- Joined
- Jan 13, 2012
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- 6,473
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- Cannibal Heaven
Caleb is a fitness buff. Works out regularly at the gym. Jogs around the neighborhood. Hikes in the foothills. Lately, the hiking has become his favorite activity.
In warm summer weather, Caleb enjoyed donning shorts, a Tee, baseball cap, and boots; and driving to the nearby foothills. There are a number of trails, some easy, some more difficult. On one of the more demanding trails, he got careless and lost his footing. His foot slipped on loose dirt and he fell off the trail. He slid and tumbled about fifteen feet down into a row of dry brush and shrubs. He wasn’t hurt but his tee was torn and there were scratches and blood on his back and legs. He climbed back up the hill, walked back to his truck, and went home.
As he lay in bed that night, Caleb relived his accident in his mind. His wounds were minor. But he kept thinking about the fall, the slide, the abrupt crash into the brush. He got hard. Beat his meat, thinking of sliding helplessly down that slope.
The next week, back at the same spot, he felt a tingle in his groin as he gazed down that hill. He stood there for a good while, breathing heavily, thinking. Looking around and realizing there was no one nearby, he stepped off the trail and let himself roll down the slope. Relaxed his body, and let it tumble and roll and bounce, until it banged to a sudden halt as he was entangled in the rough brush. Slowly disengaging his body, he saw he had a cut on his chest. His body really hurt from the fall but, it felt wonderful! The hurt felt so great.
Caleb trudged back up the hill. Still nobody around. Could he do it again? No! He wanted a steeper, longer hill. He wanted a greater hurt. So he continued along the trail until he found what he was looking for. Fifty foot slope. Steep, with a surface that was a mix of dirt, grass, and a bit of gravel. Similar brush that would stop his fall. Looking around, he realized he was in a much more remote area than before. He slipped off his shorts and tee, and the cap, and stood naked in his boots, feeling the warm sunshine on his skin and the breeze caressing his genitals.
Then, taking a deep breath, he ducked his head and did a forward somersault, propelling his naked body downward. Head over heels, he rolled and tumbled and bounced down the hard rough hillside. Faster and faster, with no control, he plummeted. Legs and arms flailing, body battered by the hard surface, he panicked. It had been a mistake! He was going to be seriously injured! He tried to scream but nothing came out of his mouth. Suddenly, he hit the brush, bounced upward and landed on his back, before sinking down into the branches and leaves among the nettles.
Caleb lay still, breathing deeply, trying to relax both mind and body. Let his panic subside. Two things became clear. First, that he was hurt but not badly. Second, he was wedged tightly in the brush, and that the brush was full of thorns. Shit! How to get out? Every movement caused the sharp points to dig into his skin. And rip his skin when he tried to extricate himself. But he had no choice. It was the only way out. Maneuvering his body into an upright position took a half-hour because of his unbalanced position, having to grab the nettles with his bare hands, and the way the barbs had hooked into his skin, including his ballsac. Then, once he was upright, he still had to work his way out of the brush, naked, through the nettles. Thank God he was wearing his boots, but his legs were torn to hell. When he finally emerged, it was almost dark and his body was bleeding from many scratches he had accumulated in the bushes. He staggered up the hill, put his clothes on over his wounds, and drove home.
Lying in bed that night, aching from his slide, feeling the sting of the nettles, sheets sticking to his bloodied body, Caleb thought deeply about his adventure. First, it was dangerous. Second, it was thrilling. The pain, then and now, was as erotic as anything he’d ever experienced. He had to go back, do it again. No way he could stop. But he had to be more careful. Not so reckless. A serious injury out there alone? No way. He had to think this out.
Next week, just before dusk, Caleb hiked back into the hills. He wore a sweatshirt, sweatpants, thick workmen’s’ gloves, and heavy steel-toe construction boots. And he carried a knapsack. When he reached his destination, he slid off the sweatshirt and sweatpants. There he stood wearing only boots and leather chaps, with dick, nuts, and butt hanging free and loose, fully exposed. He was ready.
