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Thread: Snuffing Fags

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    Forum Elite callmecaleb's Avatar
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    Snuffing Fags

    I’ve been having nightmares lately. Well, one nightmare, over and over. And it’s freaking me out. The details vary but it’s really the same nightmare. Sometimes I see things as if from my own eyes, and sometimes as if I am observing from afar. But it always starts the same. Three men are beating me. And hurting me badly. Severe hurt. They are beating me with their fists and with sticks. Punching. Kicking. Cutting and burning me. Whipping me. My beautiful body becomes a mass of welts, bruises, burn marks, cuts dripping blood. And I submit meekly. Don’t even cry out in pain, although I am in severe pain. They have broken my spirit as they are breaking my body.

    I was jumped in the parking lot behind the gym and brought unconscious to this room. When I came to, I was hanging naked in a spread-eagle position, slumped, all my weight pulling at my wrists, which were wrapped in tight chains. First thing I sensed was how badly my wrists hurt. I staggered to my feet as best I could, to relieve my wrists, but it wasn’t easy because my legs were also pulled wide by chains around my ankles. As I struggled to get my footing, a dude walked toward me. Good looking. Shirtless. Smoking a cigar. A hot man who I’d want to fuck in normal circumstances. But this wasn’t normal.

    “Hello, Faggot. I’m Austin, and I’m your new BFF. Those two guys behind me are Connor and Joel.” I saw two guys walking toward me with cameras, one coming very close and focusing on my face. The other hung back a little, aiming his camera toward my chest. What the Fuck? “Now, Fag, the rules are simple. You make no noise and do what we say. That’s it. Easy, peasy. Got it?” “Fuck y……” That’s all I got out before I felt a huge pain surging through my body. Zaaaaaaaaaap. I shrieked in pain and jerked at the chains. “I said no noise. You don’t talk.” “But…….” Zaaaaaaaaaap. Oh, fuck! That hurts! I screamed again. “Now, Queer Boy, do you understand?” “Yes….” Zaaaaaaaaaap. “I said, do you understand?” My body trembling, panting heavily, I nodded my head but said nothing. “Good. And if you say a word, you will get the same shock. And if you get the shock, I don’t want you to scream. Be a man. Grit your teeth and take the pain. Like a real man. You’re big and strong. You can take it. Or, are you a Sissy Boy?” “No….” Zaaaaaaaaaap. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! No more! I nodded and mouthed “yes.”

    “Good boy, Fruitcake. Look at you. Big and beautiful. Desired by everyone, male or female. What? Six-six? Two hundred seventy pounds? Gorgeous body, chiseled in the gym. Smooth and muscular. Pretty face, but masculine. Thick curly brown hair. Big pecs and luscious nips. Six-pak to die for. Bubble butt. And a thick, long cock. My, my. What a treat. Our fans will fall in love with you and beat their meat during your 115 minutes of screen time. You’ll be a star.”


    Without warning, Austin took his cigar and pressed it on to my right nipple. I screamed, tried to pull back, but he kept it there, pressing, grinding, sizzling the pink tip. Finally, the cigar finally out, he pulled it back. I kept screaming and shouting and yanking at my chains, jumping, lashing out, going absolutely crazy in my attempt to free myself. I failed, of course, doing nothing more than ripping open the skin on my ankles and wrists as they chaffed against the chains. Austin stood smiling, and the two cameras kept recording. Eventually, my passion subsided, and I stood panting and whimpering, looking down at my mutilated tit. It was flattened, a raw hole as big as a cigar, red, fleshy, ruined. I let out a huge sob.

    “Wow! That was good. Unrehearsed and spontaneous. Real anger. Real pain. A great reaction. You’re off to a great start. But don’t forget. No more screaming. We’ll forgive you this time but next time… Zaaaaaaaaaap. I bit my tongue as the pain shot through me. “OK, Queer, we will come and go from time to time. When we’re gone, you’ll be chained over there, next to the wall. Or, maybe from the rafters. Upside down. Sideways. Whatever. Won’t be comfortable, but that’s the point of us being here. Your fans want to watch your discomfort, your humiliation, your pain, your torment, your end. And that white bucket in the corner is your toilet. You won’t be able to reach it when we’re not here, but that’s OK. Your fans will enjoy watching you squat. Do NOT piss or shit anywhere else. The punishment will be worse than anything you can imagine.”

