy’s ass open even further.
“Fuckin’ A,” came a deep, lust-filled whisper into his ear, “I’m gonna kill you, cunt. You’re gonna die with my cock up your ass. Ain’t no one gonna miss a worthless little fuckhole like you. What, you got some sugar daddy payin’ yer bills? Dude, he’s gonna thank me for wastin’ your ass.”
Tommy was in deep panic by this point. He was frozen in fear, unable to process what was happening. So far the hustler was threatening him, but Tommy couldn’t see the knife any more. Maybe he got off on talking tough…
The first thrust of the blade, when it came, was nothing like Tommy had anticipated. It was almost icy cold, a quick penetration into his right side; thrust and twist, then out again. He gasped in shock, uncertain what had actually just happened.
Whatever it was, he knew it was bad. He reacted as expected; the trick could feel his hands clench involuntarily in pain and fear. Tommy drew his legs up in shock; the rough trade junkie could feel his victim spasm uncontrollably beneath him as the punk went into clinical shock. But the junkie wasn’t done with him yet.
The next few minutes of Tommy’s life—the last few minutes of Tommy’s life—were the stuff of nightmares. The torture inflicted on him far exceeded his own pig needs and wants.
The trick timed the thrusts of his knife to the thrusts of his dick; each time his long hard cock tore into Tommy’s guts, his long cold blade ripped into Tommy’s lungs, or liver, or stomach. At one point, the dude pulled Tommy up on his knees and, reversing his blade, thrust upwards into Tommy’s soft, smooth belly, slicing holes in his abdomen.
Tommy cried in pain and fear, sniveling and babbling as he died in horrible agony, terror seizing control of his body and rendering him utterly incapable of resisting as he was raped and murdered. And somewhere deep inside, as he felt the cold knife tearing into him, he knew that this was exactly what he’d always deserved, what he’d prowled the streets looking for.
It hurt, oh fucking god it hurt, please end it now I’m full of him his dick his knife oh fuck he’s sticking me everywhere shit the pain stop the pain oh fucking god stop the pain this is it his cock is plugging the hole in my soul or is it his knife it doesn’t matter he’s in me I’m going fuck that burns my ass so bad is that his cum it burns so fucking bad no not yet not ye--
The hustler took a couple of minutes to let his tool drain into the corpse, with the ease of someone who’d had a great deal of experience at this. After the quivering, bleeding meat milked his shaft dry, the muscled junkie pulled his swollen shaft out of the twitching smooth buttocks. He toweled the sweat off his hard, gleaming body and opened the wallet to empty it of cash before tossing it onto the huddled bleeding mass of hamburger on the blood-soaked bed.
“Fuck yeah, cunt, you’re gonna keep me higher than fuck for a long time,” he said with a grin to the still-twitching corpse on the stained bedspread. Slipping his vest (blood-free since he’d had the foresight to remove it) back on and stuffing his still-dripping dick back into his jeans, the whore searched Tommy’s jean for his keys.
As he walked out the door, he took a last backwards glance. Tommy’s blood-soaked corpse, eyes wide open in terror, gaped at the left-hand wall, his hair fanned out over his shoulders, his knees drawn up and his ass in the air. It was obvious that he’d been fucked and wasted like the useless cunt he was.
Ralph got his car back; it was found outside the drug complex with the keys in it. It had sustained no damage. Ralph himself cried for the better part of a week after learning of Tommy’s death, but within three months, found his finances improved. A year later, he moved to a much nicer neighborhood…
Tommy was out looking for a good time and he was reasonably certain of finding one. He’d accentuated his lean, hard body with the kind of clothing Ralph liked to see him in. Tight “skinny” jeans in black, with a purple sleeveless t-shirt highlighting the contours of his smooth, slim chest, just giving the slightest hint of pectoral muscles. Ankle-high skate shoes of the same color completed his mating plumage.
He was nineteen, with long brown hair that stopped just short of his shoulders. His full red lips were surrounded with a faint fuzz of the same color; Tommy liked to image that it was a virile goatee. In reality it was a sparse haze that actually made him look a little younger than he actually was. At any rate, it certainly accomplished its purpose of attracting the eye; he got lots of admiring glances. Tonight he’d try for more than just a glance.
Ralph was sound asleep and had no idea Tommy had even left, much less taken the car. But Ralph was fat and middle-aged; the only reason Tommy tolerated him was because he had money—and was willing to spend it on Tommy. But, of course, nothing is free. Ralph liked to get fucked. Problem was, so did Tommy. So Tommy banged him and got access to the house, car, and bank account—but he didn’t get the sex he wanted.
Tonight wasn’t the first time he’d sneaked out after Ralph had fallen asleep. His slim form behind the wheel of the huge Cadillac had become a familiar sight as he trolled the back streets for hustlers. A quick pickup, some party drugs and a cheap motel room gave Tommy some release after performing for his sugar daddy all day (not that Tommy actually did anything for Ralph that day or most others, but he considered just being around the man was work enough).
Tommy, in other words, was a cheap whore looking for a cheap whore; the only difference between him and the rentboys he hooked up with was that he was filling a longer-term position than they did. But the motivations and mentality were the same.
Well, usually. Tommy didn’t know it, but tonight he’d find someone with motivations he couldn’t possibly have imagined.
He eased the big car around the corner onto the street that ran behind the clubs. This was the spot he picked up most of his tricks, but the two guys he saw—one at the corner, the other under a streetlight more than halfway down the block—had the same build he did. Tommy wasn’t interested; he wanted a real man to fuck the shit outta him tonight. These kids couldn’t give his ass the workout he was looking for.
That meant turning west and heading towards the highway. He’d expected this; it was where the rough trade was located, and rough was exactly what he wanted. He didn’t care if the guy was a junkie—hell, Tommy would take a hit or a bump along with him—but he had to have power and stamina.
He wasn’t always in the mood to get treated like a sex toy—well, no, that’s not true; he always liked it rough but that usually cost extra. Ralph would want to know where the money went. It came from his account, so he’d notice most of the time and Tommy would have to come up with a convincing lie about a necessary expenditure.
But Ralph had been generous; he’d just gotten a bonus from work and had given Tommy a large amount of cash, to do with as he wished. Naturally, Tommy couldn’t wait to get away from him and go spend it.
As a result, Tommy had promptly impaired his already negligible sense of judgment. He was slightly (read: extremely) intoxicated, having gotten Ralph to sleep by spending the evening insisting they get drunk in celebration of the bonus—knowing that the older man was diabetic and would pass out after three very strong cocktails.
He was also very high; he always had a steady supply of weed. Ralph knew and disapproved, but continued to pay for it on the basis that fucked-up Tommy was considerably easier to live with than stone-cold sober Tommy.
Long story short: one very high twink slut cruising around looking for rough sex. A recipe for disaster, but Tommy had gotten away with it before; this was far from the first time. He knew what he was doing—he thought.
He’d travelled about a mile and a half west when he spotted a dude hanging out on the periphery of a run-down convenience store; the kind of place with wire mesh in the windows and where business after dark is conducted via a drawer under three inches of bullet-proof glass.
He was standing next to a pole that had been installed thirty years ago to hold a payphone; the metal shell with the Ma Bell logo was still extant. A fluorescent light, still working, illuminated him, but the placement of a huge garbage bin blocked the view of the store itself. Tommy slowed abruptly—holy fuck, this one was hot.
He wasn’t tall, certainly not over six feet, but he was extremely well-built and dressed to show it. He had a swarthy, almost Italian appearance, with short jet-black hair and eyebrows. His face, with large dark eyes, even features and a Roman nose, was almost that of a model, but dark circles under the eyes testified to some…unhealthy habits.
He wore a denim vest, skin-tight jeans, combat boots—and, as near as Tommy could tell, nothing else. His huge smooth chest was clearly visible under the vest, swelling in front before dropping to the rippling firmness of his muscled abdomen. Given the dark-blue shadow wrapped around the hustler’s jaw, Tommy guessed the guy must shave his chest regularly; otherwise, it’d have to be covered in black hair. His lower arms certainly were, but not quite enough to hide the needle tracks in the inner elbow of his left arm. His upper arms bulged with biceps, though; they looked like they barely fit through the holes in the vest.
His jeans were so tight, his legs looked like they’d been painted with denim. Tommy was kinda surprised that he’d been able to find jeans that tight that still had such a large area in the crotch; nonetheless, the long tube of flesh was clearly defined as it strained the material. Tommy’s eyes slid down the hustler’s legs to his combat boots, laced, but not tied. He caught a glint of light from something stuck inside the right boot, but it didn’t register.
He wanted this guy inside him. He wanted to feel the dude’s cum splashing in his guts.
The hustler had noticed him the moment he braked. He approached as the passenger window rolled down. Up close, Tommy noticed the guy was sweaty and jittery. Serious junkie then—good. They usually can be gotten pretty cheap.
“Dude, I got a hundred plus whatever kinda hit you want if you’ll bang me like a screen door in a tornado.”
The hustler bent down to the window and grinned. “You payin’ for the hit? Sure. Keep drivin’ and pull over when I tell ya.” He opened the door and hopped in.
Tommy went three and a half blocks further west before the trick told him to pull over outside a decrepit apartment complex. The muscled dude got out and vanished into the darkness of the complex courtyard. Tommy waited patiently. When he’d slipped the whore two twenties for the coke, he’d made sure he’d seen that there was plenty more where that came from. The dude would be back.
Unfortunately for him, he was right.
In fact, he wasn’t gone more than five minutes. He reappeared from the shadows, still grinning, striding along with the smooth feral grace of a panther. Tommy got hard just watching him walk.
The moment the hustler was back in the car, Tommy pointed it west. A mile or two away some worn-out motor court motels still stood on what had once been the state highway. But the interstate had been put in a mile still further west, some fifty years ago. What had once been valuable commercial land was now mostly vacant lots strewn with rubble and glass shards. The two motels still standing survived by renting by the hour, no questions asked, open twenty-four hours. Given the hourly rate, the low overhead and the general utility of the places, they were probably making someone a mint.
Tommy pulled into the Shamrock Motel. He threw the car into park near the office and got out. He wasn’t quite as incapacitated as to forget to take the keys with him. He doubted the dude would take the car and go, but there was no sense in taking chances.
By the time the irony of that phrase was driven home to Tommy, he was in no position to appreciate the lesson.
Tommy left the car in the middle of the parking lot—wisely, perhaps, since everyone else had parked in front of the rooms and he was far too fucked up to fit the huge Caddy between the lines. He handed the key to the whore as he shut off the engine. Once they got out and he locked the doors, he stumbled after the dude, who headed straight towards the room.
The hustler had gone in and turned on the light by the time Tommy got to the door. He already knew what to expect—the cheap, thin, mis-matched carpet; the dented AC unit squealing like stuck pig for the sole purpose of pushing the fetid air around, the antique TV chained to the dresser, and burn marks on everything.
The stud already had his kit out and had drawn up the coke powder in a couple of syringes. He turned and faced Tommy and unzipped his fly. He reached in and uncurled his long, semi-soft cock like a length of rope.
“You want my cock? Pay me. Gimme the money, we’ll do a bump and I’ll fuck ya, man. I can get hard when I’m high. But I gotta get the money first.”
Tommy had been stripping while the hustler was talking. He bent down and retrieved his wallet from the pocket of his jeans on the floor. He made sure the hustler saw that the Franklin he slipped out had company, figuring the dude might be willing to go a bit further than most if he know Tommy would make it worth his while. For once, Tommy was dead right.
He placed the wallet on the dresser and continued to undress until he was wearing nothing but his socks and purple skate shoes. His dick, thin but long, jutted in front like a flagpole. The whore tied Tommy off with a strip of rubber and shot him up. As Tommy started to feel the train, the hustler injected himself. As the rush set in, he grabbed Tommy and threw him face-down on the bed.
Tommy had a metallic taste in his mouth; he knew he was seriously high and about to get plowed. He was happier than a pig in shit—which was a pretty good description of his situation. He moaned in pleasure as he felt the hustler grab his wrists and roughly twist his arms behind him. “Stay like that, bitch; I’m gonna tie you down before I fuck ya,” he heard whispered into his ear. He did as he was told.
He felt a cord wrapped multiple times around his wrists, painfully, before being tied in an excruciatingly tight knot. He moaned again, his mouth stretched into a broad grin. “Fuck yeah, man, rape the fuck outta me, dude,” he muttered. “Shut up, bitch,” the whore snarled back. Tommy buried his face in the pillow in a wave of pig lust, never wondering how the hell his hands would get untied after being bound so securely.
When it came, it was even more brutal than Tommy had been expecting. His head was forced violently down into the thin, scratchy pillows a split second before the dude’s cock tore its way through his sphincter.
Tommy screamed. It was muffled to a faint cry by the pillows. He twisted and writhed, instinctively seeking escape from the pain; it felt like someone had stuck a light bulb up his ass. He hadn’t realized the whore was this big—and as much as Tommy had whored his own ass out, that said a lot.
“Shut the fuck up, you piece of shit, and take my fuckin’ cock,” snarled the rough trade trick. Tommy writhed in pig lust, enjoying the pain. Deep in his slut soul, he loved being treated like the whore he truly was, and he didn’t mind paying for it.
The dude pulled Tommy closer to mount him more securely. Tommy could feel his jeans rasping against his outer thighs with each thrust, could feel the older man’s boots flexing against his own feet in rhythm with each agonizing penetration of his ass. Suddenly, the trick straightened his back and pulled his vest off, his massive, muscled chest slick with sweat, his pecs and biceps glistening in the dim light—not that Tommy, face down on the bed, was in a position to appreciate any of it.
“Ya like that, ya little fuckin’ faggot,” sneered the trick as he pumped Tommy’s ass. Given that he was still forcing Tommy’s face into the pillow, the expectation of a reply would probably be unreasonable. He let go, disentangling his hand from Tommy’s long hair for a moment. Tommy raised his head and gasped for air, emitting faint whines with each lungful.
The trick grabbed him roughly and turned him slightly on his left side, bringing his own right leg up and planting his right boot in front of Tommy’s face. Tommy had a perfect view when the dude pulled the folding buck knife out of his loose boot. His eyes widened as the trick opened it, revealing a serrated five-inch blade.
“What the fuck, man?” he whispered hoarsely. “What’s that for?”
“”It’s to stick into you, you worthless faggot. Fuckin’ homo. You deserve to die, you fuckin’ pervert.”
Tommy gulped, then giggled nervously. “Dude, stop kidding. You’re fucking me too good not to like this. What’s it for?”
“It’s for you, you fucking cocksucking slut. Goddam fucking cock pig, I’m gonna waste ya and have some fun with your money. You’ll keep me high for a week at least, maybe more. Understand this, you fuckin’ bitch, I ain’t no faggot; I’m just wastin’ ya for your money. But I figure, why not enjoy myself while I put down another useless homo cunt?”
Deep within Tommy’s drug- and alcohol-hazed brain, the true danger of his situation began to seep through. He started to snivel and blubber, begging incoherently, not realizing how much his desperate babbling was turning the trick on. The fact that the guy’s rod seemed to have swollen to fill his entire rectum should have been a clue; Tommy had never experienced so painful a fuck to begin with. Every vein wrapped around his massive shaft seemed to force Tommy’s ass open even further.
“Fuckin’ A,” came a deep, lust-filled whisper into his ear, “I’m gonna kill you, cunt. You’re gonna die with my cock up your ass. Ain’t no one gonna miss a worthless little fuckhole like you. What, you got some sugar daddy payin’ yer bills? Dude, he’s gonna thank me for wastin’ your ass.”
Tommy was in deep panic by this point. He was frozen in fear, unable to process what was happening. So far the hustler was threatening him, but Tommy couldn’t see the knife any more. Maybe he got off on talking tough…
The first thrust of the blade, when it came, was nothing like Tommy had anticipated. It was almost icy cold, a quick penetration into his right side; thrust and twist, then out again. He gasped in shock, uncertain what had actually just happened.
Whatever it was, he knew it was bad. He reacted as expected; the trick could feel his hands clench involuntarily in pain and fear. Tommy drew his legs up in shock; the rough trade junkie could feel his victim spasm uncontrollably beneath him as the punk went into clinical shock. But the junkie wasn’t done with him yet.
The next few minutes of Tommy’s life—the last few minutes of Tommy’s life—were the stuff of nightmares. The torture inflicted on him far exceeded his own pig needs and wants.
The trick timed the thrusts of his knife to the thrusts of his dick; each time his long hard cock tore into Tommy’s guts, his long cold blade ripped into Tommy’s lungs, or liver, or stomach. At one point, the dude pulled Tommy up on his knees and, reversing his blade, thrust upwards into Tommy’s soft, smooth belly, slicing holes in his abdomen.
Tommy cried in pain and fear, sniveling and babbling as he died in horrible agony, terror seizing control of his body and rendering him utterly incapable of resisting as he was raped and murdered. And somewhere deep inside, as he felt the cold knife tearing into him, he knew that this was exactly what he’d always deserved, what he’d prowled the streets looking for.
It hurt, oh fucking god it hurt, please end it now I’m full of him his dick his knife oh fuck he’s sticking me everywhere shit the pain stop the pain oh fucking god stop the pain this is it his cock is plugging the hole in my soul or is it his knife it doesn’t matter he’s in me I’m going fuck that burns my ass so bad is that his cum it burns so fucking bad no not yet not ye--
The hustler took a couple of minutes to let his tool drain into the corpse, with the ease of someone who’d had a great deal of experience at this. After the quivering, bleeding meat milked his shaft dry, the muscled junkie pulled his swollen shaft out of the twitching smooth buttocks. He toweled the sweat off his hard, gleaming body and opened the wallet to empty it of cash before tossing it onto the huddled bleeding mass of hamburger on the blood-soaked bed.
“Fuck yeah, cunt, you’re gonna keep me higher than fuck for a long time,” he said with a grin to the still-twitching corpse on the stained bedspread. Slipping his vest (blood-free since he’d had the foresight to remove it) back on and stuffing his still-dripping dick back into his jeans, the whore searched Tommy’s jean for his keys.
As he walked out the door, he took a last backwards glance. Tommy’s blood-soaked corpse, eyes wide open in terror, gaped at the left-hand wall, his hair fanned out over his shoulders, his knees drawn up and his ass in the air. It was obvious that he’d been fucked and wasted like the useless cunt he was.
Ralph got his car back; it was found outside the drug complex with the keys in it. It had sustained no damage. Ralph himself cried for the better part of a week after learning of Tommy’s death, but within three months, found his finances improved. A year later, he moved to a much nicer neighborhood…
HangTime
Forum Resident
What a great story to start this thread!!
strangledead
Forum Regular
Thanks again for a fuckin-A story!! Totally boned while reading it... ;-)
M
m3m1
Guest
Thanks, gentlemen! Working on a couple more now...
M
m3m1
Guest
Mall Rat Trap
It wasn’t love at first sight—not at all—but it was certainly lust at first glance. Jason was bored out of his mind, standing in the concession line. He’d agreed to meet Sam in the food court of the mall before going to the theater, but like a fool, Jason had bought his ticket and gone inside before he got Sam’s text. Asshole bailed on him. So he was standing here waiting for overpriced popcorn before going to see a movie he’d already seen and hadn’t really liked.
Looking around, he noticed the dude standing next to him, in a parallel line (and moving just as slowly). He was instantly hard.
The guy was older than Jason—early thirties, perhaps. He could easily have passed for younger but for the tightness about his mouth and jaw and the lines that gave his eyes a squint. His hair was a mass of golden curls like that found on cherubim, but there was nothing else cherubic about him. He was very well-built and dressed to show it off. A simple white cotton t-shirt stretched tightly over his chest, looking at least two sizes too small. The nipples on his hubcap-like pecs would have been visible had he not been wearing a leather vest.
His narrow waist was circled by a thick black leather belt; the shirt was tucked into a pair of tight but very worn jeans. A slash on the left side revealed a bulge of thigh dusted with a fine gold fur. The knee was worn away on the right leg. The jeans had no further tears; they continued complete until they vanished into the tops of his black engineer boots.
As if he knew he was being looked at, the dude turned and stared directly at Jason, his thick arms flexing as he turned, revealing some tattoos---zodiacal symbols, Jason thought. Then he caught the dude’s eye. His eyes were still in a squint, but head-on, they were an unnerving ice-blue. Jason felt like he was being appraised like a side of beef.
He was well-dressed beef himself. He hadn’t set out today to get fucked—but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to get fucked. Even Sam, although that had gotten old for both of them. At any rate, he was an eighteen-year-old faggot mallrat and had dressed for sexual success.
He hadn’t needed much to enhance his natural assets; his face, clear and smooth, drew older men like a magnet anyway. He looked younger than his years and much less experienced than he really was. His brown hair was swept to a point in front and kept short behind. He was wearing a maroon t-shirt that clung to his slim but firm torso.
His tight low-rise jeans exposed flesh at the waist; in the back, a starburst tattoo could be seen just above the crack of Jason’s ass—his tramp stamp, so to speak. The jeans wrapped around his slender but defined legs. The shiny black hightop sneakers on his feet were loose, the tongues sticking out.
It was what the dude seemed to notice. At any rate, his assessment of Jason started with his shoes and worked its way up, making him feel even more like meat. It was incredible; Jason had never felt so judged on the basis of sexual utility before; it was like the guy was trying to decide if he wanted to buy a sex toy.
He got even harder at the thought. His skinny jeans were too tight to let him hide it. The man’s expression became a sneer of amused contempt when his gaze reached Jason’s crotch. He kept going up to take in his torso and—momentarily—his face, but he’d already seen what he’d needed to.
His steely blue eyes locked onto Jason large dark ones and he jerked his head towards the exit. He left the line, striding swiftly towards the door. Jason followed automatically, as if pulled along by the head of his dick.
Jason had followed lots of guys into the restrooms in the mall, but not too many outside. If they were hot enough, he’d go out and get fucked in their car. But they had to be really fucking hot.
He’d let this guy fuck him in the food court. He had no qualms whatsoever about following the man out to his car. He was willing to endure damn near anything to get this stud to drill his hole.
Exactly how much he was willing to endure was about to be tested to—and beyond—the breaking point.
It was a long walk. The alpha dude had parked way out at the end of the lot; Jason was winded by the time he got there. Once the man had opened the door, he slipped into the passenger seat gratefully. The dude climbed into the driver’s seat. Jason turned to him and had a brief impression of a fist before he had no impressions of anything at all.
His next awareness was of pain; it took a while to sort out exactly what was hurting. His face hurt and his left eye was swollen shut. But his hands hurt too, and his arms were in an awkward position.
As Jason began to sort out his physical sensations and the world swam up out of the depths, he came to understand his position. He was on his back, his arms up over his head with some sort of ligature around his wrists, painfully constricting the blood flow.
The dude; the hot blonde dude he’d followed out to the car. Jason realized he’d been assaulted.
He looked around frantically. He could barely see out of his left eye but his right eye worked fine. He was in a room. A small room, painted white, utterly bare except for the mattress on which he was laying. He couldn’t see what his hands were bound to above his head, but whatever it was, it was very firmly attached.
The dude was standing over him. He’d removed the vest and t-shirt and was rubbing one hand over the massive bulge in his groin while the other pulled and manipulated a nipple. “Good, you’re awake,” he chuckled, “I was afraid you might miss this.” Both his nipple and his dick grew erect under his handling.
“W-wait,” stammered Jason, “where—where am I? Wha-what’s h-happening here?”
“You know what’s happening here,” the older man said as he bent forward. His shark-like grin appeared for a moment just before his head was silhouetted by the overhead light, his hair becoming a halo of golden froth as he leaned in menacingly.
Jason whimpered in fear, in the realization of his surrender of control to this unknown and evidently malevolent entity. He had no idea what was happening; he thought he was gonna get raped—but he was still fully dressed. What the fuck was this dude doing?
The older man couldn’t help but notice the boy’s trepidation. He chuckled in predatory anticipation. He leaned forward again, placing his left foot on the bed. As he did so, there was a tearing sound and the denim on his left leg parted, the existing tear widening as the dude’s huge thigh muscle flexed within it and stretched it beyond its bounds.
The man paused and looked down at the material hanging loosely under his furry leg. His hand moved down to his boot. Jason arced his neck to follow him and noticed for the first time that something was sticking up from inside the alpha stud’s right boot. It was clearly a handle with a full molded grip, including finger holes, looking like nothing so much as a set of brass knuckles covered in black rubber.
As the blond dude’s hard hand closed on it and pulled up, it became obvious that it was the hilt of a knife. A long, wicked-looking knife. The blade was at least seven inches long. The four inches closest to the tip gleamed with a razor-like ferocity, then came another couple of inches of vicious serrations designed to rip tender skin apart irreparably.
The dude withdrew the knife slowly from his boot sheath, looking Jason straight in the eye while maintaining a cold smirk on his face. Jason felt himself entranced, the way snakes are said to entrance birds in folklore. The introduction of the weapon seemed to sap his will.
The older man cut away the torn leg of his jeans, first near his thigh, then slitting the leg all the way down and pulling off the remainder. He was now standing over Jason shirtless, his golden hair gilding his sculpted pecs and firm six-pack abs, his large dark nipples protruding like fireplugs. His right leg was still in worn pale denim down to his engineer boot, but his left leg was bare from the hip down. A white tube sock clung to his muscled calf above his left boot.
Despite his fear and physical discomfort, Jason was still turned on beyond belief. He knew that this was gonna end badly for him and the thought scared the shit outta him, but maybe—just maybe—the dude wouldn’t hurt him. Maybe he just wanted to dominate him.
Jason was enough of a slut to enjoy being treated like a slut. This guy didn’t need a knife to fuck him, but if he got off by fucking Jason at knifepoint, Jason didn’t care. As long as he got to have this stud’s cum inside him…
The dude didn’t have to unzip his fly. He was commando under his jeans. His huge tool was already stiff and poking out from under the ragged edge of the cut-off denim. Thick and heavily-veined, it was oozing clear precum as the man surveyed his captive fucktoy.
He suddenly bent over Jason, whose heart leaped into his mouth with fear. The dude saw that, too, and laughed outright. “Don’t worry, cunt,” he grinned, “I ain’t stickin’ this in ya yet. First, I gotta get to ya.” And with that, he cut Jason’s shirt off, revealing his firm, slim chest heaving in fear and excitement.
Abruptly, the man threw himself on top of Jason, grabbing a fistful of his hair and jerking his head back. His face less than six inches from Jason’s, his gaze drilled directly into the startled and scared punk’s eyes. He spit in the boy’s face before stroking his face with the tip of his blade, not quite breaking the skin.
“Yeah, you like fuckin’ bitch, you want me inside ya? Huh? That what ya want, faggot? Don’t matter, it’s what you’re gonna get. I’m gonna stick all kinda things in you and you’re gonna like it, you worthless fuckpig!”
Jason whimpered again, not realizing how his fear only added fuel to the older man’s lust. He closed his eyes and, gritting his teeth in determination, turned his head to the side as the hard dude ran the blade down from his face—moving slowly, oh so slowly and lovingly—over his throat and down his slick smooth chest.
“I know what you want, you fucking faggot cunt. I know what you been lookin’ for. Don’t worry, bitch, I’m gonna make it hurt so good you won’t be able to tell my long hot dick from my long cold blade. All you’re gonna know is that I’m stickin’ ya good, like the worthless fucking pig you are.”
He left the knife on Jason’s belly. It slipped and slid on the sheen of sweat that Jason was oozing in a state of terror.
He’d wanted to get fucked. That was all. Whatever was going on here, it was gonna…
He couldn’t let himself finish the thought. He simply wasn’t able to process it. He’d been picking up guys in the mall for three years now but he’d never imagined that he was in any danger beyond that of an STD.
That changed the moment the dude grabbed the knife and slammed it up his ass, slicing a hole in his jeans, short—and sphincter.
The pain was like a tsunami. It paralyzed him. He shuddered, gasping, his eyes wide and staring at the dude’s face with an expression of absolute horror. The man returned it with a cheerful grin and as Jason inhaled deeply, instinctively driven to scream, he was aware of a flash of movement on his left side and had just enough time to realize that the hilt of the knife was indeed a set of rubber-coated brass knuckles when another burst of pain in his face took him under…
When he surfaced from the pool of darkness, he was still swimming in a sea of pain. His ass—Jason had never known such pain existed. And now he was getting fucked through the wound.
The dude was raping him through the hole he’d cut in Jason’s jeans. Jason’s legs, still encased in tight jeans, were spread out as the man lay on top of him, pumping and thrusting his engorged shaft into Jason’s torn and bleeding hole. The kid’s hightop sneakers kicked in the air in agony as he twisted his arms fruitlessly against whatever restraints were binding them---he couldn’t see over his head and by now he’d lost the sensation in his hands due to the tightness of the ligature.
“Fuck yeah, cunt, had to cut your fuckhole open so it could handle my horse dick. Knew ya’d be cool with it, motherfucker, since you ain’t gonna be usin’ it once I’m done with it anyway. Now just relax what’s left of your asshole and enjoy what’s coming, slut.”
Jason looked up into the face hanging over him, a face gleeful in demonic lust. He was desperate to speak, to beg and plead for his life but his mouth was jammed full of something—an acrid scent of sweat—he realized the dude had shoved his t-shirt into Jason’s mouth to stifle his screams.
The next few minutes were not preserved in Jason’s memory; moments of blind panic rarely are. By the time they subsided, Jason was swimming in the sea of pain again, accompanied by the sound of cruel laughter.
“Ya done kickin’ yet, cocksucker?” the hard dude sneered. He spit in Jason’s face, then thrust his cock deep inside the kid’s torn and bleeding rectum, lying flat on top of him and stroking his face with the blade again. “Whaddaya think, fuckwad? Where do ya wanna get stuck next? Or ya wanna kick and jerk some more first? Just let me know, cause your kickin’ feels great on my cock.”
Jason’s screams of agonized terror were muffled to faint squeals by the rank t-shirt shoved into his mouth. His hands were useless; the flow of blood had been cut off by the restraints and they were little more than lumps of cold flesh. He kicked and jerked his legs but his jeans were so tight they hindered his movement. The heels of his shiny black sneakers couldn’t reach the dude’s back to leave any marks; no matter how much he thrashed, his jeans wouldn’t let him bend his legs far enough.