And thus began a ritual. Caleb walked alone in the forest. Offering his body to nature. Bushes, branches, thorns, high grass, rocks, dirt. All these reached out to scourge his naked skin. He slid down hills, slithered over hard dirt, dropped off low cliffs, roped his ankles and pulled himself up to swing from branches. Wrapped his arms around large tree trunks and fucked the bark until his dick bled. He loved pain. His body was ecstatic when nature created pain. He loved every scrape and cut. Watched blood run across his smooth white skin. Walked into briar patches to feel sharp hooks grab at his dick and nutsac, and bite his ass. He shaved his crotch because pubic hair protected his cock and balls from the barbs. He didn’t want protection; he wanted exposure. He wanted those sharp thorns and barbs to grab his genitals and rip their skin. Yeah. That’s what he sought. Sharp thorns and barbs into his dick and nutsac.
Caleb’s escapades occurred mostly at night. He loved to roam naked, or nearly naked, in the woods, at night, under a full moon. On drugs. Hallucinogens or meth. Pills, powder, liquids, and a syringe. He loved to control when he would lose control. Caleb tortured his body incessantly, relentlessly, often maintaining an erection. The pain was the most sensual he’d ever experienced. Often better than sex with a man.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Author’s note: What follows is fiction. What you have just read is real. I have many kinks, and the hiking bit above is one of them. I’ve never revealed what is fact or fiction in my stories, and don’t know why I’m doing it now. But I do love to hike in the woods in the dark of night, on drugs, naked or nearly naked, exposing my body to…..whatever. I’ve gone home scraped and bruised and bloodied many times and said, “Never again.” But, like an addict, I return. Nothing serious has happened. But there is an erotic thrill in knowing that it could go bad…..real bad….
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was dawn when Caleb emerged from his stupor. It had been a long, drug-laced escapade. Too soon to drive home because he was still hallucinating, so he staggered along, looking for the familiar spot where he had left his knapsack. Two men appeared on the path. Apparitions from last night’s delirium? Maybe not. One man approached, said something he didn’t understand, and then rammed his fist deep into Caleb’s belly. He felt himself being dragged by his feet, dirt digging into his back, and then pulled upright and bound by rope to a large tree. The man stood in front of him. Another fist into his gut. And his jaw. He passed out.
The two men stood back and looked at Caleb. “This is the guy I’ve seen up here before. Takes his clothes off and fucks trees. A real weirdo.”
“Look at him, Chad. How scraped up his body is. That’s some serious scratches. What are we going to do with him.”
“I don’t know, Billy. Don’t even know why I hit him. Should have just left him there. He’s really strung out on something.”
“Yeah. Sure is. He’s kinda cute, too. And a nice body.”
“Hah! Billy. You want to suck his dick.”
“Don’t know why not. Wouldn’t you?”
“Maybe. But I think I’d rather fuck him over. It’s been a long time since I punched a dude. This one’s so out of it he wouldn’t even notice. What do you say?”
“Let’s wait, Chad. Maybe later. He ain’t going nowhere for a while. Let me see what’s in his pack.”
Billy emptied the knapsack onto the path. “Keys. Wallet with two hundred forty dollars—we’ll keep that. Cell phone. Apple watch. Keep those, too. Construction gloves. Tee. Sweats. Rope. Twine. Water bottles. Syringe. Whoa! A syringe? Some drugs but the bottles are unlabeled. Membership card for the Muscle Boys Club. I.D. He’s Caleb McDonagh, lives on Aspen Road.”
“You know, Billy. There’s something familiar about this guy but I can’t put my finger on it.”
“Hey. Why don’t we get on with it? Beat him some, fuck him, then go home?”
“Hey! I got it. I think maybe I know who he is.”
“Who?”
“You know that necro website we watch sometimes? From there. What did you say his name is. Caleb? Isn’t there a Caleb there?”
“Could be, I suppose.”
“Let me sign on with my phone. OK. Now search Caleb. Fuck, Billy. He’s got a shitload of stuff here. Let’s check his Album. Yes. Yes. Look at that. Same guy. Same Caleb!”
Chad and Billy walked over to Caleb. He was still slumped, but coming around. Moaning. Billy went back to knapsack and grabbed the tee shirt. Ripped it and stuffed part of it in Caleb’s mouth. They looked Caleb over closely. Rubbed his skin. Fingered his scrapes. Fondled his dick. Stroked his ass. Billy put his palm to Caleb’s face and patted it gently.