    The three of them unchained me and dragged me off to the side. They chained one ankle in the air, about a foot off the floor, but left my wrists free. Then they were gone. I was alone. I lay on the floor, hurting and totally confused. What just happened? I’m at the gym, then I’m here and a guy shoves a lit cigar into my nipple. And two guys are recording it. Then I’m alone, chained up on the floor. What the fuck!?? I can’t believe it. It must be a dream. I look around. The lights are on. They’re always on every time I have this nightmare. And the cameras. Even when the guys leave, there are three fixed cameras pointed at my corner, always on, recording my every breath and movement. The room has no windows so I never know what time it is. It looks like the inside of a rustic cabin, all wood, with rafters and beams above, and a plank floor. The floor is uncomfortable to lie on because someone has hammered in a lot of small nails and then clipped the heads off, leaving sharp metal sticking slightly up, that can cut your bare feet or skin if you move on it, or just make it uncomfortable to lie on if you’re naked, as I fucking am. At least the room is warm. I lie there. I touch my nipple. The skin is raw. It hurts. They burned a hole in my chest where there was a nipple. Fuck! That will look horrible in the gym. Well, if I ever go to the gym. I wonder if I will get out of here. How much will they hurt me? Fuck! Will they kill me? Oh god, oh god, oh god. Help me. Please. I’m alone. Can’t move much. Then I feel the strap on my neck. Some sort of metal band. Must be where the electric shock comes from. It’s solid, welded. Can’t come off. I lay still. Uncomfortable. Can’t sleep. My mind reeling, unbelieving. My body hurting on my bed of nails. Time goes so slowly. How long since they left? Where did they go? In the silence, my stomach growls. I’m hungry. Haven’t eaten since breakfast, ten hours before going to the gym. Ankle hurts, chafing against the chain, suspended in the air. Keeps me from turning over. I’m stuck on my back, on the nails.

    The door opens and the three walk in. How long has it been? Joel is aiming his camera at me. Connor carries three Burger King bags. Travis walks over to me and stomps his boot into my gut. Air whooshes out of my lungs. Then he swung his steel-toe into my thigh. He unhooked my ankle and said, “Come here, Faggy. Stand up in front of me. NOW!” After being kicked and stomped, after lying on the floor for hours, I struggled to stand up. I fell over twice but finally managed to stay up and stagger over to Austin. I looked at him. Eight inches shorter, a hundred pounds lighter. I should be able to break him in two. But I was scared. Afraid of the shock. So, I stood meekly silent and still. With no warning, he punched me in the face. I went down hard, landing on my butt, and then back, banging my head on the floor…and the nails. I was stunned. Someone picked me up and put me in a large chair, like a dentist’s chair, and strapped my hands and feet to it.

    Joel gave his camera to Austin and sat next to the dental chair. He touched my other nipple, the intact one. “Nice tit, Butt-Boy. Very nice. Smooth and soft, nicely peaked. Too bad the other one is gone. But this, this is still luscious.” He ran his hand over my belly and down my legs before resting on my cock. “Yes, everything is nice. Your fans are loving you. I can’t wait to get you dick in my mouth. Oh, yes, Sweet Fairy, I’m gay. We’re all gay. I’m also the fluffer, and a very good one, too. No matter how scared a guy is, I can get him hard. You’ll see. You’ll see. But now, let’s play with that nipple.” As he reached for my tit, I wiggled and strained in the chair, and let out a loud moan that meant “Nooooo”. Zaaaaaaaaaap. “Remember, Faggy, what we said about making noise? Now stay still and watch.” Joel opened a box and took out a syringe needle. He put the point to the tip of my nip and pushed. I jerked as it penetrated and slid about an inch into my chest. He smiled down at me, then pulled it out. In again, out again. In and out. Over and over, until my nipple was a mound of bleeding flesh. But he didn’t stop. He continued to jamb the needle into my tit, moving outward into the areola. Blood flowed freely from my nipple, running down my side. Then he stopped, leaving the needle standing on its own in my tit.

    Joel moved to the other side of me, and the camera moved, too, to get the best view. With a new, sharp needle, Joel poked at the hole made by the cigar. He poked and scraped at the raw meat, loosening it, drawing blood. He must have worked on my tits for half an hour, leaving each one a mass of red, raw flesh. I was in agony but managed to grit my teeth and suppress my moans.

    They untied me and carried me back to my “space” and fastened one wrist to the floor. As I lay there, hurting badly, my nips bleeding on my body and on the floor, Austin and Connor sat in two chairs and picked up the bags of food, each containing a burger and fries and began to eat, making a big show, tantalizing me. The aroma wafted out to me, reminding me how hungry I was. I suppressed my pain and watched them eat. My eyes pleaded. Did they understand? When they finish eating, they unwrapped the third burger and set it on the floor. They tossed two, just two, fries at me, which I grabbed and gobbled up. Then, they all left without a word, leaving the food on the floor just out of my reach. It remained there for twenty-some hours, its aroma tantalizing me.