The blond man with the ice-blue eyes knew what he was doing. It was obvious in the calm and collected way he dragged the tip of the knife over Jason’s slim but muscular torso, allowing the anticipation of the first thrust, the first ice-cold blast of agony, to build for them both. He was setting Jason up for an experience that would fuse pain and pleasure in a way he’d never known possible.
First, he needed complete control of his victim; this was done by inducing shock. A quick jerk of the wrist and the knife sliced into Jason’s left flank. Seven inches of cold carbon steel pierced deep into the teen slut’s kidney as seven inches of hard throbbing cock tore into his colon. Jason was aware of both; it was a sensation he had never known could exist. His muted cry became a moan as adrenaline flooded his system and his body went into neurochemical overload.
His lithe, hard body, soaked in sweat, writhed against the blond dude’s chest, matting his fur with the kid’s rank perspiration. The alpha dude gave a gasp as Jason’s slashed sphincter fluttered against the base of his cock. He twisted the knife in the wound, shredding Jason’s left kidney as the punk grunted in agony and kicked his shoes helplessly in the air.
"Ya likin’ that, fuckpig? You’re squealing like a fuckin’ pig in heat, so I guess ya do. I knew you were such a slut you didn’t care what I stuck in ya. Fucking cunt. You wanted a real man to show you your place. Well, ya got it, motherfucker. Your place is kicking your life away on the end of my cock, and I’m about to grant your whore cunt wish!”
Jason shook his head wildly, in denial, in panic, in self-defense. It had no effect whatever and he knew it. What he couldn’t understand, in the middle of the horrible agony that was being forced upon him, was why some of the worst pain he was experiencing was in his own cock, which was swelling and oozing uncontrollably.
This guy was gonna rape him and kill him. He couldn’t be right. This couldn’t be what he wanted, Jason thought—but his dick said otherwise. It was swollen and purple, slapping against the dude’s belly as he got fucked, each impact leaving a spatter of precum in the alpha dude’s fur.
“Ready for it, cunt?” whispered the alpha blond, his blue eyes gleaming as he closed in for the kill. “Ready to experience pain beyond your worst nightmare? Ready to feel my cock spasm and pump your faggot asshole full of hot seed as I shove this blade into your head? Not that I fuckin’ care; I just want you to know what’s happening. See, I think it’s gonna take a little while for you to die. I sure the fuck hope so; I want you to enjoy this as much as I’m gonna. Feel it and enjoy it, you motherfucking faggot cunt; I’m gonna fill your ass with my spunk and your brain with my blade.”
His eyes were almost insane with lust and contempt as he spit one last time into Jason’s face and placing the tip of his blade under his jaw, as far back as he could, angled it directly up and began inserting it into the back of Jason’s oral cavity where the mouth met the esophagus.
As he’d promised, he did it slowly, allowing Jason to enjoy every agony-soaked moment of death. As the blade moved upwards, it sliced through the base of Jason’s tongue. Even in the excruciating nightmare of pain that followed, Jason was aware of the dude’s larger, harder, more muscular body holding him down and preventing him from thrashing too violently. He could also feel the alpha male’s long hard cock, like a hot shaft of iron, pinning him to the stained mattress.
In an almost idle moment of lucidity, Jason glanced around the bare white walls of the room and had time to vaguely wonder where he was dying. He would never know. He’d never know if his killer was caught. All he knew from this point on was the overwhelming agony of a brutal death.
“You’re getting’ loose, man,” leered the alpha male, “I guess I cut you open too soon. That’s ok, though. Wait till I get this sharp metal shaft into your sinuses. You’ll feel the crunch as I rip my blade through your skull. Fuckin-A, you fuckin’ piece a’ shit, you’re gonna taste blood and steel in your brain as you soak up my sperm. Ready for it, cuntwad, ready for that last grunt and thrust as I bury my cock in your worthless guts and my blade in your useless brain?”
Jason squealed like the pig in heat he was. He knew that he was utterly helpless in the hands of this man. He could only hold on in agony and terror, hoping for the mercy of a quick death. The fact that his dick was erect and straining, a steady stream of precum oozing from the tip, was beyond his control.
As the knife slashed up through his sinus tissue, Jason experienced a horrifying mortal pain, the pain that can only lead to death. His body instinctively clenched in resistance, tightening his ravaged sphincter around his killer’s raging erection. Each crunch of the blade tearing through the thin bone structure inside the skull reverberated in Jason’s head, amplifying the pain and contacting his anus, bringing more pleasure to the alpha dude.
One last thrust was all that was needed. A quick jerk of the dude’s wrist and Jason ceased to exist. A meat puppet jerked and spasmed, shooting great streams of semen uncontrollably, splashing the blond man’s chest and face. The alpha male grasped the thrashing meat, placing his hands on both shoulders and forcing the faggot’s convulsing corpse down to the root of his cock, draining every drop of sperm into the flailing colon.
Jason fell into a howling vortex of pain and orgasm. The dude had been right. He was in a place where he could no longer tell pain from pleasure; it was as if he was shooting agonizing razor blades from his cock while someone fucked his skull and was shooting a load in his brain.
Jason died awash in semen. He never knew where he died or the name of the man who killed him.
It wasn’t love at first sight—not at all—but it was certainly lust at first glance. Jason was bored out of his mind, standing in the concession line. He’d agreed to meet Sam in the food court of the mall before going to the theater, but like a fool, Jason had bought his ticket and gone inside before he got Sam’s text. Asshole bailed on him. So he was standing here waiting for overpriced popcorn before going to see a movie he’d already seen and hadn’t really liked.
Looking around, he noticed the dude standing next to him, in a parallel line (and moving just as slowly). He was instantly hard.
The guy was older than Jason—early thirties, perhaps. He could easily have passed for younger but for the tightness about his mouth and jaw and the lines that gave his eyes a squint. His hair was a mass of golden curls like that found on cherubim, but there was nothing else cherubic about him. He was very well-built and dressed to show it off. A simple white cotton t-shirt stretched tightly over his chest, looking at least two sizes too small. The nipples on his hubcap-like pecs would have been visible had he not been wearing a leather vest.
His narrow waist was circled by a thick black leather belt; the shirt was tucked into a pair of tight but very worn jeans. A slash on the left side revealed a bulge of thigh dusted with a fine gold fur. The knee was worn away on the right leg. The jeans had no further tears; they continued complete until they vanished into the tops of his black engineer boots.
As if he knew he was being looked at, the dude turned and stared directly at Jason, his thick arms flexing as he turned, revealing some tattoos---zodiacal symbols, Jason thought. Then he caught the dude’s eye. His eyes were still in a squint, but head-on, they were an unnerving ice-blue. Jason felt like he was being appraised like a side of beef.
He was well-dressed beef himself. He hadn’t set out today to get fucked—but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to get fucked. Even Sam, although that had gotten old for both of them. At any rate, he was an eighteen-year-old faggot mallrat and had dressed for sexual success.
He hadn’t needed much to enhance his natural assets; his face, clear and smooth, drew older men like a magnet anyway. He looked younger than his years and much less experienced than he really was. His brown hair was swept to a point in front and kept short behind. He was wearing a maroon t-shirt that clung to his slim but firm torso.
His tight low-rise jeans exposed flesh at the waist; in the back, a starburst tattoo could be seen just above the crack of Jason’s ass—his tramp stamp, so to speak. The jeans wrapped around his slender but defined legs. The shiny black hightop sneakers on his feet were loose, the tongues sticking out.
It was what the dude seemed to notice. At any rate, his assessment of Jason started with his shoes and worked its way up, making him feel even more like meat. It was incredible; Jason had never felt so judged on the basis of sexual utility before; it was like the guy was trying to decide if he wanted to buy a sex toy.
He got even harder at the thought. His skinny jeans were too tight to let him hide it. The man’s expression became a sneer of amused contempt when his gaze reached Jason’s crotch. He kept going up to take in his torso and—momentarily—his face, but he’d already seen what he’d needed to.
His steely blue eyes locked onto Jason large dark ones and he jerked his head towards the exit. He left the line, striding swiftly towards the door. Jason followed automatically, as if pulled along by the head of his dick.
Jason had followed lots of guys into the restrooms in the mall, but not too many outside. If they were hot enough, he’d go out and get fucked in their car. But they had to be really fucking hot.
He’d let this guy fuck him in the food court. He had no qualms whatsoever about following the man out to his car. He was willing to endure damn near anything to get this stud to drill his hole.
Exactly how much he was willing to endure was about to be tested to—and beyond—the breaking point.
It was a long walk. The alpha dude had parked way out at the end of the lot; Jason was winded by the time he got there. Once the man had opened the door, he slipped into the passenger seat gratefully. The dude climbed into the driver’s seat. Jason turned to him and had a brief impression of a fist before he had no impressions of anything at all.
His next awareness was of pain; it took a while to sort out exactly what was hurting. His face hurt and his left eye was swollen shut. But his hands hurt too, and his arms were in an awkward position.
As Jason began to sort out his physical sensations and the world swam up out of the depths, he came to understand his position. He was on his back, his arms up over his head with some sort of ligature around his wrists, painfully constricting the blood flow.
The dude; the hot blonde dude he’d followed out to the car. Jason realized he’d been assaulted.
He looked around frantically. He could barely see out of his left eye but his right eye worked fine. He was in a room. A small room, painted white, utterly bare except for the mattress on which he was laying. He couldn’t see what his hands were bound to above his head, but whatever it was, it was very firmly attached.
The dude was standing over him. He’d removed the vest and t-shirt and was rubbing one hand over the massive bulge in his groin while the other pulled and manipulated a nipple. “Good, you’re awake,” he chuckled, “I was afraid you might miss this.” Both his nipple and his dick grew erect under his handling.
“W-wait,” stammered Jason, “where—where am I? Wha-what’s h-happening here?”
“You know what’s happening here,” the older man said as he bent forward. His shark-like grin appeared for a moment just before his head was silhouetted by the overhead light, his hair becoming a halo of golden froth as he leaned in menacingly.
Jason whimpered in fear, in the realization of his surrender of control to this unknown and evidently malevolent entity. He had no idea what was happening; he thought he was gonna get raped—but he was still fully dressed. What the fuck was this dude doing?
The older man couldn’t help but notice the boy’s trepidation. He chuckled in predatory anticipation. He leaned forward again, placing his left foot on the bed. As he did so, there was a tearing sound and the denim on his left leg parted, the existing tear widening as the dude’s huge thigh muscle flexed within it and stretched it beyond its bounds.
The man paused and looked down at the material hanging loosely under his furry leg. His hand moved down to his boot. Jason arced his neck to follow him and noticed for the first time that something was sticking up from inside the alpha stud’s right boot. It was clearly a handle with a full molded grip, including finger holes, looking like nothing so much as a set of brass knuckles covered in black rubber.
As the blond dude’s hard hand closed on it and pulled up, it became obvious that it was the hilt of a knife. A long, wicked-looking knife. The blade was at least seven inches long. The four inches closest to the tip gleamed with a razor-like ferocity, then came another couple of inches of vicious serrations designed to rip tender skin apart irreparably.
The dude withdrew the knife slowly from his boot sheath, looking Jason straight in the eye while maintaining a cold smirk on his face. Jason felt himself entranced, the way snakes are said to entrance birds in folklore. The introduction of the weapon seemed to sap his will.
The older man cut away the torn leg of his jeans, first near his thigh, then slitting the leg all the way down and pulling off the remainder. He was now standing over Jason shirtless, his golden hair gilding his sculpted pecs and firm six-pack abs, his large dark nipples protruding like fireplugs. His right leg was still in worn pale denim down to his engineer boot, but his left leg was bare from the hip down. A white tube sock clung to his muscled calf above his left boot.
Despite his fear and physical discomfort, Jason was still turned on beyond belief. He knew that this was gonna end badly for him and the thought scared the shit outta him, but maybe—just maybe—the dude wouldn’t hurt him. Maybe he just wanted to dominate him.
Jason was enough of a slut to enjoy being treated like a slut. This guy didn’t need a knife to fuck him, but if he got off by fucking Jason at knifepoint, Jason didn’t care. As long as he got to have this stud’s cum inside him…
The dude didn’t have to unzip his fly. He was commando under his jeans. His huge tool was already stiff and poking out from under the ragged edge of the cut-off denim. Thick and heavily-veined, it was oozing clear precum as the man surveyed his captive fucktoy.
He suddenly bent over Jason, whose heart leaped into his mouth with fear. The dude saw that, too, and laughed outright. “Don’t worry, cunt,” he grinned, “I ain’t stickin’ this in ya yet. First, I gotta get to ya.” And with that, he cut Jason’s shirt off, revealing his firm, slim chest heaving in fear and excitement.
Abruptly, the man threw himself on top of Jason, grabbing a fistful of his hair and jerking his head back. His face less than six inches from Jason’s, his gaze drilled directly into the startled and scared punk’s eyes. He spit in the boy’s face before stroking his face with the tip of his blade, not quite breaking the skin.
“Yeah, you like fuckin’ bitch, you want me inside ya? Huh? That what ya want, faggot? Don’t matter, it’s what you’re gonna get. I’m gonna stick all kinda things in you and you’re gonna like it, you worthless fuckpig!”
Jason whimpered again, not realizing how his fear only added fuel to the older man’s lust. He closed his eyes and, gritting his teeth in determination, turned his head to the side as the hard dude ran the blade down from his face—moving slowly, oh so slowly and lovingly—over his throat and down his slick smooth chest.
“I know what you want, you fucking faggot cunt. I know what you been lookin’ for. Don’t worry, bitch, I’m gonna make it hurt so good you won’t be able to tell my long hot dick from my long cold blade. All you’re gonna know is that I’m stickin’ ya good, like the worthless fucking pig you are.”
He left the knife on Jason’s belly. It slipped and slid on the sheen of sweat that Jason was oozing in a state of terror.
He’d wanted to get fucked. That was all. Whatever was going on here, it was gonna…
He couldn’t let himself finish the thought. He simply wasn’t able to process it. He’d been picking up guys in the mall for three years now but he’d never imagined that he was in any danger beyond that of an STD.
That changed the moment the dude grabbed the knife and slammed it up his ass, slicing a hole in his jeans, short—and sphincter.
The pain was like a tsunami. It paralyzed him. He shuddered, gasping, his eyes wide and staring at the dude’s face with an expression of absolute horror. The man returned it with a cheerful grin and as Jason inhaled deeply, instinctively driven to scream, he was aware of a flash of movement on his left side and had just enough time to realize that the hilt of the knife was indeed a set of rubber-coated brass knuckles when another burst of pain in his face took him under…
When he surfaced from the pool of darkness, he was still swimming in a sea of pain. His ass—Jason had never known such pain existed. And now he was getting fucked through the wound.
The dude was raping him through the hole he’d cut in Jason’s jeans. Jason’s legs, still encased in tight jeans, were spread out as the man lay on top of him, pumping and thrusting his engorged shaft into Jason’s torn and bleeding hole. The kid’s hightop sneakers kicked in the air in agony as he twisted his arms fruitlessly against whatever restraints were binding them---he couldn’t see over his head and by now he’d lost the sensation in his hands due to the tightness of the ligature.
“Fuck yeah, cunt, had to cut your fuckhole open so it could handle my horse dick. Knew ya’d be cool with it, motherfucker, since you ain’t gonna be usin’ it once I’m done with it anyway. Now just relax what’s left of your asshole and enjoy what’s coming, slut.”
Jason looked up into the face hanging over him, a face gleeful in demonic lust. He was desperate to speak, to beg and plead for his life but his mouth was jammed full of something—an acrid scent of sweat—he realized the dude had shoved his t-shirt into Jason’s mouth to stifle his screams.
The next few minutes were not preserved in Jason’s memory; moments of blind panic rarely are. By the time they subsided, Jason was swimming in the sea of pain again, accompanied by the sound of cruel laughter.
“Ya done kickin’ yet, cocksucker?” the hard dude sneered. He spit in Jason’s face, then thrust his cock deep inside the kid’s torn and bleeding rectum, lying flat on top of him and stroking his face with the blade again. “Whaddaya think, fuckwad? Where do ya wanna get stuck next? Or ya wanna kick and jerk some more first? Just let me know, cause your kickin’ feels great on my cock.”
Jason’s screams of agonized terror were muffled to faint squeals by the rank t-shirt shoved into his mouth. His hands were useless; the flow of blood had been cut off by the restraints and they were little more than lumps of cold flesh. He kicked and jerked his legs but his jeans were so tight they hindered his movement. The heels of his shiny black sneakers couldn’t reach the dude’s back to leave any marks; no matter how much he thrashed, his jeans wouldn’t let him bend his legs far enough.
The blond man with the ice-blue eyes knew what he was doing. It was obvious in the calm and collected way he dragged the tip of the knife over Jason’s slim but muscular torso, allowing the anticipation of the first thrust, the first ice-cold blast of agony, to build for them both. He was setting Jason up for an experience that would fuse pain and pleasure in a way he’d never known possible.
First, he needed complete control of his victim; this was done by inducing shock. A quick jerk of the wrist and the knife sliced into Jason’s left flank. Seven inches of cold carbon steel pierced deep into the teen slut’s kidney as seven inches of hard throbbing cock tore into his colon. Jason was aware of both; it was a sensation he had never known could exist. His muted cry became a moan as adrenaline flooded his system and his body went into neurochemical overload.
His lithe, hard body, soaked in sweat, writhed against the blond dude’s chest, matting his fur with the kid’s rank perspiration. The alpha dude gave a gasp as Jason’s slashed sphincter fluttered against the base of his cock. He twisted the knife in the wound, shredding Jason’s left kidney as the punk grunted in agony and kicked his shoes helplessly in the air.
"Ya likin’ that, fuckpig? You’re squealing like a fuckin’ pig in heat, so I guess ya do. I knew you were such a slut you didn’t care what I stuck in ya. Fucking cunt. You wanted a real man to show you your place. Well, ya got it, motherfucker. Your place is kicking your life away on the end of my cock, and I’m about to grant your whore cunt wish!”
Jason shook his head wildly, in denial, in panic, in self-defense. It had no effect whatever and he knew it. What he couldn’t understand, in the middle of the horrible agony that was being forced upon him, was why some of the worst pain he was experiencing was in his own cock, which was swelling and oozing uncontrollably.
This guy was gonna rape him and kill him. He couldn’t be right. This couldn’t be what he wanted, Jason thought—but his dick said otherwise. It was swollen and purple, slapping against the dude’s belly as he got fucked, each impact leaving a spatter of precum in the alpha dude’s fur.
“Ready for it, cunt?” whispered the alpha blond, his blue eyes gleaming as he closed in for the kill. “Ready to experience pain beyond your worst nightmare? Ready to feel my cock spasm and pump your faggot asshole full of hot seed as I shove this blade into your head? Not that I fuckin’ care; I just want you to know what’s happening. See, I think it’s gonna take a little while for you to die. I sure the fuck hope so; I want you to enjoy this as much as I’m gonna. Feel it and enjoy it, you motherfucking faggot cunt; I’m gonna fill your ass with my spunk and your brain with my blade.”
His eyes were almost insane with lust and contempt as he spit one last time into Jason’s face and placing the tip of his blade under his jaw, as far back as he could, angled it directly up and began inserting it into the back of Jason’s oral cavity where the mouth met the esophagus.
As he’d promised, he did it slowly, allowing Jason to enjoy every agony-soaked moment of death. As the blade moved upwards, it sliced through the base of Jason’s tongue. Even in the excruciating nightmare of pain that followed, Jason was aware of the dude’s larger, harder, more muscular body holding him down and preventing him from thrashing too violently. He could also feel the alpha male’s long hard cock, like a hot shaft of iron, pinning him to the stained mattress.
In an almost idle moment of lucidity, Jason glanced around the bare white walls of the room and had time to vaguely wonder where he was dying. He would never know. He’d never know if his killer was caught. All he knew from this point on was the overwhelming agony of a brutal death.
“You’re getting’ loose, man,” leered the alpha male, “I guess I cut you open too soon. That’s ok, though. Wait till I get this sharp metal shaft into your sinuses. You’ll feel the crunch as I rip my blade through your skull. Fuckin-A, you fuckin’ piece a’ shit, you’re gonna taste blood and steel in your brain as you soak up my sperm. Ready for it, cuntwad, ready for that last grunt and thrust as I bury my cock in your worthless guts and my blade in your useless brain?”
Jason squealed like the pig in heat he was. He knew that he was utterly helpless in the hands of this man. He could only hold on in agony and terror, hoping for the mercy of a quick death. The fact that his dick was erect and straining, a steady stream of precum oozing from the tip, was beyond his control.
As the knife slashed up through his sinus tissue, Jason experienced a horrifying mortal pain, the pain that can only lead to death. His body instinctively clenched in resistance, tightening his ravaged sphincter around his killer’s raging erection. Each crunch of the blade tearing through the thin bone structure inside the skull reverberated in Jason’s head, amplifying the pain and contacting his anus, bringing more pleasure to the alpha dude.
One last thrust was all that was needed. A quick jerk of the dude’s wrist and Jason ceased to exist. A meat puppet jerked and spasmed, shooting great streams of semen uncontrollably, splashing the blond man’s chest and face. The alpha male grasped the thrashing meat, placing his hands on both shoulders and forcing the faggot’s convulsing corpse down to the root of his cock, draining every drop of sperm into the flailing colon.
Jason fell into a howling vortex of pain and orgasm. The dude had been right. He was in a place where he could no longer tell pain from pleasure; it was as if he was shooting agonizing razor blades from his cock while someone fucked his skull and was shooting a load in his brain.
Jason died awash in semen. He never knew where he died or the name of the man who killed him.
headsman
Let me finish you off
nice
M
m3m1
Guest
Mankiller: Snuff Movie 1
Tony sat bolt upright at the wheel of his car, staring directly ahead at the steps leading up to the gym’s back door. A feeling of shock, of the pleasure of the forbidden washed over him, leaving him feeling rubbery in his limbs. A man was coming down the steps into the parking lot; a man Tony recognized. It was as if he’d run into his favorite porn star—and in a way, he had. But there was a bit more to it than that.
This could be the opportunity he was looking for. It was certainly no time to be self-conscious. Brushing away any anxiety he might have, Tony left his car and approached the guy.
This gym had a huge gay clientele; being approached by another man in the parking lot was a common enough occurrence here. Especially here, in fact. The rear parking lot was small and surrounded by the back side of a strip mall. The ground sloped down from the front (where most of the parking was located), hence the need for stairs down from the back door. The lot was secluded and known as a good place for hookups.
And to the casual observer, that’s exactly what it would look like; two hot guys getting together. Tony was just under six feet tall. He had full brown hair, shoulder-length, that fanned out behind him. His face was clean and smooth, with large dark eyes that glittered with secret lust. He wasn’t heavily-muscled but there was strength in his slim build. He’d been on his way into the gym, so he was wearing a bright green t-shirt stretched over his firm chest and a pair of short black shorts that showed off his perfectly-formed legs. He wore blue Nike Airs with green laces that matched his shirt.
The guy he was approaching was much larger and more muscular. He was about six and a half feet tall, with short hair several shades darker than Tony’s. He was wearing an orange t-shirt that strained over the dude’s bulging pecs and constricted his arms, digging into the massive biceps. From beneath his white satin shorts, legs like the trunks of trees, shadowed by a haze of dark curly fur, dropped into yellow construction boots laced up over his ankles.
“I know you,” Tony said as he approached. “I’ve seen some of your stuff online.”
The larger man faced Tony. His short black hair faded into a dark stubble that shadowed his cheeks and covered his strong jaw. His eyes, ice-blue and narrow, fixed on Tony suspiciously. “I done a lot of stuff online,” he growled hesitantly.
“Yeah, I know,” Tony grinned back. “I been a fan for long time. Had no idea you were in this state, much less this city. I loved that last post—the kid with the long blond hair.”
“I fucked lotsa kids with long blond hair,” the muscular dude snapped back.
“You did more than fuck him. He had a belt made of woven metal links. I liked the way you improvised with it.”
The large man paused for a moment, eyeing Tony steadily. He was clearly debating with himself whether or not to trust Tony. “You saw that? You liked it?”
“Dude, you made me cum so hard I could barely walk afterwards. Name’s Tony. I make films—porn mostly, I got a little place set up in an old abandoned warehouse on the south side of town. I do underground films. Mostly gangbangers and hustlers shooting up and fucking each other on camera. I got a real nice distribution network, though. But I wanna do a film with you.”
The stud still didn’t look convinced, but he held out his hand. “I’m Nick. But I ain’t doin’ anything for under a thousand. You hit that point, we can talk.”
Tony gave a slight smile. “Oh, I can do that. C’mon back to my studio—yeah, I really call it that—and I’ll show ya some of my work and we can discuss payment. But yes, it’ll be at least a grand.”
Nick thought for another moment, then agreed. He placed his gym bag into his car, then got into Tony’s for the ride; he’d be brought back afterwards. He was too big and too strong to worry much about getting into cars and going to isolated locations with strange men; he could handle himself.
He’d proved that much online when he’d strangled the blonde kid with his metal mesh belt so hard the pattern of the mesh tore his victim’s skin and left his corpse oozing blood as well as semen.
The drive was long and quiet; things needed to be seen before things could be said. Even Nick, major alpha male that he was, has some misgivings about the neighborhood when they came to a stop. The street was nothing but fences and brick walls with doors in them; it was an alleyway in an old industrial area. About a third of the buildings on the block had collapsed; great piles of brick and cinderblock with weeds sprouting—and, in some cases, attaining a great height, testifying to the age and neglect of the area.
Tony pulled up to an old fence. A shiny new chain and padlock secured the rusted gate; Tony idled the car as he unlocked it and pried the gate open. Once he’d gotten back and moved the car in, he went back and locked up.
Nick looked around. He was in a small loading yard behind the grimy shell of a disused factory. The building was ancient and several stories tall. Most of the windows were gone, leaving rusting wire mesh in the frames, and huge cracks ran down the masonry. But the building still looked relative stable.
Tony unlocked another padlock—this one to a door on the loading dock—and led the way in. The air was full of mold and dry rot. Most of the space near the loading dock had been gutted; the area was filthy and uninhabitable.
Tony noticed Nick’s expression. “Yeah, it’s disgusting. And perfect. Once you see this, you don’t bother looking any further. But most of these rooms are useless. We’re going downstairs.”
If anything, the basement of the building was worse. The smell certainly was; the rancid stench from upstairs was augmented by large green pools of stagnant water. Nick was seriously doubting that anything financially useful could happen here when he saw where Tony was leading.
Somewhere on the south side of the building was a large open space. In the center of this space was a platform or foundation of concrete, three feet thick, with steps leading up. On the platform was what appeared to be a large metal room, square, some thirty feet by thirty feet.
They mounted the steps and walked around the side—there was just enough space to walk single file between the metal wall and edge of the platform—to find a door. Well, not a door so much as a hatch. It even had a wheel in the center of the exterior to lock the door into place, giving the whole thing the appearance of a huge bank vault. Nick could see florescent orange cables snaking out of the open hatch. Leaving Tony for a moment, he followed them around the next corner and saw that they connected with a gas-powered generator.
His curiosity satisfied, he returned and trailed inside behind Tony. His construction boots made a flat thumping sound on the metal floor. He was in what looked like a hallway, with doorways off each side and one at the far end. Poking his head into the nearest, he found a small room with thick metal walls covered with rows of hooks. There was a doorway from it leading into the next room; they all seemed to be interconnected.
“What the fuck is this thing?” he asked.
“Damned if I know,” chucked Tony, “I’m just glad it’s here. Watertight and if I pull the door closed just enough to let the power cables in, it’s also damn near soundproof. You sure can’t hear anything on the street. I got one work room and two set rooms, all at the far end.”
In fact, the metal structure had been a large curing oven used in a proprietary galvanizing process. It was built to contain a hellish environment and was still admirably suited to the purpose.
Tony had managed to fit out the two end rooms on the left side as a living room and bedroom. He’d hung blankets on the walls to hide the bare metal and put large area rugs on the floor, then brought in enough cheap furniture to simulate an apartment setting. Utility lights in shiny aluminum shells were clamped to the steel girders that formed the top of the structure.
Once he’d been shown the set, Nick was led into the chamber at the end of the corridor, where Tony had set up his playback and editing equipment. He had Nick sit in one of the office chairs as he pulled up some of his work on a video monitor.
It was obvious Tony liked it violent. Nick’s cock was standing at attention as he watch clips of extremely rough sex. Off camera, Tony’s voice could be heard exhorting the various tops he was filming. Nick began to realize that Tony actually had both the capability and the desire to make a snuff film.
“I dunno,” he said. “I’ve never actually killed anyone on film before.”
“Bullshit,” snapped Tony, “what about that blond kid? I saw what you did to him with that belt. He couldn’t have survived that.”
“No,” admitted Nick, “but he didn’t die on camera.”
“That’s exactly what I wanna fix,” Tony chuckled quietly.
Nick looked at him carefully, still uncertain. “You said you can make a thou?”
“Fifteen hundred. Cash. I’ll blur anything that can identify you.”
The idea of fucking someone to death on camera was too enticing. Nick knew he wouldn’t refuse, no matter who the victim was, but he wanted to maintain a show of independence. “I get final call on who I waste.”
Tony grinned, his white, even teeth glittering like a shark’s. His large dark eyes lit up with smoldering lust; he knew he’d won. He was eager and excited. “I’ve seen enough of your vids to have an idea of what you like. Young, smaller than you but well-built, race not an issue but you really like hurting whores. I got the perfect bitch.”
Tony opened up a series of jpegs on his laptop, letting Nick flip through the images. They were all of the same boy. “Name’s Ricky. Mexican or something, think it’s short for Ricardo. Claims to be straight but he loves cock. And crack. If we let him smoke a little first, he’ll be totally amped to get banged. Won’t even notice he’s getting offed till it’s too late.”
Nick started the slideshow and watched high-def pics of the nude slut swipe across the screen. He was young, all right. He looked like he was in his mid- to late teens, somewhere between fifteen and eighteen. It wasn’t until Nick found a close-up of his face that he could see the tiny lines of dissolution and self-abuse that radiated from his eyes; in another year or two, he’d start to look his real age—probably around twenty or so—and a couple of years after that, his earning potential as a whore would be finished.