“Let’s kill him.”
“Funny. I been thinking the same thing. What do you think, Caleb? Should we kill you?”
Caleb’s body jerked. He had heard. He tried to talk, but the gag limited him to some loud groaning sounds.
“What, Caleb? Do I take that as a yes? Yeah. I’ll take that as a yes.”
Billy and Chad laughed. They stripped off the chaps and tossed them into the stream that ran nearby. The boots were hurled far into the forest but not before sniffing them deeply. Billy kept the sweaty socks.
“Look at him, Chad. All naked except for the gag in his mouth. He sure feels nice. Hard body. Pretty muscles. And, ohhhh, big cock. How shall we kill him?”
“Well, I been thinkin about that, too. You know how he comes out here and gets himself all skinned up? Why don’t we do the same to him? Here, I’ll show you.”
Chad picked up the knife from the knapsack, put on a pair of Caleb’s thick gloves, reached into the brush, and cut off a thick stalk of blackberry. About two foot long.
“See. This has big thorns on it. Really sharp. See what happens if I pull it across his belly.” Caleb tried to scream. “Rips the skin to hell. Bloody. And really hurts. What if we use these all over his body. It would be a long, bloody, painful death for our friend. What ya think?”
“I think I’m getting hard thinkin. Let’s do it! I’ll use that other pair of gloves and use that other knife to cut more stalks.”
The assault on Caleb’s body began. Billy and Chad ran the thorny stalks over his legs and chest, swatted his dick, hooked his nuts. Every swing brought an eruption of splatter which quickly covered the boys with Caleb’s blood. Didn’t take long before Caleb’s beautiful skin was torn and bloodied. As blood dribbled down his legs, he was soon standing in a puddle of dirt and blood. Billy swung his stalk into Caleb’s face several times until most of the face was a bloody mess, and one eye was partially ripped from the socket. Caleb’s dick was ripped to shreds, his dick skin hanging off his knob. The ballsac was torn open, with both nuts hanging free.
Caleb was untied from the tree and let drop to the ground, into the bloody muck. A rope tied his wrists behind his back, tossed over a tree branch, and in minutes he was hanging strappado fashion. When he left the ground, and his full weight stretched his shoulder sockets, Caleb let out a long mournful cry of pain which accomplished nothing more than exciting his tormenters. His body hung horizontally, about waist high, easily accessible. With freshly cut thorny stalks, Chad and Billy resumed their assault. Chad preferred to scrape and claw at Caleb’s flesh, while Billy liked to brandish his like a bat, swinging hard into the body. Either way, Caleb’s entire body became a mushy mass of ripped skin.
Tiring work, fucking up a pretty man. So, the boys rested and drank some of Caleb’s water. Hanging by his wrists, groaning lowly. Chad ran his hands over Caleb’s raw flayed butt. Peeled off bloody flakes of skin and popped them into his mouth. Fingered the hole. Stopped. Thought for a minute, then went over and cut a new stalk. Thicker, heavier, longer. Then shoved it hard into Caleb’s butthole. Deep. Caleb let out a piercing screech and lurched in mid-air, bringing a new strain, and pain, to his shoulders. But that pain didn’t come close to acute pain in his bowels and gut. It was like nothing before. Ever. Chad pulled. Pushed it. Out. In. The thorns ripped at the soft tissue inside Caleb’s body. Ripping. Tearing. As Caleb lurched and shrieked, Chad continued to fuck him with the thorny rod. Blood seeped from his hole and dripped to the dirt.
Chad stopped, leaving the stick extending out of Caleb’s ass. Billy was jerking off. “God, Chad. Awesome! That is one fucked up asshole!”
Billy cut himself a new stalk and walked to Caleb’s head, yanked his head up, and pushed the stalk into Caleb’s mouth. Rubbed it around the mouth, ripping at the tongue, lips, gums and cheeks. Then a push into his throat. The screaming stopped but Billy got a spray of blood.
