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  1. #16
    Forum Elite stustustugoo's Avatar
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    so sexy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
    my cock exists for male feet/soles!!!

  2. #17
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    Grave Decisions.

    I got home from work tonight, only to be greeted by the sight Kenny’s body. Nothing beats coming home to a cold, bloody corpse, unless it’s a warm, bloody living stud. I changed out of my work clothes, sat beside him and cut off his dick and nuts. Still soft. No rigor mortis in the crotch. I like a chaw in my mouth when I work and what’s better than a meaty dick?

    I hoisted Kenny over my shoulder and carried him to the sub-basement. I was shirtless, so his crusty blood stuck to my shoulder and back. It’s pretty sexy, you know, this crusty blood, not yet dry, still sticky and damp. I love all kinds of blood: flowing blood, oozing blood, coagulating blood, crusty blood, and dried blood. Each different in texture and taste, but all stimulating as hell. My dick was rock hard as I carried him to the sub-basement and dumped him on the dirt floor. It’s a big area. Ideal for burying my guys. Right now, there are three graves. Nick, Jason and Bobby. Kenny will make four. There is room for lots more if I need them, and somehow I think I will.

    After I killed Nick, my first, I kind of panicked. I suddenly had a mangled corpse in my playroom. How do I get rid of this guy?! Well, I finally figured it out, dug a grave, and dumped him in. He looked so cute in there, all bloody and mutilated and unrecognizable, I didn’t want to cover him up. So I spent a night sleeping with him. But finally realized I had to let go and shoveled dirt over him. Jason was an asshole, so I shit on his face before covering him. Bobby and Kenny, I buried with no drama. Everything they brought with them, keys, wallet, money, clothes, got buried. I’m learning to just let go, no matter how hot they were. After all, if I get horny, there are lots more of them out there.
    Flesh and Blood:
    Organic and Natural.
    Nutritious and Tasty.

  3. #18
    Forum Elite callmecaleb's Avatar
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    Simple Routine.

    I canít believe Iíve killed four men is just a few months. After years of thinking about it, Iíve broken loose and fulfilled my dreams. It must be an addiction, and I admit Iím enjoying this. So, if Iím gonna continue down this yellow brick road, Iíd better have a plan, a routine, for dealing with my guys.

    I bring a man home and offer him something to drink. When two strangers meet to fuck, thereís a little tension until you can relax and get into it. Alcohol reduces the tension. Of course, alcohol also disguises any taste of the knock-out drug. Takes about five to ten minutes for it to take effect, so I start making out with him so he might not notice the drowsiness.

    When heís out, I drag him down the hall and into my playroom. I love dragging a guy. Ever since I was a kid and saw a drawing of Achilles dragging the naked Hector behind his chariot, Iíve dreamed of dragging a naked man over rock, dirt, asphalt, and touching his scratched, ripped, bleeding body with my hand or mouth. Someday, I hope I can find a deserted place to drag bodies.

    In the playroom, I lay him out and shave him clean. Most of the dudes I bring home are smooth, but I like them totally unblemishedÖno tats or piercings, and no hair anywhere except on the scalp. Once heís totally smooth, I shoot a tube of fast-setting construction adhesive into his asshole. I wonít be able to fuck him, but at least he wonít shit unexpectedly.

    Next, I hoist him with chains or ropes into whatever position I want to start with. Depends on the guy and what Iím feeling like just then. But once heís up there, I like to start things by smashing my fist into his relaxed belly. I love the ďoooofĒ sound as hot air bursts from his lungs and blasts into my face, sometimes with spittle.

    Then I wait. Sit there with a brew, waiting for him to regain consciousness. I love it when his eyes open and he tries to figure out whatís happening. Confusion first, then awareness, then anger. And finally fear. My cock vibrates with intense excitement at that moment when he realizes heís in deep shit. His eyes bug. Fear. Terror. He is helpless and he sees me in front of him, smiling. He recognizes my lust, the evil in my eyes. He knows. Some shout and swear at me. Some plead. Some simply sob, accepting an unknown but unpleasant fate, for they know from my eyes that they will feel severe pain. And his terror is just the beginning of my pleasure.

    God, Iím loving this shit!
    Fear. Terror. Torture. Agony. Blood. Gore. Death.
    ďCall me Caleb, and come home with me.Ē
    Flesh and Blood:
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  4. #19
    Forum Elite callmecaleb's Avatar
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    Needles.

    Morphine. With my first kill, Nick, I felt sorry for him, for the pain he was suffering. I didn’t have morphine, so shot him up with liquified Valium in hopes it might help. Now, I don’t give a shit about my guys suffering. In fact, I love it. Watching their facial reactions, body spasms, or screeching…all that gets me off. So, even though I have morphine, I don’t bother unless I want to drag his life out longer, make him last. A shot of morphine is good for that.

    Liquid Viagra. Nothing beats a hard cock. Up my butthole or in my mouth, or mine in someone else’s ass or mouth. And I especially like a hard dick on a guy I am torturing. A little added sexiness. But, a man in extreme pain is more likely to have a soft, shrunken penis. So, I always inject my guy’s dick with liquid Viagra and watch it grow long and rigid, popping up to attention, ready for anything I might want to do to it. Do you like to bite deep into a hard dick? Chew on it? Break the skin and suck blood? Oh, yeah!