    When they returned, Austin released my wrist. “You want to eat that? Crawl over here.” I did, and knelt by the cold burger, anxious to eat. I was so fucking hungry. Then Austin put his boot on the burger and crushed it flat. The other boot squashed the fries. He sat in his chair, raised his foot, and said “OK. Eat.” The meat was wedged in the cleats of his boots. Famished, I didn’t hesitate. I took his boot in my hand and began to lick the meat from his boots. They smelled awful and had some other sludge on them. Manure? I didn’t care. I licked and lapped until the boot was clean, then worked on the other one and the mushed fries. “Big, butch, masculine faggot licking my shitty boots. Ain’t that sweet! Now, get up and get into the chair again.” I did what I was told and was quickly strapped down.

    Connor sat beside me and without saying a word, took my hand and rammed a screwdriver blade under my thumb nail. I screamed. He laughed. He pried the nail up from my thumb and then ripped it off with a pair of pliers. Oh my god! What pain! Connor looked deep into my eyes with a look of pure malice as he set the nail on my belly and moved to my index finger. I’m not sure what hurt more, the screwdriver shoved under the nail or the nail being ripped off. My brain seemed to swirl and become lightheaded as Connor finished off the other three fingers. I was screaming and he was laughing as he bit down on soft, bloody tissue of my thumb. The pain was so great I can’t really remember him ripping at my other fingers, and then my toes. My eyes rolled up into my brain. I got nauseous and dizzy. My hands and feet throbbed hideously. Connor untied me but I couldn’t move. I just held my hands in the air, waving them back and forth as my feet just wiggled, and I stared at the pile of nails on my belly. There was nothing but horrible pain. I was aware of two cameras moving around me, close ups of my face and bloody digits. All the while, I continued to screech.

    It seemed forever, but I eventually calmed down. The pain did not abate but my brain seemed to become numb. I sensed the others talking. “He’s awesome!” “Never saw one that good.” “Wanna use the A-frame while he’s in this state?” “Yeah. Great idea.” I was lifted off the chair and draped over a waist-high wooden frame. My feet were spread and fastened on one side, and my wrists tied on the other. I screamed as my toes were pressed painfully against the frame. Then I felt someone touch my butt and shove a dick deep into my hole. I was being fucked! They all fucked my ass, one after the other. Then the first again. These guys were only about twenty years old and could probably fuck forever…which they did. No idea how many times they emptied their cum into my ass. Then a fist plunged deep into my hole. Oh, fuck, that hurts! I’ve never been fisted. A second fist punched in, and a third. As one pumped, another one shoved his filthy fist into my mouth. Again and again. The pain in my butt almost overshadowed the pain in my fingers and toes. Then they stopped. I could tell they were doing something behind me, out of my sight. Then I heard, “Ready? Both together now. One, two, GO!” I felt a sharp burn, heard a sizzle, as something seared into my ass. And I fainted.

    I woke much later. Alone. A chain around my waist, holding me suspended in the air, just high enough that my fingertips and toes touched the floor. My head hung down. I could see my fingers, bloody. Looking back and under me, I saw my bloody toes. If I touched either to the floor, the pain was intense. But if I didn’t put weight on them, my entire 270 pounds hung from the chain around my belly, digging deep and painfully into my gut. And then there was my ass, up in the air. I couldn’t see what had happened to it but it throbbed in pain. I was in a world of hurt and it wasn’t going to get better until the guys returned. Maybe. Or maybe not.

    I didn’t sleep at all that night. (I call it night when I’m alone but, as I said, I have no real concept of time since the light stays the same always.) Then they returned. Dropped me to the floor where I curled up in pain and exhaustion. Something plopped down near my head. Some sort of meat out of a can. Corned beef hash? I forced myself to grab it with my bloody hands and shoved it into my mouth. But no sooner had I swallowed than I was yanked up and chained again, spread-eagle. Austin was smoking a cigar again. I cringed, knowing what was coming. He touched that cigar to my belly, over and over. GOD! That fire hurt. And then into my armpits. Hair burned away, tender skin on fire. I lurched wildly in my chains. It went on for I don’t know how long but finally stopped. Connor appeared in front of me holding a little gizmo you use to ignite a burner on a gas range. It had a long copper tube with a tiny flame coming out the end. He put it to my nipple. My torn left nipple. The pain was excruciating as he melted the ravaged, raw flesh. It sizzled. I screamed. He stopped and moved to my crotch. Fuck! He’s going to burn my dick. But, no, he just burned off all my crotch hair. They dropped me to the floor and began to kick me, punch me. I curled up in a ball but their boots found my back, thighs, calves, ribs. Then the fire again. Put to my bare feet, my soles. One of them sat on my legs to keep them still as the fire scorched my feet. I had never felt such pain as that flame on my tit and my feet. I may have passed out. Don’t know, but suddenly they were gone and my neck was chained to the floor. I lay there feeling the excruciating pain of my nipple, my feet and hands, my butt. And I was scared of what more was to come. I started to cry, sobbing uncontrollably, hysterically, my body convulsing, writhing on the floor as the nails ripped my skin. How long did I cry? Fuck, I don’t know. Eventually, from exhaustion, lack of sleep and pain, I fell into a deep sleep.