Nick liked what he saw. After all, the slut wouldn’t be worth much for long, so it wasn’t as if wasting him now was cruel or anything. He’d be starving on the streets in a few years. And anyway, he was hot. The pics revealed a young, slim boy with shiny blue-black hair and eyes almost nearly as dark. In the first pic he posed on the sofa in the other room, tight white t-shirt wrapped around his firm, lithe torso. His skin-tight jeans emphasized his slim waist, his strong legs, and the thick, rounded bulge in his crotch. Light brown leather lace-up boots came half-way up his calves.
He grinned impudently at the camera, his dark, smooth skin showing a slight sheen of sweat. The grin remained on his face through most of the remaining pictures, a series taken as he stripped. In the last one, he was standing spread-legged, his smooth swimmer's build nude but for his unlaced boots, his thick, uncut cock dangling out in front.
It was a done deal. Nick wanted to wipe the grin off the whore’s face with his cock. He could feel precum oozing out as he thought of the spic punk thrashing underneath him—in fear, or lust; it didn’t matter.
“You’ll make sure I can’t be ID’d?” Nick turned back to Tony.
“Dude, I’d be in just as much trouble as you. And I ain’t shot a snuff movie before, but some of these cunts have OD’d just before or after a shoot. I gotta place to dump the body; it’s always worked. So, whaddaya think? A grand and a half, my network, and Ricky here dyin’ on your dick—you in?”
Nick broke out in a broad grin. “Fuck yeah, I’m in. Get the bitch over here.”
*******************************************************************************************************
The frame is clear, but slightly unsteady. It opens on a sofa. A boy is sitting on it, leaning back, lighting up a glass stem. The click of the lighter and the sizzle of the crack rock are audible.
The boy is nude, except for his boots—shiny, light brown leather, laced halfway up his calves. He’s slim, with smooth creamy olive-colored skin. He sits with his legs spread, the firm smooth path of his thighs pointing the way to the thick, uncut tube of meat that rises up out of his crotch.
A voice off-camera is heard.
“That’s it, dude, take a good hit. You’re amazing; most guys can’t get it up on that shit, but you’re hard as a steel spike. Here, ya need to push the straight? I’ll find something. Get as high as ya want, dude, you’ll need it. Nick’s gonna love fuckin’ the shit outta ya.”
A hand reaches in from behind the camera, handing the boy what appears to be a section of coat hanger. The punk takes it, grins almost shyly at the camera, and uses the wire to push the chunk of scouring pad to the other end of the glass tube, then back again before re-lighting it.
Suddenly there's a noise and the camera goes all tilty. The voice is back. “Hey Nick, help me move this table outta the way; I wanna get a good view. Nah, don’t worry about the camera, I can edit it out later. By the way, Nick, this is Ricky.”
There’s a loud bang and a curse as the frame shakes out of recognition, then goes black. When it comes back on there’s been a lapse of a minute or two.
“Nah, it’s ok. Dropped it plenty of times before. Nice thick rug protects it when it hits the floor. So, yeah, like I was sayin’, when I saw what Nick can do, I thought of you and knew you’d be perfect for this scene. Dude, he’s gonna fuck you like you ain’t never been fucked. I promise it’s the hardest you’re gonna get fucked—and the hardest you’re gonna cum—in your life. Promise, dude.”
The camera pulls back into focus. The boy is sitting on the sofa, looking with trepidation at the large, heavily muscled stud standing over him, nude but for the thick gold herringbone necklace wrapped around his muscular neck, sporting a huge, glistening erection. The coffee table that had been in front of the sofa has been moved off to the left and is just barely visible in the frame; there’s nothing to block the view of the sofa.
The man reaches down and starts fondling the boy. He sits beside him, running his hands over the kid’s body. The punk grins and gulps nervously, his wide eyes looking like circles of dead black as the crack pinpoints his pupils. A hand reaches in from behind the camera again, this time proffering a small white grain.
“Here, dude, take another hit. He’s got a huge fuckin’ cock, and I want you to enjoy it. And he’s gonna play rough. You like bein’ treated like a slut? Don’t worry, Nick here knows how to choke a bitch. You’re gonna remember this fuck for the rest of your life.”
As the Latino youth coughs out a thick cloud of smoke, he turns his head to the camera and speaks in a heavily accented voice.
“Hey, vato, you’re still payin’ me dos grandes, si? And if this cholo’s gonna choke me, I wanna safe word. I say mariposa and he lets go.”
There’s a dry chuckle from behind the camera. “No problem, little butterfly. You’ll get what you deserve when—uh, after he cums. On camera. And I already showed ya the cash, didn’t I? Just relax. Enjoy getting used like a bitch. Pretend like it’s the last fuck you’re ever gonna get.”
The kid takes another hit, then tosses the glass pipe aside. Still holding his breath, he lies back on the sofa and raises his legs in the air. Gripping them behind the knees, he pulls them apart and up to his chest, his tight boots hanging in the air.
The camera begins moving. It closes in on the Mexican kid’s asshole. The high-def image clearly shows the faint black hair ringing the quivering pink sphincter as the boy wriggles in anticipation.
The frame moves out and captures Nick, moving in to mount the whore. His thick, engorged cock is already dripping, transparent beads of precum welling up on his huge mushroom-shaped head. It zooms in again to get a close-up of the dark purple mound of flesh spearing the kid’s fluttering fuckhole before rising to capture the grimace of pain on the slut’s face.
“Fuck yeah,” says the voice behind the camera, “how’s that feel, dude? Looks like it hurts. Looks like it hurts like fuck. Ya likin’ that? Does it hurt good, ya slut?”
The kid opens his eyes and moans directly into the camera. There’s something off about it, something artificial. It’s more than just being anesthetized; he’s acting. It’s clear that he’s done this before. The dude fucking him is huge, and it hurts, but obviously nowhere near as much as his mugging for the camera would make it seem.
“Hey, Nick,” comes the voice behind the camera, “I don’t think we’re getting Ricky’s best work here. Start roughing him up a little; let’s see if that gets the bitch in the mood.”
The larger man turns to the camera and grins. “Sure,” he says, “I been waitin’ to wail on his ass.”
The hardbodied stud places his hands on the whore’s shoulders, pinning them firmly to the cushion as he ramps up the pace of his pumping. He fucks the slut with long, deep strokes, ensuring that the kid feels every last inch of his cock.
And he does. It’s obvious, as the camera closes in on the punk’s strained, clenched face. The kid gives high-pitched whimpers with each thrust, his white-knuckled hands grasping and pulling his knees apart so the heavily-muscled alpha top could lay his firm thick torso between them.
The camera pulls back from the slut’s face and moves down his body. It focuses briefly on the kid’s boots, hanging in the air, thick black soles bobbing with each pump of the muscled dude’s dick. The rhythm is emphasized as the camera pans down to the action, zooming in on the hustler’s fuckhole. Well-used as it obviously is, it’s still completely plugged with the stud’s gleaming purple shaft. He looks like he’s been impaled on a vein-wreathed spear.
As the camera holds the shot, the top goes into overdrive, fucking the kid swiftly and brutally. His massive balls slap repeatedly against the boy’s ass, the slut’s squealing rising in frequency until it becomes that of a pig.
The camera pulls out to show that Nick is still pinning Ricky to the sofa by his shoulders. The whore has stopped squealing and is gasping and whimpering again, his eyes wide with pleasure/pain. The hard dude turns to the camera and grins again before speaking to his bitch.
“Ya like that, ya little cunt? Like bein’ slammed like a fucking whore? Cause you’re getting’ more of it, you spic motherfucker. Take my cock, you cumsucking slut!”
As the kid moans, “Si, si,” the stud spits in his face, then slaps him. The punk gives a deep moan of pleasure that rises into a wail of pain as the top pounds his ass violently. He moves his hands up on top of the bitch’s shoulders, grasping him around the base of his neck, to hold the fucktoy in place while the alpha stud reams out his hole.
The camera closes in on his grip. His large, muscled hands, the outer edges dusted with fine black fur, are gripping the top of the boy’s shoulders tightly. So tightly, in fact, that it’s clear they’re gonna leave bruises.
“Fuck yeah, dude,” comes the voice from behind the camera, “fuck that bitch up good. Hurt ‘im, man, show him you’re fuckin’ boss!”
The muscled stud suddenly draws his right arm back. His bulging biceps bunch up as he slams a piledriver of a punch directly to the punk’s face.
The kid grunts in pain and surprise. The top hasn’t dropped the rhythm of his fucking; the slut has to deal with the assault while his rectum is getting plugged with a huge amount of meat.
He goes out like a light. The top laughs, as does the cameraman. The latter speaks up. “Don’t stop there, man. Long as he wakes up again, you can do what ya want.”
“Aw fuck,” Nick grins at the camera, “I ain’t gonna waste him while he’s out—ain’t no fun in that. Ya want some more bruises first? No prob.”
The stud’s sense of timing is perfect; again, without breaking the rhythm of his thrusting, he manages to rise up on his knees. From that position, he delivers blow after blow to the whore’s chest and belly. The kid jerks with each smack of flesh, eventually starting to wake.
His eyes flutter open. He looks around, lost and scared. It obvious that he’s still higher than fuck and has very little capacity to understand what’s actually happening to him.
He tries to stop it. “No, no me gusto,” he gasps out raggedly. “Mariposa, señor, madre de dios, marip—“
The alpha stud grabs the whore’s throat, moving like lightning. The kid’s voice is cut off in mid-plea.
He’s not getting any air. It’s clear, on camera, that it takes a moment for the fact to register in his drug-addled brain. His expression is one of confusion as thick grunting sounds are forced out of his blocked esophagus.
“Yeah,” whispers the alpha top, leaning over the slut and looking into his face, “I bet you like that too, ya worthless fuckin’ cunt. Ready to go all the way, you cocksuckin’ faggot? Fuckin’ spic whore suckin’ off gangbangers in alleys—yeah, this is what ya been looking for. None of them cholos ever put you in your place. And your place is rotting in a dumpster with your ass fulla my cum. Enjoy it, fuckwad.”
The Latino punk opens his eyes wide, an expression of stunned unfocused disbelief on his handsome dark face—that’s getting darker by the second. He coughs and gags, his hands gripping the stud’s arms and trying to pull them off. He jerks and twists violently, trying to get out from under the top’s heavy muscled body but the dude remains perfectly still, squeezing the boy’s throat. His cock is buried in the kid’s ass, not moving, letting the youth’s struggles pump his hole around the gleaming, swollen tube of flesh.
“Hey, man! Ricky!” the voice behind the camera calls, “look over here, dude! Fuckin-A, man you’re dying! How’s that feel, bro? Gotta tell ya, it’s hot as fuck to watch!”
The brown-skinned boy turns his face directly to the camera. He continues to kick and struggle as he reaches out to the camera in desperation. His eyes, wide and frantic, are starting to protrude slightly; it gives an added air of panic to his expression. The skin of his face darkens like that of a ripening olive.
Suddenly the alpha top starts fucking him again. The camera pans out a bit to get the full-body shot; Nick thrusting himself brutally into the dying whore’s rectum. It’s unclear if the set has AC; both killer and victim are sweating profusely, their entwined bodies glistening as they slide over each other in an agony of sex and an ecstasy of death.
The slut’s brown leather boots kick uselessly at the air for a moment before he contracts his tight smooth legs and drums his heels furiously against the alpha top’s back and ass. The stud grunts and spits in the kid’s swollen purple face.
The camera frame moves. The image shakes and blurs for a brief moment. When it clears, the cameraman has moved to a point near the end of the sofa. From here, there’s a close up on the top’s thick tool spearing the hustler’s straining pink hole. The thick, purple, swollen shaft, shiny and thick with veins, is shown in great detail—then the camera moves again, closing in on the dying boy’s face.
The purpose of the shot is obvious. The kid’s swollen face is the same shade as his killer’s swollen cock.
“Dude, you’re getting fucked good,” the cameraman laughs. “I told ya you’d remember this fuck the rest of your life, which should be about a coupla more minutes. Ain’t it cool, dude, getting fucked to death by this fuckin’ alpha stud? Bet yer lovin’ it, you cumsucking spic whore. Fuck, lookit that shit—I knew you’d like this, you worthless fuckpig!”
As raucous laughter brays from behind the camera, it closes in on the space between the two heaving, sweat-lubed bellies, one rough with hair scraping painfully across the other. Again the image shakes as the cameraman moves closer to the action, but not so badly as to lose the picture.
Ricky’s dick is rigid, pressed against Nick’s belly like a bar of iron. It’s wrapped in the dark “happy trail” line of hair marching down the stud’s ripped abdomen. After a momentary blur, the frame goes in for extreme close-up. As sweat-soaked flesh writhes and presses together, a thick dark mushroom-shaped tip can be seen oozing clear precum. It’s hard to see because of the violence of the motion. The shot isn’t held long.
The camera pulls back some and pans slightly up. The slut is flat on his back, his head bent back into the sofa cushion in a futile attempt to be free of the crushing pain in his throat. His hands clench, claw and scrabble over the alpha’s arms, scratching at his skin but otherwise having the same impact as they would on iron girders; the stud’s grip is implacable.
It’s clear that the spic is overwhelmed in panic; he’s almost literally grasping at straws. What he does grasp at, however, is the muscled dude’s gold necklace. In an instant, the kid snatches it off his neck.
“Goddam it!” roars the top. “You fucking cunt, that cost more than you’re worth, you useless fucking whore—you’re gonna regret that!”
And with that, he lets go of the kid’s neck. The boy gasps deeply, arcing his back up off the sofa to inhale as much air as he can. He lets it out in one huge moan—and then the hard dude is back on him, clamping down on the throat.
“What the--?” comes from behind the camera. But the cameraman apparently catches on right away. As the stud leans down and puts his face up against the boy’s, the camera comes in close enough to pick up the look of rage in the alpha’s face—and his whisper.
“Ya get more air, cunt? Good. You ain’t gonna die that quick. You gotta pay. You pay in pain, fucker. Got it? I’m takin’ the cost of that necklace outta your hide. And believe me, you fucking spic faggot, I’m gonna cash your ass out. Now just sit back and enjoy what ya got comin’, you fucking worthless druggie scum.”
Nick’s face is hard and cold as he leans over Ricky and spits in his face. The youth’s hands are tight around his killer’s wrists, trying desperately to wrest them from his throat.
The attack is stunning in its unexpected brutality. The alpha top clamps his left hand over the whore’s throat. He draws his right hand back and slams his huge knotted fist into the kid’s face. The slut’s body rocks with the blow, his legs kicking out.
“Oh fuckin’ hell, dude,” the cameraman moans, “you gotta hurt ‘im more than that. You hear that, Ricky? You fuckin’ crackhead whore, this stud’s gonna end your worthless life in agony on his cock. And it’s all gonna happen on camera. Dudes you don’t even know are gonna jack off watching you shoot and die with a cock up your ass like a fuckin’ cholo cunt.”
The top draws back and punches the boy again. This time, the blow lands on the youth’s firm, slim chest with a loud thunk.
The camera closes in on his face again. The alpha stud has kept up the pressure on the punk’s throat. As much pain as he’s in from the beating, it’s the strangulation that not only killing him but causing the most pain.
That much is obvious as the frame is filled with the Mexican boy’s face, swollen and distorted nearly out of all recognition. His body may jerk with each vicious blow, but the agony of death is reflected in his puffy blue lips parted by a thick, swollen tongue framed in a froth of drool that streams back along the spic’s blotched cheeks.
His eyes are bloody and bulging; staring into death with the horror of someone totally unprepared. Thick grunting sounds are forced out with the foamy bubbles that leak from his lips.
The camera pulls back, for good reason. The whore is in his death throes. As the alpha stud grunts and pants and pumps his tool up the dying slut’s fuckhole, the boy’s arms flail and his hands scrape and beat with frantic but weakening desperation.
The camera moves down the length of the jerking, interlocked bodies. The boy’s legs close instinctively, his smooth thighs slipping over the stud’s sweaty flanks. His feet no longer kick in protest at his killer’s assault; now his heels drag along the cushion of the sofa, the brown leather of his shuddering boots sliding along the top’s muscled calves.
The frame takes a perspective view from near the feet, capturing everything up to the face in the view. From this angle, the spic’s hands can be seen clawing at the alpha’s arms and shoulders; they flutter like dying birds. The kid is almost dead; he’s been without air for at least four minutes now.
There’s a blur and the camera resumes its wide, side-on view. All of Nick’s glorious body can be seen, pumping, thrusting, shining with sweat like a fierce animal—like a mankiller. Ricky is sweating and gleaming too, but his movements are become less coordinated as parts of his brain begin to die.
The camera zooms in for a moment—just like an earlier shot, this one shows the whore’s thick, uncut dick, standing straight up out of a black forest of pubic hair. Each jerk of his dying body, each thrust of his killer’s hips, makes Ricky’s instinctively swollen shaft stab into Nick’s tight hairy abs and smear them with the precum that’s flowing in a nearly steady stream.
The Mexican kid is losing it. There’s still some fight in him though; he makes one last attempt to break free and manages to get his thumb into the stud’s left eye.
This proves to be Ricky’s last mistake.
“Fucking cunt!” screams Nick. Without relaxing his crushing grip around the boy’s throat, the top wraps his left arm around the kid’s right—the one that’s in his face—and with a quick jerk, snaps it, tearing the elbow out of joint and shattering the humerus, the upper arm. The pain must be phenomenal, but the dying whore is already in agony.
The stud goes full bull male alpha in rage. He pulls his huge arm back and, putting his massive muscles to good use, begins piledriving his fist into the young slut’s face while screaming in such anger that foam flies from his lips. “Die, you worthless fucking spic faggot! Think you can hurt me, you stupid fucking crackhead? Take my fucking cock and die like the fucking cumslut piece of shit you are! Fuck yeah, I’m gonna unload in your worn-out fuckhole and it’s gonna be the last thing you feel, vato, comprendre? Stupid motherfucking cocksucking faggot whore, die like the useless pig fuck you are!
Suddenly Nick grabs a handful of Ricky’s short but thick black hair, near the scalp. In a split-second, he throws himself forward, putting the weight of all his muscles onto the hand he’s using to crush Ricky’s throat. At the same time, he jerks his other arm back towards himself, pulling Ricky head violently in the opposite direction from his neck
The camera pulls out just in time to catch the full-body effect. The sound is deep and vital; an erotic snapping and shattering that signals the irrevocable end of life. Ricky reacts as if to an electric shock. His whole body spasms; his arms and legs splaying wide—and then instantly contracting in a convulsion; wrapping tightly around his killer’s hard, slick body as Nick, deep in orgasm, cries out incoherently.
As the whore holds his killer in a dying embrace of severe neurological shock, the camera zooms in again on the faces. They’re next to one another; the killer’s, drawn back in the feral pleasure of filling the young cunt with his seed, the victim’s, in the final surrender to a more powerful man.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” screams Nick. He rises up onto his knees and the camera comes in for Ricky’s last close-up. A long, thick cock moves in from the bottom of the frame, a hand grasping it tightly. As Ricky drools and twitches, his brain completely disconnected from his quivering body, the cameraman beats off into the boy’s face. The frame becomes unsteady for a moment as he shoots, semen spurting into the slut’s black, distorted face and pooling into his bulging, bloodshot eyes.
The camera frame widens for one last time, showing the stud gasping for air, his cock still buried in the twitching fuckhole. He shudders for a moment, evidently draining the last drop of sperm out of his rod, judging by the deep, satisfied sigh he emits. He pulls out of the corpse’s ass, backing himself up on his knees before standing up. He steps up and spits in Ricky’s dead swollen face one last time before the video ends.
*******************************************************************************************************
Nick sat on the end of the sofa where his feet had been. Tony was sitting in an armchair on the other side of the small room. Both were leaning back, not moving much, semen still leaking out of the heads of their dicks. Ricky’s body had been rolled off the sofa and was lying face down, still twitching, on the rug, a thick slime of cum leaking out of his savagely torn rectum.
“Dude, you really think we can make money doin’ that?” asked Nick.
“Man, we can get rich doing that. I fuckin’ promise,” replied Tony.
“Ok, then, here’s the deal—you cut me in on the profits. We can work out the percentage later. Until we make a profit, you pay me fifteen hundred per video.”
Tony didn’t need to hesitate. “Fuck yeah, it’s a deal, dude. We’re gonna make a killing!”
Tony sat bolt upright at the wheel of his car, staring directly ahead at the steps leading up to the gym’s back door. A feeling of shock, of the pleasure of the forbidden washed over him, leaving him feeling rubbery in his limbs. A man was coming down the steps into the parking lot; a man Tony recognized. It was as if he’d run into his favorite porn star—and in a way, he had. But there was a bit more to it than that.
This could be the opportunity he was looking for. It was certainly no time to be self-conscious. Brushing away any anxiety he might have, Tony left his car and approached the guy.
This gym had a huge gay clientele; being approached by another man in the parking lot was a common enough occurrence here. Especially here, in fact. The rear parking lot was small and surrounded by the back side of a strip mall. The ground sloped down from the front (where most of the parking was located), hence the need for stairs down from the back door. The lot was secluded and known as a good place for hookups.
And to the casual observer, that’s exactly what it would look like; two hot guys getting together. Tony was just under six feet tall. He had full brown hair, shoulder-length, that fanned out behind him. His face was clean and smooth, with large dark eyes that glittered with secret lust. He wasn’t heavily-muscled but there was strength in his slim build. He’d been on his way into the gym, so he was wearing a bright green t-shirt stretched over his firm chest and a pair of short black shorts that showed off his perfectly-formed legs. He wore blue Nike Airs with green laces that matched his shirt.
The guy he was approaching was much larger and more muscular. He was about six and a half feet tall, with short hair several shades darker than Tony’s. He was wearing an orange t-shirt that strained over the dude’s bulging pecs and constricted his arms, digging into the massive biceps. From beneath his white satin shorts, legs like the trunks of trees, shadowed by a haze of dark curly fur, dropped into yellow construction boots laced up over his ankles.
“I know you,” Tony said as he approached. “I’ve seen some of your stuff online.”
The larger man faced Tony. His short black hair faded into a dark stubble that shadowed his cheeks and covered his strong jaw. His eyes, ice-blue and narrow, fixed on Tony suspiciously. “I done a lot of stuff online,” he growled hesitantly.
“Yeah, I know,” Tony grinned back. “I been a fan for long time. Had no idea you were in this state, much less this city. I loved that last post—the kid with the long blond hair.”
“I fucked lotsa kids with long blond hair,” the muscular dude snapped back.
“You did more than fuck him. He had a belt made of woven metal links. I liked the way you improvised with it.”
The large man paused for a moment, eyeing Tony steadily. He was clearly debating with himself whether or not to trust Tony. “You saw that? You liked it?”
“Dude, you made me cum so hard I could barely walk afterwards. Name’s Tony. I make films—porn mostly, I got a little place set up in an old abandoned warehouse on the south side of town. I do underground films. Mostly gangbangers and hustlers shooting up and fucking each other on camera. I got a real nice distribution network, though. But I wanna do a film with you.”
The stud still didn’t look convinced, but he held out his hand. “I’m Nick. But I ain’t doin’ anything for under a thousand. You hit that point, we can talk.”
Tony gave a slight smile. “Oh, I can do that. C’mon back to my studio—yeah, I really call it that—and I’ll show ya some of my work and we can discuss payment. But yes, it’ll be at least a grand.”
Nick thought for another moment, then agreed. He placed his gym bag into his car, then got into Tony’s for the ride; he’d be brought back afterwards. He was too big and too strong to worry much about getting into cars and going to isolated locations with strange men; he could handle himself.
He’d proved that much online when he’d strangled the blonde kid with his metal mesh belt so hard the pattern of the mesh tore his victim’s skin and left his corpse oozing blood as well as semen.
The drive was long and quiet; things needed to be seen before things could be said. Even Nick, major alpha male that he was, has some misgivings about the neighborhood when they came to a stop. The street was nothing but fences and brick walls with doors in them; it was an alleyway in an old industrial area. About a third of the buildings on the block had collapsed; great piles of brick and cinderblock with weeds sprouting—and, in some cases, attaining a great height, testifying to the age and neglect of the area.
Tony pulled up to an old fence. A shiny new chain and padlock secured the rusted gate; Tony idled the car as he unlocked it and pried the gate open. Once he’d gotten back and moved the car in, he went back and locked up.
Nick looked around. He was in a small loading yard behind the grimy shell of a disused factory. The building was ancient and several stories tall. Most of the windows were gone, leaving rusting wire mesh in the frames, and huge cracks ran down the masonry. But the building still looked relative stable.
Tony unlocked another padlock—this one to a door on the loading dock—and led the way in. The air was full of mold and dry rot. Most of the space near the loading dock had been gutted; the area was filthy and uninhabitable.
Tony noticed Nick’s expression. “Yeah, it’s disgusting. And perfect. Once you see this, you don’t bother looking any further. But most of these rooms are useless. We’re going downstairs.”
If anything, the basement of the building was worse. The smell certainly was; the rancid stench from upstairs was augmented by large green pools of stagnant water. Nick was seriously doubting that anything financially useful could happen here when he saw where Tony was leading.
Somewhere on the south side of the building was a large open space. In the center of this space was a platform or foundation of concrete, three feet thick, with steps leading up. On the platform was what appeared to be a large metal room, square, some thirty feet by thirty feet.
They mounted the steps and walked around the side—there was just enough space to walk single file between the metal wall and edge of the platform—to find a door. Well, not a door so much as a hatch. It even had a wheel in the center of the exterior to lock the door into place, giving the whole thing the appearance of a huge bank vault. Nick could see florescent orange cables snaking out of the open hatch. Leaving Tony for a moment, he followed them around the next corner and saw that they connected with a gas-powered generator.
His curiosity satisfied, he returned and trailed inside behind Tony. His construction boots made a flat thumping sound on the metal floor. He was in what looked like a hallway, with doorways off each side and one at the far end. Poking his head into the nearest, he found a small room with thick metal walls covered with rows of hooks. There was a doorway from it leading into the next room; they all seemed to be interconnected.
“What the fuck is this thing?” he asked.
“Damned if I know,” chucked Tony, “I’m just glad it’s here. Watertight and if I pull the door closed just enough to let the power cables in, it’s also damn near soundproof. You sure can’t hear anything on the street. I got one work room and two set rooms, all at the far end.”
In fact, the metal structure had been a large curing oven used in a proprietary galvanizing process. It was built to contain a hellish environment and was still admirably suited to the purpose.
Tony had managed to fit out the two end rooms on the left side as a living room and bedroom. He’d hung blankets on the walls to hide the bare metal and put large area rugs on the floor, then brought in enough cheap furniture to simulate an apartment setting. Utility lights in shiny aluminum shells were clamped to the steel girders that formed the top of the structure.
Once he’d been shown the set, Nick was led into the chamber at the end of the corridor, where Tony had set up his playback and editing equipment. He had Nick sit in one of the office chairs as he pulled up some of his work on a video monitor.
It was obvious Tony liked it violent. Nick’s cock was standing at attention as he watch clips of extremely rough sex. Off camera, Tony’s voice could be heard exhorting the various tops he was filming. Nick began to realize that Tony actually had both the capability and the desire to make a snuff film.
“I dunno,” he said. “I’ve never actually killed anyone on film before.”
“Bullshit,” snapped Tony, “what about that blond kid? I saw what you did to him with that belt. He couldn’t have survived that.”
“No,” admitted Nick, “but he didn’t die on camera.”
“That’s exactly what I wanna fix,” Tony chuckled quietly.
Nick looked at him carefully, still uncertain. “You said you can make a thou?”
“Fifteen hundred. Cash. I’ll blur anything that can identify you.”
The idea of fucking someone to death on camera was too enticing. Nick knew he wouldn’t refuse, no matter who the victim was, but he wanted to maintain a show of independence. “I get final call on who I waste.”
Tony grinned, his white, even teeth glittering like a shark’s. His large dark eyes lit up with smoldering lust; he knew he’d won. He was eager and excited. “I’ve seen enough of your vids to have an idea of what you like. Young, smaller than you but well-built, race not an issue but you really like hurting whores. I got the perfect bitch.”
Tony opened up a series of jpegs on his laptop, letting Nick flip through the images. They were all of the same boy. “Name’s Ricky. Mexican or something, think it’s short for Ricardo. Claims to be straight but he loves cock. And crack. If we let him smoke a little first, he’ll be totally amped to get banged. Won’t even notice he’s getting offed till it’s too late.”
Nick started the slideshow and watched high-def pics of the nude slut swipe across the screen. He was young, all right. He looked like he was in his mid- to late teens, somewhere between fifteen and eighteen. It wasn’t until Nick found a close-up of his face that he could see the tiny lines of dissolution and self-abuse that radiated from his eyes; in another year or two, he’d start to look his real age—probably around twenty or so—and a couple of years after that, his earning potential as a whore would be finished.
Nick liked what he saw. After all, the slut wouldn’t be worth much for long, so it wasn’t as if wasting him now was cruel or anything. He’d be starving on the streets in a few years. And anyway, he was hot. The pics revealed a young, slim boy with shiny blue-black hair and eyes almost nearly as dark. In the first pic he posed on the sofa in the other room, tight white t-shirt wrapped around his firm, lithe torso. His skin-tight jeans emphasized his slim waist, his strong legs, and the thick, rounded bulge in his crotch. Light brown leather lace-up boots came half-way up his calves.
He grinned impudently at the camera, his dark, smooth skin showing a slight sheen of sweat. The grin remained on his face through most of the remaining pictures, a series taken as he stripped. In the last one, he was standing spread-legged, his smooth swimmer's build nude but for his unlaced boots, his thick, uncut cock dangling out in front.
It was a done deal. Nick wanted to wipe the grin off the whore’s face with his cock. He could feel precum oozing out as he thought of the spic punk thrashing underneath him—in fear, or lust; it didn’t matter.
“You’ll make sure I can’t be ID’d?” Nick turned back to Tony.
“Dude, I’d be in just as much trouble as you. And I ain’t shot a snuff movie before, but some of these cunts have OD’d just before or after a shoot. I gotta place to dump the body; it’s always worked. So, whaddaya think? A grand and a half, my network, and Ricky here dyin’ on your dick—you in?”
Nick broke out in a broad grin. “Fuck yeah, I’m in. Get the bitch over here.”
*******************************************************************************************************
The frame is clear, but slightly unsteady. It opens on a sofa. A boy is sitting on it, leaning back, lighting up a glass stem. The click of the lighter and the sizzle of the crack rock are audible.