    Jake and I used to use liquid Viagra. Not because we couldn’t make each other hard. We simply loved to poke needles into our cocks. Needles are so cool, whether I shove them into my victims, or myself. Pain. Pleasure. Giving. Receiving. So nice.
    Flesh and Blood:
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  5. #20
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    Pizza Boy.

    It was a beautifully bronzed kid of 16 or 17 who rode past my house on an e-scooter one hot day. My house is way out of town! But it turns out he was stalking me. He’d seen me once when he was making a nearby delivery for the local pizzeria. So, here he was, slender, with a strong swimmer’s build, and wearing nothing but tight shorts (pink! But sooooo sexy!), his long sweat-soaked blond hair plastered to his forehead. I was working in the yard, wearing cut-offs and boots. As soon as our eyes met, he rolled up the driveway and said “Hi. Could I get a cold drink from you?” Well, fuck! If the delivery boy was delivering himself to my doorstep, how could I say no?!

    An hour later, he lay naked on the playroom floor, his arms and legs spread wide, wrists and ankles attached to 4-foot 2x4’s. I could flip the 2x4 so I could have him face up or face down, but he couldn’t maneuver them. As he lay face up, still drugged out, I stepped onto his gut, wearing metal-spiked track shoes which I had sharpened considerably with a file. Bounced up and down a bit and stepped off to admire the red marks the spikes had made on his belly. I flipped him over and proceeded to step on and off his back, butt and thighs. It wasn’t long before the spikes began to draw blood. As my dick grew harder, I began to hop on and off. Then I took a running start and ran right over him. As his back began to get torn up, I knelt and fingered the pieces of loose, bloody skin.

    After the kid’s back was torn up, I turned him over and began to do the same to his front side. It was then he woke up and began to scream. Lovely sounds!! I dug my spikes into his cock and balls, twisting, ripping them. Then, having held myself back for too long, I began to walk on his face. The spikes tore up his forehead, cheeks and chin. And his belly. I adore ripped abs!

    Pizza-Boy, by this time, was twitching, jerking, crying, frantically trying to get up, but he couldn’t maneuver those 2x4’s. I flipped him on his face again and began to jump onto his body, twisting the spikes as I landed. Had to be careful because, as my frenzy increased, he also became more slippery with blood. A couple jumps on his head ripped his ear half off. Calves, thighs, ass and back…all ripped and oozing blood. Flipped him on his back again and went whole hog, stomping hard, even jumping from a chair. From shins to shoulders, his soft smooth skin was torn, ripped to pieces. Adam was in a state of shock, no longer fighting it. Don’t know what he was feeling by now, but I was sure feeling great! In a state of frenzied ecstasy, I fell on top of him and ripped at his bloody flesh with my teeth, biting and tearing at his nose, ears, nipples, dick and nuts…and swallowed a lot of him.

    I rubbed his pink shorts over his mutilated body, soaking up blood, and for weeks slept with them clasped to my face. And around the house, I wore his scalp, with the long bloody-blond hair falling in my face and on my shoulders. Even ordered a pizza from his company as my way of saying “Thanks for the delivery (boy)”. Mighty tasty.
    Flesh and Blood:
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  6. #21
    Forum Elite stustustugoo's Avatar
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    well written, sexy, tasty, I had to jack off while reading it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
    my cock exists for male feet/soles!!!

  7. #22
    Forum Elite callmecaleb's Avatar
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    The Magical Moment.

    When I think back on the men I’ve tortured and killed, I think of the magical moment when they realize that they are fucked. Totally and irrevocable fucked. The pain won’t end and they will die.

    I wonder if it’s something they see in my eyes. My joy in torturing and mutilating. Are my eyes cold with hatred? No, not possible, because I don’t hate. At least not usually. Are my eyes warm and loving as I absorb the beauty of their bodies, and tear that beauty apart? I don’t know. I don’t see my eyes. Only they do.

    No, I see their eyes. And sometimes I can recognize the moment when they realize this is not a simple sex game with a stranger. It’s real. They went home with a maniac, who really intends to do them harm. To torture. To kill.

    It’s the moment they realize I’m not playing a game. When their anxiety and uncertainty become genuine fear. It shows in their eyes, their pleas, their screams. Abject terror. What goes on in their minds, I don’t know. Do they just give up? Do they maintain an unreasonable bit of hope? When the screams become sobs and whimpers, does that mean they give up? Or just that the pain is so great that screaming isn’t possible? It is so hard to tell.

    I enjoy the process from the moment I bring him into my home to the moment I jack my last load onto his corpse. But even for me, the magical moment is special. There’s a special tingle in my cock when my victim fully recognizes me for who I am. The total master of his body and mind and fate. His torturer. His killer.

    I love that magical moment!
    Flesh and Blood:
    Organic and Natural.
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  8. #23
    Forum Elite callmecaleb's Avatar
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    Muscle Boy. All Fucked Up.