Caleb swung gently from the branch. Only a few moans now. Whimpers, really. Chad yanked the stalk from his ass and fucked him. No need for lube. Meanwhile, Billy was fucking Caleb’s mouth. Then the boys changed positions and continued fucking. Then switched again. What they had done to Caleb had stimulated them so much that their dicks couldn’t stop. Until, finally, they did.
Chad cut the rope and Caleb fell to the ground, splatting face-down in the blood muck. His body was totally encased in a suit of mud and blood. Deep labored breathing was clearly audible. “He’s still alive. Wanna play around with him some more?”
“Nah. I’m done. Let’s dump him and go home. Gotta clean up. I’m a mess.”
Billy and Chad dragged the dying man down to the creek and tossed him in. He floated, arms wide, face submerged, ass prominently above water. From his mouth a few bubbles broke the surface, then nothing. He was dead. The body drifted downstream in the current until it got hung up on some rocks. Already, the water was rinsing away the muck, revealing his white skin, gouged and shredded. Caleb floated, alone and abandoned to nature.
Postscript: Caleb died on Monday. On Wednesday, four new photos and a video were posted on CDG.
Caleb tied to a tree, wearing leather chaps, his face clearly recognizable.
Caleb tied to a tree, naked, his skin shredded and bloodied.
Caleb hanging by his wrists, strappado-style, naked and bloodied.
Caleb hanging strappado, thorny sticks protruding from his mouth and ass.
A video of a body lying in a creek, face down, bare butt poking up as rippling water coursed around it.
The members were agog. All expressed regret at Caleb’s fate, but most quickly moved on to voicing opinions on the photos. They wanted more, of better quality, with cock shots. Everything they always say about new photos or vids. Everybody agreed that Caleb had met a violent death, a very painful death, and that was cool. What they paid good money for. Many wished they could have killed him themselves. A few talked of how they would have done it differently. Hardly anybody now thought of the man who had shared the website with them, posted stories, and commented on others’ posts. Caleb was now just another dead body, a good-looking dude who had been tortured and mutilated and killed. Cool! Hot pics! Jerkoff material! The photos were added to his Media album so guys could see “Before and After”.
Two days later, a new video was posted of a prison riot and dozens of naked, bloody, dismembered inmates. The boys moved on. Caleb was forgotten. New cute dead guys to see. What we pay good money for.
In warm summer weather, Caleb enjoyed donning shorts, a Tee, baseball cap, and boots; and driving to the nearby foothills. There are a number of trails, some easy, some more difficult. On one of the more demanding trails, he got careless and lost his footing. His foot slipped on loose dirt and he fell off the trail. He slid and tumbled about fifteen feet down into a row of dry brush and shrubs. He wasn’t hurt but his tee was torn and there were scratches and blood on his back and legs. He climbed back up the hill, walked back to his truck, and went home.
As he lay in bed that night, Caleb relived his accident in his mind. His wounds were minor. But he kept thinking about the fall, the slide, the abrupt crash into the brush. He got hard. Beat his meat, thinking of sliding helplessly down that slope.
The next week, back at the same spot, he felt a tingle in his groin as he gazed down that hill. He stood there for a good while, breathing heavily, thinking. Looking around and realizing there was no one nearby, he stepped off the trail and let himself roll down the slope. Relaxed his body, and let it tumble and roll and bounce, until it banged to a sudden halt as he was entangled in the rough brush. Slowly disengaging his body, he saw he had a cut on his chest. His body really hurt from the fall but, it felt wonderful! The hurt felt so great.
Caleb trudged back up the hill. Still nobody around. Could he do it again? No! He wanted a steeper, longer hill. He wanted a greater hurt. So he continued along the trail until he found what he was looking for. Fifty foot slope. Steep, with a surface that was a mix of dirt, grass, and a bit of gravel. Similar brush that would stop his fall. Looking around, he realized he was in a much more remote area than before. He slipped off his shorts and tee, and the cap, and stood naked in his boots, feeling the warm sunshine on his skin and the breeze caressing his genitals.
Then, taking a deep breath, he ducked his head and did a forward somersault, propelling his naked body downward. Head over heels, he rolled and tumbled and bounced down the hard rough hillside. Faster and faster, with no control, he plummeted. Legs and arms flailing, body battered by the hard surface, he panicked. It had been a mistake! He was going to be seriously injured! He tried to scream but nothing came out of his mouth. Suddenly, he hit the brush, bounced upward and landed on his back, before sinking down into the branches and leaves among the nettles.
