Luis Adam Bree
Forum Regular
- Joined
- Oct 31, 2016
- Messages
- 138
- Location
- London England
PART I
Jack Carson stood stark naked and shivering in the bare basement cell of the Multaba County jail, his wrists and ankles tethered by iron manacles and chains. A rope noose dangled slackly from where it had been run through a thick iron eye bolt in a ceiling rafter. The noose was snugged tightly around Jack's throat.
The stocky, super-buff nineteen year old blonde hunk was forcing himself to stay calm. The state had abolished the death sentence and he hadn't even yet been tried anyway. He knew they were just trying to scare him. Weren't they? He swallowed hard and tried to stop his knees from trembling as he watched deputy Greg McMannis finish stripping naked himself. He was embarrassed that his own big cock had been stirred into erection by the erotic sensation of being bound and naked and of the noose around his throat. He somehow felt a little better in noting that Greg's rod too was jutting up in steely hardness from the generous copse of silky brown pubic hair at the young deputy's groin.
He'd been in high school with Greg before he'd dropped out. Greg was just as finely built if not better than Jack, but both were fine specimens of human malehood. He hadn't been surprised when Greg wound up in the law. The bastard always had been a straight-laced son-of-a-bitch. Never even drank with the rest of the crowd much less smoked pot. Still, he'd been slightly relieved when Greg entered the cell. The older deputies who had stripped Jack, brought him down here and noosed his neck had been rough and mean. At least he knew Greg.
"Greg," he said, "This aint gonna work, buddy. I know you ain't really gonna hang my ass. This is supposed to scare a confession outa me, huh? Or make me tell who was with me? Well, fucking forget it. Let's not waste our time with this charade. Let me get dressed and take me back to my cell."
Greg flashed a boyish smile. He had always been about the cutest hunk in school ... every girl and half of the guys wanted into his pants. He picked up a small length of thick hemp rope with a thick knot tier! into one end.
"This," he told Jack, "is a form of knout, an ancient tool of punishment used by my Scottish ancestors. I made it just for you Jack."
And he raised it high and brought it slashing through the air to slam the knot brutally into Jack's right buttock. The loud smack echoed in the concrete cell and Jack squealed and jerked violently at the sudden searing burst of pain. A thick, furious bruised welt appeared in his creamy skin.
"FUCK!" He bellowed. "You can't be doin' this crap! It's ... it's ... "
"Illegal? In violation of your 'rights'?" Greg finished for him. "Sure is. And, by the way, I'm NOT your 'buddy' you scum sucking, murderous piece of shit."
And he swung the knout again, harder, at Jack's left buttock.
"And I don't give a fuck, either, Jack, about a confession. We know you killed that gas station clerk. And we know Butch Andrews was with you."
He swung the knout three more times, hard, effectively, thick welts springing up along the inside of bringing agonizing Jack's right thigh just below the crotch. Jack was screaming now and flexing wildly as he was beaten. He squirmed around, trying to somehow avoid that God-awful knotted rope as it lashed at his naked skin. In doing so, he slipped and fell backwards and the rope drew taut, choking off his squeals of rage and pain. Gagging he managed to stumble back onto his trembling feet after a short while.
Greg was waiting and whipped the inner thighs repeatedly. Then he worked the ass again, over and over until blood began to splatter from little rents in the damaged skin. Jack by now had real reason to be screaming. He was experiencing searing pain on a level he'd never experienced before ... or even imagined.
Greg, his chest heaving in deep breaths from mixed exertion and excitement, paused for a bit. He untied the far end of the rope and drew it tauter by an extra foot or two. Then he suddenly kicked Jack's legs out from under him causing him to fall and again strangle and choke for agonizing long moments before he again, with far greater difficulty, staggered back onto his quaking feet.
"You know, Jack, you're right," Greg smiled. "We could all get into very deep shit if anyone found out what we did down here. Rut, you know, you read all the time in the paper about guys in jail hanging themselves to avoid prison. Local coroner's a good friend of the sheriff. They won't be doing an autopsy on you before you get cremated. Anyone raise any stink, it'll just be written off as another damn paperwork screw up. But you know, Jack, I don't think there'll be any stink. I don't think anyone much is gonna be too upset at your 'suicide.'"