The boy is nude, except for his boots—shiny, light brown leather, laced halfway up his calves. He’s slim, with smooth creamy olive-colored skin. He sits with his legs spread, the firm smooth path of his thighs pointing the way to the thick, uncut tube of meat that rises up out of his crotch.
A voice off-camera is heard.
“That’s it, dude, take a good hit. You’re amazing; most guys can’t get it up on that shit, but you’re hard as a steel spike. Here, ya need to push the straight? I’ll find something. Get as high as ya want, dude, you’ll need it. Nick’s gonna love fuckin’ the shit outta ya.”
A hand reaches in from behind the camera, handing the boy what appears to be a section of coat hanger. The punk takes it, grins almost shyly at the camera, and uses the wire to push the chunk of scouring pad to the other end of the glass tube, then back again before re-lighting it.
Suddenly there's a noise and the camera goes all tilty. The voice is back. “Hey Nick, help me move this table outta the way; I wanna get a good view. Nah, don’t worry about the camera, I can edit it out later. By the way, Nick, this is Ricky.”
There’s a loud bang and a curse as the frame shakes out of recognition, then goes black. When it comes back on there’s been a lapse of a minute or two.
“Nah, it’s ok. Dropped it plenty of times before. Nice thick rug protects it when it hits the floor. So, yeah, like I was sayin’, when I saw what Nick can do, I thought of you and knew you’d be perfect for this scene. Dude, he’s gonna fuck you like you ain’t never been fucked. I promise it’s the hardest you’re gonna get fucked—and the hardest you’re gonna cum—in your life. Promise, dude.”
The camera pulls back into focus. The boy is sitting on the sofa, looking with trepidation at the large, heavily muscled stud standing over him, nude but for the thick gold herringbone necklace wrapped around his muscular neck, sporting a huge, glistening erection. The coffee table that had been in front of the sofa has been moved off to the left and is just barely visible in the frame; there’s nothing to block the view of the sofa.
The man reaches down and starts fondling the boy. He sits beside him, running his hands over the kid’s body. The punk grins and gulps nervously, his wide eyes looking like circles of dead black as the crack pinpoints his pupils. A hand reaches in from behind the camera again, this time proffering a small white grain.
“Here, dude, take another hit. He’s got a huge fuckin’ cock, and I want you to enjoy it. And he’s gonna play rough. You like bein’ treated like a slut? Don’t worry, Nick here knows how to choke a bitch. You’re gonna remember this fuck for the rest of your life.”
As the Latino youth coughs out a thick cloud of smoke, he turns his head to the camera and speaks in a heavily accented voice.
“Hey, vato, you’re still payin’ me dos grandes, si? And if this cholo’s gonna choke me, I wanna safe word. I say mariposa and he lets go.”
There’s a dry chuckle from behind the camera. “No problem, little butterfly. You’ll get what you deserve when—uh, after he cums. On camera. And I already showed ya the cash, didn’t I? Just relax. Enjoy getting used like a bitch. Pretend like it’s the last fuck you’re ever gonna get.”
The kid takes another hit, then tosses the glass pipe aside. Still holding his breath, he lies back on the sofa and raises his legs in the air. Gripping them behind the knees, he pulls them apart and up to his chest, his tight boots hanging in the air.
The camera begins moving. It closes in on the Mexican kid’s asshole. The high-def image clearly shows the faint black hair ringing the quivering pink sphincter as the boy wriggles in anticipation.
The frame moves out and captures Nick, moving in to mount the whore. His thick, engorged cock is already dripping, transparent beads of precum welling up on his huge mushroom-shaped head. It zooms in again to get a close-up of the dark purple mound of flesh spearing the kid’s fluttering fuckhole before rising to capture the grimace of pain on the slut’s face.
“Fuck yeah,” says the voice behind the camera, “how’s that feel, dude? Looks like it hurts. Looks like it hurts like fuck. Ya likin’ that? Does it hurt good, ya slut?”
The kid opens his eyes and moans directly into the camera. There’s something off about it, something artificial. It’s more than just being anesthetized; he’s acting. It’s clear that he’s done this before. The dude fucking him is huge, and it hurts, but obviously nowhere near as much as his mugging for the camera would make it seem.
“Hey, Nick,” comes the voice behind the camera, “I don’t think we’re getting Ricky’s best work here. Start roughing him up a little; let’s see if that gets the bitch in the mood.”
The larger man turns to the camera and grins. “Sure,” he says, “I been waitin’ to wail on his ass.”
The hardbodied stud places his hands on the whore’s shoulders, pinning them firmly to the cushion as he ramps up the pace of his pumping. He fucks the slut with long, deep strokes, ensuring that the kid feels every last inch of his cock.
And he does. It’s obvious, as the camera closes in on the punk’s strained, clenched face. The kid gives high-pitched whimpers with each thrust, his white-knuckled hands grasping and pulling his knees apart so the heavily-muscled alpha top could lay his firm thick torso between them.
The camera pulls back from the slut’s face and moves down his body. It focuses briefly on the kid’s boots, hanging in the air, thick black soles bobbing with each pump of the muscled dude’s dick. The rhythm is emphasized as the camera pans down to the action, zooming in on the hustler’s fuckhole. Well-used as it obviously is, it’s still completely plugged with the stud’s gleaming purple shaft. He looks like he’s been impaled on a vein-wreathed spear.
As the camera holds the shot, the top goes into overdrive, fucking the kid swiftly and brutally. His massive balls slap repeatedly against the boy’s ass, the slut’s squealing rising in frequency until it becomes that of a pig.
The camera pulls out to show that Nick is still pinning Ricky to the sofa by his shoulders. The whore has stopped squealing and is gasping and whimpering again, his eyes wide with pleasure/pain. The hard dude turns to the camera and grins again before speaking to his bitch.
“Ya like that, ya little cunt? Like bein’ slammed like a fucking whore? Cause you’re getting’ more of it, you spic motherfucker. Take my cock, you cumsucking slut!”
As the kid moans, “Si, si,” the stud spits in his face, then slaps him. The punk gives a deep moan of pleasure that rises into a wail of pain as the top pounds his ass violently. He moves his hands up on top of the bitch’s shoulders, grasping him around the base of his neck, to hold the fucktoy in place while the alpha stud reams out his hole.
The camera closes in on his grip. His large, muscled hands, the outer edges dusted with fine black fur, are gripping the top of the boy’s shoulders tightly. So tightly, in fact, that it’s clear they’re gonna leave bruises.
“Fuck yeah, dude,” comes the voice from behind the camera, “fuck that bitch up good. Hurt ‘im, man, show him you’re fuckin’ boss!”
The muscled stud suddenly draws his right arm back. His bulging biceps bunch up as he slams a piledriver of a punch directly to the punk’s face.
The kid grunts in pain and surprise. The top hasn’t dropped the rhythm of his fucking; the slut has to deal with the assault while his rectum is getting plugged with a huge amount of meat.
He goes out like a light. The top laughs, as does the cameraman. The latter speaks up. “Don’t stop there, man. Long as he wakes up again, you can do what ya want.”
“Aw fuck,” Nick grins at the camera, “I ain’t gonna waste him while he’s out—ain’t no fun in that. Ya want some more bruises first? No prob.”
The stud’s sense of timing is perfect; again, without breaking the rhythm of his thrusting, he manages to rise up on his knees. From that position, he delivers blow after blow to the whore’s chest and belly. The kid jerks with each smack of flesh, eventually starting to wake.
His eyes flutter open. He looks around, lost and scared. It obvious that he’s still higher than fuck and has very little capacity to understand what’s actually happening to him.
He tries to stop it. “No, no me gusto,” he gasps out raggedly. “Mariposa, señor, madre de dios, marip—“
The alpha stud grabs the whore’s throat, moving like lightning. The kid’s voice is cut off in mid-plea.
He’s not getting any air. It’s clear, on camera, that it takes a moment for the fact to register in his drug-addled brain. His expression is one of confusion as thick grunting sounds are forced out of his blocked esophagus.
“Yeah,” whispers the alpha top, leaning over the slut and looking into his face, “I bet you like that too, ya worthless fuckin’ cunt. Ready to go all the way, you cocksuckin’ faggot? Fuckin’ spic whore suckin’ off gangbangers in alleys—yeah, this is what ya been looking for. None of them cholos ever put you in your place. And your place is rotting in a dumpster with your ass fulla my cum. Enjoy it, fuckwad.”
The Latino punk opens his eyes wide, an expression of stunned unfocused disbelief on his handsome dark face—that’s getting darker by the second. He coughs and gags, his hands gripping the stud’s arms and trying to pull them off. He jerks and twists violently, trying to get out from under the top’s heavy muscled body but the dude remains perfectly still, squeezing the boy’s throat. His cock is buried in the kid’s ass, not moving, letting the youth’s struggles pump his hole around the gleaming, swollen tube of flesh.
“Hey, man! Ricky!” the voice behind the camera calls, “look over here, dude! Fuckin-A, man you’re dying! How’s that feel, bro? Gotta tell ya, it’s hot as fuck to watch!”
The brown-skinned boy turns his face directly to the camera. He continues to kick and struggle as he reaches out to the camera in desperation. His eyes, wide and frantic, are starting to protrude slightly; it gives an added air of panic to his expression. The skin of his face darkens like that of a ripening olive.
Suddenly the alpha top starts fucking him again. The camera pans out a bit to get the full-body shot; Nick thrusting himself brutally into the dying whore’s rectum. It’s unclear if the set has AC; both killer and victim are sweating profusely, their entwined bodies glistening as they slide over each other in an agony of sex and an ecstasy of death.
The slut’s brown leather boots kick uselessly at the air for a moment before he contracts his tight smooth legs and drums his heels furiously against the alpha top’s back and ass. The stud grunts and spits in the kid’s swollen purple face.
The camera frame moves. The image shakes and blurs for a brief moment. When it clears, the cameraman has moved to a point near the end of the sofa. From here, there’s a close up on the top’s thick tool spearing the hustler’s straining pink hole. The thick, purple, swollen shaft, shiny and thick with veins, is shown in great detail—then the camera moves again, closing in on the dying boy’s face.
The purpose of the shot is obvious. The kid’s swollen face is the same shade as his killer’s swollen cock.
“Dude, you’re getting fucked good,” the cameraman laughs. “I told ya you’d remember this fuck the rest of your life, which should be about a coupla more minutes. Ain’t it cool, dude, getting fucked to death by this fuckin’ alpha stud? Bet yer lovin’ it, you cumsucking spic whore. Fuck, lookit that shit—I knew you’d like this, you worthless fuckpig!”
As raucous laughter brays from behind the camera, it closes in on the space between the two heaving, sweat-lubed bellies, one rough with hair scraping painfully across the other. Again the image shakes as the cameraman moves closer to the action, but not so badly as to lose the picture.
Ricky’s dick is rigid, pressed against Nick’s belly like a bar of iron. It’s wrapped in the dark “happy trail” line of hair marching down the stud’s ripped abdomen. After a momentary blur, the frame goes in for extreme close-up. As sweat-soaked flesh writhes and presses together, a thick dark mushroom-shaped tip can be seen oozing clear precum. It’s hard to see because of the violence of the motion. The shot isn’t held long.
The camera pulls back some and pans slightly up. The slut is flat on his back, his head bent back into the sofa cushion in a futile attempt to be free of the crushing pain in his throat. His hands clench, claw and scrabble over the alpha’s arms, scratching at his skin but otherwise having the same impact as they would on iron girders; the stud’s grip is implacable.
It’s clear that the spic is overwhelmed in panic; he’s almost literally grasping at straws. What he does grasp at, however, is the muscled dude’s gold necklace. In an instant, the kid snatches it off his neck.
“Goddam it!” roars the top. “You fucking cunt, that cost more than you’re worth, you useless fucking whore—you’re gonna regret that!”
And with that, he lets go of the kid’s neck. The boy gasps deeply, arcing his back up off the sofa to inhale as much air as he can. He lets it out in one huge moan—and then the hard dude is back on him, clamping down on the throat.
“What the--?” comes from behind the camera. But the cameraman apparently catches on right away. As the stud leans down and puts his face up against the boy’s, the camera comes in close enough to pick up the look of rage in the alpha’s face—and his whisper.
“Ya get more air, cunt? Good. You ain’t gonna die that quick. You gotta pay. You pay in pain, fucker. Got it? I’m takin’ the cost of that necklace outta your hide. And believe me, you fucking spic faggot, I’m gonna cash your ass out. Now just sit back and enjoy what ya got comin’, you fucking worthless druggie scum.”
Nick’s face is hard and cold as he leans over Ricky and spits in his face. The youth’s hands are tight around his killer’s wrists, trying desperately to wrest them from his throat.
The attack is stunning in its unexpected brutality. The alpha top clamps his left hand over the whore’s throat. He draws his right hand back and slams his huge knotted fist into the kid’s face. The slut’s body rocks with the blow, his legs kicking out.
“Oh fuckin’ hell, dude,” the cameraman moans, “you gotta hurt ‘im more than that. You hear that, Ricky? You fuckin’ crackhead whore, this stud’s gonna end your worthless life in agony on his cock. And it’s all gonna happen on camera. Dudes you don’t even know are gonna jack off watching you shoot and die with a cock up your ass like a fuckin’ cholo cunt.”
The top draws back and punches the boy again. This time, the blow lands on the youth’s firm, slim chest with a loud thunk.
The camera closes in on his face again. The alpha stud has kept up the pressure on the punk’s throat. As much pain as he’s in from the beating, it’s the strangulation that not only killing him but causing the most pain.
That much is obvious as the frame is filled with the Mexican boy’s face, swollen and distorted nearly out of all recognition. His body may jerk with each vicious blow, but the agony of death is reflected in his puffy blue lips parted by a thick, swollen tongue framed in a froth of drool that streams back along the spic’s blotched cheeks.
His eyes are bloody and bulging; staring into death with the horror of someone totally unprepared. Thick grunting sounds are forced out with the foamy bubbles that leak from his lips.
The camera pulls back, for good reason. The whore is in his death throes. As the alpha stud grunts and pants and pumps his tool up the dying slut’s fuckhole, the boy’s arms flail and his hands scrape and beat with frantic but weakening desperation.
The camera moves down the length of the jerking, interlocked bodies. The boy’s legs close instinctively, his smooth thighs slipping over the stud’s sweaty flanks. His feet no longer kick in protest at his killer’s assault; now his heels drag along the cushion of the sofa, the brown leather of his shuddering boots sliding along the top’s muscled calves.
The frame takes a perspective view from near the feet, capturing everything up to the face in the view. From this angle, the spic’s hands can be seen clawing at the alpha’s arms and shoulders; they flutter like dying birds. The kid is almost dead; he’s been without air for at least four minutes now.
There’s a blur and the camera resumes its wide, side-on view. All of Nick’s glorious body can be seen, pumping, thrusting, shining with sweat like a fierce animal—like a mankiller. Ricky is sweating and gleaming too, but his movements are become less coordinated as parts of his brain begin to die.
The camera zooms in for a moment—just like an earlier shot, this one shows the whore’s thick, uncut dick, standing straight up out of a black forest of pubic hair. Each jerk of his dying body, each thrust of his killer’s hips, makes Ricky’s instinctively swollen shaft stab into Nick’s tight hairy abs and smear them with the precum that’s flowing in a nearly steady stream.
The Mexican kid is losing it. There’s still some fight in him though; he makes one last attempt to break free and manages to get his thumb into the stud’s left eye.
This proves to be Ricky’s last mistake.
“Fucking cunt!” screams Nick. Without relaxing his crushing grip around the boy’s throat, the top wraps his left arm around the kid’s right—the one that’s in his face—and with a quick jerk, snaps it, tearing the elbow out of joint and shattering the humerus, the upper arm. The pain must be phenomenal, but the dying whore is already in agony.
The stud goes full bull male alpha in rage. He pulls his huge arm back and, putting his massive muscles to good use, begins piledriving his fist into the young slut’s face while screaming in such anger that foam flies from his lips. “Die, you worthless fucking spic faggot! Think you can hurt me, you stupid fucking crackhead? Take my fucking cock and die like the fucking cumslut piece of shit you are! Fuck yeah, I’m gonna unload in your worn-out fuckhole and it’s gonna be the last thing you feel, vato, comprendre? Stupid motherfucking cocksucking faggot whore, die like the useless pig fuck you are!
Suddenly Nick grabs a handful of Ricky’s short but thick black hair, near the scalp. In a split-second, he throws himself forward, putting the weight of all his muscles onto the hand he’s using to crush Ricky’s throat. At the same time, he jerks his other arm back towards himself, pulling Ricky head violently in the opposite direction from his neck
The camera pulls out just in time to catch the full-body effect. The sound is deep and vital; an erotic snapping and shattering that signals the irrevocable end of life. Ricky reacts as if to an electric shock. His whole body spasms; his arms and legs splaying wide—and then instantly contracting in a convulsion; wrapping tightly around his killer’s hard, slick body as Nick, deep in orgasm, cries out incoherently.
As the whore holds his killer in a dying embrace of severe neurological shock, the camera zooms in again on the faces. They’re next to one another; the killer’s, drawn back in the feral pleasure of filling the young cunt with his seed, the victim’s, in the final surrender to a more powerful man.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” screams Nick. He rises up onto his knees and the camera comes in for Ricky’s last close-up. A long, thick cock moves in from the bottom of the frame, a hand grasping it tightly. As Ricky drools and twitches, his brain completely disconnected from his quivering body, the cameraman beats off into the boy’s face. The frame becomes unsteady for a moment as he shoots, semen spurting into the slut’s black, distorted face and pooling into his bulging, bloodshot eyes.
The camera frame widens for one last time, showing the stud gasping for air, his cock still buried in the twitching fuckhole. He shudders for a moment, evidently draining the last drop of sperm out of his rod, judging by the deep, satisfied sigh he emits. He pulls out of the corpse’s ass, backing himself up on his knees before standing up. He steps up and spits in Ricky’s dead swollen face one last time before the video ends.
*******************************************************************************************************
Nick sat on the end of the sofa where his feet had been. Tony was sitting in an armchair on the other side of the small room. Both were leaning back, not moving much, semen still leaking out of the heads of their dicks. Ricky’s body had been rolled off the sofa and was lying face down, still twitching, on the rug, a thick slime of cum leaking out of his savagely torn rectum.
“Dude, you really think we can make money doin’ that?” asked Nick.
“Man, we can get rich doing that. I fuckin’ promise,” replied Tony.
“Ok, then, here’s the deal—you cut me in on the profits. We can work out the percentage later. Until we make a profit, you pay me fifteen hundred per video.”
Tony didn’t need to hesitate. “Fuck yeah, it’s a deal, dude. We’re gonna make a killing!”
small_dot
Forum Regular
Excellent new premise! And it's good the characters feel different from your usual templates, that's very well done.
M
m3m1
Guest
Thanks, guys! Already working on part 2...
M
m3m1
Guest
Mankiller: Snuff Movie 2
The percentages had been worked out. The video, carefully and skillfully edited, was a huge hit online and it became obvious that Nick’s cut was going to be considerably more than fifteen hundred per movie.
Nick and Tony were both pleased with the deal. Within days of Ricky’s debut, they met again in the studio. Each was eager to get started on the next video. And each brought something new to the table.
Tony brought a new bitch. “Name’s Joey. I met him a coupla weeks ago; finally got him in here for a photo shoot. Here, lemme pull the slideshow up—tell me what ya think.”
Nick sat in a chair, a large bag from a hardware store by his side. He’d brought it in with him but hadn’t said anything about it yet. And at the moment, he was too busy looking at the pics of Joey to pay much attention to anything else.
Joey was similar to Ricky, Nick’s last victim, in that he had a slender (but not scrawny) swimmer’s build and black hair cut fairly short. The resemblance ended there. Joey was taller, close to six feet—nowhere near as tall a Nick but several inches taller than Ricky had been. His slim, smooth body had a fine dusting of black hair on the calves and forearms—and large black tangles in the pits and groin—but was otherwise smooth and glistening.
The face was what set him apart. Joey was in his early twenties and had the face of a model. Sky-blue eyes framed by long black lashes gleamed seductively out of a perfectly-formed face with a strong, straight nose, a chiseled chin and lush, full lips. His short hair looked like a spill of black silk threads, perfectly sculpted without any obvious product. His skin was clear and smooth, except for what appeared to be the faintest shadow of stubble along the jaw and on the upper lip.
Nick turned to Tony. “Dude, he looks like a model. What’s his deal?”
Tony, whose eyes were drifting over Nick’s muscled body with a dreamy, faraway look, snapped back to himself. “New in town. He wants to get into movies. Sucking dicks back in Podunk wasn’t good enough; he wants to do it on camera.”
Nick turned back to the slideshow. “Fuck, he’s a hot little bitch. He’ll be very popular.”
Tony chuckled. “Yeah, but not in the way he thinks—not after we get him. But we need to move fast. With those looks, someone will grab him quick. I’m already blocking it out in my mind; he thinks it’s normal porn—we’ll use the bedroom. Question is, how are ya gonna off him? I wanna shake it up a little.”
Nick stood up and grinned. “Man, I got it covered. Here, lemme show ya somethin’.”
He bent over, reaching into the large shopping bag. He grinned ever wider to himself as he flexed his thick thighs and muscular ass at Tony. He knew that there was an attraction there. That was a good thing. That was a thing he could use in the future, maybe.
His bicep swelled as he lifted his purchase out of the bag; it apparently weighed several pounds. Tony’s attention slipped from Nick’s body to his hand; he couldn’t identify the device. It looked kinda like a cordless drill, but it was large and had a long, thin metal frame running down at an angle from the “bit” to beneath the grip.
“What the fuck is that?” he asked.
Nick’s grin grew yet even more shark-like. “It’s called a framing nailer. Cordless. Holds up to sixty three-and-a-half inch nails.”
“I don’t get it. What’s that—“ Tony paused, thought, and went pale.
But Nick couldn’t help noticing the bulge in Tony’s crotch.
“Dude,” Tony whispered, “that’s so fucking sick. It’s brilliant. I’ll get the motherfucker over here right away. This is gonna make us so fucking much money…”
=======================================================================================================
The image is too blurry to make anything out; the camera is moving too much. There’s a couple of violent shakes, a “goddammit” muttered off-screen, and the frame steadies down.
It focuses on a young man’s face, classically formed, with bright blue eyes and a shy grin. He glances nervously to one side, then back at the camera. “Ya really think you can get me somethin’ with this? I wanna do more. I heard you can make a grand per movie, maybe more. Dude, that’d be sweet.”
The voice behind the camera comes back, “Joey, I’m givin’ ya that much for just one scene.”
The kid’s grin develops a slightly harder edge. “Yeah, but it’s only once. I wanna fuckin’ contract.”
“We talked about that, too. Let’s see what kinda response we get from this. You have no idea what the future holds. But I promise you one thing—just lie there and let Nick have his way with ya and you’ll be an instant star. You won’t even know what hit ya. I got another line of coke laid out if ya want it before we get started.”
The kid nods and gets up; the image blurs momentarily as the camera is repositioned. Now it’s aimed directly at the bed; the head is to the left and the foot to the right. The sheets are clean—at any rate, they have been cleaned; they’re yellowed and stained but not filthy. Over them is a brown fleece blanket and a couple of flattish pillows.
The punk walks back into the frame and sits on the bed, facing the camera, sniffling and wiping white powder from his nose. His slim, smooth body gleams under the overhead lighting. He’s nude except for his ankle socks and skate shoes. A long tube of flesh dangles between his firm thighs. He’s coked up and twitchy; his blown pupils changing his eyes from sky to midnight blue.
He almost jumps out of his skin when the large, muscular man enters from the right, nude but for his construction boots, his hard body gleaming in the light, his huge dick jutting straight out in front. The man laughs in a deep bass rumble as he reaches out and grabs the boy. “Slow down there, Tiger,” he chuckles, “I ain’t even gotten started yet.”
There’s a laugh—almost a giggle—from behind the camera. “Looks like he’s already anticipatin’ that hard fuckin’ shaft stickin’ in his ass,” the off-screen voice says. “Me too. Look here, Joey—I’m gonna be beatin’ off while I film. If you’re that good a fuck, I should be able to cum just by watching. See? Make me cum, boy, show us you’re worth the money.”
Joey looks wide-eyed at the man towering over him and then dead-on at the camera. He jerks abruptly as if he’s trying to bolt from the bed but the muscled alpha has his upper arm in a vice grip and yanks him back down on to the bed. “C’mon, man,” he hisses at the kid, “if ya wanna be in porn, ya gotta get fucked on film. First time is the hardest, I promise. After this one, it’ll be like doing everything else in your sleep.”
The kid seems to calm a bit, not thinking the words through. “How do ya want me?”
Nick smiled down at him. “Get on your hands and knees, bitch, I’m gonna fuck ya like a dog.”
The punk scrambles to obey, whipping his lithe body into position, his tightly-laced sneakers spread far apart on the sheets, his knees spread just as widely. The alpha top grins at the camera and, flogging his dong in one hand, spreads the boy’s asscheeks while he nods the camera in for a closer view. It closes in on the kid’s fluttering pink fuckhole, already quivering with excitement. “Dude, I can’t wait for you to get your tool inside this bitch,” the voice behind the camera mutters breathlessly.
“Yeah,” comes the basso rumble, “but I wanna fuck ‘im first.”
A thick purple head, oozing clear precum, slides into view. It looks like it’s at least twice the diameter of the slut’s hole. There’s an extreme close-up of the dark spongy mass spearing the writhing sphincter, stretching it unbearably. The sound of the punk’s yelling and bleating, off camera but very loud, attests to the pain he’s in.
“Fuck yeah,” the cameraman moans, “lookit that thick shaft tearing your asshole open. How’s that feelin’, Joey, huh? Looks like it hurts good, dude, looks like it hurts so fuckin’ good.”
The camera pans up the boy’s smooth body, heaving with the alpha’s thrusts. It focuses on the kid’s face. “Joey, man, look up here. Yeah, right at the camera, that’s it. Lemme see, fucker, lemme see in your face how much you love that cock inside ya. Yeah, I know it hurts, but you love gettin’ hurt, dontcha, cocksucker? Aw, dude, you’re gonna love what Nick’s gonna do to ya. You’re gonna cum harder than you ever have in your life, and you’re gonna do it on camera, man!”
Joey’s face fills the frame, tense and strained with the erotic agony of rough sex. His head is turned to the side, Nick’s thick hairy forearm and big muscled hand are visible, forcing the whore’s head down onto the mattress. As the top grunts and thrusts ever deeper, the kid’s eyes open wide, the pain of the assfuck shining in the huge pools of blue and black bordered with long silky lashes. He looks directly into the camera, lust and love of the pain written all over his grinning, straining countenance.
“Fuuuuuck, yeah…” Joey moans, deeply, breathily. His eyes close as he wallows in the sensation of a massive tube of flesh rammed up his rectum. He emits tiny, high-pitched squeaks in time with Nick’s deep strokes.
The camera pulls back. Both men can be seen in full on the bed.
Joey is huddled on his knees, ass in the air, head forced down onto the bed. Nick has mounted him from behind and is riding him like a bull, busting his ass like a bronco. Nick’s powerful legs, thick like the limbs of a tree, are pumping and sweating; his yellow construction boots with black leather at the ankles providing him traction on the synthetic material of the bed coverings.
The dominant alpha crouches over the slim, smooth boy, holding him down and sinking his dick into the punk’s colon with deliberate and intense brutality. He grunts again, then starts speaking, his voice rumbling in the lower registers.
“You like that cock, you fuckin’ faggot punk? Ya like feelin’ a real man inside a’ ya? C’mon, cunt, tell me ya like it. C’mon you fuckin’ faggot cocksucker, tell me how much ya love my shaft tearin’ yer guts open!”
As he’s speaking, Nick grabs Joey’s hair in his fist, pulling his head up slightly and spitting in his face. Shoving the slut’s head back down, Nick looks at the camera and winks, sticking his tongue out.
His eyes aren’t quite directly on the camera, though; they seem to be more on the cameraman.
The whore moans and groans loudly; Nick’s pace has picked up and the kid’s having trouble keeping up. He’s starting to sweat and jerk; it’s clear that the alpha top has exceeded the punk’s limits. Joey peers up as the camera is shoved obtrusively into his face; his discomfort is obvious in his strained expression.
“Man, Joey, that’s gotta feel hotter ‘n fuck, dude, that thick fuckin’ shaft reamin’ out your asshole. So many guys are gonna cum watching you get fucked, ya know that? Whaddaya think about that, man?”
Still pumping rhythmically, Nick growled, “I bet it turns the little faggot whore on, don’t it, boy?” The camera pulls out a bit to show him crouching over the kid, covering him completely with his hard muscled body, pinning the punk to the bed. Nick is still gripping his hair tightly in one hand, pulling his head to the side and whispering into Joey’s ear.
“Yeah, pretty boy, bet you just love getting’ dicked on camera, don’t ya? Show the world just what a whore you are, letting your faggot cunt get plugged fulla cock, huh? Yeah, motherfucker?”
Joey squirms and moans, looking pleadingly—and lovingly—at the camera. He’s really enjoying being dominated. As his stunning eyes focus on the camera, he licks his lips slowly and moans deeply, breathily.
A cold note creeps into the voice behind the camera. “Hey, Nick, I think Joey’s getting’ tolerant of your rod, man. Looks like he’s imitating Marilyn Monroe or something.”
Nick chuckles. “Yeah, think it’s time to change things up a bit. Set the camera down and get the thing, dude.”
The camera moves quickly, blurring the image for a couple of minutes. There are a few flashes of clarity—a shot of the floor, a brief pan of the bed—and then it stabilizes, evidently on a tripod. Again, it’s got a full-length shot from the side of the bed. Joey is still huddled on the bed, his smooth, firm ass speared by Nick’s huge, glistening shaft. The kid has buried his face in the pillow, biting it, his arms stretched above his head, hands grasping the sheets tightly. On top of him Nick pumps steadily and deeply, looking almost bored.
Tony appears from the right side, holding a large nail gun in both hands. Except for his white tube socks and hightops, Tony is nude. His dick isn’t thick, but it is long and heavily veined, and standing fully to attention. He approaches Nick, who reaches out and grabs the tool—the nail gun, that is—with one huge, strong arm.