    “I don’t get fucked and I don’t suck cock.” Gunther made that emphatically clear. He was Austrian, doing business in the area. He sounded just like Schwarzeneger and looked like him, too. A massive bodybuilder. Perfect muscles. Perfect skin, silky smooth and unblemished…no hair, no tats, no piercings. Handsome. Dark hair and piercing black eyes. Arrogant. Like he was doing me a huge favor by deigning to come home with me. No problem. I was humble (“You can fuck me all you want, Gunther. I’ll give you the best blow job ever, Gunther.”) Whatever it took, I wanted that body in my playroom.

    The drugged beer took him down quickly. I shaved what little body hair he had and gave him an enema to clean him out. I knew what I wanted tonight. I wrapped a chain around his chest, just below his pecs, fastened it in the back and pulled him up so his feet were just off the floor. Chained his wrists behind his back. I also stretched chains tightly around each thigh, just above his knees. Because he was so strong, I used extra heavy duty chains and locks.

    I stepped back to admire his gorgeous physique. I’ve had some guys here with great builds, but this was the first pure bodybuilder I’d ever lured into my playroom. Absolutely spectacular! He was about 6’2”, 240#, 32” waist, 50” chest, 20” biceps, and thighs almost as thick as his waist. His rock-hard muscles were wrapped in pure white skin, soft as silk. He was only 22 and fucking hung! A huge uncut cock and large balls hanging in a big loose sac from his shaved crotch. Not the stereotypical bodybuilder at all! I shot liquid Viagra into the base of his cock and watched it grow even bigger. Ten inches and thick! Glad as hell I won’t have to make good on that promise to let him fuck me!

    Gunther was naked. I wore steel-toe construction boots and heavy socks, tight white hiking shorts, and a baseball cap. Well, the shorts weren’t white anymore. I’d worn them for most of my sessions and they were stained with the blood of many men. A bit crusty, too. Never been washed. A DNA test would tell quite a story.

    As he dangled in front of me, I rubbed my hands and lips over every inch of his body. My dick was throbbing, unaccustomed to such magnificence. My mouth sucked at his tits, his biceps, his belly button (an outie), his thighs and calves, feet and toes, and of course, his cock and balls. I was in Heaven and God was in my arms.

    “Shithead!” broke my reverie. Gunther was awake. “Let me out of here, you asshole! I don’t play games like this!” “Not yet, Gunther, we got stuff to do.” “No way, Fucker! I’m going home!” He kicked out at me and almost got my crotch. I grabbed his nuts and squeezed hard. As he sucked in breath, I said quietly “Do that again and these will be flat. Got that, Fucker?” I kept squeezing until he nodded and then let go. I slapped his face hard. He spit in my eye. I just smiled as the goober slid down my cheek. I leaned down and bit his left nipple, bit it hard. His body jerked and he let out a yelp as my teeth ripped at his tit. I drew blood and stepped back. His eyes shot pure hatred at me but I detected a little fear, too.

    I hooked to the chains around his thighs and pulled them out and up. He soon was suspended horizontally, face up, by this shoulders and thighs, legs spread wide, his dick opposite my mouth. Wrists still bound at his back. His head hung backwards but he brought it up to see what I was going to do. “Nice dick, Gunther. Let’s make it happy.” I slid my mouth over it but couldn’t shallow more than half of it. I bit down hard. He lurched and yelled. I ground my teeth on his shaft, tearing the skin, and drawing blood. Then dropped my mouth to his huge nuts. I sucked on them, one at a time, pressing hard. My teeth ripped at his sac and tore off bits of skin.

    My mouth dropped further and found his hole, puckered and pink, and very tight. As I tried to wedge my tongue inside, Gunther let out a shout. “No! No! That hurts! I don’t get fucked!” Well, that’s about to change. I spit on my finger and probed. Yeah, really tight. It’s true. He’s never been fucked. A virgin! Now I was excited. I slid my finger inside as Gunther howled in pain. I finger fucked him to loosen it up and then shoved in two fingers. Louder howls. (I sure as hell didn’t make this much noise the first time I got fucked.) Twisting, the two fingers became three. He was really in pain now and I wasn’t letting up. In and out, in and out. Three became four. I know it was painful because except for the first bit of saliva, I was using no lubricant, and his hole was dry. Finally, I took four fingers with my thumb tucked underneath, and began to push slowly, very slowly, into his butthole, stretching his sphincter. It ripped a little. Blood appeared. I pulled out to see several cracks in his sphincter, cracks oozing blood. I let it cover my hand and resumed my slow butt probe with the crimson lubricant easing my passage. The whole time, Gunther was screaming, his body lurching in the chains, head bobbing up and down, and legs below his chains kicking wildly. Finally, my hand popped through, entering comfortably into his colon.