Jack was now scared. Terrified. He sensed Greg wasn't joking. The lunatic was actually gonna hang him! Unless he beat him to death first.
"Greg, please, cut this out. Look, I'll testify against Butch. You're right. He was with me. He's the one who actually shot the punk. He's the one you really wanta do this to."
"Jack, hate to tell you this but my older brother Danny is out in the barn at the old abandoned Jackson place right now with Butch. My guess is Butch right now is telling Lance YOU shot the 'punk.' "
Greg reached down and took a steely grip on Jack's big, low-hanging balls, jerking them out and up, squeezing the orbs painfully and outlining them starkly in their sac over the top of his clutching fist. Jack had to rise onto his toes to try to ease the agony of his nuts. Greg raised back the knout in his other hand.
"You might like to know, Jack, that the 'punk' you killed for thirty-seven dollars ninety-six cents out of the cash register at the gas station was an eighteen year old honor student and good athlete. He was also a good, decent kid who'd do anything for anyone. And, Jack, he was my cousin."
And he swung the knout, expertly laying the terrible knot directly into Jack's balls. And he continued to swing until he had smashed the big seeders into pulp and ruptured the sac.
Jack fainted and would have strangled had Greg not caught him. He patiently waited and slapped the prisoner's cheeks until he succeeded in reviving him. Moaning, every muscle frozen in etched suffering from his ruined balls, Jack managed to stay unsteadily on his feet.
Greg went over and untied the rope again. This time he pulled firmly on it until he succeeded in actually drawing Jack up until the young bull could just barely, by stretching his legs, scrape his toes on the floor. Tying the rope off again, he went over and stared into the hanging, choking boy's reddish blue face.
"Rot in hell, Jack. And say hello to Butch when he joins you. Tell him I'm sorry I couldn't be there in the barn to watch what Danny did to him. Just as I know Danny would have liked to have been here for you. But, don't worry. We'll be telling each other what all we did while we're toasting each other with a beer tonight celebrating your executions."
And Greg continued to stand there watching for the nearly twenty minutes it took before Jack was finally dead. Then he dressed and went upstairs and told the shift commander that Jack had gone and hanged himself while left alone down in the interrogation room.
"Well isn't that a fucking shame," the lieutenant grinned. "I'll call the coroner." VENGEANCE
PART II
Butch Andrews groggily shook his aching head and tried to get his eyes to focus. He sought to move his arms and discovered he could not. It took a moment to realize they were securely tied behind his back. And, as he finally began to see clearly again, he was shocked to discover that his tall, powerfully muscled jock body was naked as he lay on his back on the wooden, rotten flooring of some old weather-beaten, half-collapsed barn.
Then he realized he was not alone. Off to one side, an amused grin playing over his strong-jawed home-spun face, sat Danny McMannis. Butch knew him vaguely from around town, though the hunk, sandy-haired Scotsman was older by about three years than the nineteen year old prisoner. Danny too was naked and sat there slowly stroking his turgid rod as he watched Butch coming back around.
"Uhhh," Butch moaned as he moved his head and got a stab of pain in the back of his neck.
Someone, obviously Danny, had cold-cocked him as he left his usual haunt, the local poolhall, last night,
"What the fuck is goin' on down here, dude?"
Danny rose and came over to gaze down. Butch saw his eyes and sensed the seething hatred there and it sent a cold chill down his spine. He sensed this was not a good thing.
"You took long enough to come to," Danny said quietly. "I was beginning to worry that I'd fractured your skull and maybe you'd never wake up. That would have been really upsetting to me. We have a score to settle here, you and I."
"You're nuts, man. I aint never messed with you. You got the wrong guy."
"The boy you shot in the back of the head at the gas station last week after you and Jack Carson got hopped up on booze and pot and decided to rob it? You happened to notice his name tag? It said Chris. That was short for Christopher."
"You're crazy! I never shot no ... UNNNGGGHHH"
Danny's bare foot had shot out and slammed the hard heel directly into Butch's big gonads. The ruggedly muscular body doubled up and the face grimaced into a mask of sheer anguish.
"OOOH FUCK! My balls! You kicked my fucking balls!"