He swings it up lightly, seemingly admiring the heft. As strong and well-built as he is, he has no difficulty maneuvering the device. Tony retreats from view again, moving towards and behind the camera. Nick turns to him and the camera closes in on him, just as he bends down over Joey and whispers into the boy’s ear again.
“Listen up, cunt. Time to rock n’ roll, motherfucker. Time to get what ya came here for. Ya wanted to get fucked on camera? You have no idea how fucked you are, cocksucker, but I think it’s time ya found out.”
The boy’s head is turning to the side, his expression one of trepidation—he has no idea what the alpha top is talking about. Before he can twist himself around to see, the muscled arm tightens, bringing the nail gun down onto the kid’s back, under his shoulder blade.
The camera closes in as Nick pulls the trigger. The gun bucks violently as it fires, the loud report echoing in the metal-walled room. It’s immediately drowned out by Joey’s screams. He thrashes wildly in pain, but the dominant strongman overpowers his struggles, holding him down on the bed with an almost nonchalant look on his face.
He moves back a little on the bed, admiring his work, his cock slipping smoothly from the punk’s ravaged fuckhole. Suddenly, he grins up at the camera. “Lookit that, huh? That’s three and a half inches of pointed steel, bitch.” The alpha manhandles the wailing slut, rolling him so that the head of the nail can be seen. The frame zooms in on it—the head of the nail is almost flush with the kid’s smooth, heaving skin. A trickle of blood leaks out from under the small shiny disk.
The stud grabs the whore’s black hair, roughly jerking his head up and back until his ear is at the level of his tormentor’s mouth. “How’s that feelin’, cunt? Told ya you were fucked. Damn, faggot, that must be stuck in your lung, huh? Keep jerkin’ around like that, you stupid fuckin’ whore, you’re just tearing yourself open inside. Now shaddup and lemme see how many things I can stick in ya before ya die.”
He rolls the punk back onto his belly. The camera had swung down briefly to catch a shot of the alpha’s thick purple cock, swaying free after he’d posed the whore for the camera. The frame closes in and slides, slowly and lovingly, along the glistening vein-bound shaft.
The camera quickly snaps back to a wide shot. Nick is poised over the weeping boy, snarling down at him. “Quit cryin’, you fuckin’ pussy assfuck, you ain’t felt anything yet. You’re gonna love this next one, cunt, you’re gettin’ a twofer!”
Nick raises himself up, his hard body gleaming in the light as his muscles tense for the assault. In a flash, he drives his engorged rod deep into Joey’s ass in one swift, brutal thrust. At the same time, he reaches around the punk’s side and fires a nail into the boy’s sweating, heaving flank, the sharp steel shaft shattering a rib on its way in.
The young man’s reaction is instant; he tenses rigidly, almost convulsively. His breath is expelled forcefully from his lungs. The involuntary contraction of his muscles in reaction to the excruciating pain tightens his vocal cords—the escaping air is channeled into a high pitch.
“Fuck yeah, cunt, that’s what I’m talking about!” Nick cries before turning happily to Tony (and coincidentally the camera). “Ya hear that, dude? Motherfucker’s squealin’ like a pig. And damn if his reamed-out fuckhole didn’t tighten up on my dick!”
The camera moves in closer, obviously being held up to Joey’s face. As the lens focuses on the beautiful face, smeared with tears and snot, the voice behind the camera begins to speak. “Fuckin’-A, Joey, you lucky cunt, gettin’ this hot stud’s cock shoved up inside ya—told ya, you were gonna get nailed tonight, didn’t I, ha! Make sure you scream loud now, dude, lotsa guys out there wanna watch you get hurt. Fuck, bro, hundreds of guys are gonna beat their meat and blow their loads watching you shriek and squirm and bleed—don’t it just make ya fuckin’ hard?”
The camera zeros in on the boy’s strained, pleading face. He’s not looking directly into the lens; he’s looking into the cameraman’s face, his expression full of misery, fear and desperation.
The cameraman whispers, “it don’t matter if it ain’t getting’ ya hard, Joey. What you like don’t matter to anyone anymore. Just enjoy the pain, motherfucker. All kinda guys are gonna enjoy it later on, I promise ya.”
The frame suddenly goes blurry. The camera’s being moved quickly. The movement stops momentarily, the lens pointing up towards the ceiling. Tony’s handsome face is visible from below, foreshortened to the point that his dark eyes, furrowed in concentration, can be seen over his cleft chin. The camera shakes again as he mutters, “yeah, I’m repositioning it. Just keep bangin’ him, dude, it’ll just be a sec.”
The camera frame tumbles as he manipulates the tripod; the metallic clicks and clanks are underscored by Joey’s sobbing.
The frame goes black—and then comes back instantly. The caesura was brief—just long enough to remount and refocus the camera.
The boy doesn’t need to be remounted. Or refocused. He’s still locked in place, held down on the bed by the alpha top, Nick’s hand pressing against the back of the punk’s head, forcing his face into the pillow, deep—but not deep enough to suffocate him. His weeping is muffled but still audible.
The porn-star wannabe kicks his smooth taut legs violently, his purple velour skate shoes flailing at Nick’s construction boots which are planted firmly on the rough blanket for traction. His hands clench and release convulsively, in rhythm with the muscle stud’s strokes, his fingers curling tightly as the thick shaft plunges deep into his rectum, splaying out as it’s withdrawn, the massive head scouring the whore’s colon roughly on the way out.
Joey’s arms, however, aren’t moving much. One of the nails in his back has pierced his trapezius muscle, the other the dorsal. Any movement of his arms at the shoulder would clearly be agony; now that the camera is closer, the thin trails of blood oozing out from under the nail heads is much easier to see.
As the two men writhe in an embrace of lust and pain, they’re joined by a third. Tony steps in, his lithe, hard body preceded into the frame by his long thin cock, already oozing from its swollen tip. His handsome face is split by an evil grin.
“Hey, dude,” he chuckles, “he ain’t makin’ enough noise. Hey, Joey, ya wanna be a star, right? You seen how it works in porn—the bottom’s gotta scream and yell so’s the audience knows he’s gettin’ fucked good! You’re too fuckin’ quiet, brah! Here, lemme see if I can help…”
As Nick obligingly leans back, Tony bends over Joey and, grabbing his wrists, wrenches his arms up over his head, then pulls them back down behind his back.
Joey screams, a loud, high-pitched shriek of agony. The twisting alone is almost enough to dislocate his shoulders, but the movement of his muscles can be seen under his slick, sweating skin.
So can the movement of the nails as the muscles contract around them, tearing themselves open on the thin steel shanks.
Joey’s scream trails off into an agonized croak before he draws in another breath with a loud whoop. But at least one of the nails has punctured a lung; his breathing is raspy and labored. He shrieks again, just as loudly but not as long. This one subsides into prolonged sobbing.
In the meantime, Nick hasn’t mistimed a single thrust of his dick. Tony, standing by the kid’s head, is slapping him in the face with his dick as the slut screams and cries. “Ya gotta stick a few more in him,” he tells Nick, “this cunt can take a lot more pain. He ain’t even passed out yet.”
Nick looks up at Tony, then at the camera. A slow smile, dripping with lust, crosses his face. He’d put the nail gun to one side for a moment; now he picks it up; his deltoid bulging as he hefts the seven-pound weapon and swings it around so the camera catches a good view.
Then, without warning, he drops it down and fires a nail into Joey’s elbow, on the outside at the bend.
The screams are ear-splitting as the boy thrashes and flails violently, his arms and legs a blur. The rest of him is motionless, however, held in place by Nick like an iron cage. The hard alpha dom leans back, eyes closed, grinning and snarling in sexual pleasure as the tortured youth kicks and struggles on his cock.
He’s having a great time, and it’s obvious. The poor porn actor manqué is not, and it’s also obvious. Tony has stepped back out of the kid’s reach for the moment. Nick is the true star and he shows it. “Oh fuck yeah, you motherfuckin’ whore,” he growls, “that got ya goin’, huh? Guess what, cunt—I can feel your little faggot dick getting’ hard while I fuck ya. It makes your ass get extra tight. Know what else, you fuckin’ cocksucker? I can feel your ass get tight every time I stick a nail in ya, too. I guess that means your worthless homo cock gets hard every time a real man shows it what pain feels like, huh? You love it, you fuckin’ fairy whore, dontcha? Then this’ll make ya cum, bitch!”
Nick seems to lose it on camera, raping the kid in a frenzy of rage and desire, his hips nearly a blur as he reams the struggling, terrified youth. Simultaneously, he flips a switch on the nail gun—it’s not obvious at first why, but it soon becomes clear. He doesn’t have to squeeze the trigger to fire the gun anymore; he just has to bump it against his victim with enough force to trigger it.
He’s beating the boy with the nail gun. Each blow fires a thin shaft of steel more than three inches into Joey’s smooth, flailing torso. As he screams and moans raggedly, holes are punched into his back and his sides, through his kidneys and liver.
“Roll ‘im on his side!” yells Tony, “do ‘im sidesaddle!”
Nick rolls onto his side, pulling Joey on over, still impaled on his huge tool. Joey looks directly at the camera, his sky-blue eyes bloodshot and ringed with gray by shock. His long lashes flutter, fear adding to the eroticism of the moment, as if he’s flirting with the camera in the moment of his greatest agony. His dick emerges from the dark hairy shadow of his groin, erect and straining despite the boy’s obvious agony.
Except it’s not his moment of greatest agony.
“Make him cum before he dies,” hisses Tony, leaning down and spitting into Joey’s stunned face. “Can ya do that? Motherfucker’s already hard. Can’t blame the little cunt, with your hot cock inside him. Bet he’s ready to shoot. Can ya make ‘im shoot and die?”
“Hell yeah,” chortles Nick, “watch this. First one in the head don’t kill him. Betcha ain’t seen this one before, dude.”
Grabbing a hank of the boy’s hair, Nick pulls Joey’s head backwards. From the camera’s angle, not much more can be seen beyond the thick bulge of Joey’s adam’s apple, bobbing up and down in terror. The frame jerks and blurs; Tony has picked it up momentarily to aim it from a higher angle, since Nick and Joey are on their sides now.
He gets it in focus just in time to catch Nick drive a nail into the back of Joey’s skull, about an inch above the top of the neck—directly into the brain stem.
Tony backs off, showing a full-length image of Joey—who seems to be frozen, not moving at all—and Nick reaching down into Joey’s groin.
The camera is no more than a yard from the bed, so Joey’s swollen purple dick is very clear in the frame. Tony was right; despite the fear and pain, some part of the little whore had gotten off on the pain and the fear. Even now, as he quivers in the throes of massive brain trauma, he’s oozing precum from the tip of his cock.
Nick places the gun up under Joey’s scrotum. As the kid trembles on his dick, Nick applies enough force to trigger the gun, sending a nail up behind the boy’s balls, deep within the root of the unfortunate slut’s rod, impaling the tube of flesh on a shaft of steel and forcing a massive ejaculation.
Joey’s mouth opens and a deep, mindless moan comes out, the sound flowing from his lips as the semen flows from his dick. He doesn’t spunk in spurts; it’s a solid stream of white shooting out like someone stomped on a tube of toothpaste.
“Fuck!” Nick yells, his face contorted in animalistic rage and ecstasy. “Fuckin’ cunt’s so goddam tight—fuck! Gonna shoot, dude, gonna fuckin’ unload in this whore’s fuckhole! Yeah, fuck yeah!”
Tony jacks himself furiously. He licks his lips, staring down at the writhing, traumatized flesh beneath him. “Waste him, dude,” he gasps, “lemme see ya use that hard strong body, dude. Waste the fuckin’ punk, man!”
“Hell fuckin’ yeah,” Nick grunts. He swings the nail gun around and slams it up against Joey’s temple. There’s a loud crunching sound as three inches of galvanized steel punches its way through bone and brain tissue.
Joey goes rigid instantly, his smooth, hard body covered in a greasy lube of sweat, gleaming under the overhead lights as it shudders and convulses.
As the kid thrashes on his cock, Nick grunts loudly and screams. “Fuck! Fuck! Motherfuckin’ faggot cunt, take my load! Fuck, slut, take my cum, you worthless pig whore! Goddamit, cunt, take another shaft in your useless homo skull!”
Nick drives the gun down onto the top of Joey’s cranium, sending another nail deep into Joey’s cerebrum. Quickly withdrawing the heavy tool, Nick whacks it against the whore’s skull one last time, in the back, before tossing the weapon away.
The alpha stud grabs the flailing boy’s hips and pulls his ass relentlessly up along his hard shaft, grunting uncontrollably in violent orgasm as the unconscious punk jerks bonelessly in his death throes. As his beautiful, lightly stubbled face bobs, tongue protruding and eyes rolled back to expose the whites, Tony cries out and shoots a jet of spunk into Joey’s dying face, cum splashing into his eyes and his open mouth.
There’s one last sound; one last grunt from each male as Tony, Nick and Joey each signal the last spurt of seed from their overwrought cocks. Joey’s grunt is louder—he’s shooting out the last spark of life along with his last drop of spunk. Nick and Tony go very still, looking each other straight in the eyes, each trying to catch their breath after their intense orgasms.
Joey, on the other hand, doesn’t try to catch his breath. And he doesn’t remain still, either. His body kicks, jerks, and convulses harder than before; his smooth sweaty legs flailing as his purple velour skate shoes kick convulsively on the bed…
=======================================================================================================
Tony leaned back against the headboard and fired up a joint. He inhaled deeply before handing it off to Nick. As he held the smoke, Tony looked down at Joey’s corpse. There were at least a dozen nails driven into the youth’s smooth, slim body, not counting the ones stuck in his skull.
Nick took a hit and passed the joint back to Tony. He planted his right foot in its thick construction boot against Joey’s side and shoved the still-quivering body off the bed. It hit the floor with a boneless sound somewhere between a thud and a splat. It was the sound of warm dead flesh hitting the floor.
Nick looked at Tony. Tony returned his gaze, looking deeply into Nick’s eyes.
“You want me to fuck ya, don’t ya?” asked Nick
“Yeah, I do. But I don’t wanna end up like him.” Tony nodded at Joey’s body, still shuddering with the random firing of neurons within his mangled brain, his purple skate shoes scraping mindlessly on the floor.
“Maybe we can work something out,” Nick replied. “Let’s see what happens.”
The percentages had been worked out. The video, carefully and skillfully edited, was a huge hit online and it became obvious that Nick’s cut was going to be considerably more than fifteen hundred per movie.
Nick and Tony were both pleased with the deal. Within days of Ricky’s debut, they met again in the studio. Each was eager to get started on the next video. And each brought something new to the table.
Tony brought a new bitch. “Name’s Joey. I met him a coupla weeks ago; finally got him in here for a photo shoot. Here, lemme pull the slideshow up—tell me what ya think.”
Nick sat in a chair, a large bag from a hardware store by his side. He’d brought it in with him but hadn’t said anything about it yet. And at the moment, he was too busy looking at the pics of Joey to pay much attention to anything else.
Joey was similar to Ricky, Nick’s last victim, in that he had a slender (but not scrawny) swimmer’s build and black hair cut fairly short. The resemblance ended there. Joey was taller, close to six feet—nowhere near as tall a Nick but several inches taller than Ricky had been. His slim, smooth body had a fine dusting of black hair on the calves and forearms—and large black tangles in the pits and groin—but was otherwise smooth and glistening.
The face was what set him apart. Joey was in his early twenties and had the face of a model. Sky-blue eyes framed by long black lashes gleamed seductively out of a perfectly-formed face with a strong, straight nose, a chiseled chin and lush, full lips. His short hair looked like a spill of black silk threads, perfectly sculpted without any obvious product. His skin was clear and smooth, except for what appeared to be the faintest shadow of stubble along the jaw and on the upper lip.
Nick turned to Tony. “Dude, he looks like a model. What’s his deal?”
Tony, whose eyes were drifting over Nick’s muscled body with a dreamy, faraway look, snapped back to himself. “New in town. He wants to get into movies. Sucking dicks back in Podunk wasn’t good enough; he wants to do it on camera.”
Nick turned back to the slideshow. “Fuck, he’s a hot little bitch. He’ll be very popular.”
Tony chuckled. “Yeah, but not in the way he thinks—not after we get him. But we need to move fast. With those looks, someone will grab him quick. I’m already blocking it out in my mind; he thinks it’s normal porn—we’ll use the bedroom. Question is, how are ya gonna off him? I wanna shake it up a little.”
Nick stood up and grinned. “Man, I got it covered. Here, lemme show ya somethin’.”
He bent over, reaching into the large shopping bag. He grinned ever wider to himself as he flexed his thick thighs and muscular ass at Tony. He knew that there was an attraction there. That was a good thing. That was a thing he could use in the future, maybe.
His bicep swelled as he lifted his purchase out of the bag; it apparently weighed several pounds. Tony’s attention slipped from Nick’s body to his hand; he couldn’t identify the device. It looked kinda like a cordless drill, but it was large and had a long, thin metal frame running down at an angle from the “bit” to beneath the grip.
“What the fuck is that?” he asked.
Nick’s grin grew yet even more shark-like. “It’s called a framing nailer. Cordless. Holds up to sixty three-and-a-half inch nails.”
“I don’t get it. What’s that—“ Tony paused, thought, and went pale.
But Nick couldn’t help noticing the bulge in Tony’s crotch.
“Dude,” Tony whispered, “that’s so fucking sick. It’s brilliant. I’ll get the motherfucker over here right away. This is gonna make us so fucking much money…”
=======================================================================================================
The image is too blurry to make anything out; the camera is moving too much. There’s a couple of violent shakes, a “goddammit” muttered off-screen, and the frame steadies down.
It focuses on a young man’s face, classically formed, with bright blue eyes and a shy grin. He glances nervously to one side, then back at the camera. “Ya really think you can get me somethin’ with this? I wanna do more. I heard you can make a grand per movie, maybe more. Dude, that’d be sweet.”
The voice behind the camera comes back, “Joey, I’m givin’ ya that much for just one scene.”
The kid’s grin develops a slightly harder edge. “Yeah, but it’s only once. I wanna fuckin’ contract.”
“We talked about that, too. Let’s see what kinda response we get from this. You have no idea what the future holds. But I promise you one thing—just lie there and let Nick have his way with ya and you’ll be an instant star. You won’t even know what hit ya. I got another line of coke laid out if ya want it before we get started.”
The kid nods and gets up; the image blurs momentarily as the camera is repositioned. Now it’s aimed directly at the bed; the head is to the left and the foot to the right. The sheets are clean—at any rate, they have been cleaned; they’re yellowed and stained but not filthy. Over them is a brown fleece blanket and a couple of flattish pillows.
The punk walks back into the frame and sits on the bed, facing the camera, sniffling and wiping white powder from his nose. His slim, smooth body gleams under the overhead lighting. He’s nude except for his ankle socks and skate shoes. A long tube of flesh dangles between his firm thighs. He’s coked up and twitchy; his blown pupils changing his eyes from sky to midnight blue.
He almost jumps out of his skin when the large, muscular man enters from the right, nude but for his construction boots, his hard body gleaming in the light, his huge dick jutting straight out in front. The man laughs in a deep bass rumble as he reaches out and grabs the boy. “Slow down there, Tiger,” he chuckles, “I ain’t even gotten started yet.”
There’s a laugh—almost a giggle—from behind the camera. “Looks like he’s already anticipatin’ that hard fuckin’ shaft stickin’ in his ass,” the off-screen voice says. “Me too. Look here, Joey—I’m gonna be beatin’ off while I film. If you’re that good a fuck, I should be able to cum just by watching. See? Make me cum, boy, show us you’re worth the money.”
Joey looks wide-eyed at the man towering over him and then dead-on at the camera. He jerks abruptly as if he’s trying to bolt from the bed but the muscled alpha has his upper arm in a vice grip and yanks him back down on to the bed. “C’mon, man,” he hisses at the kid, “if ya wanna be in porn, ya gotta get fucked on film. First time is the hardest, I promise. After this one, it’ll be like doing everything else in your sleep.”
The kid seems to calm a bit, not thinking the words through. “How do ya want me?”
Nick smiled down at him. “Get on your hands and knees, bitch, I’m gonna fuck ya like a dog.”
The punk scrambles to obey, whipping his lithe body into position, his tightly-laced sneakers spread far apart on the sheets, his knees spread just as widely. The alpha top grins at the camera and, flogging his dong in one hand, spreads the boy’s asscheeks while he nods the camera in for a closer view. It closes in on the kid’s fluttering pink fuckhole, already quivering with excitement. “Dude, I can’t wait for you to get your tool inside this bitch,” the voice behind the camera mutters breathlessly.
“Yeah,” comes the basso rumble, “but I wanna fuck ‘im first.”
A thick purple head, oozing clear precum, slides into view. It looks like it’s at least twice the diameter of the slut’s hole. There’s an extreme close-up of the dark spongy mass spearing the writhing sphincter, stretching it unbearably. The sound of the punk’s yelling and bleating, off camera but very loud, attests to the pain he’s in.
“Fuck yeah,” the cameraman moans, “lookit that thick shaft tearing your asshole open. How’s that feelin’, Joey, huh? Looks like it hurts good, dude, looks like it hurts so fuckin’ good.”
The camera pans up the boy’s smooth body, heaving with the alpha’s thrusts. It focuses on the kid’s face. “Joey, man, look up here. Yeah, right at the camera, that’s it. Lemme see, fucker, lemme see in your face how much you love that cock inside ya. Yeah, I know it hurts, but you love gettin’ hurt, dontcha, cocksucker? Aw, dude, you’re gonna love what Nick’s gonna do to ya. You’re gonna cum harder than you ever have in your life, and you’re gonna do it on camera, man!”
Joey’s face fills the frame, tense and strained with the erotic agony of rough sex. His head is turned to the side, Nick’s thick hairy forearm and big muscled hand are visible, forcing the whore’s head down onto the mattress. As the top grunts and thrusts ever deeper, the kid’s eyes open wide, the pain of the assfuck shining in the huge pools of blue and black bordered with long silky lashes. He looks directly into the camera, lust and love of the pain written all over his grinning, straining countenance.
“Fuuuuuck, yeah…” Joey moans, deeply, breathily. His eyes close as he wallows in the sensation of a massive tube of flesh rammed up his rectum. He emits tiny, high-pitched squeaks in time with Nick’s deep strokes.
The camera pulls back. Both men can be seen in full on the bed.
Joey is huddled on his knees, ass in the air, head forced down onto the bed. Nick has mounted him from behind and is riding him like a bull, busting his ass like a bronco. Nick’s powerful legs, thick like the limbs of a tree, are pumping and sweating; his yellow construction boots with black leather at the ankles providing him traction on the synthetic material of the bed coverings.
The dominant alpha crouches over the slim, smooth boy, holding him down and sinking his dick into the punk’s colon with deliberate and intense brutality. He grunts again, then starts speaking, his voice rumbling in the lower registers.
“You like that cock, you fuckin’ faggot punk? Ya like feelin’ a real man inside a’ ya? C’mon, cunt, tell me ya like it. C’mon you fuckin’ faggot cocksucker, tell me how much ya love my shaft tearin’ yer guts open!”
As he’s speaking, Nick grabs Joey’s hair in his fist, pulling his head up slightly and spitting in his face. Shoving the slut’s head back down, Nick looks at the camera and winks, sticking his tongue out.
His eyes aren’t quite directly on the camera, though; they seem to be more on the cameraman.
The whore moans and groans loudly; Nick’s pace has picked up and the kid’s having trouble keeping up. He’s starting to sweat and jerk; it’s clear that the alpha top has exceeded the punk’s limits. Joey peers up as the camera is shoved obtrusively into his face; his discomfort is obvious in his strained expression.
“Man, Joey, that’s gotta feel hotter ‘n fuck, dude, that thick fuckin’ shaft reamin’ out your asshole. So many guys are gonna cum watching you get fucked, ya know that? Whaddaya think about that, man?”
Still pumping rhythmically, Nick growled, “I bet it turns the little faggot whore on, don’t it, boy?” The camera pulls out a bit to show him crouching over the kid, covering him completely with his hard muscled body, pinning the punk to the bed. Nick is still gripping his hair tightly in one hand, pulling his head to the side and whispering into Joey’s ear.
“Yeah, pretty boy, bet you just love getting’ dicked on camera, don’t ya? Show the world just what a whore you are, letting your faggot cunt get plugged fulla cock, huh? Yeah, motherfucker?”
Joey squirms and moans, looking pleadingly—and lovingly—at the camera. He’s really enjoying being dominated. As his stunning eyes focus on the camera, he licks his lips slowly and moans deeply, breathily.
A cold note creeps into the voice behind the camera. “Hey, Nick, I think Joey’s getting’ tolerant of your rod, man. Looks like he’s imitating Marilyn Monroe or something.”
Nick chuckles. “Yeah, think it’s time to change things up a bit. Set the camera down and get the thing, dude.”
The camera moves quickly, blurring the image for a couple of minutes. There are a few flashes of clarity—a shot of the floor, a brief pan of the bed—and then it stabilizes, evidently on a tripod. Again, it’s got a full-length shot from the side of the bed. Joey is still huddled on the bed, his smooth, firm ass speared by Nick’s huge, glistening shaft. The kid has buried his face in the pillow, biting it, his arms stretched above his head, hands grasping the sheets tightly. On top of him Nick pumps steadily and deeply, looking almost bored.
Tony appears from the right side, holding a large nail gun in both hands. Except for his white tube socks and hightops, Tony is nude. His dick isn’t thick, but it is long and heavily veined, and standing fully to attention. He approaches Nick, who reaches out and grabs the tool—the nail gun, that is—with one huge, strong arm.
He swings it up lightly, seemingly admiring the heft. As strong and well-built as he is, he has no difficulty maneuvering the device. Tony retreats from view again, moving towards and behind the camera. Nick turns to him and the camera closes in on him, just as he bends down over Joey and whispers into the boy’s ear again.
“Listen up, cunt. Time to rock n’ roll, motherfucker. Time to get what ya came here for. Ya wanted to get fucked on camera? You have no idea how fucked you are, cocksucker, but I think it’s time ya found out.”
The boy’s head is turning to the side, his expression one of trepidation—he has no idea what the alpha top is talking about. Before he can twist himself around to see, the muscled arm tightens, bringing the nail gun down onto the kid’s back, under his shoulder blade.
The camera closes in as Nick pulls the trigger. The gun bucks violently as it fires, the loud report echoing in the metal-walled room. It’s immediately drowned out by Joey’s screams. He thrashes wildly in pain, but the dominant strongman overpowers his struggles, holding him down on the bed with an almost nonchalant look on his face.
He moves back a little on the bed, admiring his work, his cock slipping smoothly from the punk’s ravaged fuckhole. Suddenly, he grins up at the camera. “Lookit that, huh? That’s three and a half inches of pointed steel, bitch.” The alpha manhandles the wailing slut, rolling him so that the head of the nail can be seen. The frame zooms in on it—the head of the nail is almost flush with the kid’s smooth, heaving skin. A trickle of blood leaks out from under the small shiny disk.
The stud grabs the whore’s black hair, roughly jerking his head up and back until his ear is at the level of his tormentor’s mouth. “How’s that feelin’, cunt? Told ya you were fucked. Damn, faggot, that must be stuck in your lung, huh? Keep jerkin’ around like that, you stupid fuckin’ whore, you’re just tearing yourself open inside. Now shaddup and lemme see how many things I can stick in ya before ya die.”
He rolls the punk back onto his belly. The camera had swung down briefly to catch a shot of the alpha’s thick purple cock, swaying free after he’d posed the whore for the camera. The frame closes in and slides, slowly and lovingly, along the glistening vein-bound shaft.
The camera quickly snaps back to a wide shot. Nick is poised over the weeping boy, snarling down at him. “Quit cryin’, you fuckin’ pussy assfuck, you ain’t felt anything yet. You’re gonna love this next one, cunt, you’re gettin’ a twofer!”
Nick raises himself up, his hard body gleaming in the light as his muscles tense for the assault. In a flash, he drives his engorged rod deep into Joey’s ass in one swift, brutal thrust. At the same time, he reaches around the punk’s side and fires a nail into the boy’s sweating, heaving flank, the sharp steel shaft shattering a rib on its way in.
The young man’s reaction is instant; he tenses rigidly, almost convulsively. His breath is expelled forcefully from his lungs. The involuntary contraction of his muscles in reaction to the excruciating pain tightens his vocal cords—the escaping air is channeled into a high pitch.
“Fuck yeah, cunt, that’s what I’m talking about!” Nick cries before turning happily to Tony (and coincidentally the camera). “Ya hear that, dude? Motherfucker’s squealin’ like a pig. And damn if his reamed-out fuckhole didn’t tighten up on my dick!”
The camera moves in closer, obviously being held up to Joey’s face. As the lens focuses on the beautiful face, smeared with tears and snot, the voice behind the camera begins to speak. “Fuckin’-A, Joey, you lucky cunt, gettin’ this hot stud’s cock shoved up inside ya—told ya, you were gonna get nailed tonight, didn’t I, ha! Make sure you scream loud now, dude, lotsa guys out there wanna watch you get hurt. Fuck, bro, hundreds of guys are gonna beat their meat and blow their loads watching you shriek and squirm and bleed—don’t it just make ya fuckin’ hard?”
The camera zeros in on the boy’s strained, pleading face. He’s not looking directly into the lens; he’s looking into the cameraman’s face, his expression full of misery, fear and desperation.
The cameraman whispers, “it don’t matter if it ain’t getting’ ya hard, Joey. What you like don’t matter to anyone anymore. Just enjoy the pain, motherfucker. All kinda guys are gonna enjoy it later on, I promise ya.”
The frame suddenly goes blurry. The camera’s being moved quickly. The movement stops momentarily, the lens pointing up towards the ceiling. Tony’s handsome face is visible from below, foreshortened to the point that his dark eyes, furrowed in concentration, can be seen over his cleft chin. The camera shakes again as he mutters, “yeah, I’m repositioning it. Just keep bangin’ him, dude, it’ll just be a sec.”
The camera frame tumbles as he manipulates the tripod; the metallic clicks and clanks are underscored by Joey’s sobbing.
The frame goes black—and then comes back instantly. The caesura was brief—just long enough to remount and refocus the camera.