    They were back. They loosened my neck chain a little, dumped a pile of food (two burgers and some pickles), and moved my water bowl closer. “Sleep, Faggot.” Then gone again.

    Austin stood me up. Wrapped a chain tight around my chest and hooked it in back so I was held up by my armpits. My wrists were tied together behind my back, my feet spread wide. I hung about a foot off the floor. “Why are you here, Queer Boy? Why are we devoting so much time to fucking you up? As you can tell, we’re making a video, and you’re the star. You’re Fag Number Five. We call you Fag instead of Cody because that’s the title. Fag Number Five. Why Five? Because there have been four others before you. But none of them have been as spectacularly built and beautiful as you. Oh, and by the way, if you haven’t figured it out, this is a snuff film. So, yeah, you’ll be dead by the last frame. But the best parts will come before, in the one hundred minutes of torture and pain. Ten-minute intro, and a five-minute death scene. The best shit, what people pay for, is the slow, painful path to oblivion. That’s why we film up close, from a distance, while you’re sleeping, eating off the floor, shitting in the bucket. And crying yourself to sleep, like last night. Closeups of the agony in your face, like this….” Joel moved the camera close to my face as Austin put a pair of pliers to my torn nipple and squeezed tight and twisted. I screamed and lurched wildly in my chains, swinging myself to try to get away but no luck, Austin held tight and ripped the shredded nipple from my chest. Blood ran down my belly, mixing with the dried, crusty blood from before. My face scrunched up and tears ran down my cheeks. Austin waited for me to calm down as Joel kept the camera on my face and Connor’s camera focused on my bloody tit.

    “That’s what people pay big money to see. Big muscular naked man reduced to screaming wimpy baby. Now, look at the TV screen on that wall and I’ll show you a little of what we’ve got so far.” I’m hanging by my pits, my tit throbbing, blood dripping down my belly and leg onto the floor. Suddenly, the screen lights up and there I at my own house, in the yard, mowing the lawn, shirtless. WHAT THE FUCK?!!! Where did they get that? When? Then it switches to a contest for a bare chest calendar where I’m in a leather jockstrap, posing like a bodybuilder, and then winning the right to be the calendar’s cover boy. Then in the gym, working out, wearing only tight white shorts. Naked in the shower. My spectacular body, my great looks, what I was….before. Where the fuck did they get all this?!! Then, I’m in the parking lot behind the gym when a hot dude walks up and starts a conversation. We’re laughing when somebody comes up behind me and clamps a cloth over my nose and mouth. The other dude grabs my arms and holds me until I slump, unconscious. Then the screen switches to me, here, a captive. Undergoing the torture. Laying on the floor sobbing. “So, this is just a little of what you’ve given us so far. But you gotta admit it’s pretty damn sexy. You’d watch it yourself and jerk off if it was someone else on the screen. Admit it. Now, here’s our title frame.” I looked. AAAAGHHH! There was a closeup of my ass, with FAG branded on the left cheek, and #5 branded on the other. FAG #5! “You got a perfect bubble butt and we knew it would be just right for the title. We’re not going to do anything to mar that picture. But the rest? Oh, Sissy Boy, the rest of you will be so fucked up, so destroyed. You’re in for a lot more hurt.”

    He reached down with a cigarette lighter and held the flame under my nuts, singing my sac. All my lurching and screaming were for naught, and Connor’s camera recorded the skin turning red, then purple, then black. Austin then held the portable gas jet to my belly and shot the flame into my navel, charring my belly button. They let me hang, still jerking in pain, until I finally calmed down a bit. The pain in my nuts and navel was severe and I was breathing heavily, but no longer lurching. Austin swung his foot up into my balls. As the pain shot through me, I retched. Vomit ran down my chest, over my cock, and onto the floor. And that was it. I was alone again. Left to hang for twenty hours, as puke and blood mixed and dried on my body, and my tit and nuts throbbed painfully, and a picture in my mind of my branded butt.

