- Joined
- Jan 13, 2012
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- Cannibal Heaven
Some men die quickly and unexpectedly, like Felipe. Others suffer a prolonged, agonizing, painful death. Such is my fate.
I pushed Felipe off a cliff. After a night of wild sex, we had gone jogging through the woods, clad only in hiking shorts and boots. At the edge of a cliff, Felipe was admiring the view and also my magnificently sculpted body. Seconds later, I watched as he slid and tumbled and bounced down the rocky hillside. I scurried down the path to where he lay. Skull crushed. Bones fractured. But a beautiful man still, so I had sex with his broken body. Fucked him over and over. Bliss! Then I dragged him about fifty yards to a ravine, about fifteen feet deep and covered with brush. I shoved him over the side and watched him disappear into the bushes below, to sleep forever with four other men I had dumped here. The night critters will have another tasty meal. This was a perfect place for my kills. So far from any civilization.
As I turned to leave, I sensed a movement near me, and something smashed into my face. Stunned, I stumbled backward. My foot slipped over the edge and I slid down into the brush below. I landed awkwardly and was suddenly hit with a barrage of fists and boots into my face and ribs. I let out a howl of pain and heard, ]”Stop! Oscar, stop!” was roughly pulled to my feet and saw two men. One man, really. One was a kid, thirteen or fourteen, pimply-faced, a skinhead covered with tattoos. The other was in his thirties, with long red hair and a long, greasy red beard. Both uglier than sin, and smelled worse. I hurt like hell, especially my ribs, but I stood perfectly still because the older one had a knife. They tied my wrists behind me with my belt.
“Look, Oscar. We finally got the killer who dumped those naked bodies in the ravine. And it turns out he’s a fag, too.”
“Ain’t never seen a fag before, Pop. How do you know? He looks normal.”
“First, we saw him doin sex stuff with the dead guy. That’s proof enough. And, second, Son, don’t ever call a fag ‘normal’. A fag is the lowest of the low. Lower than a Muslim. Filthier than shit on a nigger’s boot. An abomination says the Bible.”
“What makes him a fag?”
“And another thing. Don’t ever say ‘him’ or ‘he’ or ‘man’ when talking about a fag. It ain’t human. It does vile things with its own kind. And tries to entice God-fearing men into joining them. See? Look at this one. A bit prettier than most, I’ll admit. Most faggots look and act like girls, like sissies. Some, like this one, go to a gym to build muscles and try to look like look like real men. It’s just a disguise so they can entice normal folk. See? Its chest and belly are hard and smooth. Let’s pull its pants down and check its hiney. Holy shit! Look, Oscar! Its got a shaved pussy. I heard queers shaved their pussies, but never believed it. Whoo-ee! Nothin there but a big prick and two shiny balls. And look! No hair in his arm pits either! This one’s a 100 per cent queer for certain! Noe let’s check his hiney. (Turn around, fucker!) See. Its got a bubble butt. Definitely a fag.”
“What’s a bubble-butt, Pop?”
“See how round it is? Faggots like smooth, round, hard butts. For fucking each other. Say, Oscar. You wanna fuck this one? You gotta try it someday, and today’s as good as any.”
“I don’t know, Pop. If I fuck a fag, won’t that make me one?”
“No. You can fuck a fag in the ass or let him suck your dick. That don’t make you a fag. It’s only when YOU get fucked or YOU suck a dick, that you become a fag. So, do you want to fuck this one?”
“Well, O.K. Sure.”
Pop yanked my arm and pulled me over to a fallen log, right where Felipe had landed. With my shorts wrapping my ankles, I sort of hopped, and then was thrown roughly over the log. My ass was in the air and my face in the dirt. Oscar pulled his pants down and put his dick, already hard, to my ass. He pushed and pushed.
“It won’t go in, Pop”
“You need grease. Don’t have none but this should do it.”
The shithead took his knife and poked it into my asshole. Oh, fuck, that hurt! But I gritted my teeth and made no sound. With blood as a lubricant, Oscar was able to slide in easily.
“Oh! Oh! Ooooh! Hey, Pop, turn away. Don’t watch.”
“Sorry, Oscar. Gotta watch. Never be alone with a fag. They might entice you. Always have a friend with you, watchin, to protect you”
Oscar was already pumping me, making guttural noises. As he finally came, he let out a loud howl, and let his body go limp on top of me, panting. After a few seconds, he realized he was lying on my bare back and recoiled, jumping to his feet.
“Oh, fuck, Pop! Look at my dick. It’s covered with blood and shit! Yuck!”