The boy doesn’t need to be remounted. Or refocused. He’s still locked in place, held down on the bed by the alpha top, Nick’s hand pressing against the back of the punk’s head, forcing his face into the pillow, deep—but not deep enough to suffocate him. His weeping is muffled but still audible.
The porn-star wannabe kicks his smooth taut legs violently, his purple velour skate shoes flailing at Nick’s construction boots which are planted firmly on the rough blanket for traction. His hands clench and release convulsively, in rhythm with the muscle stud’s strokes, his fingers curling tightly as the thick shaft plunges deep into his rectum, splaying out as it’s withdrawn, the massive head scouring the whore’s colon roughly on the way out.
Joey’s arms, however, aren’t moving much. One of the nails in his back has pierced his trapezius muscle, the other the dorsal. Any movement of his arms at the shoulder would clearly be agony; now that the camera is closer, the thin trails of blood oozing out from under the nail heads is much easier to see.
As the two men writhe in an embrace of lust and pain, they’re joined by a third. Tony steps in, his lithe, hard body preceded into the frame by his long thin cock, already oozing from its swollen tip. His handsome face is split by an evil grin.
“Hey, dude,” he chuckles, “he ain’t makin’ enough noise. Hey, Joey, ya wanna be a star, right? You seen how it works in porn—the bottom’s gotta scream and yell so’s the audience knows he’s gettin’ fucked good! You’re too fuckin’ quiet, brah! Here, lemme see if I can help…”
As Nick obligingly leans back, Tony bends over Joey and, grabbing his wrists, wrenches his arms up over his head, then pulls them back down behind his back.
Joey screams, a loud, high-pitched shriek of agony. The twisting alone is almost enough to dislocate his shoulders, but the movement of his muscles can be seen under his slick, sweating skin.
So can the movement of the nails as the muscles contract around them, tearing themselves open on the thin steel shanks.
Joey’s scream trails off into an agonized croak before he draws in another breath with a loud whoop. But at least one of the nails has punctured a lung; his breathing is raspy and labored. He shrieks again, just as loudly but not as long. This one subsides into prolonged sobbing.
In the meantime, Nick hasn’t mistimed a single thrust of his dick. Tony, standing by the kid’s head, is slapping him in the face with his dick as the slut screams and cries. “Ya gotta stick a few more in him,” he tells Nick, “this cunt can take a lot more pain. He ain’t even passed out yet.”
Nick looks up at Tony, then at the camera. A slow smile, dripping with lust, crosses his face. He’d put the nail gun to one side for a moment; now he picks it up; his deltoid bulging as he hefts the seven-pound weapon and swings it around so the camera catches a good view.
Then, without warning, he drops it down and fires a nail into Joey’s elbow, on the outside at the bend.
The screams are ear-splitting as the boy thrashes and flails violently, his arms and legs a blur. The rest of him is motionless, however, held in place by Nick like an iron cage. The hard alpha dom leans back, eyes closed, grinning and snarling in sexual pleasure as the tortured youth kicks and struggles on his cock.
He’s having a great time, and it’s obvious. The poor porn actor manqué is not, and it’s also obvious. Tony has stepped back out of the kid’s reach for the moment. Nick is the true star and he shows it. “Oh fuck yeah, you motherfuckin’ whore,” he growls, “that got ya goin’, huh? Guess what, cunt—I can feel your little faggot dick getting’ hard while I fuck ya. It makes your ass get extra tight. Know what else, you fuckin’ cocksucker? I can feel your ass get tight every time I stick a nail in ya, too. I guess that means your worthless homo cock gets hard every time a real man shows it what pain feels like, huh? You love it, you fuckin’ fairy whore, dontcha? Then this’ll make ya cum, bitch!”
Nick seems to lose it on camera, raping the kid in a frenzy of rage and desire, his hips nearly a blur as he reams the struggling, terrified youth. Simultaneously, he flips a switch on the nail gun—it’s not obvious at first why, but it soon becomes clear. He doesn’t have to squeeze the trigger to fire the gun anymore; he just has to bump it against his victim with enough force to trigger it.
He’s beating the boy with the nail gun. Each blow fires a thin shaft of steel more than three inches into Joey’s smooth, flailing torso. As he screams and moans raggedly, holes are punched into his back and his sides, through his kidneys and liver.
“Roll ‘im on his side!” yells Tony, “do ‘im sidesaddle!”
Nick rolls onto his side, pulling Joey on over, still impaled on his huge tool. Joey looks directly at the camera, his sky-blue eyes bloodshot and ringed with gray by shock. His long lashes flutter, fear adding to the eroticism of the moment, as if he’s flirting with the camera in the moment of his greatest agony. His dick emerges from the dark hairy shadow of his groin, erect and straining despite the boy’s obvious agony.
Except it’s not his moment of greatest agony.
“Make him cum before he dies,” hisses Tony, leaning down and spitting into Joey’s stunned face. “Can ya do that? Motherfucker’s already hard. Can’t blame the little cunt, with your hot cock inside him. Bet he’s ready to shoot. Can ya make ‘im shoot and die?”
“Hell yeah,” chortles Nick, “watch this. First one in the head don’t kill him. Betcha ain’t seen this one before, dude.”
Grabbing a hank of the boy’s hair, Nick pulls Joey’s head backwards. From the camera’s angle, not much more can be seen beyond the thick bulge of Joey’s adam’s apple, bobbing up and down in terror. The frame jerks and blurs; Tony has picked it up momentarily to aim it from a higher angle, since Nick and Joey are on their sides now.
He gets it in focus just in time to catch Nick drive a nail into the back of Joey’s skull, about an inch above the top of the neck—directly into the brain stem.
Tony backs off, showing a full-length image of Joey—who seems to be frozen, not moving at all—and Nick reaching down into Joey’s groin.
The camera is no more than a yard from the bed, so Joey’s swollen purple dick is very clear in the frame. Tony was right; despite the fear and pain, some part of the little whore had gotten off on the pain and the fear. Even now, as he quivers in the throes of massive brain trauma, he’s oozing precum from the tip of his cock.
Nick places the gun up under Joey’s scrotum. As the kid trembles on his dick, Nick applies enough force to trigger the gun, sending a nail up behind the boy’s balls, deep within the root of the unfortunate slut’s rod, impaling the tube of flesh on a shaft of steel and forcing a massive ejaculation.
Joey’s mouth opens and a deep, mindless moan comes out, the sound flowing from his lips as the semen flows from his dick. He doesn’t spunk in spurts; it’s a solid stream of white shooting out like someone stomped on a tube of toothpaste.
“Fuck!” Nick yells, his face contorted in animalistic rage and ecstasy. “Fuckin’ cunt’s so goddam tight—fuck! Gonna shoot, dude, gonna fuckin’ unload in this whore’s fuckhole! Yeah, fuck yeah!”
Tony jacks himself furiously. He licks his lips, staring down at the writhing, traumatized flesh beneath him. “Waste him, dude,” he gasps, “lemme see ya use that hard strong body, dude. Waste the fuckin’ punk, man!”
“Hell fuckin’ yeah,” Nick grunts. He swings the nail gun around and slams it up against Joey’s temple. There’s a loud crunching sound as three inches of galvanized steel punches its way through bone and brain tissue.
Joey goes rigid instantly, his smooth, hard body covered in a greasy lube of sweat, gleaming under the overhead lights as it shudders and convulses.
As the kid thrashes on his cock, Nick grunts loudly and screams. “Fuck! Fuck! Motherfuckin’ faggot cunt, take my load! Fuck, slut, take my cum, you worthless pig whore! Goddamit, cunt, take another shaft in your useless homo skull!”
Nick drives the gun down onto the top of Joey’s cranium, sending another nail deep into Joey’s cerebrum. Quickly withdrawing the heavy tool, Nick whacks it against the whore’s skull one last time, in the back, before tossing the weapon away.
The alpha stud grabs the flailing boy’s hips and pulls his ass relentlessly up along his hard shaft, grunting uncontrollably in violent orgasm as the unconscious punk jerks bonelessly in his death throes. As his beautiful, lightly stubbled face bobs, tongue protruding and eyes rolled back to expose the whites, Tony cries out and shoots a jet of spunk into Joey’s dying face, cum splashing into his eyes and his open mouth.
There’s one last sound; one last grunt from each male as Tony, Nick and Joey each signal the last spurt of seed from their overwrought cocks. Joey’s grunt is louder—he’s shooting out the last spark of life along with his last drop of spunk. Nick and Tony go very still, looking each other straight in the eyes, each trying to catch their breath after their intense orgasms.
Joey, on the other hand, doesn’t try to catch his breath. And he doesn’t remain still, either. His body kicks, jerks, and convulses harder than before; his smooth sweaty legs flailing as his purple velour skate shoes kick convulsively on the bed…
=======================================================================================================
Tony leaned back against the headboard and fired up a joint. He inhaled deeply before handing it off to Nick. As he held the smoke, Tony looked down at Joey’s corpse. There were at least a dozen nails driven into the youth’s smooth, slim body, not counting the ones stuck in his skull.
Nick took a hit and passed the joint back to Tony. He planted his right foot in its thick construction boot against Joey’s side and shoved the still-quivering body off the bed. It hit the floor with a boneless sound somewhere between a thud and a splat. It was the sound of warm dead flesh hitting the floor.
Nick looked at Tony. Tony returned his gaze, looking deeply into Nick’s eyes.
“You want me to fuck ya, don’t ya?” asked Nick
“Yeah, I do. But I don’t wanna end up like him.” Tony nodded at Joey’s body, still shuddering with the random firing of neurons within his mangled brain, his purple skate shoes scraping mindlessly on the floor.
“Maybe we can work something out,” Nick replied. “Let’s see what happens.”
small_dot
Forum Regular
Great entry in the series!
M
m3m1
Guest
Snuff Film Finale (?)
Tony leaned back on the bed, his breath ragged with anticipation.
Nick was finally gonna fuck him.
He'd fantasized about this since the first time he'd seen Nick online, his balls drawing up and dick getting hard at the thought of the hard alpha dude fucking him brutally and mercilessly. It was why his videos were so popular; he knew the perfect angles to catch Nick's angry domination of his victims.
Tony was something of a coward. He wanted to be dominated like the rest of Nick's victims, but he didn't want to die. He'd been afraid to let Nick fuck him, afraid that Nick would take it too far.
Now, though, Tony had the control. He was the producer and distributor of the snuff videos; he was Nick’s meal ticket.
Tony felt confident. He could just lay back and enjoy every moment of Nick’s erotic anger, safe in the knowledge that Nick wasn’t stupid enough to derail the gravy train.
Right here, right now. It was finally gonna happen, and it was gonna happen on film. There was no problem there; both of them wanted it recorded. At any rate, Tony had insisted—he’d wanted it for his own private viewing, but Nick had agreed unhesitatingly.
So here Tony was, nude except for his white tube socks and black Nike hightops with red laces. He turned his head and grinned at the camera on the tripod, giving it a big thumbs-up just before Nick walked into the room, also nude, his thick construction boots clumping loudly on the metal floor.
Nick’s huge, well-developed muscles were already shining with sweat; he’d come straight from the gym, without showering once he’d gotten Tony’s text that everything was ready. Looked like he was just as horny as Tony was.
Nick stood by the bed, breathing heavily, looking down at Tony’s slim, smooth body, his thin but long cock standing straight up like a weathervane. Nick caught the gleam of triumph, of arrogance in Tony’s eyes.
He didn’t say anything; there really wasn’t anything to say.
He reached down, his strong, massive paw grasping Tony’s dick firmly. As he began to tug on it, feeling it swell and throb in his hand, Tony reached out and grabbed Nick’s shaft—just as long as his own but considerably thicker; a truly fearsome weapon.
Tony groaned in pleasure and arced his body in response to Nick’s jacking. Closing his eyes, he gripped Nick’s swollen, vein-wreathed penis. “I want it in me,” he moaned, writhing on the bed, “I want your fucking huge tool shoved into my ass, dude!”
Nick smiled down at Tony as he climbed onto the bed and spread the smaller man’s legs, parting the firm, smooth thighs with his muscle-bound arms, pulling them up so that Tony’s new Nike kicks were hanging in the air over his face; Tony’d get to watch them flex as his toes curled while he got fucked…
Tony moaned again as he felt Nick’s weight settle on top of him. Then the pain started.
The pressure against his sphincter, yes, he expected that. But it just kept going. It was bigger than anything Tony’d had shoved up his ass before, and he wasn’t prepared. He began whimpering before the huge, dripping, purple head was completely inserted.
He opened his eyes wide and gasped, Nick was grinning evilly down in him; he’d known that Nick would enjoy hurting him, but he hadn’t realized that just the fuck itself would hurt this bad. “Oh please,” he squealed, “it fucking hurts, slow down, dude, for fuck’s sake slow down, you’re tearing me open, fuck, ya shoulda used some lube!”
Nick chuckled down at Tony, slowly withdrawing his shaft until just the head remained buried within Tony’s quivering asshole. “Ya want some lube? No prob, dude!”
Nick gave a deep snort and spat into his hand. He wiped the spittle on his swollen, ridged dong—then slammed himself back down on top of Tony, shoving it in so far his pubic hairs tangled with Tony’s ass fur.
Tony’s yell of pain vibrated throughout the metal structure and out into the factory basement, echoing off the masonry walls. It also vibrated along his colon, causing the silky smooth rectal lining to flutter over the sensitive head of Nick’s dick.
Nick bent down, laying his hard body, rippled with muscles, over top of Tony’s smaller, smoother form, letting Tony feel the way Nick’s body thrust and contorted as his muscles worked away, pumping his cock up Tony’s stretched-out fuckhole.
This close, Nick’s scent was overpowering; the hot erotic manreek of sweat and testosterone flooded Tony’s nostrils, reinforcing the masculinity of the alpha dude spearing his ass and triggering a deep-seated fuckpig response in Tony’s already willing body.
He bent backwards, thrusting his pelvis forward and up to accommodate even more of Nick’s tool up his ass, feeling his buttcheeks planted firmly against Nick’s straining groin, loving the erotically agonizing pain of having his tender rectum reamed out by Nick’s massive, merciless dick.
As he bent back, he turned to the camera. Remembering that his performance was being recorded, Tony began to writhe and moan, making sure that the camera had a good view of the pleasure reflected in his face.
As his back bent, his cock, already straining, erect, and oozing a thin trickle of transparent precum, began bobbing and pulsing. Nick looked down at it, grinned again, and grasping it firmly, began jacking it again, warmly and wetly pulsating.
“Fuck, dude, I’m gonna cum,” Tony grunted, his face contracting as orgasm approached.
“Oh no, you’re not,” snapped Nick, “I ain’t anywhere near ready to blow my load. You gotta work harder than that to get my spunk, bitch.” And leaning forward, he wrapped one huge, strong hand around Tony’s throat and began to squeeze.
“What—“ Tony managed to gasp before his air was cut off. Clawing frantically, he managed to get both hands wrapped around Nick’s fingers and was able to relieve just enough pressure to be able to speak.
“What—“ gasp, grunt, “What the fuck are ya doin—“ cough, gasp, “Dude, you can’t—“
Then his fingers slipped and the crushing, vise-like grip closed off his windpipe again.
The next few minutes were some of the most terrifying in Tony’s life--and some of the last.
Nick leaned down, smiling tenderly in Tony’s face. He let go of the smaller dude’s dick, bringing his hand up to stroke Tony’s face and smooth his tousled hair. With the same gentle, loving expression, Nick began kissing Tony’s face—delicate touches on his cheeks and his brow, while carefully and caringly stroking Tony’s face.
Tony’s swelling, blackening face.
As Tony’s eyes, already wide with panic and befuddlement, locked onto Nick’s, the alpha top started speaking. “Gotta thank ya, Tony, your films were a serious springboard. I couldn’ta made such a big splash without ‘em. But ya see, I got an offer. Foreign, but lotsa money behind it.”
Nick closed in on Tony. His face filled the punk’s field of vision, his sweat and pheromones filling the atmosphere, emphasizing Tony’s utter helplessness in the situation he’d thought he controlled.
Now he realized, he’d never had control—he’d been under Nick’s complete control from the beginning of the fuck. Nick, however, made certain to drive the point home along with his cock.
“Ya get it, Tony, ya worthless fuckin’ cunt? I don’t need ya anymore. Yeah, thanks for getting’ me started, but hey—whaddaya done for me lately, know what I mean? Anyway, my new distributor says this snuff will make me even more money through his network. So you’re gonna die on my dick to help make me rich. Hope ya enjoy the ride, bitch—but I could really give a shit, as long as ya die and make me cum…”
Tony couldn’t tell if the tears streaming down his face were from the betrayal or the physical trauma. Nick’s hand was clamped like a bear trap around his esophagus. He couldn’t afford the luxury of wallowing in self-pity; he was dying and needed to fight. But the deep sense of shock undermined his efforts; part of him simply couldn’t believe that he’d die like so many of the useless whores he’d filmed.
And Nick was treating him just like one of them. Tony’s frantic reaction, triggered by the instinctive will to survive, was amplified by his anger—not a whore! Not a whore!
But it didn’t matter. The dominating muscle top had Tony under complete physical control and was working his body as a sex toy, using him to masturbate with.
As Tony sank back into the mattress, trying to retreat as far as possible from the crushing agony in his throat, his groin thrust up. As Nick leaned over him, his grip on Tony’s neck never slacking in the least, the alpha top’s other hand grasped the thrashing boy’s still-erect dick, pulling and tugging it with a grip as strong as that crushing his throat. Even as Tony struggled violently—and futilely—to escape, he was aware of the swollen pleasure of his shaft. Despite the fear and the anger, the pain and the betrayal, Tony could still feel sperm boiling up in his scrotum.
And that was the biggest betrayal of all. He was being murdered, and it was making him cum. His own death was cause for his own orgasm. Somewhere deep inside his cringing pig soul, this was what he’d always wanted. It was why he’d enjoyed filming it; he’d been subconsciously putting himself in the place of the victim.
But he hadn’t known the fear. He hadn’t known the pain. The pain, oh fuck the pain...
It was an all-encompassing sense of pressure, burning inexorable pressure. It centered in his chest and head, different than the grinding pain caused by Nick’s iron grip on his neck. But the pressure was spreading; there was an unaccountable pressure in his balls too—faint, but growing.
But right now, Tony wasn’t thinking about that. He wasn’t thinking at all; his brain was a white-hot flame of panic. This wasn’t happening. If the pain had not been so overwhelming, he’d have done his best to deny it existed at all; the mind is capable of remarkable feats when it finds reality too terrifying to deal with.
Tony had expected this to be the best night of his life, not the last.
His head was full of silent screaming and pitch-black light; a hot, numbing iciness flooded his body, percolating along his tight muscles. Turning to the camera, Tony made one last attempt to cling to life. He reached desperately, pleadingly towards the camera, as if hoping that those who saw the film would somehow be able to help him—but then he remembered being on the other side of the camera.
No one was going to help him. The guys who watched this would see him struggling—and it would make them cum.
No one was going to help him. Everyone wanted to see him die. They’d shoot a wad watching him die. There was no help.
Nick sneered down into Tony’s horror-filled eyes and began whispering. “You know what’s happening, don’t ya? You’ve cum to this kinda scene before, so you know the drill, Tony. You’re dying like a little cunt on my cock. Your face is already black. Fuck, man, I can see the tip of your tongue peekin’ out. Dude, you are totally fucked and it’s totally hot…”
Tony clawed frantically at Nick’s face, his manicured nails digging into the alpha’s cheeks. Without breaking the rhythm of his pumping, the muscled stud let go of his victim’s dick just long enough to deliver a roundhouse blow to the punk’s face. The force of his muscle-bound arms was enormous; Tony’s jaw snapped like a strand of spaghetti.
The boy’s slim, lithe body rocked back on the mattress, his face contorted out of all recognition in his agony. His swollen, bulging eyes, swimming in tears, stared mutely into the face of his assailant, begging for release.
Tony had had his epiphany. The deathpig part of his twisted little soul had finally bubbled to the top under the needed stimulus of pain—as Nick knew it would. Tony was ready. He wouldn’t fight his fate any longer. He was ready to give up his life and his seed so that he could receive the dominant bull male’s spunk.
“Fuck yeah, ‘bout goddam time you realized what a fuckin’ favor I’m doin’ ya, you worthless faggot. Every one of them bitches I wasted I imagined was you. Ya like that, slut? Ya like knowin’ that I been plannin’ to kill ya from the day we met?”
Tony strove to remain conscious, to hear Nick’s words. But he was losing the battle; as his eyes bulged grotesquely from his twisted deathmask of a face, he could no longer see Nick’s hard cold eyes leering down at him. Horrible icy pain wracked his limbs; his nervous system was compromised to the point that he couldn’t feel his legs kicking and jerking involuntarily or his arms thrashing about uselessly one the bed, no longer a threat to Nick.
He couldn’t feel it; he could only feel the pain. And his vision was horribly distorted—but enough remained for him to see a large white circle in front of him—Nick’s face—and two small dark irregular shapes shuddering and bobbing next to the circle.
His new Nike kicks. He was gonna watch his toes curl as he got fucked. Now he was getting to watch them convulse as he died…
He could still feel on the inside, though. Despite the pain and pressure, despite the loud buzzing sound that drowned out all other noise, despite the icy numbness in his extremities, Tony could still feel Nick’s cock relentlessly thrusting deep into his guts. Indeed, his ass seemed to have gotten more sensitive as his body shut down; Nick massive rod seemed to fill Tony’s abdomen and torso. For a brief moment, Tony’s oxygen-starved brain had an image of him hollowed out, nothing more than a receptacle for Nick’s sperm.
He knew that was what he wanted. It was what he was meant to be. He’d never had another purpose. He accepted it, finally letting the excruciating agony of death wash over him, flooding his body and flowing out through his cock.
As Nick bent over Tony’s thrashing, convulsing body, he spit in the slut’s face. He was about to taunt Tony again—arrogant little motherfucker needed to know his place—when he saw the light fade from Tony’s bulging eyes. As foam bubbled up from Tony’s swollen, purple lips, his body went rigid. Feeling the fucker stiffen under him, Nick realized that Tony has sustained too much brain damage to understand his words.
That was ok. While there might not be any Tony left, there was still a hot, firm, thrashing, tight, moist hole working Nick’s dick. And Nick was so close to blowing his wad…
He threw himself into overdrive, his hips thrusting so fast, they almost blurred on camera. As he took advantage of the way brain trauma tightened Tony’s anus, he bent down over the black, spittle-covered face of his victim and, spitting on him one last time, clenched his killing hand as hard as he could.
The crunching sound of Tony’s esophagus collapsing was louder than Nick’s grunting; it reverberated audibly off the metal wall. As it did, Nick felt the body’s sphincter cinch up tightly around the base of his dick, functioning like a cock ring.
Nick gave a loud, strangled cry as he unloaded his genetic material into Tony’s rectum. The others had been fun, but this—this was something else. He’d fucking hated Tony. Bitch had tried to take advantage of him.
“Fucking cunt!” he screamed. “Take it, bitch, take my spunk, you worthless whore!”
Despite all his experience, Nick was wrong about one thing. Tony’s brain was past the point of recovery, but there was still some consciousness left. He heard Nick’s words and responded in the only way he had left.
As Nick’s huge, developed body shuddered in erotic ecstasy on top of the dying youth, he became aware of a hot, sticky, fluid sensation on his abdomen. Looking down at his furry belly, rippled with muscles, Nick could see that it was covered in cum. Tony’s cock was erupting like a geyser, spewing his spunk in solid pearly jets. Nick took one look and came so hard his entire body convulsed. “FUCK YEAH! FUCK YEAH! FUCK YEAH!”
Nick collapsed on top of Tony. The smaller kid was dead, nothing now but a quivering corpse. Nick lay gasping on top of him, enjoying the feeling of Tony’s smooth body twitching involuntarily.
After a while, Nick gave a deep sigh of satisfaction. He slowly withdrew his cock, still massively erect, from the corpse’s ass. He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment to catch his breath before getting up and walking to his gym bag, where he grabbed a towel and wiped himself down.
Tony’s body remained quivering on the bed, spread-eagled, violated, covered in semen, with a gruesome swollen black face streaked with saliva—his own, and that of his killer.
After Nick cleaned himself up and dressed, he approached the video camera. He was already familiar with this model; it was no trouble to remove the memory card.
As he walked out of the metal structure, he slipped the card into the pocket of his tight jeans. He walked up the stairs and out into the light, the sound of his thick-soled construction boots echoing rhythmically above the sound of his whistling.
He had an appointment later today with his new distributor. He had no doubt that his latest feature would improve his bargaining position; it was sure to be popular.
Behind him, Tony’s body continued to twitch as it cooled and stiffened. At some point, the gas for the generator ran out. Tony was left to rot in darkness.
Tony leaned back on the bed, his breath ragged with anticipation.
Nick was finally gonna fuck him.
He'd fantasized about this since the first time he'd seen Nick online, his balls drawing up and dick getting hard at the thought of the hard alpha dude fucking him brutally and mercilessly. It was why his videos were so popular; he knew the perfect angles to catch Nick's angry domination of his victims.
Tony was something of a coward. He wanted to be dominated like the rest of Nick's victims, but he didn't want to die. He'd been afraid to let Nick fuck him, afraid that Nick would take it too far.
Now, though, Tony had the control. He was the producer and distributor of the snuff videos; he was Nick’s meal ticket.
Tony felt confident. He could just lay back and enjoy every moment of Nick’s erotic anger, safe in the knowledge that Nick wasn’t stupid enough to derail the gravy train.
Right here, right now. It was finally gonna happen, and it was gonna happen on film. There was no problem there; both of them wanted it recorded. At any rate, Tony had insisted—he’d wanted it for his own private viewing, but Nick had agreed unhesitatingly.
So here Tony was, nude except for his white tube socks and black Nike hightops with red laces. He turned his head and grinned at the camera on the tripod, giving it a big thumbs-up just before Nick walked into the room, also nude, his thick construction boots clumping loudly on the metal floor.
Nick’s huge, well-developed muscles were already shining with sweat; he’d come straight from the gym, without showering once he’d gotten Tony’s text that everything was ready. Looked like he was just as horny as Tony was.
Nick stood by the bed, breathing heavily, looking down at Tony’s slim, smooth body, his thin but long cock standing straight up like a weathervane. Nick caught the gleam of triumph, of arrogance in Tony’s eyes.
He didn’t say anything; there really wasn’t anything to say.
He reached down, his strong, massive paw grasping Tony’s dick firmly. As he began to tug on it, feeling it swell and throb in his hand, Tony reached out and grabbed Nick’s shaft—just as long as his own but considerably thicker; a truly fearsome weapon.
Tony groaned in pleasure and arced his body in response to Nick’s jacking. Closing his eyes, he gripped Nick’s swollen, vein-wreathed penis. “I want it in me,” he moaned, writhing on the bed, “I want your fucking huge tool shoved into my ass, dude!”
Nick smiled down at Tony as he climbed onto the bed and spread the smaller man’s legs, parting the firm, smooth thighs with his muscle-bound arms, pulling them up so that Tony’s new Nike kicks were hanging in the air over his face; Tony’d get to watch them flex as his toes curled while he got fucked…
Tony moaned again as he felt Nick’s weight settle on top of him. Then the pain started.
The pressure against his sphincter, yes, he expected that. But it just kept going. It was bigger than anything Tony’d had shoved up his ass before, and he wasn’t prepared. He began whimpering before the huge, dripping, purple head was completely inserted.
He opened his eyes wide and gasped, Nick was grinning evilly down in him; he’d known that Nick would enjoy hurting him, but he hadn’t realized that just the fuck itself would hurt this bad. “Oh please,” he squealed, “it fucking hurts, slow down, dude, for fuck’s sake slow down, you’re tearing me open, fuck, ya shoulda used some lube!”
Nick chuckled down at Tony, slowly withdrawing his shaft until just the head remained buried within Tony’s quivering asshole. “Ya want some lube? No prob, dude!”
Nick gave a deep snort and spat into his hand. He wiped the spittle on his swollen, ridged dong—then slammed himself back down on top of Tony, shoving it in so far his pubic hairs tangled with Tony’s ass fur.
Tony’s yell of pain vibrated throughout the metal structure and out into the factory basement, echoing off the masonry walls. It also vibrated along his colon, causing the silky smooth rectal lining to flutter over the sensitive head of Nick’s dick.
Nick bent down, laying his hard body, rippled with muscles, over top of Tony’s smaller, smoother form, letting Tony feel the way Nick’s body thrust and contorted as his muscles worked away, pumping his cock up Tony’s stretched-out fuckhole.
This close, Nick’s scent was overpowering; the hot erotic manreek of sweat and testosterone flooded Tony’s nostrils, reinforcing the masculinity of the alpha dude spearing his ass and triggering a deep-seated fuckpig response in Tony’s already willing body.
He bent backwards, thrusting his pelvis forward and up to accommodate even more of Nick’s tool up his ass, feeling his buttcheeks planted firmly against Nick’s straining groin, loving the erotically agonizing pain of having his tender rectum reamed out by Nick’s massive, merciless dick.
As he bent back, he turned to the camera. Remembering that his performance was being recorded, Tony began to writhe and moan, making sure that the camera had a good view of the pleasure reflected in his face.
As his back bent, his cock, already straining, erect, and oozing a thin trickle of transparent precum, began bobbing and pulsing. Nick looked down at it, grinned again, and grasping it firmly, began jacking it again, warmly and wetly pulsating.
“Fuck, dude, I’m gonna cum,” Tony grunted, his face contracting as orgasm approached.
“Oh no, you’re not,” snapped Nick, “I ain’t anywhere near ready to blow my load. You gotta work harder than that to get my spunk, bitch.” And leaning forward, he wrapped one huge, strong hand around Tony’s throat and began to squeeze.
“What—“ Tony managed to gasp before his air was cut off. Clawing frantically, he managed to get both hands wrapped around Nick’s fingers and was able to relieve just enough pressure to be able to speak.
“What—“ gasp, grunt, “What the fuck are ya doin—“ cough, gasp, “Dude, you can’t—“
Then his fingers slipped and the crushing, vise-like grip closed off his windpipe again.
The next few minutes were some of the most terrifying in Tony’s life--and some of the last.