    Next day was even worse. They dropped my food into the drying puddle of puke and made me eat all of it, including my vomit. They did a closeup shot of me shitting in the bucket. Then to the A-frame. Joel knelt and took my dick in his mouth and, somehow, got me hard, just as he said he’d do. He tied twine tightly around my cock and balls to insure it wouldn’t shrink, and then slid my cock through a hole in the frame, like a glory hole. My feet were tied in place and my wrists off to the side, so I was leaning slightly over the frame, looking down at my dick, my very large and very hard dick. Joel shoved a long needle through my cock, side to side, and then another from the top down. No way I could pull back from the glory hole. It was fixed, standing eight inches into space, at rigid attention. (The needles hurt bad, but I can’t talk about the pain every time it came, because it was constant. You will have to imagine it.)

    I looked down as Joel knelt and took my cock in his mouth again. He glanced up at me and winked, as he took the igniter and aimed the flame at my pee hole. Oh, God! I could only watch as the flame scorched the pink cockhead. Oh, I tried to shut my eyes, but somehow I couldn’t. I had to watch. I stared as Joel ran the flame up and down my dick, base to tip, around the entire sausage, toasting from end to end. I didn’t scream but my brain seemed to be shrieking non-stop. After a while, when the skin began to peel, he stopped. He stood, smiled broadly, kissed me on the lips, dropped down, and bit into my cockhead. “Hot!” he said laughing.

    He took the camera from Connor who walked in front of me with a knife. Oh, fuck, he’s going to cut my dick off! But, no. He just ran it across my chest, at the base of my pecs. A small cut but it produced blood. Then down from the center of my chest to my charred belly button. He untied my feet and hands, and punched me in the face. I fell backwards, hitting my head. They grabbed my arms and dragged my back to my spot. Wrapped chains tightly around each bicep and pulled me up until I was two feet off the floor, and I was left to hang by my biceps overnight.

    Austin carried two large buckets of water and a pile of rags. When he dropped me to the floor, he said, “Clean yourself up, Faggy. We got a guest coming today and don’t want you smelling like hell.” I did stink. Hadn’t been cleaned up since all this started. I was covered with blood, vomit, snot, and my ass crack was pretty ripe. I sat on the floor and cleaned up as best I could, although I couldn’t wash my hair. Austin said that was OK, it looked kind of cool, all spiky with dried blood. When I was relatively clean, they strapped me into the big chair. Joel washed me a bit more and then gave me a shave. Said my fans would prefer me clean-shaven because the damage to my face would be more visible. Why fuck up a pretty face if it’s hidden behind a beard? He finished up, patted my smooth cheeks, and then slapped me hard. “Might as well play a bit until Doc arrives.” He pulled out his needle and poked it into the soft tips of my fingers, where the nails had been. SHIT! HURT! Then he dug his teeth into the soft tender flesh. OWWWW!

    A man appeared. About forty, nice looking. Wearing a suit, which he promptly removed. He stood next to me, looking down, stark naked, his rigid dick upright and tight against his belly. A huge dick, long and fat. “Do we put him out? Or novocain? Or the full hurt?” “It’s for a video, so full hurt.” “Fuck. That means I have to worry about camera angles.” “Yeah, Doc, but you can have him afterwards.” He ran his hand over my belly and smiled. “Full hurt coming up.” He ran a syringe into my arm and shot me up with an upper of some sort. “This will keep him awake. No passing out.” He put a leather hood over my head that had straps to hold my head immobile. Checked the straps on my ankles and hands, and then ran straps across my chest and hips to keep them down tight. Then some sort of metal contraption in my mouth, forcing it open, and that tube dentists use to suck water out of your mouth while they’re working. He picked up a pair of specialty pliers, reached into my mouth, and ripped out a tooth. AAAGHHHHHHH! He held it up for me to see and smiled, “OK Pretty Boy, one down and 31 to go.” I tried to struggle away but couldn’t move. His hand went into my mouth and yanked out another tooth. The pain was horrendous. I hoped I would faint, but I knew whatever he shot into me would prevent that and that I’d feel every extraction. And I did. The pain was huge, worse than the fire on my cock. One good thing was he worked quickly. But still, my agony seemed to last forever.

    Suddenly, it was over and the hood came off. Doc held a jar with the blood they had drained from my mouth, and poured it over my head and face. They moved me out of the chair, and strapped me on the A-frame, butt high and open for business. My head hung downwards and blood dripped from my aching mouth. Doc stood behind me and rammed his huge cock into my hole, no lubricant but his strength was enough to plunge all the way in. It hurt but the pain in my mouth was so great I didn’t pay much attention to my ass. He pounded my butt and finally came. Then pulled out, walked around the frame, pulled my head up and fucked my mouth. Fuck! His dick rubbed against my ripped-up gums and down my throat, gagging me, almost suffocating me. Holding me by the ears, he pulled my head up and down, up and down, fucking, fucking until he came again down my throat. He let my head drop and I saw blood and cum dripping from my mouth. Then he went back behind me and punched his fist so deep into me I could feel it against my belly. He fisted me thoroughly and painfully, over and over, viciously punching his balled-up fist deep inside and popping it back out, then slamming it in again. He came back in front of me, knelt, yanked my head up, and shoved his fist into my mouth, twisting it so his knuckles rubbed against my tender, bleeding gums. I could taste my own shit. He pulled it out, covered with blood, shit and cum. “Lick it clean, Fuck Face!” And I did, sobbing at the humiliation, the shame, the extreme pain.