Caleb lay still, breathing deeply, trying to relax both mind and body. Let his panic subside. Two things became clear. First, that he was hurt but not badly. Second, he was wedged tightly in the brush, and that the brush was full of thorns. Shit! How to get out? Every movement caused the sharp points to dig into his skin. And rip his skin when he tried to extricate himself. But he had no choice. It was the only way out. Maneuvering his body into an upright position took a half-hour because of his unbalanced position, having to grab the nettles with his bare hands, and the way the barbs had hooked into his skin, including his ballsac. Then, once he was upright, he still had to work his way out of the brush, naked, through the nettles. Thank God he was wearing his boots, but his legs were torn to hell. When he finally emerged, it was almost dark and his body was bleeding from many scratches he had accumulated in the bushes. He staggered up the hill, put his clothes on over his wounds, and drove home.
Lying in bed that night, aching from his slide, feeling the sting of the nettles, sheets sticking to his bloodied body, Caleb thought deeply about his adventure. First, it was dangerous. Second, it was thrilling. The pain, then and now, was as erotic as anything he’d ever experienced. He had to go back, do it again. No way he could stop. But he had to be more careful. Not so reckless. A serious injury out there alone? No way. He had to think this out.
Next week, just before dusk, Caleb hiked back into the hills. He wore a sweatshirt, sweatpants, thick workmen’s’ gloves, and heavy steel-toe construction boots. And he carried a knapsack. When he reached his destination, he slid off the sweatshirt and sweatpants. There he stood wearing only boots and leather chaps, with dick, nuts, and butt hanging free and loose, fully exposed. He was ready.
And thus began a ritual. Caleb walked alone in the forest. Offering his body to nature. Bushes, branches, thorns, high grass, rocks, dirt. All these reached out to scourge his naked skin. He slid down hills, slithered over hard dirt, dropped off low cliffs, roped his ankles and pulled himself up to swing from branches. Wrapped his arms around large tree trunks and fucked the bark until his dick bled. He loved pain. His body was ecstatic when nature created pain. He loved every scrape and cut. Watched blood run across his smooth white skin. Walked into briar patches to feel sharp hooks grab at his dick and nutsac, and bite his ass. He shaved his crotch because pubic hair protected his cock and balls from the barbs. He didn’t want protection; he wanted exposure. He wanted those sharp thorns and barbs to grab his genitals and rip their skin. Yeah. That’s what he sought. Sharp thorns and barbs into his dick and nutsac.
Caleb’s escapades occurred mostly at night. He loved to roam naked, or nearly naked, in the woods, at night, under a full moon. On drugs. Hallucinogens or meth. Pills, powder, liquids, and a syringe. He loved to control when he would lose control. Caleb tortured his body incessantly, relentlessly, often maintaining an erection. The pain was the most sensual he’d ever experienced. Often better than sex with a man.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Author’s note: What follows is fiction. What you have just read is real. I have many kinks, and the hiking bit above is one of them. I’ve never revealed what is fact or fiction in my stories, and don’t know why I’m doing it now. But I do love to hike in the woods in the dark of night, on drugs, naked or nearly naked, exposing my body to…..whatever. I’ve gone home scraped and bruised and bloodied many times and said, “Never again.” But, like an addict, I return. Nothing serious has happened. But there is an erotic thrill in knowing that it could go bad…..real bad….
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was dawn when Caleb emerged from his stupor. It had been a long, drug-laced escapade. Too soon to drive home because he was still hallucinating, so he staggered along, looking for the familiar spot where he had left his knapsack. Two men appeared on the path. Apparitions from last night’s delirium? Maybe not. One man approached, said something he didn’t understand, and then rammed his fist deep into Caleb’s belly. He felt himself being dragged by his feet, dirt digging into his back, and then pulled upright and bound by rope to a large tree. The man stood in front of him. Another fist into his gut. And his jaw. He passed out.
The two men stood back and looked at Caleb. “This is the guy I’ve seen up here before. Takes his clothes off and fucks trees. A real weirdo.”