Nick leaned down, smiling tenderly in Tony’s face. He let go of the smaller dude’s dick, bringing his hand up to stroke Tony’s face and smooth his tousled hair. With the same gentle, loving expression, Nick began kissing Tony’s face—delicate touches on his cheeks and his brow, while carefully and caringly stroking Tony’s face.
Tony’s swelling, blackening face.
As Tony’s eyes, already wide with panic and befuddlement, locked onto Nick’s, the alpha top started speaking. “Gotta thank ya, Tony, your films were a serious springboard. I couldn’ta made such a big splash without ‘em. But ya see, I got an offer. Foreign, but lotsa money behind it.”
Nick closed in on Tony. His face filled the punk’s field of vision, his sweat and pheromones filling the atmosphere, emphasizing Tony’s utter helplessness in the situation he’d thought he controlled.
Now he realized, he’d never had control—he’d been under Nick’s complete control from the beginning of the fuck. Nick, however, made certain to drive the point home along with his cock.
“Ya get it, Tony, ya worthless fuckin’ cunt? I don’t need ya anymore. Yeah, thanks for getting’ me started, but hey—whaddaya done for me lately, know what I mean? Anyway, my new distributor says this snuff will make me even more money through his network. So you’re gonna die on my dick to help make me rich. Hope ya enjoy the ride, bitch—but I could really give a shit, as long as ya die and make me cum…”
Tony couldn’t tell if the tears streaming down his face were from the betrayal or the physical trauma. Nick’s hand was clamped like a bear trap around his esophagus. He couldn’t afford the luxury of wallowing in self-pity; he was dying and needed to fight. But the deep sense of shock undermined his efforts; part of him simply couldn’t believe that he’d die like so many of the useless whores he’d filmed.
And Nick was treating him just like one of them. Tony’s frantic reaction, triggered by the instinctive will to survive, was amplified by his anger—not a whore! Not a whore!
But it didn’t matter. The dominating muscle top had Tony under complete physical control and was working his body as a sex toy, using him to masturbate with.
As Tony sank back into the mattress, trying to retreat as far as possible from the crushing agony in his throat, his groin thrust up. As Nick leaned over him, his grip on Tony’s neck never slacking in the least, the alpha top’s other hand grasped the thrashing boy’s still-erect dick, pulling and tugging it with a grip as strong as that crushing his throat. Even as Tony struggled violently—and futilely—to escape, he was aware of the swollen pleasure of his shaft. Despite the fear and the anger, the pain and the betrayal, Tony could still feel sperm boiling up in his scrotum.
And that was the biggest betrayal of all. He was being murdered, and it was making him cum. His own death was cause for his own orgasm. Somewhere deep inside his cringing pig soul, this was what he’d always wanted. It was why he’d enjoyed filming it; he’d been subconsciously putting himself in the place of the victim.
But he hadn’t known the fear. He hadn’t known the pain. The pain, oh fuck the pain...
It was an all-encompassing sense of pressure, burning inexorable pressure. It centered in his chest and head, different than the grinding pain caused by Nick’s iron grip on his neck. But the pressure was spreading; there was an unaccountable pressure in his balls too—faint, but growing.
But right now, Tony wasn’t thinking about that. He wasn’t thinking at all; his brain was a white-hot flame of panic. This wasn’t happening. If the pain had not been so overwhelming, he’d have done his best to deny it existed at all; the mind is capable of remarkable feats when it finds reality too terrifying to deal with.
Tony had expected this to be the best night of his life, not the last.
His head was full of silent screaming and pitch-black light; a hot, numbing iciness flooded his body, percolating along his tight muscles. Turning to the camera, Tony made one last attempt to cling to life. He reached desperately, pleadingly towards the camera, as if hoping that those who saw the film would somehow be able to help him—but then he remembered being on the other side of the camera.
No one was going to help him. The guys who watched this would see him struggling—and it would make them cum.
No one was going to help him. Everyone wanted to see him die. They’d shoot a wad watching him die. There was no help.
Nick sneered down into Tony’s horror-filled eyes and began whispering. “You know what’s happening, don’t ya? You’ve cum to this kinda scene before, so you know the drill, Tony. You’re dying like a little cunt on my cock. Your face is already black. Fuck, man, I can see the tip of your tongue peekin’ out. Dude, you are totally fucked and it’s totally hot…”
Tony clawed frantically at Nick’s face, his manicured nails digging into the alpha’s cheeks. Without breaking the rhythm of his pumping, the muscled stud let go of his victim’s dick just long enough to deliver a roundhouse blow to the punk’s face. The force of his muscle-bound arms was enormous; Tony’s jaw snapped like a strand of spaghetti.
The boy’s slim, lithe body rocked back on the mattress, his face contorted out of all recognition in his agony. His swollen, bulging eyes, swimming in tears, stared mutely into the face of his assailant, begging for release.
Tony had had his epiphany. The deathpig part of his twisted little soul had finally bubbled to the top under the needed stimulus of pain—as Nick knew it would. Tony was ready. He wouldn’t fight his fate any longer. He was ready to give up his life and his seed so that he could receive the dominant bull male’s spunk.
“Fuck yeah, ‘bout goddam time you realized what a fuckin’ favor I’m doin’ ya, you worthless faggot. Every one of them bitches I wasted I imagined was you. Ya like that, slut? Ya like knowin’ that I been plannin’ to kill ya from the day we met?”
Tony strove to remain conscious, to hear Nick’s words. But he was losing the battle; as his eyes bulged grotesquely from his twisted deathmask of a face, he could no longer see Nick’s hard cold eyes leering down at him. Horrible icy pain wracked his limbs; his nervous system was compromised to the point that he couldn’t feel his legs kicking and jerking involuntarily or his arms thrashing about uselessly one the bed, no longer a threat to Nick.
He couldn’t feel it; he could only feel the pain. And his vision was horribly distorted—but enough remained for him to see a large white circle in front of him—Nick’s face—and two small dark irregular shapes shuddering and bobbing next to the circle.
His new Nike kicks. He was gonna watch his toes curl as he got fucked. Now he was getting to watch them convulse as he died…
He could still feel on the inside, though. Despite the pain and pressure, despite the loud buzzing sound that drowned out all other noise, despite the icy numbness in his extremities, Tony could still feel Nick’s cock relentlessly thrusting deep into his guts. Indeed, his ass seemed to have gotten more sensitive as his body shut down; Nick massive rod seemed to fill Tony’s abdomen and torso. For a brief moment, Tony’s oxygen-starved brain had an image of him hollowed out, nothing more than a receptacle for Nick’s sperm.
He knew that was what he wanted. It was what he was meant to be. He’d never had another purpose. He accepted it, finally letting the excruciating agony of death wash over him, flooding his body and flowing out through his cock.
As Nick bent over Tony’s thrashing, convulsing body, he spit in the slut’s face. He was about to taunt Tony again—arrogant little motherfucker needed to know his place—when he saw the light fade from Tony’s bulging eyes. As foam bubbled up from Tony’s swollen, purple lips, his body went rigid. Feeling the fucker stiffen under him, Nick realized that Tony has sustained too much brain damage to understand his words.
That was ok. While there might not be any Tony left, there was still a hot, firm, thrashing, tight, moist hole working Nick’s dick. And Nick was so close to blowing his wad…
He threw himself into overdrive, his hips thrusting so fast, they almost blurred on camera. As he took advantage of the way brain trauma tightened Tony’s anus, he bent down over the black, spittle-covered face of his victim and, spitting on him one last time, clenched his killing hand as hard as he could.
The crunching sound of Tony’s esophagus collapsing was louder than Nick’s grunting; it reverberated audibly off the metal wall. As it did, Nick felt the body’s sphincter cinch up tightly around the base of his dick, functioning like a cock ring.
Nick gave a loud, strangled cry as he unloaded his genetic material into Tony’s rectum. The others had been fun, but this—this was something else. He’d fucking hated Tony. Bitch had tried to take advantage of him.
“Fucking cunt!” he screamed. “Take it, bitch, take my spunk, you worthless whore!”
Despite all his experience, Nick was wrong about one thing. Tony’s brain was past the point of recovery, but there was still some consciousness left. He heard Nick’s words and responded in the only way he had left.
As Nick’s huge, developed body shuddered in erotic ecstasy on top of the dying youth, he became aware of a hot, sticky, fluid sensation on his abdomen. Looking down at his furry belly, rippled with muscles, Nick could see that it was covered in cum. Tony’s cock was erupting like a geyser, spewing his spunk in solid pearly jets. Nick took one look and came so hard his entire body convulsed. “FUCK YEAH! FUCK YEAH! FUCK YEAH!”
Nick collapsed on top of Tony. The smaller kid was dead, nothing now but a quivering corpse. Nick lay gasping on top of him, enjoying the feeling of Tony’s smooth body twitching involuntarily.
After a while, Nick gave a deep sigh of satisfaction. He slowly withdrew his cock, still massively erect, from the corpse’s ass. He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment to catch his breath before getting up and walking to his gym bag, where he grabbed a towel and wiped himself down.
Tony’s body remained quivering on the bed, spread-eagled, violated, covered in semen, with a gruesome swollen black face streaked with saliva—his own, and that of his killer.
After Nick cleaned himself up and dressed, he approached the video camera. He was already familiar with this model; it was no trouble to remove the memory card.
As he walked out of the metal structure, he slipped the card into the pocket of his tight jeans. He walked up the stairs and out into the light, the sound of his thick-soled construction boots echoing rhythmically above the sound of his whistling.
He had an appointment later today with his new distributor. He had no doubt that his latest feature would improve his bargaining position; it was sure to be popular.
Behind him, Tony’s body continued to twitch as it cooled and stiffened. At some point, the gas for the generator ran out. Tony was left to rot in darkness.
edward1955
Forum Regular
Excellent
strangledead
Forum Regular
Another great story man. Thanks so much!! Cant wait to read more!
M
m3m1
Guest
Jack, Offed
Jack walked warily down the rain-slicked sidewalk. He was drunk, and angry—and horny—but not enough of any of them to risk getting the new gray Etnies skate shoes laced tightly around his feet getting wet. He was higher than fuck, too, having burned an entire joint himself in the men’s room back at Club 69.
He was high enough to be seeing tracers, making his ability to avoid the large puddles on the pavement seem miraculous. But then, Jack had always had the ability to perform well while impaired; he spent most of his life drunk or stoned or cranked out of his head, but he still managed to hold onto a job and an apartment.
Not much of either one, which was fine with Jack. His goals in life were to stay as fucked-up as possible and to get fucked as much as possible. It actually took a great deal of skill to manage. Jack wasn’t intelligent, but he had street cunning and a lot of drive. He’d kept his body slim and taut, looking far younger than his true age of twenty-three; he looked like he was mid- to late teens.
His short black hair was draped across his forehead, arranged with careful negligence, giving him a scruffy look. He was short, about five-seven at the most. His emerald eyes glittered out from behind long dark lashes, his full lips parting almost to a pout in resting position.
He’d have had the face of a model if he hadn’t abused his body so much; he’d been active with both drugs and sex at a very early age and nearly a decade of hard living had taken a toll—still subtle, but present, and becoming much more obvious year by year. Even now, his skin wasn’t clear and there was a dark shadow under his bloodshot eyes. His nose was large and getting larger (and redder) as his drinking increased over the years.
Jack was still hot, but he was wearing out. And he knew it. It was why he was so angry tonight. He was horny as fuck, and he couldn’t get fucked. All the studs on the dance floor—the big strong types Jack liked—had blown him off and gone for the other twinks.
Jack had been devastated. He worked hard to maintain his firm, smooth body. He knew he looked good, dressed as he was. Under a plain gray t-shirt, he wore a long-sleeved skin-tight black thermal shirt that he’d tucked into black skinny jeans. The jeans ended just above the ankle to show an inch of his white socks above his skate shoes.
At one point, he’d discarded the t-shirt to show how tightly the thermal shirt clung to his lithe but developed chest. But even with clothing so tight that very little imagination was required to picture Jack nude, there was still a hard edge to his face and manner that put dudes off.
And so Jack stormed angrily out into the rain, grabbing his leather jacket—a simple windbreaker—on his way out the door, but leaving the t-shirt on the dance floor.
He had no idea it’d be retrieved later as evidence.
Although Jack wouldn’t admit it to himself, the fact that none of the twinks had come on to him made it worse. He wouldn’t have touched them; he had standards, after all. He liked his tops bigger, stronger, slightly older than he was. When he’d been younger, he’d been offered money by twink types that wanted to bang him. But he wasn’t a whore; money gave the other guy too much control. And Jack liked to get fucked, but there was a limit.
But by the same token, he was a slut, willing to get fucked bareback by any stranger who actually did turn him on. Problem was, he was a picky bitch and only wanted to get fucked by muscle studs.
Alpha muscle studs were hard to find, though. And while he had the perfect teen body, his abuse of it over the years was finally catching up to him. The few tops he’d wanted were all snagged by younger kids.
So here he was, walking home in the rain like a Hemingway hero. Not that he’d heard of Hemingway, or could be considered a hero; he was just a drunk, stoned twink who was pissed off because he wasn’t quite enough of a twink.
He didn’t have his shit together enough to afford a car, but he managed to hold on to a shitty hourly job and filthy cheap-ass efficiency apartment. So he was gonna go back, drink some more, toke some more, and pass out with the TV on and his dick hard.
He turned the corner and walked past the parking lot behind the clubs. Club 69 was where he’d ended up; he’d run the entire circuit on the strip. So there was no use in trolling the parking lot; no one coming out was interested. He’d already tried. Fuck. If he’d had a car, he might have tried The Underpass, but it was too far to walk. And he was way too drunk to drive, anyways…
Jack was three blocks down, deep in the gay ghetto, before he remembered he needed to go two blocks south; he had just kept staggering drunkenly (but amazingly around anything that might soil his shoes; high as he was, he’d paid too much to want to ruin them this soon) after he turned the corner, ruminating angrily over his slights. At the next intersection, he turned left onto the dark, unlit side street.
Halfway down the block was the entrance to an alley that gave access to parking in the rear of all the properties that faced the main street. The side street was dark but there were security lights down the alley from the parking lot of a house that was divided into apartments.
Jack paused a few steps down the street. There was a shadow stretching out from the alley, the elongated, backlit image of a man standing with his legs spread. Some guy was just standing there, in the alley, out of sight behind the wall that ran along the pavement. Jack felt a chill for a moment but kept going. He could handle himself. He might have the body of a sixteen-year-old, but he was lithe and deceptively strong.
Jack moved quickly, increasing his step as he approached the alleyway, determined not to look or draw attention to himself. He flipped the collar of his leather jacket up, ducked his head and strode quickly along the sidewalk.
The voice, when it came, had something in it—a quality, a timbre—that made him listen and obey. “Hey,” was all it said, a deep, basso voice that seemed to reverberate along his spine and command him to stop. So he stopped. And looked.
All he could see was a silhouette. One of the security lights was angled down the alley to the street; the glaring halogen blinded Jack, but he could see a large, tall man standing there. As Jack paused, shading his eyes with his hand, the man slowly began to move towards him. Perversely, as the man blocked out more of the light with his body, Jack could see his body more clearly than he had with the light in his eyes.
This dude was huge, well over six feet. His biceps and thighs were larger than Jack’s torso. His hair was black as well; it had an almost blue glint and curled tightly, a feature it carried down the side of his face to merge with a thick goatee covering a strong, firm jaw. Even with his face in shadow, the dude’s eyes sparkled in pools of darkness.
He wore what looked like a plain white cotton t-shirt under a thick leather biker’s jacket with zippers at the cuffs. His tight denim jeans sank into a pair of black leather harness boots with buckled straps.
Jack’s fear was gone, instantly replaced with lust; this was exactly the kinda stud he’d been looking for. He grinned up at the man, a giant towering over him, praying that he could lure this incredible stud back to his place. “Hey,” he replied, “what ya lookin’ for?”
The stud stepped out onto the sidewalk and turned to face Jack, leering down at him. Jack could see the left half of his face illuminated by the alley light. The dude’s eyes were an extraordinary pale blue. He had high cheekbones and a strong jaw covered with the same curly black fur that circled his mouth. His lips were full and red, but compressed into a hard, tight line.
“I’m lookin’ for someone to fuck,” the dude drawled lazily. “I’m lookin’ for someone who can take my cock.”
“I can take it,” gasped Jack, trying to contain his excitement.
“Yeah?” asked the leather-bound stud. “Gotta warn ya, punk, I fuck hard. Ain’t found anyone yet who could stay the whole course. If ya get what I mean.”
Jack smiled, an almost contemptuous look on his face. “I know what ya mean. I can take you, dude. I can take anything you give me.”
The man stepped forward into the light; Jack got a much better look at him. He was somewhat older, but his age was hard to discern; he was well-built and his body was incredibly developed; the arms of his leather jacket and the legs of his jeans bulged with muscles. He could have been anywhere from his early thirties to his early fifties; the only evidence that he was at the younger end of the spectrum was his jet-black hair with no trace of gray.
He looked down at Jack, smiling faintly. “Can you, dude? Can you take whatever I give ya? Let’s find out. You got someplace private I can stick it in ya?”
Jack gasped as lust flooded his body, triggering the flow of hormones. “Yeah, man, just follow me back to my place.” He wheeled about and began staggering down the street. He was more fucked up than he thought—but he attributed his difficulty walking to the fact that his cock was harder than a brick.
Across one more street, then up the alley to the right—this one far less well-lit than the other—to the rear parking lot of Jack’s little bills-paid complex. He led the stud around to the rear-most unit on the left on the ground floor.
It was a squalid affair; Jack’s job didn’t pay much. He had a memory foam mattress—but no bed to put it on; it sat on the floor. He had a decent chair and an expensive TV and game system. On the other side of the large room, next to the open closet displaying Jack’s expensive clothing, was a cheap desk supporting an equally inexpensive computer and printer. Jack’s priorities were fairly clear; especially when one took into account the amount of booze in the kitchen, pot in the bathroom, and coke in the closet.
But this guy didn’t need to know any of that, Jack decided; he just needed to stick his hopefully enormous schlong up Jack’s ass.
The older man glanced coldly at the squalor around him—despite Jack’s care with his new clothing, anything that remained in his possession more than two months was considered too used to be worth caring for. As a result, costly designer shirts and name-brand jeans were massed in piles on the floor. Soiled sheets of high-grade Egyptian cotton twisted across the bed and dragged onto the filthy floor.
His eyes, ice-blue and utterly emotionless locked onto Jack’s own. Jack felt a tremor run through his body, but was unable to define the emotion associated with it. Lust and unease and the sense of something hidden and unknown stirring deep inside him.
The older man shrugged off his heavy leather biker jacket, letting it fall to the floor with a thump. Under it, he was wearing a thin white cotton wifebeater which he proceeded to pull off as well.
He stood before Jack, almost literally taking the boy’s breath away. His thick, taut torso descended in a V-shape into the top of his tight jeans, his waist circled by a belt woven of black leather strips. It had no holes; the shaft of the buckle could be jammed into the weave at any point.
But Jack’s eyes didn’t linger on the belt. They were drawn back up to the six-pack abs and rippled chest, covered with thick, wiry black fur. It spread over the dude’s chest but concentrated in a distinct line as it got lower, a line running straight down to his crotch.
The stud sneered at Jack as he spoke. “On your knees, bitch. Suck on it. I wanna see how far I can stick my cock down your throat.”
Jack’s green eyes glittered defiantly as he replied. “You can stick it in my ass if ya want, but I don’t take any guy’s dirty piss-stained dick in my mouth.”
The alpha dude’s expression changed from contempt to terrifying rage instantly. He stepped forward and snatched a fistful of Jack’s shirt, jerking him forward and twisting the fabric. As he did so, Jack’s collar tightened into a near chokehold.
“Listen, cunt, you’re gonna get on your knees and suck on whatever I put in your mouth. There is no ‘or else’; you’re gonna do it. Your only choice is gonna be how much it hurts.”
Jack made his fatal mistake. He hesitated. That was all it took to establish the balance of power, once and for all. And although he wasn’t aware of it at the moment, ‘for all’ wasn’t going to be much longer for Jack—say forty minutes at the outside.
Depended on how strong he was, really, although that could work against him, too. Somewhere near the end of those forty minutes, it was likely that Jack would be hoping that the end of ‘for all’ was imminent.
But as Jack sank to his knees and the black-haired stud unzipped his fly, letting his thick, veined hog flop out like a butcher laying out a slab of prime beef, the end of it all was still several minutes in the future. Jack paused, looking at the enormous organ with trepidation. His useless bravado aside, Jack was no stranger to BJs; he’d swallowed enough sperm to float—well, if not a battleship, at least a dinghy. But this was something else, a tool big enough to completely plug his esophagus.
Even with the amount of use—he called it ‘experience’—Jack had undergone, he knew that this fuck was gonna hurt worse than anything he’d experienced before. Even so, he had no concept of the pain in store for him as the dude’s rough, strong hands grabbed Jack’s face and roughly forced his mouth open.
There was no tentative exploration. Before Jack had the time to react, his mouth and throat were full of cock. He could feel the thick oozing head plugging his windpipe, its ridged length lying on top of his epiglottis, preventing him from breathing.
He grunted in panic, his hands pummeling the dude’s legs. It felt like (and seemed to have the same effect as) beating on tree trunks. As tears welled from Jack’s bulging eyes and saliva bubbled out in a foam past the massive tube of meat jammed into his mouth, he could feel the hard manstud’s pubic hairs scratching his face. He turned his eyes upward, trying desperately to catch those of the stranger choking him, but his vision faded into the dark forest of fur hanging above him.
Gasping and choking, Jack placed his hands against the stud’s rock-hard thighs and pushed with as much force as he could muster. The top clamped his hands down onto the side of Jack’s head. With excruciating, inexorable force, he exerted a vise grip on Jack’s skull, causing him great pain as he forced his dick even further down the slut’s gurgling throat.
Jack’s resistance was useless. The tender flesh on the inside of his lip was torn against his teeth as his face was forced relentlessly into the top’s groin. He squealed and gurgled; his tongue wriggling reflexively along the underside of the alpha stud’s shaft, making the man grunt and apply yet more agonizing pressure.
Jack could feel himself going under; as he coughed and spewed foam, darkness was closing in around him. He was going numb. His body was fading…foam dribbling down his chin past the manmeat in his mouth…why was his dick hard…
Suddenly, it was gone. He could breathe. Jack took a deep, whooping gasp of air and fell back onto the half-stripped foam mattress. He laid back, eyelids fluttering, as he spent the next two minutes coughing foam up onto his cheeks, the darkness in his face slowly fading.
The alpha top glared silently down at him, waiting for him to recover enough to obey. He decided a couple of minutes were enough. “Okay, bitch, strip. Still think you can take me? Let’s see what my shaft feels like up your ass, cunt. Get outta yer clothes, slut. Now.”
Jack pulled his shirt off in one fluid motion, revealing his firm, slim, smooth torso, shiny with sweat. The deep register of the older man’s voice had vibrated through his tender ass to the root of his cock, already erect. Even though he hadn’t recovered enough of his wind to be able to think clearly, he knew that he had to do as he was told.
He sat abruptly on the edge of his mattress as he pulled off the new sneakers. Standing up immediately, he wriggled out of his jeans. He stood before the dominant stud, nude except for the white athletic socks climbing his calves. His cock, unaccountably, was jutting out in front of him, despite what he had just been through.
Jack faced the unknown man, letting his eyes slowly slide up the dude’s hard body, starting with his black harness boots. They moved up the thick calves and thighs, tightly wrapped in worn, frayed denim. His long, thick, cock, still only semi-hard, dangled out in front like tackle, its swollen purple head shiny with saliva and precum. His scrotum was still in his jeans; they still clung firmly to his tight ass even with the fly and waist open, peeled back to show a black, hairy V from which his throbbing, veined shaft protruded.
Jack’s attention we momentarily diverted by something shiny—it was just the dangling buckle of the woven leather belt catching the light—before it was drawn upwards along the stranger’s body, almost hypnotically. The stud’s furry, rippled abdomen, his heaving, sweaty flanks, the muscles in his chest bulging as he breathed—Jack took them all in greedily, knowing that no matter how much this might hurt, he was gonna be able to beat off to the memories for the rest of his life. This motherfucker was the perfect stud; exactly what Jack had wanted. Even the skull tattoo on the right shoulder.
Then up to his face. Dark curly hair covered a strong jaw and circled a full mouth set in an emotionless straight line. The beard merged with the thick hair that was just as black and curly. But the eyes; those icy blue eye…Jack stared directly into them—
WHAM
It wasn’t a punch; it was a backhand blow hard enough to raise a bruised welt on his cheek. Jack was both physically and emotionally unprepared for the assault, though, and crumpled to the mattress as if he’d decked in the jaw. As he cowered, clutching his face, the older man spoke.
“You don’t get to look at me, cunt. Only time my bitches get to look me in the face is when they make me cum. Got that, you fucking worthless faggot? You wanna look me in the face, you gotta earn it by milking the sperm outta my dick. Now roll over and get on your hands and knees, slut, I’m gonna fuck ya like the homo dog you are. Gonna take ya from behind, boy. You won’t get to see me, but ya damn sure get to feel me.”
As Jack positioned himself on the mattress on his hands and knees, he felt almost nothing at all. It was due more to denial than anything else—yes, he was a bottom, but he’d been a desirable one, able to command respect. He’d never anticipated so completely losing control of a situation. He was shocked; he felt nothing.
The top lived up to his word. Jack felt something soon enough. His response started as a moan but quickly escalated to a shriek as the dude’s massive tool stretched his sphincter past its breaking point. Instantly a hand clamped tightly and painfully over his mouth and a voice snarled, “Goddam, cunt, ya squeal like a fuckin’ pig,” so close he could feel the breath hot on his ear.
It took forever. The stud was enjoying Jack’s pain, holding him close with the brutality of iron clamps as he slowly slid his cock into Jack’s torn, quivering fuckhole. Jack’s arms beat frantically against the mattress, his fingers tightly flexed, his toes curling visibly in his white socks, his jerking feet confined between the alpha’s boots. Holy fuck, it felt like he was getting raped with a baseball bat...
Then, there’s blessed relief. It stopped. The dude wasn’t shoving it in anymore; he was kneeling behind Jack with one hand spread on his back, holding him down, the other hand over his mouth, pulling his head back.
Suddenly both hands were gone.
Jack gasped and whimpered, his entire body trembling. He was still upright on his hands and knees. He felt full of cock. The pain, the trauma to his lower colon, had taken his breath away, but at least it had stopped. Christ, any farther and he’d be getting fucked in his guts—there’d be internal damage…
He’d known it’d hurt. He’d been willing to accept that as the price for the perfect fuck. He hadn’t known it would be this bad—but it was still worth it. If he could just take a moment to let his ass muscle collapse and accept the stud’s shaft…
As usual, Jack’s grasp of reality was weak. This time, though, the contradiction was about to be driven home, brutally. It started with a faint rasping sound.
It didn’t last long, and Jack couldn’t make out what it was at first. Then he realized the alpha stud was slowly slipping his belt out the loops on his jeans. Jack almost went faint with relief; the dude would have to pull out of him to undress further—maybe Jack could talk him into some lube—
It was a brief relief. As Jack trembled on his hands and knees, with an excruciatingly huge cock shoved up his ass and sweat running down his face, something flashed in front of his eyes—something that looked like woven leather straps.
Then the top’s belt cinched brutally around Jack’s throat, instantly cutting off his air.
Jack’s hands frantically scrabbled at the leather mesh digging into his neck, leaving his upper body unsupported. The older man threw himself down on Jack’s back, letting the young slut feel the dude’s muscles rasping his belly fur against Jack’s smooth, slick back. They boy fell forward, the thick choking grunts emerging from his closed-off windpipe directly into the mattress as his face was buried in it.
There was a terrible, tearing pain on the right side of Jack’s neck. His hands found the spot, clawing desperately at the piece of metal cutting into his skin. It was the belt buckle—the alpha wasn’t using the belt like a cord; he’d made a basic noose by looping it back through the buckle.
The stud took control immediately, locking Jack into place by grabbing a fistful of hair on the back of his head; with the head immobilized, he only needed to pull on the belt with one hand to tighten the leather mesh through the buckle.
Jack’s mind was aflame with sheer panic. He’d never known—never had any reason to consider—that sudden cessation of breath could be so terrifying. The only thing that kept his weak psyche from disintegrating in a white-hot sheet of terror was the pain; as scared as he was, he couldn’t escape the agony of his physical suffering.
It wasn’t just the strangling; the top had started shoving his dick in again. Jack braced himself up on one arm, bending the other behind him at an almost impossible angle in his desperate attempt to reach his torment.
“Stop it, you worthless fuck, you ain’t gettin’ away,” the dude growled, then spit on the back of Jack’s shuddering head. “Only way you’re getting’ off my dick is with my load inside you. Sooner ya make me shoot, the sooner I let ya go. Whaddaya think, cocksucker, think you’ll last long enough for me to cum? I bet not. You’re a useless fuckin’ faggot, not even good at gettin’ fucked. Look at ya, bitch, look at this place. Ain’t no one gonna miss ya.”
Jack couldn’t see that his face was turning purple, but he could feel it swelling painfully. His throat was blazing agony, the woven straps sinking ever more deeply below the surface of his skin, making impossible for his fingers to find a purchase. It pulled violently at the buckle, jerking his skin up and tearing it, a trickle of blood dripping onto the mattress and soiled sheets.
There was a huge, swelling pressure in his chest. His air had been shut off for almost two minutes, most of which time Jack had been struggling and burning the limited oxygen in his bloodstream. But his years of drug use had conditioned his body to functioning under extreme conditions—which meant, unfortunately for Jack, that he was a long way from going numb or losing consciousness.
Already, despite his instinctive fight against the overpowering force crushing the life out of him, part of Jack’s spinning, frantic brain craved oblivion—even death, if it meant an end to the pain.
His ass—oh fuck, it was being torn wide open. He could feel the burning shaft of ridged flesh penetrating deep into his guts, tearing him on the inside. He’d never felt so full, so completely violated before. But as painful as it was, it had to come second in his attention. Breathing came first. Jack jerked and writhed, anything, anything to release that horrible crushing pressure in his chest, oh shit his lungs were gonna pop move move get away…
Then came the voice. Even in full survival mode, there was something in the deep bass timbre of the stud’s voice that reverberated along the root of Jack’s unaccountably hard dick.