"Nice of you to notice," Danny laughed. "That was to warn you that I don't need your lies. The cops got both of your prints off the register and found the gun stashed at Jack's pad. Both your prints were on it too. My guess is one of you gut-shot Chris to make his suffer and then handed the pistol to the other to finish him with the head-shot."
"Then why aint the fucking cops arrested me?" Butch moaned as he began to recover from the kick to his jewels.
"My brother's a deputy. Sheriff agreed they'd wait to put out a warrant for you until tomorrow. Just on the off chance that something real bad happened to occur to you to save everyone the cost and trouble of a trial and then keeping you in prison for life."
"They arrested Jack. I knew about that."
"They only wanted one of you in jail. One guy commits suicide there, no big concern. Two guys, both charged the same, off themselves it gets a little less credible. Jack oughta be 'doing himself in' just about now I figure, with a little help from my brother, while you came out here and got drunk and passed out while smoking dope. Managed to set the damn old barn on fire.
"Oh shit!"
Butch recoiled in fear, realizing Danny was VERY serious.
"Please. You ... you can't do this. It ... it was an accident. The kid lunged for the gun and Jack accidently pulled the trigger. Then we figured we better finish him."
"Chris had a last name too, Butch. It wasn't on his name tag of course. It was McMannis. Christopher McMannis."
Butch's eyes grew wide in understanding.
"My cousin, Butch. My poor baby cousin. He was a real good kid and Greq and I both loved him. A lot."
Up until then, Butch hadn't noticed the hook. It was a large, rusty old barbed fishhook dangling from a heavy-duty nylon line from rafter. It extended down to about a foot above Butch's naked crotch. He noticed it as he gazed down while, to his amazement. Danny began to very gently and very effectively play with Butch's cock, stroking and rubbing and even licking it with his tongue. Despite his fear and sensing it was not out of a desire to give him pleasure, Butch felt the hot blood rushing in and his rod stirred and began to swell and rise. Shortly it was steely hard.
Then Danny gripped it and pulled upwards. Instinctively, Butch curved his hips upwards to follow and prevent painful stretching of the sensitive organ. The curve of his body made it harder for him to see what Danny was doing, but as soon as he felt the sharp tip of the hook pressing into the underside of his cock, just in the little indentation beneath the crown, he realized what was about to happen.
Danny drove the barb in and Butch screamed. Blood began to flow and he continued to writhe and buck and scream as Danny, with studied slowness, pressed the hook all the way in and up and out the top surface of the flared head.
"I hope ..." Danny said ...
He paused, admiring his handiwork and flicking the pierced, pinioned head with his fingers,
"... that really, really hurts."
Danny had a secret that Greg didn't know. He was glad he had Butch here alone because of that. He was gay. He suspected Greg wouldn't have cared, but had never been able to quite tell his brother. Anyway, now, in the privacy of the old barn, he would extract some extra pleasure from Butch.
The rape was carried out with all the brutality and fierce abuse that Danny could muster. He positioned on the floor beside Butch and forced the moaning stud to roll slightly and raise a leg. Every movement brought new searing waves of agony through the pierced cock and Butch cooperated as much as he could, fearing Danny's wrath. He emitted a new gasp as the older stallion's huge cock was forced up into his wildly protesting sphincter, stretching it widely open. Then Danny fucked him with hard, violent thrusts that jerked at the wounded cock causing excruciating suffering. New shrieks and moans rent the air.
It seemed to go on forever, but eventually Danny reached his orgasm and pumped Butch's writhing gut full of his cum.
He then took up a hammer and pressed one of Butch's big feet to the floor. He positioned a stout nail against the instep and drove it in. Blood splattered and Butch screamed anew as his foot was securely nailed down. Then Danny repeated the process with the other foot.
"Don't want you going anywhere," he grinned.
He soaked the flooring a few feet from Butch with kerosene and lit a match.
"I wonder if the fires in hell will be hotter than this one?" Danny mused.
Then tossed the match. He took his clothes and dressed, watching the spreading blaze until it became too dangerous to stay. Butch was already blistering and flames were lapping close to him. He did stay outside and watch as the barn went up in a roaring inferno. Butch's body would be so consumed, it was unlikely anyone would even notice the fishhook or nails mixed in with the charred bones.
Not that it would have mattered too much anyway. The sheriff and coroner would close this investigation ... this "tragic end result of drug and booze abuse and careless use of smoking materials" ... in a hurry.