    I heard Doc tell them, “Leave him on the frame for about twenty-four hours so he won’t choke on his blood. He’s big, strong and healthy and should last several more weeks. You should be good for a lot more visuals. Let me know when the film is done. I’d like to see it, see if I can improve my own technique in the future. And by the way, I like his butt graphics.” Doc patted my ass, punched me in the back, and left. The others left, too, but first set a camera close to my face. Austin crushed his cigar out on my back. Connor kicked my calves. Joel scraped my back with something sharp. And I remained on the frame, butt high, head low, crying. For twenty-four hours? Don’t know. No longer care. I want to die.

    They eventually came back, pulled me up from the A-frame, and chained me spread-eagle, standing. I had no strength in my legs and slumped, putting all my weight on my wrists. Hurt like hell but I just couldn’t stand on my own. Connor’s camera moved in for a closeup of my mouth, the first recording since my teeth came out. My eyes were glazed, my mouth drooped open. I could see Austin scoop something out of a small bottle into a bright pink bowl. He held it up and spooned some into my mouth. I couldn’t swallow it, my jaws hurt so badly. He spooned some more in but it just dribbled out of my mouth and down my chin.

    He turned to the camera. “Our big butch Pansy. Our huge muscular Sissy Boy. Our masculine Pouf. Too sensitive to eat Gerber’s. And look. He’s beginning to cry, like the baby he is. From now on, when he talks, he’ll lisp like a fruit.” I moaned, “Please kill me.” Zaaaaaaaaaap. “Oh, Faggy. I told you not to talk. Kill you? No way. Not yet. You have so much more to give us. Your fans want more. We want more. So, there will be more. No talking, but feel free to scream. You have a sexy masculine scream. Deep. Not high-pitched like some we’ve had here. Your screams match your size and looks. So, scream if you like.”

    At that point, he picked up a whip and slashed at my belly. And I did scream. In fact, I didn’t stop screaming as he continued to flay at my chest and stomach. Ripping open my skin. Then my sides, my ribs. All became ribbons of torn flesh, running red with blood. I passed out.

    I woke hours later, my wrists stretched out and fastened to the floor face down. My legs pulled out behind me, spread wide, and raised into the air. My chest was on the floor, but my crotch up about a foot, feet even higher, arching my back. A painful concave position for me but convenient for my tormentors, as I soon discovered. As soon as they came in, one of them drove a steel-toe boot into my ribs. Another stomped on my shoulders. And Joel, always evil-minded, held a battery-operated drill with a very small bit, which he drilled into my feet. Heels, toepad, and arch. About six holes in each foot. Then he pushed thin, short slivers of sharp metal into the holes, way in, buried deep in my feet.

    Connor sat beside me, alternately rubbing my back with a wire brush and scraping it with a screwdriver blade. Raw and bloody. He’d clamp pliers on a piece of loose skin and pull, ripping pieces of skin from my back. Skinning me, sort of. They chained both wrists and ankles high in the air, so I was hanging head back, butthole exposed. Joel brought out a hot soldering iron and touched it to my puckered hole. I sizzled painfully. He ran it up and down my crack and then into the hole. Not far, but what does that mean? What’s “not far” when there’s a hot poker in your ass? Finally, they dropped my legs and left me standing, arms chained high in the air. Impossible to stand on my feet, with the holes and sharp metal, but I had no strength to pull my feet up, and even if I did, I wouldn’t be able to keep them up for long. Misery. Agony. And the first thing Austin did next day was to stomp on both my feet.

    And so it went for days, weeks, on end. It ran together. They were inventive, though, in their viciousness. Seldom the same game. My feet were burned and cut, making it almost impossible to walk. And my knees were raw to the kneecap from crawling over the nails in the floor. So, they made me slither across the floor, my skin ripped from the floor nails. Or, they’d drag me by my feet or hands. They liked that. It made good video. My body was bruised from beatings and my skin shredded from whips. Black and blue and purple, dried blood, seeping blood. Austin sliced the tender skin of my armpits with his knife, and then roasted it with his torch. Connor liked to pinch my skin with pliers and twist and yank and rip skin off. Joel ran a fishhook through the glans of my cock, and hung a two-pound weight, though I could still pee in my bucket. Later he put hooks in each nut and attached one-pound weights. The weights made it even harder to walk or crawl.