    I left my hand inside his ass for a couple minutes, to both savor the pleasure and allow him to relax, and then yanked it out fast, really fast. As it popped out, Gunther let loose with a loud shriek followed by a long howl. “No! No! That hurts! Please! Stop!” Ignoring his pain, or reveling in it, I punched my fist in again and quickly withdrew. Several times more, in and out, in and out, stretching his hole more and more. Then I moved to two hands at once. Gunther’s screams and howls and shrieks became merely one long continuous moan. Sort of a whimpering “Nooooo. Nooooo. Pleeeeze. Hurt. Hurt. So bad. Pleeeeze.” His head dropped back and his legs kicked very little. For a full half hour, I worked his asshole, stretching and ripping. Sometimes using two hands. Sometimes punching my balled-up fist into the hole time and again. I finally got tired and stopped to look closely. The hole was five inches wide and didn’t close up like it should have. It just stared back at me. A huge, cavernous void.

    I cleaned it with a cloth and examined its beauty. The pink folds of his colon were coated with specks of blood. I ran my finger over the soft tissue and tasted the essence of Gunther. I pushed my nose as far in as I could and inhaled deeply. Ahhhh, the scent of a man! There are certain aromas that are distinctly male. The sweat of an armpit. The reeking balls in the jockstrap of a sweaty athlete. The stink of a foot after a long trek in hiking boots. The stench of a soldier, unwashed during weeks in the field. And the pungency of an unclean asshole. These glorious scents define manhood. My nose absorbs. My dick throbs. I revel in the masculine stink of Gunther’s hole, mixing the sweet scent of blood with the fragrant odor of shit.

    The first time I fisted a guy, I couldn’t believe the incredible feeling. My hand was inside a colon, so warm and moist, a silky texture of soft folds. I had never felt anything so stimulating. I’ve often fantasized shoving my head into a clean asshole, feeling my face caressed by the moist tissue, licking its warm interior, sucking at the folds. On the other hand, I’ve also fantasized ripping out the colon from within.

    Gunther was in severe pain and almost passed out. Time for more fun. I brought out a pair of work boots I’d found in a thrift shop. Size eighteen. Huge. Gunther looks to be about an eleven. I filled the boots with broken glass and slid one over Gunther’s left foot. Then I poured more glass in, covering the sides and top of his foot, before tightening just one lace at the top of his ankle. The shards could move around inside the boot but not fall out. I did the same with the other foot. With his two feet hanging loose below the thigh chains and the pain he was feeling from his ass pounding, he wouldn’t notice this for now.

    I walked around and massaged Gunther’s belly and chest. I cradled his head in my hands and whispered “OK, bud. That’s over. You’ll be fine. I’m going to let you down so you can stand up. And then I’ll loosen the chains.” He looked at me, beseechingly. I raised him by the chest a bit and then slowly lowered his legs. They hung a foot above the floor as I removed the chains around his thighs. Gunther’s eyes had a look of relief. “Thank you, sir. Danke schoen.” His breathing was almost normal, as I lowered his feet to the floor.

    When his feet hit the floor under his full weight, he let out a shriek. He jerked his feet off the floor and held them in the air. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Ow! Ow! Oooooooooh! “Gunther, I’m going to loosen your wrists so you can grab the chain over your head and hold yourself up.” I unlocked his wrists and he reached up to grab the chain. As he did, I snapped his wrists together, hooked him to another chain, and pulled him up. The chain around his chest was removed and there he was, suspended solely by his wrists, all 240 pounds pulling down and digging the steel links into the bones of his wrists. I let him drop to the floor so the 240 pounds were now pressing down on his feet. More screams as broken glass tore into the soles of his feet. He danced. He hopped. Legs and feet flailing in every direction. When he tried pulling his feet up, I kept lowering him closer to the floor. I would not let him pull his feet off the floor.

    I walked in front of him. Gunther’s body was covered with sweat, his face contorted. Crying. Wailing. Screeching. And every muscle straining to escape the pain. And, God, what muscles they were! Blood dripped from his asshole, running down the back of his thighs into his sharded boots. I raised him so his toes barely touched the floor. I moved close and let his rigid dick rub my shorts, adding his blood to the others’. I ran my hands over his glistening body, feeling abs and pecs, reaching around to touch his back and, yes, his sweet bubble butt. He still looked and felt magnificent. So sexy in his pain. Sexy sounds of pure pain emanating from his mouth. I lowered him again to the floor and stepped on his feet, my 180 pounds adding to the force which shoved the glass deep into his soles and instep. I stood with my arms wrapped around his body, caressing his back, my cheek next to his wailing mouth. So warm and sweaty and slick.

    Eventually, I walked behind him, grabbed his sweat-soaked hair, pulled his head way back, slipped a wooden rod into his mouth, and let his head fall forward. The rod, about two inches in diameter and two feet long, was held firmly in his mouth by the force of his head pressing against his biceps. He quickly gripped the stick with his teeth, grinding them into it to try to ease the hurt, the way you grit your teeth when in pain.

    The next hour was spent lifting and dropping him so his feet kept hitting the floor. Each time, shards dug deeper into his feet, slicing flesh, grinding against bone. Whenever he thought he might be in a position to ease the pain, I kicked his feet from under him. I punched his eyes and nose a couple times. Ground my teeth into his hard cock. Chewed at his outie belly button. Bit his nipples. Sometimes, I slowed down and his feet seemed to find a position that didn’t hurt so much. Just as he thought he might relieve the pain, I moved in and stomped on his boots, shoving glass deeper into his instep. Even louder screeching then! His boots turned dark and damp as blood soaked the leather and began to leak out.