Jack Carson stood stark naked and shivering in the bare basement cell of the Multaba County jail, his wrists and ankles tethered by iron manacles and chains. A rope noose dangled slackly from where it had been run through a thick iron eye bolt in a ceiling rafter. The noose was snugged tightly around Jack's throat.
The stocky, super-buff nineteen year old blonde hunk was forcing himself to stay calm. The state had abolished the death sentence and he hadn't even yet been tried anyway. He knew they were just trying to scare him. Weren't they? He swallowed hard and tried to stop his knees from trembling as he watched deputy Greg McMannis finish stripping naked himself. He was embarrassed that his own big cock had been stirred into erection by the erotic sensation of being bound and naked and of the noose around his throat. He somehow felt a little better in noting that Greg's rod too was jutting up in steely hardness from the generous copse of silky brown pubic hair at the young deputy's groin.
He'd been in high school with Greg before he'd dropped out. Greg was just as finely built if not better than Jack, but both were fine specimens of human malehood. He hadn't been surprised when Greg wound up in the law. The bastard always had been a straight-laced son-of-a-bitch. Never even drank with the rest of the crowd much less smoked pot. Still, he'd been slightly relieved when Greg entered the cell. The older deputies who had stripped Jack, brought him down here and noosed his neck had been rough and mean. At least he knew Greg.
"Greg," he said, "This aint gonna work, buddy. I know you ain't really gonna hang my ass. This is supposed to scare a confession outa me, huh? Or make me tell who was with me? Well, fucking forget it. Let's not waste our time with this charade. Let me get dressed and take me back to my cell."
Greg flashed a boyish smile. He had always been about the cutest hunk in school ... every girl and half of the guys wanted into his pants. He picked up a small length of thick hemp rope with a thick knot tier! into one end.
"This," he told Jack, "is a form of knout, an ancient tool of punishment used by my Scottish ancestors. I made it just for you Jack."
And he raised it high and brought it slashing through the air to slam the knot brutally into Jack's right buttock. The loud smack echoed in the concrete cell and Jack squealed and jerked violently at the sudden searing burst of pain. A thick, furious bruised welt appeared in his creamy skin.
"FUCK!" He bellowed. "You can't be doin' this crap! It's ... it's ... "
"Illegal? In violation of your 'rights'?" Greg finished for him. "Sure is. And, by the way, I'm NOT your 'buddy' you scum sucking, murderous piece of shit."
And he swung the knout again, harder, at Jack's left buttock.
"And I don't give a fuck, either, Jack, about a confession. We know you killed that gas station clerk. And we know Butch Andrews was with you."
He swung the knout three more times, hard, effectively, thick welts springing up along the inside of bringing agonizing Jack's right thigh just below the crotch. Jack was screaming now and flexing wildly as he was beaten. He squirmed around, trying to somehow avoid that God-awful knotted rope as it lashed at his naked skin. In doing so, he slipped and fell backwards and the rope drew taut, choking off his squeals of rage and pain. Gagging he managed to stumble back onto his trembling feet after a short while.
Greg was waiting and whipped the inner thighs repeatedly. Then he worked the ass again, over and over until blood began to splatter from little rents in the damaged skin. Jack by now had real reason to be screaming. He was experiencing searing pain on a level he'd never experienced before ... or even imagined.
Greg, his chest heaving in deep breaths from mixed exertion and excitement, paused for a bit. He untied the far end of the rope and drew it tauter by an extra foot or two. Then he suddenly kicked Jack's legs out from under him causing him to fall and again strangle and choke for agonizing long moments before he again, with far greater difficulty, staggered back onto his quaking feet.
"You know, Jack, you're right," Greg smiled. "We could all get into very deep shit if anyone found out what we did down here. Rut, you know, you read all the time in the paper about guys in jail hanging themselves to avoid prison. Local coroner's a good friend of the sheriff. They won't be doing an autopsy on you before you get cremated. Anyone raise any stink, it'll just be written off as another damn paperwork screw up. But you know, Jack, I don't think there'll be any stink. I don't think anyone much is gonna be too upset at your 'suicide.'"
Jack was now scared. Terrified. He sensed Greg wasn't joking. The lunatic was actually gonna hang him! Unless he beat him to death first.