“Don’t worry. Faggy here will clean you up. That’s another thing. Fags like to eat shit. Sit down over there.”[/COLOR][/I]
Pop dragged me off the log and over to where Oscar sat with his shitty cock. He grabbed my hair, pulled my head back, and snarled “Clean his dick and make him feel real, real good.” Then he dropped my face onto Oscar’s dick. I had no choice. The kid’s cock was semi-hard when I took it in my mouth. The shit tasted awful and his crotch smelled even worse. Christ! These degenerates don’t even bathe. The dick swelled into my throat. With my wrists tied behind me, I could only work with my head. But an adolescent with no cock-sucking experience will get hard immediately, and cum even faster. He shot his load down my throat, and I worked my mouth and tongue to get all the shit off him. Oscar relaxed as Pop said
“Since we’ll be here a while, I’m going to the truck for our lunch and some whiskey. Wait here with the queer. Here’s my knife if he tries anything.”
Pop pulled me up and propped me against a tree. And walked away. Oscar sat watching me, thinking, not sure of himself, or me. This was my one chance. He’s young. Maybe I can talk to him.
“Oscar. You don’t really want to hurt me. Just untie me and I’ll get out of here and never come back. Please. You’re a good kid. You don’t want to harm anyone.”
“No, I don’t want to harm anyone. But you’re not just anyone. You’re a fag, a homo, a queer. All my buddies say fags are worthless pieces of shit who don’t deserve to live on God’s good earth with quality folk like us. I mean, look at what just happened. I fucked you in the ass. You sucked my dick. You swallowed my cum. You ate shit. Don’t that prove it? If you don’t deserve to die, well…who does? I hate faggots! But hey! Tell me, is Pop right? Is it true you fags really like to eat shit?”
My heart sank. I was truly fucked. This little bastard whose voice was still changing had me totally in his control. Oscar pulled me away from the tree, onto my knees. He stuck a finger into my ass, then two, then three, I don’t know, I couldn’t see. He pushed me back up against the tree and I saw he had pulled a handful of shit from my ass. “Eat.” I wouldn’t open my mouth. He repeated “Eat.” Still, I didn’t react. He picked up the knife, put the tip to my nipple, pushed it in, and sliced downward. My nipple tit was split and blood was dribbling down my chest. “Eat.” I opened my mouth and he shoved the shit in. Slowly, agonizingly, I began to chew. So dry. No saliva. No water. Hard to chew. Harder to swallow. I felt like I would vomit, but didn’t dare. It was awful, but I did as he told me. Finally, I swallowed it all.
“Good. Now lick my fingers clean.”
Nothing happened for a while. I sat against the tree, scared to move, my mind churning with possible scenarios…all bad. Oscar sat cross-legged and just looked at me. I could tell his mind was also turning over possibilities. Like I said, his head and neck and arms were covered with tattoos. Most were white supremacist or Nazi words. More ominously, on his neck was “Kill Fags” above a bloody knife. My, God! He was too young for this shit! Eventually, Pop returned, carrying some paper bags and a tackle box.
“What’s that on its mouth? Looks like shit.”
“It is. I fed it some more shit from out of its ass.”
“Good boy. A nourishing meal for any fag. Say, it looks like you were playing with the knife while I was gone. Ain’t it fun to cut a queer? And I brought some rope to string up the fag before we have our lunch.”
Oscar kicked me in the chest and yanked me to my feet. They tied my wrists above my head and hung me from a tree branch. Then they took cut off my shorts and boots, and spread-eagled my legs. So, I was standing with my weight on my feet, but with my arms stretched tight above me and my naked body totally exposed and vulnerable.
“Anything in the pockets, Oscar?”
“Let’s see. Drivers license. Name is Caleb McDonagh, lives on Aspen Road, 6’1”, 185, green eyes, 26 years old. There’s keys, a wallet with, let’s see, 62 dollars, a cellphone, and a membership card for Muscle Boys Gym.”
“Sound like a fag gym. Yep, our queerboy here surely works on his muscles. Gotta look pretty to do the Devil’s work.”
“So, what are we going to do with it, this here fag?”
“Well, I been thinking. When you turned fourteen last month, we couldn’t afford to get you a decent gift. So, how bout this being your gift? The faggot. All yours to play with, however you want. Just don’t tell your mom.”
“Really, Pop? Mine? Totally mine? I can do anything?”
“Yup. Anything you want. You’re a man now. I won’t interfere. And I am pleased I could give you such a high-quality fag to celebrate your birthday. And such a pretty one, too.
“Pretty. Yeah. It’s real pretty, but I can fix that.”
Oscar stood in front of me and pulled out a small pen knife. He reached up and cut into my forehead. I screamed. He told me to shut up, but I kept screaming. He pulled off his tee shirt and stuffed it in my mouth. Pop said he had something better and walked a few feet away. He came back with something soft, smelly and putrid tasting, which he shoved into my mouth and then tied the tee shirt around my head as a gag.
“That should keep it quiet”
“What’d you put in its mouth?”
“Ha! One of those fag corpses over there, that’s decomposing? This is its half-rotted dick and balls. Figure this Caleb fag sucked on em once before and just might like to do it again.”