    Eventually, I let his body drop to the floor, face down, the wooden rod resting on his outstretched arms. He lay whimpering, breathing heavily, softly moaning, “Mummy. Mummy. Ohhhhhhhh. Meine mummy.” I let him rest momentarily and then stomped my boot down on his head, driving the rod further into his mouth. I knelt, pulled his head back by his hair, and tried to pull the stick out. Wouldn’t move. His teeth had been driven deep into the wood. I dropped his head so the stick was resting again on his biceps and went to get my sledgehammer. Wielding it like a croquet mallet, I smashed one end of the wooden rod, driving it to his left side and out of his mouth. One loud shriek and then silence. He had passed out from the shock of pain.

    I rolled Gunther over. Blood ran from his mouth. I looked at the rod and saw many of his teeth embedded in the wood. Ran my fingers inside his mouth. Most of his teeth had been ripped out when I hit the rod and the rest were loose. I sat him up against a post and sucked a lot of blood from his mouth. Didn’t want his to choke on it while unconscious. I used pliers to remove the rest of his teeth. Most were loose and came out easily but two broken ones in the back required a lot of force to pull out. Finally, when I ran my fingers into his mouth, all I could feel was the soft, bloody pulp of his ripped-up gums. Nice. The fucker had been through a lot: stretched asshole, feet ripped by broken glass, and now severe dental work. He deserved a rest. And also some morphine to lessen his pain a little and keep him going. So I shoved him onto the floor and gave him a shot of morphine. Then I rolled him over, face down, and let him sleep.

    An hour later, I returned and he was just as I’d left him. He lay face down, slightly on his left side. His left arm was at his side; his right hand lay on the floor near his head. Left leg straight, right slightly bent. From this angle, there was not one mark on his body, no evidence of his ordeal, except for a little blood on his inner thighs. His hair was still slick from sweat but the body had dried. For all anyone could tell, he was a god reclining. But when I rolled him onto his back, a different story. Bruised face, gaping hole for a mouth, bloody tits and cock, and a brutalized sphincter. I couldn’t say which side of him turned me on the most.

    I pulled Gunther over to a post and sat him up. Slapped his face a few times until he woke. Eyes glazed over. Was he comprehending anything? I stood, slipped off my shorts, and slapped my rigid cock against his face, back and forth. Then I slid it into his mouth and deep into his throat. And fucked his face. He hardly resisted. His hands came up and held my calves, but that was all. No strength to push me away. Once it felt as if he tried to bite but all that did was cause his bloody gums to hurt. When I pulled out once and looked into his eyes, they seemed to flash a bit of hatred. I resumed pounding my dick down his throat. He choked once and I held it in his throat until he retched. Dry heaves. Face-fucking a man with no teeth and torn bloody gums is an awesome sensation. So sensuous! Finally, I let it go, and with deep spasms of ecstasy as I shot my thick gooey jizz into his throat. Exhausted, I slipped down and rested my head in his lap. No resistance. “I’m proud of you, Muscle Boy. Fucked in both ends. You’re a pussy now.” He was sobbing softly, tears mixing with blood, dripping off his cheeks to my face below. I left him there to rest for a couple hours in a sitting position, wrists secured behind the post.

    When I returned, Gunther was more alert. As soon as he saw me, he began to call me a fucker, asshole, shithead, and some Austrian words too. Kind of funny listening to him. It’s hard to understand someone with no teeth and a mouthful of blood. I just smiled and said he needed to wash his mouth. I pushed his head back, shoved my dick into his mouth, and peed down his throat. He gagged and spit bloody piss out onto his chest and belly. I pulled back and aimed the stream into his open mouth. When he clamped it closed, I continued pissing in his face.

    I pushed him onto the floor, wrapped a chain around one wrist, hooked it to a pulley, dragged him across the room and up to a standing position again. I stretched his legs and arms out in a spread-eagle position and looked him over. Of course, his mouth was a mess and there were bruises on his face. His tits, belly button, cock and sac were bloody from my teeth and wet from my piss. His inner thighs sticky with blood that had seeped from his torn butthole. A few bruises on his thighs. But nothing serious, not much real damage at all. He still looked like a god.

    I took his helpless body into my arms, caressing his warm silky skin, holding him tight against my own nakedness. Christ, he was sooooo fucking sensual! His dick had begun to soften and needed more liquid Viagra. But first, I picked up my scissors and snipped away at his foreskin. He writhed in pain, but I managed to complete the circumcision and swallow the skin and lick the smegma. Then a shot of Viagra popped his cock up to once again stand tall and rock hard. As it bled, I gave him the blow job I’d promised. I couldn’t get him to cum but I did swallow a lot of red juice from his cock. I was in Heaven! And Gunther was about to resume his descent into Hell.