“Look at him, Chad. How scraped up his body is. That’s some serious scratches. What are we going to do with him.”
“I don’t know, Billy. Don’t even know why I hit him. Should have just left him there. He’s really strung out on something.”
“Yeah. Sure is. He’s kinda cute, too. And a nice body.”
“Hah! Billy. You want to suck his dick.”
“Don’t know why not. Wouldn’t you?”
“Maybe. But I think I’d rather fuck him over. It’s been a long time since I punched a dude. This one’s so out of it he wouldn’t even notice. What do you say?”
“Let’s wait, Chad. Maybe later. He ain’t going nowhere for a while. Let me see what’s in his pack.”
Billy emptied the knapsack onto the path. “Keys. Wallet with two hundred forty dollars—we’ll keep that. Cell phone. Apple watch. Keep those, too. Construction gloves. Tee. Sweats. Rope. Twine. Water bottles. Syringe. Whoa! A syringe? Some drugs but the bottles are unlabeled. Membership card for the Muscle Boys Club. I.D. He’s Caleb McDonagh, lives on Aspen Road.”
“You know, Billy. There’s something familiar about this guy but I can’t put my finger on it.”
“Hey. Why don’t we get on with it? Beat him some, fuck him, then go home?”
“Hey! I got it. I think maybe I know who he is.”
“Who?”
“You know that necro website we watch sometimes? From there. What did you say his name is. Caleb? Isn’t there a Caleb there?”
“Could be, I suppose.”
“Let me sign on with my phone. OK. Now search Caleb. Fuck, Billy. He’s got a shitload of stuff here. Let’s check his Album. Yes. Yes. Look at that. Same guy. Same Caleb!”
Chad and Billy walked over to Caleb. He was still slumped, but coming around. Moaning. Billy went back to knapsack and grabbed the tee shirt. Ripped it and stuffed part of it in Caleb’s mouth. They looked Caleb over closely. Rubbed his skin. Fingered his scrapes. Fondled his dick. Stroked his ass. Billy put his palm to Caleb’s face and patted it gently.
“Let’s kill him.”
“Funny. I been thinking the same thing. What do you think, Caleb? Should we kill you?”
Caleb’s body jerked. He had heard. He tried to talk, but the gag limited him to some loud groaning sounds.
“What, Caleb? Do I take that as a yes? Yeah. I’ll take that as a yes.”
Billy and Chad laughed. They stripped off the chaps and tossed them into the stream that ran nearby. The boots were hurled far into the forest but not before sniffing them deeply. Billy kept the sweaty socks.
“Look at him, Chad. All naked except for the gag in his mouth. He sure feels nice. Hard body. Pretty muscles. And, ohhhh, big cock. How shall we kill him?”
“Well, I been thinkin about that, too. You know how he comes out here and gets himself all skinned up? Why don’t we do the same to him? Here, I’ll show you.”
Chad picked up the knife from the knapsack, put on a pair of Caleb’s thick gloves, reached into the brush, and cut off a thick stalk of blackberry. About two foot long.
“See. This has big thorns on it. Really sharp. See what happens if I pull it across his belly.” Caleb tried to scream. “Rips the skin to hell. Bloody. And really hurts. What if we use these all over his body. It would be a long, bloody, painful death for our friend. What ya think?”
“I think I’m getting hard thinkin. Let’s do it! I’ll use that other pair of gloves and use that other knife to cut more stalks.”
The assault on Caleb’s body began. Billy and Chad ran the thorny stalks over his legs and chest, swatted his dick, hooked his nuts. Every swing brought an eruption of splatter which quickly covered the boys with Caleb’s blood. Didn’t take long before Caleb’s beautiful skin was torn and bloodied. As blood dribbled down his legs, he was soon standing in a puddle of dirt and blood. Billy swung his stalk into Caleb’s face several times until most of the face was a bloody mess, and one eye was partially ripped from the socket. Caleb’s dick was ripped to shreds, his dick skin hanging off his knob. The ballsac was torn open, with both nuts hanging free.