    I persevered. Never cried again. Determined to accept the torment as my fate. They had a party one night. About eight people from their film enterprise. Joel got me cleaned up, shaved, “presentable for guests” he said. My hair was much longer now and caked with dried blood. It photographed well, they said. Light brown hair and dark blood. Needless to say, every guest poked and probed my body. One particularly liked opening wounds to make them bleed again. Everyone fucked me, several times each. When they left, they all touched me gently and thanked me for making an incredible film. Fuck ‘em!

    I knew something was up. It seemed different. All three were even more violent than usual. They used the branding iron on my belly and then sliced the still steaming flesh with a knife. They punched my face, my sides, my kidneys, my bleeding gut. Harder and longer than usual. The pliers pinched and pulled even more. Joel cut off a piece of my scalp. “A souvenir”, he said. They put me in the A-frame and scorched my butthole with the flame. Austin shoved a hot poker in about three inches and then fucked me. “You’re a hot fuck today, Pussy Boy!” As he fucked my ass, Connor grabbed my head and shoved his fist into my mouth, ripping my gums open again, and used the blood as a lubricant as he fucked my face. The three took turns burning and fucking my hole and grinding my tender gums and fucking my mouth. Then, after emptying themselves of cum, they hogtied me into a ball, a really tight ball, and hung me by one foot, an extremely painful position.

    I hung there longer than usual and when they finally came, they dropped me hard to the floor, wrapped me in a tarp and carried me out of the room. Tossed me into what I figured was a truck bed and drove off somewhere. Was it an hour, we drove? Who knows? I’ve can’t estimate time anymore. We stopped. Connor hopped into the bed of a black pickup and took the tarp off me. It was bright sunlight, and very warm. The tailgate opened and Connor shoved me with his foot. I was still hogtied in that ball as I slid out the back and dropped onto hard dirt, landing on my wrist. Fuck, I think it’s broken. But nobody cares, least of all me. Pain is nothing now, a constant in my life. I’m untied and Austin points to a metal pole in the center of a large opening a hundred yards away. “Walk over there.” I unwrap myself from the ball I’d been tied in for all those hours. I finally stand and limp, slowly, painfully, falling down several times because of the extreme pain from the metal slivers in my soles. I try crawling, but my knees and hands are so torn up it becomes impossible. I slither for a while, feeling the hard dirt surface grind my body, opening cuts and sores. The weights attached to my cock and balls drag and pull painfully. Exhausted, I stop and lie in the field. I see a group of people, from the snuff film group, watching quietly. Austin tells me to keep going and I try but can’t move. He kicks me in the ribs. He and Connor pick me up and shove me forward. I go one step and fall on my face. They pick me up and throw me forward again. My face hits the hard surface and breaks my nose. Another kick in the ribs, and they each grab a foot and drag me, face down, blood flowing from my nose, the final fifty yards.

    When we reach the metal pole, they stand me up and attach one wrist to its top. I can’t stand on my own and slump, hanging by my wrist. They remove the band from my neck and the weights from my dick and nuts. Someone shoots a hose at me and sprays my body with water, washing off the dirt and crusted blood. The force of the water also opens up many of my half-healed wounds, so when the water is turned off, blood is mixed with the water that runs down my body into the dirt. My hair, very long now and soaked with wet blood, lies damp and plastered to my shoulders and face. I hear voices. “He’s lost a lot of weight.” “Fifty pounds, at least.” “Still pretty awesome.” “I think he’s sexier now than when they started.” “The guys didn’t miss an inch of skin.” “Best job yet. We have our work cut out to match it.” “He looks sad.” “Yeah, they fucked him up good.” “I like the tooth-pulling scene but he looked better with teeth. Had a great smile.” “They should have just broken his teeth instead of pulling them.” “Big guy, strong, butch, but they broke him.” “Look at him now. He’s magnificent. Hanging by that wrist. So weak and submissive.” “Scared to death now.” “No, he’s numb and his brain is fried.” “God! I love to see a man fucked up like that. So sexy!” “I wish I could take him home and cut him up.” “Eat him, too.” “Alive?” Quiet laughter and a few lewd jokes about me.

    The end came quickly. There are four cameras now, two fixed, pointing at me, and two carried by Joel, aimed at me, and Connor, focused on Austin. Austin pulls something from the truck. It’s long and looks like some sort of gun. He pulls a trigger and a hot, yellow flame shoots forty feet across the field. Oh, shit! It’s a flame thrower! Now he stands twenty feet away, grinning, aims at me, and suddenly there is a burst of fire and I am engulphed in flames. I scream as never before.