    I opened a box of cork screws. I walked to his left side and caressed his huge bicep. I set the point of the cork screw against it and pressed. The skin broke and I began to slowly, very slowly, turn it. Gunther jerked wildly, screaming as the sharp metal ripped steadily through his muscle until the entire three-inch cork screw was embedded in his arm. I had never experienced such sexual arousal. With every turn of the screw, ripping through this massive bicep, hearing Gunther’s terrified screams, feeling his excruciating pain, my cock grew harder than I could ever imagine, and just as I made the final turn, it erupted, blasting my splooge onto Gunther’s thigh. I grabbed him around his waist and just kept humping his leg until I finally ran out of juice and slid to the floor, exhausted and oblivious to the screeching and writhing above me.

    In time, we both calmed down. When I stood, our eyes met, each aware of his fate. His eyes were wide with terror, but also with an acceptance of inevitability. He knew he would die but feared the pain that would come first. My eyes were soft and dreamy, as if anticipating a night of love. He was a mass of solid muscle. I was holding a box of corkscrews. An ideal match.

    I moved to his right arm and twisted one into his tricep, very slowly, feeling each layer of tissue being punctured. It was as sensual as sliding a knife into a man’s gut. Unless you’ve done it, you cannot know how incredibly erotic it feels to slice through male skin and tissue with a sharp object.

    Next, I twisted one into each shoulder, aiming the steel point right into the joint. Now that really had to fucking hurt. Again, I embraced the unfortunate Gunther. His pain was immense and I knew it was time to give him morphine. I caressed his body, kissed his face, whispered encouragement into his ear. I pulled his head forward. “Look down, Gunther. Your dick. It’s still hard. I think it’s getting off on all this pain.” His dick was still rigid and standing tall, so I twisted a screw into his pee hole. Then I gave him another shot of morphine. Don’t know why I was being kind to him. He never deserved sympathy. Guess I’m just a nice guy.

    I’m sure the morphine did some good because, instead of shrieking as each corkscrew entered his body, he made moaning sounds, the volume and intensity rising and falling depending on my actions. Into his calves. Thighs, both front and back. Butt cheeks. I entered each pectoral from the side, and then chewed vigorously on his tits, consuming each nipple. I squeezed his sac tightly and pierced both balls at once.

    I knelt behind him and slid my fist once more into his expanded butthole. Again, I felt his soft moist colon. But this time, instead of luxuriating in its sweet warmth, I tore at it with my fingernails. As tissue began to rip and tear, I felt a flood of warm liquid on my arm. I pulled my bloody arm out. This time, blood wasn’t just seeping from his butt and dribbling down his thighs, it was flowing like a small stream. Time to end it.

    Gunther’s eyes were glassy, his moans low and uneven. I took one final corkscrew and put it to his neck, just below his Adam’s apple and above his sternum, and pressed, twisting, slowly piercing his throat and windpipe. I left it there and stepped back. His body twitched once. Then the gurgling began. Strange guttural sounds. An eruption of blood from his mouth. And then his nose. Blood was draining into his lungs and then spurting out as he instinctively tried to breath. A few more gurgles. A few more eruptions. A few more twitches. Then silence. Head drooping loosely to the side, motionless, glassy eyes staring into mine.
    I stared back. Blood still dripped from his mouth, and his chest was a delicious crimson color.

    I smiled. “That was nice, Gunther. You were an arrogant and stunningly beautiful asshole, but now you’re dead, a hunk of bloody meat. I reduced you to a sobbing, blubbering, mutilated mess, begging for my mercy. I broke your spirit. I destroyed your beauty. You can’t imagine how much I enjoyed watching your skin shred and bleed, hearing you scream, seeing your terror, chewing your body, swallowing your beauty, reducing you to nothing more than a simpering, whining, broken sissy. It was fulfilling. And fun.

    “You know something, Gunther? I’ll soon find another beautiful man and do the same to him. I can’t stop myself. And I don’t want to.”

    Call me Caleb, and come home with me.
    You will suffer hideously. You will die beautifully.
    Flesh and Blood:
    Organic and Natural.
    Nutritious and Tasty.

  9. #24
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    is have rested over gunthers heartbeat whilst he sleptand listening to source of the life that would end with me pulling his heartbeat from his muscular body

    I would like to have plunged the last corkscrew through his heart right where the sternum is above his 6 pacl and between his muscle tits
    Last edited by demon007; 15-03-19 at 05:38 PM.

  10. #25
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    great stories

  11. #26
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    Whacking an Alabaster God

    I was sitting in my easy chair, watching Santos, hanging by his wrists in front of me. Barely conscious. Naked body covered with purple welts and bruises. Iíd had him here for a couple days, whacking him with a stick. Nothing more. Sometimes I like a simple kill. No blood. No torture. Just a slow death. Iím hoping I can keep this one going for five days, and a new record for me.

    I love my easy chair. So comfortable. And sentimental. It is splattered with the blood of most of my boys. Itís a cloth upholstery, so the blood soaks in. But the blood doesnít dry hard, it seems to just soak into the cloth and the covering keeps its softness. Got some of my own blood, too, from the time I cut myself with a box cutter. If I ever get caught, the cops could identify all my victims just by DNA testing my chair. Ha!