"Greg, please, cut this out. Look, I'll testify against Butch. You're right. He was with me. He's the one who actually shot the punk. He's the one you really wanta do this to."
"Jack, hate to tell you this but my older brother Danny is out in the barn at the old abandoned Jackson place right now with Butch. My guess is Butch right now is telling Lance YOU shot the 'punk.' "
Greg reached down and took a steely grip on Jack's big, low-hanging balls, jerking them out and up, squeezing the orbs painfully and outlining them starkly in their sac over the top of his clutching fist. Jack had to rise onto his toes to try to ease the agony of his nuts. Greg raised back the knout in his other hand.
"You might like to know, Jack, that the 'punk' you killed for thirty-seven dollars ninety-six cents out of the cash register at the gas station was an eighteen year old honor student and good athlete. He was also a good, decent kid who'd do anything for anyone. And, Jack, he was my cousin."
And he swung the knout, expertly laying the terrible knot directly into Jack's balls. And he continued to swing until he had smashed the big seeders into pulp and ruptured the sac.
Jack fainted and would have strangled had Greg not caught him. He patiently waited and slapped the prisoner's cheeks until he succeeded in reviving him. Moaning, every muscle frozen in etched suffering from his ruined balls, Jack managed to stay unsteadily on his feet.
Greg went over and untied the rope again. This time he pulled firmly on it until he succeeded in actually drawing Jack up until the young bull could just barely, by stretching his legs, scrape his toes on the floor. Tying the rope off again, he went over and stared into the hanging, choking boy's reddish blue face.
"Rot in hell, Jack. And say hello to Butch when he joins you. Tell him I'm sorry I couldn't be there in the barn to watch what Danny did to him. Just as I know Danny would have liked to have been here for you. But, don't worry. We'll be telling each other what all we did while we're toasting each other with a beer tonight celebrating your executions."
And Greg continued to stand there watching for the nearly twenty minutes it took before Jack was finally dead. Then he dressed and went upstairs and told the shift commander that Jack had gone and hanged himself while left alone down in the interrogation room.
"Well isn't that a fucking shame," the lieutenant grinned. "I'll call the coroner." VENGEANCE
PART II
Butch Andrews groggily shook his aching head and tried to get his eyes to focus. He sought to move his arms and discovered he could not. It took a moment to realize they were securely tied behind his back. And, as he finally began to see clearly again, he was shocked to discover that his tall, powerfully muscled jock body was naked as he lay on his back on the wooden, rotten flooring of some old weather-beaten, half-collapsed barn.
Then he realized he was not alone. Off to one side, an amused grin playing over his strong-jawed home-spun face, sat Danny McMannis. Butch knew him vaguely from around town, though the hunk, sandy-haired Scotsman was older by about three years than the nineteen year old prisoner. Danny too was naked and sat there slowly stroking his turgid rod as he watched Butch coming back around.
"Uhhh," Butch moaned as he moved his head and got a stab of pain in the back of his neck.
Someone, obviously Danny, had cold-cocked him as he left his usual haunt, the local poolhall, last night,
"What the fuck is goin' on down here, dude?"
Danny rose and came over to gaze down. Butch saw his eyes and sensed the seething hatred there and it sent a cold chill down his spine. He sensed this was not a good thing.
"You took long enough to come to," Danny said quietly. "I was beginning to worry that I'd fractured your skull and maybe you'd never wake up. That would have been really upsetting to me. We have a score to settle here, you and I."
"You're nuts, man. I aint never messed with you. You got the wrong guy."
"The boy you shot in the back of the head at the gas station last week after you and Jack Carson got hopped up on booze and pot and decided to rob it? You happened to notice his name tag? It said Chris. That was short for Christopher."
"You're crazy! I never shot no ... UNNNGGGHHH"
Danny's bare foot had shot out and slammed the hard heel directly into Butch's big gonads. The ruggedly muscular body doubled up and the face grimaced into a mask of sheer anguish.
"OOOH FUCK! My balls! You kicked my fucking balls!"
"Nice of you to notice," Danny laughed. "That was to warn you that I don't need your lies. The cops got both of your prints off the register and found the gun stashed at Jack's pad. Both your prints were on it too. My guess is one of you gut-shot Chris to make his suffer and then handed the pistol to the other to finish him with the head-shot."