    I scream! And wake up! I sit up and rub my eyes. I’m in a pool of sweat, trembling, panting heavily. My companion sits nearby. “The nightmare again? Must have been worse than usual because you were really thrashing about. Let’s get up and do something to get your mind off it. I made a wooden cross yesterday. Let’s play Jesus.”

    Austin walked toward me with spikes in one hand and a hammer in the other.
    Last edited by callmecaleb; 20-06-19 at 04:49 PM.
    Flesh and Blood:
    Organic and Natural.
    Nutritious and Tasty.

  2. #2
    Forum Elite callmecaleb's Avatar
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    Hey, guys. Sorry this is so long. But when an idea attaches to my brain, I can’t let go until it is posted. It will churn inside me for days or weeks, but MUST come out eventually. Blood, guts, torture, dismemberment, cannibalism, vampirism…all my fantasies and cravings, the yearnings that keep my dick hard and my dreams vivid…these thoughts gnaw at my gut until finally spewing out (like shooting a huge creamy load) into my computer and a CDG post. This one, I couldn’t condense. So, again, sorry about the length. I can sleep peacefully for a while before some new craving grabs at me and I have to create a new character to destroy and consume. It matters less if anyone reads it than just making the post.

    Caleb’s appetite for bloody flesh is insatiable.
    Flesh and Blood:
    Organic and Natural.
    Nutritious and Tasty.

  3. #3
    Forum Elite TakeNoPrizners's Avatar
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    No apologies needed for the length. It's always best fully to exploit that occasional zone where the fevered brain, the hard cock, and the nimble typing fingers are in perfect sync. I could have read more of your beautifully graphic descriptions. Joel, Connor, Austin and Doc are dudes I would definitely like to hang out with.

  4. #4
    Forum Elite callmecaleb's Avatar
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    The actions of these four encapsulate my deep cravings. Take a beautiful man, strip him naked, and slowly, painfully, dispassionately mutilate his masculine beauty. He exists now solely for my pleasure. I want him to live for as long as possible, allowing his heart to pump blood through the openings I make in his body. Blood flowing is sexy. Flesh torn is sexy. Innards plopping is sexy. Mutilated man is sexy. Extreme pain is sexy. Makes me happy. And, in the end, hungry. I will eat.
    Flesh and Blood:
    Organic and Natural.
    Nutritious and Tasty.

  5. #5
    Forum Elite TakeNoPrizners's Avatar
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    I think most men share the deep-seated sense that masculine beauty is actually perfected by its destruction; that manly fortitude and courage are best appreciated when they are summoned in the face of ultimate defeat. Most never allow that primal awareness to rise to the surface and be recognized or articulated in the honest, orderly company of men, whether in roleplays, stories, violence art, or the shared spectatorship of death photography. In popular culture we see glimpses of the dark desire to experience masculine beauty in its ultimate extreme, for example in movie trailers that entice male audiences with deadly combat and doomed heroes, and in cage fights and wrestling matches where we know one stud will wipe another stud off the mat. The hunger you describe brings us to places like CDG, where the mind can feast and the appetite can be whetted for even richer fare. Unafraid, unashamed and never unaware of the hunger that bonds men to other men, we liberate our imaginings from taboo. With our words and ideas and art we extricate the most masculine of fantasies from the comfortable cloak of trivial entertainment to reveal their deep and underappreciated aesthetic. We embrace our desires for their natural erotic beauty, and we celebrate our fantasies as only men can -- with unabashedly hard cocks.

  6. #6
    Forum Elite stustustugoo's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by TakeNoPrizners View Post
    I think most men share the deep-seated sense that masculine beauty is actually perfected by its destruction; that manly fortitude and courage are best appreciated when they are summoned in the face of ultimate defeat. Most never allow that primal awareness to rise to the surface and be recognized or articulated in the honest, orderly company of men, whether in roleplays, stories, violence art, or the shared spectatorship of death photography. In popular culture we see glimpses of the dark desire to experience masculine beauty in its ultimate extreme, for example in movie trailers that entice male audiences with deadly combat and doomed heroes, and in cage fights and wrestling matches where we know one stud will wipe another stud off the mat. The hunger you describe brings us to places like CDG, where the mind can feast and the appetite can be whetted for even richer fare. Unafraid, unashamed and never unaware of the hunger that bonds men to other men, we liberate our imaginings from taboo. With our words and ideas and art we extricate the most masculine of fantasies from the comfortable cloak of trivial entertainment to reveal their deep and underappreciated aesthetic. We embrace our desires for their natural erotic beauty, and we celebrate our fantasies as only men can -- with unabashedly hard cocks.


    I AGREE, AND THIS IS VERY WELL PUT!
    my cock exists for male feet/soles!!!

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