    So, Iím sitting here, looking at Santos. Itís quiet in the room with no sound other than his heavy breathing. I find his bruised body quite beautiful. He has light brown hair but his body is pure white. Or was. Skin so smooth and soft, like satin, stretched over hard muscles, and white as a marble statue. Thatís why heís here. I saw him at the gym and immediately envisioned his ivory body slowly turning red and blue and black from being whacked. And he is.

    I really get off on the sound of a stick hitting against flesh and bone. One of the first CDG videos that turned me on was four teens in an African village being beaten to death for stealing a cell phone. The villagers later burned them but it was the whack whack whack of the sticks against their naked bodies that got me hard. The villagers didnít shout much and the boys didnít cry out. Only the sounds of incessant blows. Nice.

    My favorite vids are of men being killed with sharp objects or being beaten. Or kicked. Or dragged. Especially when they are naked or partially naked. And alive. I prefer it when the attacker is quiet and methodical. Some guys go nuts when they kill. Way too fast. Way too loud. If the killer is quiet, we can hear cries and screams, the sweet sounds of death. Occasionally the victim is quiet. One of my favorite vids is the beefy black guy lying on the ground. A dude cuts off his arm at the shoulder. No cries. Just the sound of the knife cutting through flesh. Canít really describe it, sort of sloosh-sloosh-sloosh. God, that sound is so sensual. The victim did cry out once when they turned him over, but then remained silent as they cut his other arm off and began to slice his pecs. They slit his belly open, spilling his guts, and he died. But his killers remained silent as they continued to slice his flesh. The whole scene was serene and sensual. A naked man being quietly butchered is always a sweet dream. For me, anyway. It might be a nightmare for him.

    There was also a vid of a young guy having his arms, ears and legs cut off while alive before being shot in the face. Unfortunately, the gang members watching the kill made so much noise, it spoiled the scene. Couldnít hear the boy dying or the cutting sounds as knives sliced through flesh and bone. Pity.

    Iíve watched a lot of throat-cutting videos that were extremely sexy. The sight of blood spurting from a slit neck is fucking HOT. I always wish I could put my mouth to the neck and drink from the fountain. Warm blood. Drinking. Slurping. Swallowing. Love it. The gusher from the stump. The sound of a slit throat is another thing. The guy tries to breath but just sucks blood into his lungs, then tries to force it out, succeeding only in making wheezing, gurgling sounds. So cool. Best one was a young guy being held from behind, head forced back, and the knife opening a huge gash, exposing his entire inner throat. Then, too soon, being pushed forward into a hole, his grave, and lying face down in the hole, legs up, and hands tied behind him, twisting and twitching, as we hear his blood-filled gasps. That was a really great death.

    ISIS did great throat-cutting. Fabulous camera work. Stunning close-ups of the cut and the spurt. But no sound, and those awful orange jumpsuits. An executed man should be naked. Simple as that. Blood needs bare skin. The cartels understand and most of their victims at least are shirtless. Much sexier. The cartels have the same diabolic imagination of ISIS, and accomplish some wonderful deaths, like live dismemberment and live autopsies. And they give us the sound of death.

    I like the sound of death. When I kill, my dick gets hard from the screams, cries, pleas, sobs, whimpers of my man. But I often inject morphine to calm him down and keep him living longer. Donít want to waste the experience by letting him die too soon. Of course, I can eat him. Dead flesh is great, but live flesh tastes so much better. You know how much I love blood. Watching it spurt in rhythm with the heartbeat. Or run slowly down a smooth body, puddling on the floor. Putting my mouth over the wound as it seeps out. Licking it off the body. Or sometimes just getting down on my hands and knees with my tongue lapping at the puddle, like a dog. Dried or coagulated blood is also delicious. Thereís no bad blood.

    I try to clean the guy out before I begin the torture. But sometimes shit happens. It stinks. Just have to deal with it. Like puke. Sometimes it just comes up. Vile bile. And opening the belly can let a stink out. I tell myself that killing a man means accepting all of him. Most of him is beautiful to look at, wonderful to slice up, and very tasty. All natural and organic. Wholesome food.

    Some nights, I lie in bed and wonder why I do it. Why kill and mutilate? Itís simple. I like it. Same reason a guy jerks off. To feel good. There arenít any complicated explanations that a shrink might spout. Iím just me. A perfectly normal gay necro, serial killer, torturer, cannibal, vampire. Nothing more. Nothing less. I love my fellow man, and love to consume the sexy ones.

    So, hey. Any of you who have read my journals, know my preferences. Likes and dislikes. Young, smooth, muscular, pretty. No facial hair, piercings or tats. Iím a loner. Kind of dull and uninteresting, really. Besides, I canít afford to have a friend, especially a good looking one. I know at some time, like when drinking or doing drugs, Iíd lose control and give in to my cravings. Iíd kill my friend. Torture him. Eating him would be creepy, like kissing my brother. So, I keep to myself and search. I see someone, introduce myself, ďHi. Call me Caleb and come home with me.Ē Like with Santo.