"Then why aint the fucking cops arrested me?" Butch moaned as he began to recover from the kick to his jewels.
"My brother's a deputy. Sheriff agreed they'd wait to put out a warrant for you until tomorrow. Just on the off chance that something real bad happened to occur to you to save everyone the cost and trouble of a trial and then keeping you in prison for life."
"They arrested Jack. I knew about that."
"They only wanted one of you in jail. One guy commits suicide there, no big concern. Two guys, both charged the same, off themselves it gets a little less credible. Jack oughta be 'doing himself in' just about now I figure, with a little help from my brother, while you came out here and got drunk and passed out while smoking dope. Managed to set the damn old barn on fire.
"Oh shit!"
Butch recoiled in fear, realizing Danny was VERY serious.
"Please. You ... you can't do this. It ... it was an accident. The kid lunged for the gun and Jack accidently pulled the trigger. Then we figured we better finish him."
"Chris had a last name too, Butch. It wasn't on his name tag of course. It was McMannis. Christopher McMannis."
Butch's eyes grew wide in understanding.
"My cousin, Butch. My poor baby cousin. He was a real good kid and Greq and I both loved him. A lot."
Up until then, Butch hadn't noticed the hook. It was a large, rusty old barbed fishhook dangling from a heavy-duty nylon line from rafter. It extended down to about a foot above Butch's naked crotch. He noticed it as he gazed down while, to his amazement. Danny began to very gently and very effectively play with Butch's cock, stroking and rubbing and even licking it with his tongue. Despite his fear and sensing it was not out of a desire to give him pleasure, Butch felt the hot blood rushing in and his rod stirred and began to swell and rise. Shortly it was steely hard.
Then Danny gripped it and pulled upwards. Instinctively, Butch curved his hips upwards to follow and prevent painful stretching of the sensitive organ. The curve of his body made it harder for him to see what Danny was doing, but as soon as he felt the sharp tip of the hook pressing into the underside of his cock, just in the little indentation beneath the crown, he realized what was about to happen.
Danny drove the barb in and Butch screamed. Blood began to flow and he continued to writhe and buck and scream as Danny, with studied slowness, pressed the hook all the way in and up and out the top surface of the flared head.
"I hope ..." Danny said ...
He paused, admiring his handiwork and flicking the pierced, pinioned head with his fingers,
"... that really, really hurts."
Danny had a secret that Greg didn't know. He was glad he had Butch here alone because of that. He was gay. He suspected Greg wouldn't have cared, but had never been able to quite tell his brother. Anyway, now, in the privacy of the old barn, he would extract some extra pleasure from Butch.
The rape was carried out with all the brutality and fierce abuse that Danny could muster. He positioned on the floor beside Butch and forced the moaning stud to roll slightly and raise a leg. Every movement brought new searing waves of agony through the pierced cock and Butch cooperated as much as he could, fearing Danny's wrath. He emitted a new gasp as the older stallion's huge cock was forced up into his wildly protesting sphincter, stretching it widely open. Then Danny fucked him with hard, violent thrusts that jerked at the wounded cock causing excruciating suffering. New shrieks and moans rent the air.
It seemed to go on forever, but eventually Danny reached his orgasm and pumped Butch's writhing gut full of his cum.
He then took up a hammer and pressed one of Butch's big feet to the floor. He positioned a stout nail against the instep and drove it in. Blood splattered and Butch screamed anew as his foot was securely nailed down. Then Danny repeated the process with the other foot.
"Don't want you going anywhere," he grinned.
He soaked the flooring a few feet from Butch with kerosene and lit a match.
"I wonder if the fires in hell will be hotter than this one?" Danny mused.
Then tossed the match. He took his clothes and dressed, watching the spreading blaze until it became too dangerous to stay. Butch was already blistering and flames were lapping close to him. He did stay outside and watch as the barn went up in a roaring inferno. Butch's body would be so consumed, it was unlikely anyone would even notice the fishhook or nails mixed in with the charred bones.
Not that it would have mattered too much anyway. The sheriff and coroner would close this investigation ... this "tragic end result of drug and booze abuse and careless use of smoking materials" ... in a hurry.