Caleb was untied from the tree and let drop to the ground, into the bloody muck. A rope tied his wrists behind his back, tossed over a tree branch, and in minutes he was hanging strappado fashion. When he left the ground, and his full weight stretched his shoulder sockets, Caleb let out a long mournful cry of pain which accomplished nothing more than exciting his tormenters. His body hung horizontally, about waist high, easily accessible. With freshly cut thorny stalks, Chad and Billy resumed their assault. Chad preferred to scrape and claw at Caleb’s flesh, while Billy liked to brandish his like a bat, swinging hard into the body. Either way, Caleb’s entire body became a mushy mass of ripped skin.
Tiring work, fucking up a pretty man. So, the boys rested and drank some of Caleb’s water. Hanging by his wrists, groaning lowly. Chad ran his hands over Caleb’s raw flayed butt. Peeled off bloody flakes of skin and popped them into his mouth. Fingered the hole. Stopped. Thought for a minute, then went over and cut a new stalk. Thicker, heavier, longer. Then shoved it hard into Caleb’s butthole. Deep. Caleb let out a piercing screech and lurched in mid-air, bringing a new strain, and pain, to his shoulders. But that pain didn’t come close to acute pain in his bowels and gut. It was like nothing before. Ever. Chad pulled. Pushed it. Out. In. The thorns ripped at the soft tissue inside Caleb’s body. Ripping. Tearing. As Caleb lurched and shrieked, Chad continued to fuck him with the thorny rod. Blood seeped from his hole and dripped to the dirt.
Chad stopped, leaving the stick extending out of Caleb’s ass. Billy was jerking off. “God, Chad. Awesome! That is one fucked up asshole!”
Billy cut himself a new stalk and walked to Caleb’s head, yanked his head up, and pushed the stalk into Caleb’s mouth. Rubbed it around the mouth, ripping at the tongue, lips, gums and cheeks. Then a push into his throat. The screaming stopped but Billy got a spray of blood.
Caleb swung gently from the branch. Only a few moans now. Whimpers, really. Chad yanked the stalk from his ass and fucked him. No need for lube. Meanwhile, Billy was fucking Caleb’s mouth. Then the boys changed positions and continued fucking. Then switched again. What they had done to Caleb had stimulated them so much that their dicks couldn’t stop. Until, finally, they did.
Chad cut the rope and Caleb fell to the ground, splatting face-down in the blood muck. His body was totally encased in a suit of mud and blood. Deep labored breathing was clearly audible. “He’s still alive. Wanna play around with him some more?”
“Nah. I’m done. Let’s dump him and go home. Gotta clean up. I’m a mess.”
Billy and Chad dragged the dying man down to the creek and tossed him in. He floated, arms wide, face submerged, ass prominently above water. From his mouth a few bubbles broke the surface, then nothing. He was dead. The body drifted downstream in the current until it got hung up on some rocks. Already, the water was rinsing away the muck, revealing his white skin, gouged and shredded. Caleb floated, alone and abandoned to nature.
Postscript: Caleb died on Monday. On Wednesday, four new photos and a video were posted on CDG.
Caleb tied to a tree, wearing leather chaps, his face clearly recognizable.
Caleb tied to a tree, naked, his skin shredded and bloodied.
Caleb hanging by his wrists, strappado-style, naked and bloodied.
Caleb hanging strappado, thorny sticks protruding from his mouth and ass.
A video of a body lying in a creek, face down, bare butt poking up as rippling water coursed around it.
The members were agog. All expressed regret at Caleb’s fate, but most quickly moved on to voicing opinions on the photos. They wanted more, of better quality, with cock shots. Everything they always say about new photos or vids. Everybody agreed that Caleb had met a violent death, a very painful death, and that was cool. What they paid good money for. Many wished they could have killed him themselves. A few talked of how they would have done it differently. Hardly anybody now thought of the man who had shared the website with them, posted stories, and commented on others’ posts. Caleb was now just another dead body, a good-looking dude who had been tortured and mutilated and killed. Cool! Hot pics! Jerkoff material! The photos were added to his Media album so guys could see “Before and After”.
Two days later, a new video was posted of a prison riot and dozens of naked, bloody, dismembered inmates. The boys moved on. Caleb was forgotten. New cute dead guys to see. What we pay good money for.