    Yeah. Santo. Pearly white and muscular. When I enticed him here and drugged him, I hung him by his wrists with his toes barely off the floor. As soon as he was up, my dick was hard and throbbing. I picked up the stick and swung it hard against his ribs. THWACK. At the moment of contact, my cock exploded and I shot cum all the way up to his chin. And kept shooting as I hit him again and again. Until I ran out of cum and my passion ebbed. Still panting heavily, I dropped the stick. His left side had a dozen red marks from hip to pit. I lightly touched the darkening skin. It was warm. I kissed it. Oh, Fuck! Santo! Santo Blanco! My white saint. So hot. Your gorgeous white body will soon turn black and purple. Santo Negro y Pupura!

    And it did. He lasted seven days. Except for some screams early on, he seemed to acquiesce. Strange. No fight in him. First guy I had here who didnít resist for as long as he had the energy. Santo seemed to have no will. Did he want to die? Did he enjoy it? A strange guy. Whimpered a lot. Short intakes of breath when I struck him. Tears and soft sobs when he hung as I rested. It must have hurt. I mean, hanging by chains on his wrists for all that time? And when I broke bones? My stick broke at least eight ribs. Both ankles. One forearm. After two days, I dropped one arm and let his 160 pounds hang by a single wrist. On day four, I dropped him to the floor and broke his wrists, fingers, and kneecaps. No restraints, and no resistance. I cuddled with his broken body, kissing and pinching and punching all at the same time. He moaned and sniveled in my ear. So sweet to hear a manís fear and pain. Whimper or scream, itís all good. I desperately wanted to bite and chew, but was determined he would die with no breaks in his soft skin. Of course, that meant I couldnít whack his head and face. No problem. When he finally died, he was an amazing sight. From the neck down, an alluring mass of purple and black. Not an inch of white. But his face was still beautiful, all white and unblemished. I fucked him and slept for a while, clasping the cooling corpse to my body. Then got up and boot-stomped his face until the skull cracked and his brains spilled onto the floor.
    Flesh and Blood:
    Organic and Natural.
    Nutritious and Tasty.

  12. #27
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    Fisted

    Oh, something I forgot to tell you about Santo. As I often do, I played with the corpse for a day or two until it began to stink. Santo’s arm was sticking up when rigor mortis set in, with his hand forming a closed fist. So, I sat on it. Fisted myself. Cool! Always something new.
    Flesh and Blood:
    Organic and Natural.
    Nutritious and Tasty.

  13. #28
    Forum Elite callmecaleb's Avatar
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    Hangin’ Around.

    Gonzalo was a rent boy. Brown skin, lean and smooth, with a rugged masculinity. Shoulder-length black hair. Impressively long dick, which he set off by shaving his pubes. My kind of man. Asked him if he’d like to come home with me. He wanted two hundred bucks. I gave him five hundred and said I’d like him to hang around my place for a while. Deal.

    And so he did…..hang around my place. After I drugged his beer and he passed out, I stripped him. Then ran two suspension hooks into his back, above the shoulder blades. And pulled him up so he hung with his toes just off the floor. Chin on his chest and long black hair hanging loosely over his face. I ran my hands over his skin, admiring its softness. I nibbled at his nips and sucked his cock and took his nuts into my mouth. Oh, so delectable, this Gonzalo.

    I got a beer and waited in my easy chair. It took about an hour before he began to awake, and another five minutes before he felt pain. Then a loud screech and some wiggling on the hooks before he realized it hurt more when he moved. He forced himself to remain still. He had a strong will. After all, he sold his body and knew to be ready for anything. But not this. He saw me. “FUCKER! Let me down!” I smiled and lifted my bottle. “Not likely, kid. Remember, I paid you five hundred to hang with me, and I intend to get my money’s worth. Actually more, but we didn’t negotiate that.” Gonzalo let loose with more profanities, mostly in Spanish. Called me “puta madre” a lot. He continued spewing profanities for a while, but gradually turned to
    pleading. In time, his voice began to break, tears ran down his cheeks, and finally. He sobbed. He babbled stuff like “por favor” and “duele mucho”. I couldn’t understand him. So, I walked up in front of him, wrapped my arms around him, and spoke softly and mockingly. “I know. I know. I wish I could kiss it and make it go away. But I can’t make it better. I can only make it worse.” I gently pushed his chest and he swung in the air. He screamed. Long and loud. I kept pushing him. The hooks were burrowed deep into his trapezoid muscles. His pain was intense. I took him by the shoulders and twisted him ninety degrees. A long agonizing groan, and he passed out.

    Gonzalo hung around for eight days. I didn’t do much with him. Just an occasional bite or punch. I simply wanted to see how long he would last on the hooks, and how he would react to his plight and his pain. After a couple days, he got kind of glassy eyed. The swearing and shouting ended after about a day, but moans and whimpers continued, especially when I moved him around. After six days, I went out and found another hustler, named Blake, and hung him up so he and Gonzalo faced each other just four feet apart. Blake gave me lots more pleasure than Gonzalo, but that’s a story for another day.

    When it looked like Gonzalo was about done, I knelt in front of him and ate his crotch. Chewed his dick and balls until they were bloody mush and mostly in my belly. Took a nap. Woke up to find Gonzalo dead and Blake…. Well, I had fun with Blake. Enormous fun!

    Flesh and Blood:
    Organic and Natural.
    Nutritious and Tasty.

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