“Now you got it, fuck. Goddam, your quivering and trembling feels so good on my tool. Gotta get ya to do it some more. Let’s see—ya like that, pig? Fuck yeah, that made ya kick! Goddam, I gotta do more of that; you milk my cock good, you fucking squealing cockwhore!”
The top had shifted himself slightly and ground his engorged rod into Jack’s bleeding fuckhole at a different angle, tearing the rectal lining in a new spot.
Jack had bent his back upwards, his hands clawing the air in front of him in mindless agony. The tip of his black, swollen tongue was already forcing its excruciating way out his mouth as thick foamy drool spilled down his smooth, weak chin. His bulging eyes leaked tears as petechial hemorrhages formed in the lids and blood vessels ruptured, red blossoms appearing in his green eyes. In some deep recess in his fear-wracked mind, some part of Jack was screaming at the thought that the nightmarish pain and terror he was experiencing was sexually arousing to his assailant.
That was the true, mind-shattering revelation for Jack. He’d just planned tonight to be like any other. Get a little stoned, get a little drunk, let some stud fuck him. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Tonight there’d be no repeat. This guy wasn’t just gonna kill him; this guy was gonna get off on killing him as slowly and painfully as possible.
The realization was accompanied by an icy coldness flooding Jack’s body. Through it all, he could still feel his own dick, traitorously hard, slapping against his thighs as his body bucked and jerked. He wasn’t paying attention anymore, though, huge black roses were blooming in his face; they made a buzzing sound that got louder. He could still the alpha stranger speak, but the words had no real significance to him…
“Almost there, you faggot piece of shit. Almost ready to shoot. Goddam, I had to work you over good—you really are a stupid cunt, ain’t ya? Don’t even know how to make a guy cum without choking the fuck outta ya. But ya like it, don’t ya, whore? Ya like that mancock rippin’ into your soft homo guts, huh? Are ya ready for my load, faggot? Think ya can take it? Ready to look me in the face as you get my spunk, you worthless queer? Get ready, motherfucker, here it comes—UUURRRGHHH!!!!”
With a loud cry, the dude hunched down over Jack, his cock swelling and pumping a solid stream of boiling semen into Jack’s torn colon. As he did, he locked the buckle into place around Jack’s neck so the belt wouldn’t loosen.
Then, still clutching a hank of hair at the back of the head, the alpha reached around, grabbed Jack’s jaw in the other hand, and twisted his head through 180 degrees.
Even in the extreme last moments of consciousness, Jack was aware of what had happened. His protruding eyes gazed in utter, absolute horror at those of his killer, ice-cold and remorseless. The sound was that of a tree limb snapping, but Jack felt it as well as heard it. It was the last thing he heard or felt.
The sensation was that of a massive electrical shock running through his body. He had no awareness that his erect cock had blown a huge load of creamy sperm onto the bed as his neck shattered. He didn’t feel it; what he did feel was the shattering of half a dozen vertebrae that sent bone fragments slicing into his spinal cord.
His entire body went intensely rigid, every muscle clenching tightly. Even torn and mangled, his sphincter was able to tighten around the base of the killer’s dick, making the stud cry out and collapse on top of Jack’s quivering body, punching the shuddering mass of flesh repeatedly.
As the universe faded into a cold sheet of dark eternal ice, Jack’s consciousness faded to a pinpoint focused on the rage and lust of the man who was beating him while filling his abdomen with semen and spitting into his gasping, dying face. It was the last thing he saw.
The dude didn’t stay around long. He stepped into the bathroom to wash up. When he came out, slipping his wifebeater back over his slick, heaving torso--still breathing deeply with exertion--Jack’s body was still convulsing on the mattress, face up but chest down. His white tube socks were still covering his twitching calves and white foam still trickled down his blackened face from his blue lips, parted by his grotesquely swollen tongue. Even from here, the dude could see his own cum oozing out of the corpse’s ravaged ass.
The killer stuffed his thick cock back inside his tight faded jeans and zipped the fly. Approaching the bed, he bent down and grabbed a handful of Jack’s sweat-soaked hair, lifting his head. It lolled forward easily with no functioning spine to stiffen it. Keeping a firm grip on Jack’s hair, the dude worked the fingers of his free hand up under the belt; his nails tearing open the purple flesh of the slut’s crushed neck. The buckle had become embedded deeply—it took a few minutes before it was pulled off and slipped back around the top’s waist.
Jack’s eyes, now faded to a cloudy green ringed with red, stared into his killer’s face. Blank and dull, they gave no hint of the terror he’d experienced at being forced to give up his useless, wasted life.
Slipping his leather jacket back on, the stud smiled to himself. He always enjoyed putting down a pig; it was a good workout. Kept him in shape. And it wasn’t like anyone was gonna miss the worthless little homo slut anyway…
Jack walked warily down the rain-slicked sidewalk. He was drunk, and angry—and horny—but not enough of any of them to risk getting the new gray Etnies skate shoes laced tightly around his feet getting wet. He was higher than fuck, too, having burned an entire joint himself in the men’s room back at Club 69.
He was high enough to be seeing tracers, making his ability to avoid the large puddles on the pavement seem miraculous. But then, Jack had always had the ability to perform well while impaired; he spent most of his life drunk or stoned or cranked out of his head, but he still managed to hold onto a job and an apartment.
Not much of either one, which was fine with Jack. His goals in life were to stay as fucked-up as possible and to get fucked as much as possible. It actually took a great deal of skill to manage. Jack wasn’t intelligent, but he had street cunning and a lot of drive. He’d kept his body slim and taut, looking far younger than his true age of twenty-three; he looked like he was mid- to late teens.
His short black hair was draped across his forehead, arranged with careful negligence, giving him a scruffy look. He was short, about five-seven at the most. His emerald eyes glittered out from behind long dark lashes, his full lips parting almost to a pout in resting position.
He’d have had the face of a model if he hadn’t abused his body so much; he’d been active with both drugs and sex at a very early age and nearly a decade of hard living had taken a toll—still subtle, but present, and becoming much more obvious year by year. Even now, his skin wasn’t clear and there was a dark shadow under his bloodshot eyes. His nose was large and getting larger (and redder) as his drinking increased over the years.
Jack was still hot, but he was wearing out. And he knew it. It was why he was so angry tonight. He was horny as fuck, and he couldn’t get fucked. All the studs on the dance floor—the big strong types Jack liked—had blown him off and gone for the other twinks.
Jack had been devastated. He worked hard to maintain his firm, smooth body. He knew he looked good, dressed as he was. Under a plain gray t-shirt, he wore a long-sleeved skin-tight black thermal shirt that he’d tucked into black skinny jeans. The jeans ended just above the ankle to show an inch of his white socks above his skate shoes.
At one point, he’d discarded the t-shirt to show how tightly the thermal shirt clung to his lithe but developed chest. But even with clothing so tight that very little imagination was required to picture Jack nude, there was still a hard edge to his face and manner that put dudes off.
And so Jack stormed angrily out into the rain, grabbing his leather jacket—a simple windbreaker—on his way out the door, but leaving the t-shirt on the dance floor.
He had no idea it’d be retrieved later as evidence.
Although Jack wouldn’t admit it to himself, the fact that none of the twinks had come on to him made it worse. He wouldn’t have touched them; he had standards, after all. He liked his tops bigger, stronger, slightly older than he was. When he’d been younger, he’d been offered money by twink types that wanted to bang him. But he wasn’t a whore; money gave the other guy too much control. And Jack liked to get fucked, but there was a limit.
But by the same token, he was a slut, willing to get fucked bareback by any stranger who actually did turn him on. Problem was, he was a picky bitch and only wanted to get fucked by muscle studs.
Alpha muscle studs were hard to find, though. And while he had the perfect teen body, his abuse of it over the years was finally catching up to him. The few tops he’d wanted were all snagged by younger kids.
So here he was, walking home in the rain like a Hemingway hero. Not that he’d heard of Hemingway, or could be considered a hero; he was just a drunk, stoned twink who was pissed off because he wasn’t quite enough of a twink.
He didn’t have his shit together enough to afford a car, but he managed to hold on to a shitty hourly job and filthy cheap-ass efficiency apartment. So he was gonna go back, drink some more, toke some more, and pass out with the TV on and his dick hard.
He turned the corner and walked past the parking lot behind the clubs. Club 69 was where he’d ended up; he’d run the entire circuit on the strip. So there was no use in trolling the parking lot; no one coming out was interested. He’d already tried. Fuck. If he’d had a car, he might have tried The Underpass, but it was too far to walk. And he was way too drunk to drive, anyways…
Jack was three blocks down, deep in the gay ghetto, before he remembered he needed to go two blocks south; he had just kept staggering drunkenly (but amazingly around anything that might soil his shoes; high as he was, he’d paid too much to want to ruin them this soon) after he turned the corner, ruminating angrily over his slights. At the next intersection, he turned left onto the dark, unlit side street.
Halfway down the block was the entrance to an alley that gave access to parking in the rear of all the properties that faced the main street. The side street was dark but there were security lights down the alley from the parking lot of a house that was divided into apartments.
Jack paused a few steps down the street. There was a shadow stretching out from the alley, the elongated, backlit image of a man standing with his legs spread. Some guy was just standing there, in the alley, out of sight behind the wall that ran along the pavement. Jack felt a chill for a moment but kept going. He could handle himself. He might have the body of a sixteen-year-old, but he was lithe and deceptively strong.
Jack moved quickly, increasing his step as he approached the alleyway, determined not to look or draw attention to himself. He flipped the collar of his leather jacket up, ducked his head and strode quickly along the sidewalk.
The voice, when it came, had something in it—a quality, a timbre—that made him listen and obey. “Hey,” was all it said, a deep, basso voice that seemed to reverberate along his spine and command him to stop. So he stopped. And looked.
All he could see was a silhouette. One of the security lights was angled down the alley to the street; the glaring halogen blinded Jack, but he could see a large, tall man standing there. As Jack paused, shading his eyes with his hand, the man slowly began to move towards him. Perversely, as the man blocked out more of the light with his body, Jack could see his body more clearly than he had with the light in his eyes.
This dude was huge, well over six feet. His biceps and thighs were larger than Jack’s torso. His hair was black as well; it had an almost blue glint and curled tightly, a feature it carried down the side of his face to merge with a thick goatee covering a strong, firm jaw. Even with his face in shadow, the dude’s eyes sparkled in pools of darkness.
He wore what looked like a plain white cotton t-shirt under a thick leather biker’s jacket with zippers at the cuffs. His tight denim jeans sank into a pair of black leather harness boots with buckled straps.
Jack’s fear was gone, instantly replaced with lust; this was exactly the kinda stud he’d been looking for. He grinned up at the man, a giant towering over him, praying that he could lure this incredible stud back to his place. “Hey,” he replied, “what ya lookin’ for?”
The stud stepped out onto the sidewalk and turned to face Jack, leering down at him. Jack could see the left half of his face illuminated by the alley light. The dude’s eyes were an extraordinary pale blue. He had high cheekbones and a strong jaw covered with the same curly black fur that circled his mouth. His lips were full and red, but compressed into a hard, tight line.
“I’m lookin’ for someone to fuck,” the dude drawled lazily. “I’m lookin’ for someone who can take my cock.”
“I can take it,” gasped Jack, trying to contain his excitement.
“Yeah?” asked the leather-bound stud. “Gotta warn ya, punk, I fuck hard. Ain’t found anyone yet who could stay the whole course. If ya get what I mean.”
Jack smiled, an almost contemptuous look on his face. “I know what ya mean. I can take you, dude. I can take anything you give me.”
The man stepped forward into the light; Jack got a much better look at him. He was somewhat older, but his age was hard to discern; he was well-built and his body was incredibly developed; the arms of his leather jacket and the legs of his jeans bulged with muscles. He could have been anywhere from his early thirties to his early fifties; the only evidence that he was at the younger end of the spectrum was his jet-black hair with no trace of gray.
He looked down at Jack, smiling faintly. “Can you, dude? Can you take whatever I give ya? Let’s find out. You got someplace private I can stick it in ya?”
Jack gasped as lust flooded his body, triggering the flow of hormones. “Yeah, man, just follow me back to my place.” He wheeled about and began staggering down the street. He was more fucked up than he thought—but he attributed his difficulty walking to the fact that his cock was harder than a brick.
Across one more street, then up the alley to the right—this one far less well-lit than the other—to the rear parking lot of Jack’s little bills-paid complex. He led the stud around to the rear-most unit on the left on the ground floor.
It was a squalid affair; Jack’s job didn’t pay much. He had a memory foam mattress—but no bed to put it on; it sat on the floor. He had a decent chair and an expensive TV and game system. On the other side of the large room, next to the open closet displaying Jack’s expensive clothing, was a cheap desk supporting an equally inexpensive computer and printer. Jack’s priorities were fairly clear; especially when one took into account the amount of booze in the kitchen, pot in the bathroom, and coke in the closet.
But this guy didn’t need to know any of that, Jack decided; he just needed to stick his hopefully enormous schlong up Jack’s ass.
The older man glanced coldly at the squalor around him—despite Jack’s care with his new clothing, anything that remained in his possession more than two months was considered too used to be worth caring for. As a result, costly designer shirts and name-brand jeans were massed in piles on the floor. Soiled sheets of high-grade Egyptian cotton twisted across the bed and dragged onto the filthy floor.
His eyes, ice-blue and utterly emotionless locked onto Jack’s own. Jack felt a tremor run through his body, but was unable to define the emotion associated with it. Lust and unease and the sense of something hidden and unknown stirring deep inside him.
The older man shrugged off his heavy leather biker jacket, letting it fall to the floor with a thump. Under it, he was wearing a thin white cotton wifebeater which he proceeded to pull off as well.
He stood before Jack, almost literally taking the boy’s breath away. His thick, taut torso descended in a V-shape into the top of his tight jeans, his waist circled by a belt woven of black leather strips. It had no holes; the shaft of the buckle could be jammed into the weave at any point.
But Jack’s eyes didn’t linger on the belt. They were drawn back up to the six-pack abs and rippled chest, covered with thick, wiry black fur. It spread over the dude’s chest but concentrated in a distinct line as it got lower, a line running straight down to his crotch.
The stud sneered at Jack as he spoke. “On your knees, bitch. Suck on it. I wanna see how far I can stick my cock down your throat.”
Jack’s green eyes glittered defiantly as he replied. “You can stick it in my ass if ya want, but I don’t take any guy’s dirty piss-stained dick in my mouth.”
The alpha dude’s expression changed from contempt to terrifying rage instantly. He stepped forward and snatched a fistful of Jack’s shirt, jerking him forward and twisting the fabric. As he did so, Jack’s collar tightened into a near chokehold.
“Listen, cunt, you’re gonna get on your knees and suck on whatever I put in your mouth. There is no ‘or else’; you’re gonna do it. Your only choice is gonna be how much it hurts.”
Jack made his fatal mistake. He hesitated. That was all it took to establish the balance of power, once and for all. And although he wasn’t aware of it at the moment, ‘for all’ wasn’t going to be much longer for Jack—say forty minutes at the outside.
Depended on how strong he was, really, although that could work against him, too. Somewhere near the end of those forty minutes, it was likely that Jack would be hoping that the end of ‘for all’ was imminent.
But as Jack sank to his knees and the black-haired stud unzipped his fly, letting his thick, veined hog flop out like a butcher laying out a slab of prime beef, the end of it all was still several minutes in the future. Jack paused, looking at the enormous organ with trepidation. His useless bravado aside, Jack was no stranger to BJs; he’d swallowed enough sperm to float—well, if not a battleship, at least a dinghy. But this was something else, a tool big enough to completely plug his esophagus.
Even with the amount of use—he called it ‘experience’—Jack had undergone, he knew that this fuck was gonna hurt worse than anything he’d experienced before. Even so, he had no concept of the pain in store for him as the dude’s rough, strong hands grabbed Jack’s face and roughly forced his mouth open.
There was no tentative exploration. Before Jack had the time to react, his mouth and throat were full of cock. He could feel the thick oozing head plugging his windpipe, its ridged length lying on top of his epiglottis, preventing him from breathing.
He grunted in panic, his hands pummeling the dude’s legs. It felt like (and seemed to have the same effect as) beating on tree trunks. As tears welled from Jack’s bulging eyes and saliva bubbled out in a foam past the massive tube of meat jammed into his mouth, he could feel the hard manstud’s pubic hairs scratching his face. He turned his eyes upward, trying desperately to catch those of the stranger choking him, but his vision faded into the dark forest of fur hanging above him.
Gasping and choking, Jack placed his hands against the stud’s rock-hard thighs and pushed with as much force as he could muster. The top clamped his hands down onto the side of Jack’s head. With excruciating, inexorable force, he exerted a vise grip on Jack’s skull, causing him great pain as he forced his dick even further down the slut’s gurgling throat.
Jack’s resistance was useless. The tender flesh on the inside of his lip was torn against his teeth as his face was forced relentlessly into the top’s groin. He squealed and gurgled; his tongue wriggling reflexively along the underside of the alpha stud’s shaft, making the man grunt and apply yet more agonizing pressure.
Jack could feel himself going under; as he coughed and spewed foam, darkness was closing in around him. He was going numb. His body was fading…foam dribbling down his chin past the manmeat in his mouth…why was his dick hard…
Suddenly, it was gone. He could breathe. Jack took a deep, whooping gasp of air and fell back onto the half-stripped foam mattress. He laid back, eyelids fluttering, as he spent the next two minutes coughing foam up onto his cheeks, the darkness in his face slowly fading.
The alpha top glared silently down at him, waiting for him to recover enough to obey. He decided a couple of minutes were enough. “Okay, bitch, strip. Still think you can take me? Let’s see what my shaft feels like up your ass, cunt. Get outta yer clothes, slut. Now.”
Jack pulled his shirt off in one fluid motion, revealing his firm, slim, smooth torso, shiny with sweat. The deep register of the older man’s voice had vibrated through his tender ass to the root of his cock, already erect. Even though he hadn’t recovered enough of his wind to be able to think clearly, he knew that he had to do as he was told.
He sat abruptly on the edge of his mattress as he pulled off the new sneakers. Standing up immediately, he wriggled out of his jeans. He stood before the dominant stud, nude except for the white athletic socks climbing his calves. His cock, unaccountably, was jutting out in front of him, despite what he had just been through.
Jack faced the unknown man, letting his eyes slowly slide up the dude’s hard body, starting with his black harness boots. They moved up the thick calves and thighs, tightly wrapped in worn, frayed denim. His long, thick, cock, still only semi-hard, dangled out in front like tackle, its swollen purple head shiny with saliva and precum. His scrotum was still in his jeans; they still clung firmly to his tight ass even with the fly and waist open, peeled back to show a black, hairy V from which his throbbing, veined shaft protruded.
Jack’s attention we momentarily diverted by something shiny—it was just the dangling buckle of the woven leather belt catching the light—before it was drawn upwards along the stranger’s body, almost hypnotically. The stud’s furry, rippled abdomen, his heaving, sweaty flanks, the muscles in his chest bulging as he breathed—Jack took them all in greedily, knowing that no matter how much this might hurt, he was gonna be able to beat off to the memories for the rest of his life. This motherfucker was the perfect stud; exactly what Jack had wanted. Even the skull tattoo on the right shoulder.
Then up to his face. Dark curly hair covered a strong jaw and circled a full mouth set in an emotionless straight line. The beard merged with the thick hair that was just as black and curly. But the eyes; those icy blue eye…Jack stared directly into them—
WHAM
It wasn’t a punch; it was a backhand blow hard enough to raise a bruised welt on his cheek. Jack was both physically and emotionally unprepared for the assault, though, and crumpled to the mattress as if he’d decked in the jaw. As he cowered, clutching his face, the older man spoke.
“You don’t get to look at me, cunt. Only time my bitches get to look me in the face is when they make me cum. Got that, you fucking worthless faggot? You wanna look me in the face, you gotta earn it by milking the sperm outta my dick. Now roll over and get on your hands and knees, slut, I’m gonna fuck ya like the homo dog you are. Gonna take ya from behind, boy. You won’t get to see me, but ya damn sure get to feel me.”
As Jack positioned himself on the mattress on his hands and knees, he felt almost nothing at all. It was due more to denial than anything else—yes, he was a bottom, but he’d been a desirable one, able to command respect. He’d never anticipated so completely losing control of a situation. He was shocked; he felt nothing.
The top lived up to his word. Jack felt something soon enough. His response started as a moan but quickly escalated to a shriek as the dude’s massive tool stretched his sphincter past its breaking point. Instantly a hand clamped tightly and painfully over his mouth and a voice snarled, “Goddam, cunt, ya squeal like a fuckin’ pig,” so close he could feel the breath hot on his ear.
It took forever. The stud was enjoying Jack’s pain, holding him close with the brutality of iron clamps as he slowly slid his cock into Jack’s torn, quivering fuckhole. Jack’s arms beat frantically against the mattress, his fingers tightly flexed, his toes curling visibly in his white socks, his jerking feet confined between the alpha’s boots. Holy fuck, it felt like he was getting raped with a baseball bat...
Then, there’s blessed relief. It stopped. The dude wasn’t shoving it in anymore; he was kneeling behind Jack with one hand spread on his back, holding him down, the other hand over his mouth, pulling his head back.
Suddenly both hands were gone.
Jack gasped and whimpered, his entire body trembling. He was still upright on his hands and knees. He felt full of cock. The pain, the trauma to his lower colon, had taken his breath away, but at least it had stopped. Christ, any farther and he’d be getting fucked in his guts—there’d be internal damage…
He’d known it’d hurt. He’d been willing to accept that as the price for the perfect fuck. He hadn’t known it would be this bad—but it was still worth it. If he could just take a moment to let his ass muscle collapse and accept the stud’s shaft…
As usual, Jack’s grasp of reality was weak. This time, though, the contradiction was about to be driven home, brutally. It started with a faint rasping sound.
It didn’t last long, and Jack couldn’t make out what it was at first. Then he realized the alpha stud was slowly slipping his belt out the loops on his jeans. Jack almost went faint with relief; the dude would have to pull out of him to undress further—maybe Jack could talk him into some lube—
It was a brief relief. As Jack trembled on his hands and knees, with an excruciatingly huge cock shoved up his ass and sweat running down his face, something flashed in front of his eyes—something that looked like woven leather straps.
Then the top’s belt cinched brutally around Jack’s throat, instantly cutting off his air.
Jack’s hands frantically scrabbled at the leather mesh digging into his neck, leaving his upper body unsupported. The older man threw himself down on Jack’s back, letting the young slut feel the dude’s muscles rasping his belly fur against Jack’s smooth, slick back. They boy fell forward, the thick choking grunts emerging from his closed-off windpipe directly into the mattress as his face was buried in it.
There was a terrible, tearing pain on the right side of Jack’s neck. His hands found the spot, clawing desperately at the piece of metal cutting into his skin. It was the belt buckle—the alpha wasn’t using the belt like a cord; he’d made a basic noose by looping it back through the buckle.
The stud took control immediately, locking Jack into place by grabbing a fistful of hair on the back of his head; with the head immobilized, he only needed to pull on the belt with one hand to tighten the leather mesh through the buckle.
Jack’s mind was aflame with sheer panic. He’d never known—never had any reason to consider—that sudden cessation of breath could be so terrifying. The only thing that kept his weak psyche from disintegrating in a white-hot sheet of terror was the pain; as scared as he was, he couldn’t escape the agony of his physical suffering.
It wasn’t just the strangling; the top had started shoving his dick in again. Jack braced himself up on one arm, bending the other behind him at an almost impossible angle in his desperate attempt to reach his torment.
“Stop it, you worthless fuck, you ain’t gettin’ away,” the dude growled, then spit on the back of Jack’s shuddering head. “Only way you’re getting’ off my dick is with my load inside you. Sooner ya make me shoot, the sooner I let ya go. Whaddaya think, cocksucker, think you’ll last long enough for me to cum? I bet not. You’re a useless fuckin’ faggot, not even good at gettin’ fucked. Look at ya, bitch, look at this place. Ain’t no one gonna miss ya.”
Jack couldn’t see that his face was turning purple, but he could feel it swelling painfully. His throat was blazing agony, the woven straps sinking ever more deeply below the surface of his skin, making impossible for his fingers to find a purchase. It pulled violently at the buckle, jerking his skin up and tearing it, a trickle of blood dripping onto the mattress and soiled sheets.
There was a huge, swelling pressure in his chest. His air had been shut off for almost two minutes, most of which time Jack had been struggling and burning the limited oxygen in his bloodstream. But his years of drug use had conditioned his body to functioning under extreme conditions—which meant, unfortunately for Jack, that he was a long way from going numb or losing consciousness.
Already, despite his instinctive fight against the overpowering force crushing the life out of him, part of Jack’s spinning, frantic brain craved oblivion—even death, if it meant an end to the pain.
His ass—oh fuck, it was being torn wide open. He could feel the burning shaft of ridged flesh penetrating deep into his guts, tearing him on the inside. He’d never felt so full, so completely violated before. But as painful as it was, it had to come second in his attention. Breathing came first. Jack jerked and writhed, anything, anything to release that horrible crushing pressure in his chest, oh shit his lungs were gonna pop move move get away…
Then came the voice. Even in full survival mode, there was something in the deep bass timbre of the stud’s voice that reverberated along the root of Jack’s unaccountably hard dick.
“Now you got it, fuck. Goddam, your quivering and trembling feels so good on my tool. Gotta get ya to do it some more. Let’s see—ya like that, pig? Fuck yeah, that made ya kick! Goddam, I gotta do more of that; you milk my cock good, you fucking squealing cockwhore!”
The top had shifted himself slightly and ground his engorged rod into Jack’s bleeding fuckhole at a different angle, tearing the rectal lining in a new spot.
Jack had bent his back upwards, his hands clawing the air in front of him in mindless agony. The tip of his black, swollen tongue was already forcing its excruciating way out his mouth as thick foamy drool spilled down his smooth, weak chin. His bulging eyes leaked tears as petechial hemorrhages formed in the lids and blood vessels ruptured, red blossoms appearing in his green eyes. In some deep recess in his fear-wracked mind, some part of Jack was screaming at the thought that the nightmarish pain and terror he was experiencing was sexually arousing to his assailant.
That was the true, mind-shattering revelation for Jack. He’d just planned tonight to be like any other. Get a little stoned, get a little drunk, let some stud fuck him. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Tonight there’d be no repeat. This guy wasn’t just gonna kill him; this guy was gonna get off on killing him as slowly and painfully as possible.
The realization was accompanied by an icy coldness flooding Jack’s body. Through it all, he could still feel his own dick, traitorously hard, slapping against his thighs as his body bucked and jerked. He wasn’t paying attention anymore, though, huge black roses were blooming in his face; they made a buzzing sound that got louder. He could still the alpha stranger speak, but the words had no real significance to him…
“Almost there, you faggot piece of shit. Almost ready to shoot. Goddam, I had to work you over good—you really are a stupid cunt, ain’t ya? Don’t even know how to make a guy cum without choking the fuck outta ya. But ya like it, don’t ya, whore? Ya like that mancock rippin’ into your soft homo guts, huh? Are ya ready for my load, faggot? Think ya can take it? Ready to look me in the face as you get my spunk, you worthless queer? Get ready, motherfucker, here it comes—UUURRRGHHH!!!!”
With a loud cry, the dude hunched down over Jack, his cock swelling and pumping a solid stream of boiling semen into Jack’s torn colon. As he did, he locked the buckle into place around Jack’s neck so the belt wouldn’t loosen.
Then, still clutching a hank of hair at the back of the head, the alpha reached around, grabbed Jack’s jaw in the other hand, and twisted his head through 180 degrees.
Even in the extreme last moments of consciousness, Jack was aware of what had happened. His protruding eyes gazed in utter, absolute horror at those of his killer, ice-cold and remorseless. The sound was that of a tree limb snapping, but Jack felt it as well as heard it. It was the last thing he heard or felt.
The sensation was that of a massive electrical shock running through his body. He had no awareness that his erect cock had blown a huge load of creamy sperm onto the bed as his neck shattered. He didn’t feel it; what he did feel was the shattering of half a dozen vertebrae that sent bone fragments slicing into his spinal cord.
His entire body went intensely rigid, every muscle clenching tightly. Even torn and mangled, his sphincter was able to tighten around the base of the killer’s dick, making the stud cry out and collapse on top of Jack’s quivering body, punching the shuddering mass of flesh repeatedly.
As the universe faded into a cold sheet of dark eternal ice, Jack’s consciousness faded to a pinpoint focused on the rage and lust of the man who was beating him while filling his abdomen with semen and spitting into his gasping, dying face. It was the last thing he saw.
The dude didn’t stay around long. He stepped into the bathroom to wash up. When he came out, slipping his wifebeater back over his slick, heaving torso--still breathing deeply with exertion--Jack’s body was still convulsing on the mattress, face up but chest down. His white tube socks were still covering his twitching calves and white foam still trickled down his blackened face from his blue lips, parted by his grotesquely swollen tongue. Even from here, the dude could see his own cum oozing out of the corpse’s ravaged ass.
The killer stuffed his thick cock back inside his tight faded jeans and zipped the fly. Approaching the bed, he bent down and grabbed a handful of Jack’s sweat-soaked hair, lifting his head. It lolled forward easily with no functioning spine to stiffen it. Keeping a firm grip on Jack’s hair, the dude worked the fingers of his free hand up under the belt; his nails tearing open the purple flesh of the slut’s crushed neck. The buckle had become embedded deeply—it took a few minutes before it was pulled off and slipped back around the top’s waist.
Jack’s eyes, now faded to a cloudy green ringed with red, stared into his killer’s face. Blank and dull, they gave no hint of the terror he’d experienced at being forced to give up his useless, wasted life.
Slipping his leather jacket back on, the stud smiled to himself. He always enjoyed putting down a pig; it was a good workout. Kept him in shape. And it wasn’t like anyone was gonna miss the worthless little homo slut anyway…
TallBlond1
Forum Regular
A nail gun on a beautiful guy! So fucking hot!
Dark Fader
Forum Regular
With your chest and belly don't be surprised if someone doesn't try that on you Big Banana
mayhem
Forum Regular
Ok, everything from the Fantsay Scenario series, the Tony and Nick snuff arc and everything done so far on Trucker is on m3mayhem.wordpress.com now.
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