Oscar laughed as he continued cutting at my forehead, and then moved to my chest. He was obviously carving words but I couldn’t know what they were. Then he made a big circular cut on my belly.
Oscar and Pop sat on the slope of the ravine, about ten feet from me. Opened the paper bags and began to eat sandwiches. And drink whiskey. The old man slobbered mayo and mustard into his beard. They talked in a normal tone but I didn’t hear much of what they said. I was too busy thinking about my sad situation.
After eating their sandwiches, they smoked cigars. Oscar got up and walked slowly over to me. He was so ugly, and skinny, and smelled terrible. His skinny torso was also covered with tattoos. He leaned in so close I could smell his putrid breath in spite of the cigar smoke he kept blowing in my face.
“You don’t like me, do you? You think you’re superior to me. You think I’m just a little kid. You got money and education, and I ain’t got neither. You’re pretty and have muscles. I’m skinny and ugly. All true. But I’m superior to you for two reasons. First, you’re a faggot and I’m not. Second, you’re hanging buck naked from a tree and I got this here knife."
As he talked, Oscar kept running the tip of the knife over my belly. Not cutting, but just scratching the skin, drawing beads of blood. Up and down and across my ab muscles.
“Pop says you’re going to rot in Hell and suffer Lucifer’s fire for all eternity. But my Uncle Lem says there is no Hell, or Heaven for that matter. Now, I don’t know who’s right. Maybe there is and maybe there ain’t a Hell. But just in case Uncle Lem is right, I’m going to make sure you suffer the Torments of Hell right here, today, under this tree. You won’t die soon. Not til I let you. But you will surely suffer the Torments. Big Caleb. Queer Caleb. Hell is coming for you in the person of Little Oscar. I hate you, FAGGOT!”
He put his cigar on my nipple. The blood sizzled. My tit sizzled. My body jerked in the ropes. I tried to scream but the gag muffled it. Then he touched the cigar to my nose, and then to my chest and belly. He leaned close to my face again and I pulled back and closed my eyes.
“Don’t close your eyes, faggot! I want you to see me. You don’t like my looks? Think I’m ugly? Well, you will look at my ugly face as I drag you into Hell. Hey, Pop. You got your Army knife, the one with the little scissors?”
Pop tossed him the knife and Oscar pulled out the scissors. With two fingers, he pulled my eyelid out and snipped it off. It bled a little into my eye, but not much. Then he cut off the other one. With no eyelids, my eyes were permanently open. I saw everything that happened in front of me. Oscar and Pop sitting, drinking, smoking, talking, gesturing at me, laughing. I hung in front of them like a carcass in a slaughter house. Which I was. They were destroying the most precious thing I owned: my physical beauty. Tears began to run down my cheeks. Then soft sobs. And finally, bigger, louder, heaving sobs.
“See, Oscar. That’s another sign of a true faggot. When a real man is faced with bad times, he grits his teeth and suffers his fate. A queer just cries like a girl. Look at that, sobbing like your friend Melissa.”
“Seeing it cry like that makes me sick.”
“I like this cell phone. Much better than ours and probably cost a whole lot more. Let me try taking a picture. Good. It works. I’ll show Faggy what I got. Look, Fag. Here’s you.”
I looked at the phone and saw myself hanging naked. Then I saw the words. On my forehead, Oscar had carved “FAG”. My chest, “HOMO”. And a big “Q” on my belly. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. I’m really done. But at least they hadn’t inflicted real pain. Yet.
The two of them sat looking at me, occasionally talking. Sounded like they were discussing rabbits.
“I know how to do it, Pop. Watch.”
They stood beside me and Oscar pulled out the big knife. He brought it up to my side, below the armpit. Made a couple vertical cuts, all the way down to my hip. Shit, that stung! From the top, he began to slice slowly back and forth, under the skin. His fingers grabbed the skin and, slowly, deliberately, he pulled the strip of skin away from my torso. Oh, it was so fucking painful. I tried to scream through the gag. It stung and hurt so bad! But I couldn’t move much, the way I was tied. Finally, Oscar stood back and held up a long bloody strip my skin. He laid it over my shoulder and moved to my other side. He came away with another long strip which he laid on my other shoulder.
“See, Fag. I’m gonna skin you live. Partial, leastwise. But not yet. Hold the knife, Pop.”
He gave the knife to Pop and stood so close our noses touched, staring hard into my eyes. Then stepped back and kicked me in the nuts. I howled and could feel my vomit coming up into my gagged mouth. Pop knew what was happening and pulled the gag off, letting me puke. I must have let out a high-pitched squeal, because the two of them began to laugh. They sat on the slope again and watched my pain, exchanging swigs from the whiskey bottle. I remained slumped over, retching. I could see Oscar whittling away on a stick with his knife.
“Hey, Pop. I heard guys talk of beating up queers. You ever do that?”
“Once, in high school. Bunch of us caught a queer out by the filling station. Beat the shit out of it and then gang banged it.”
“You want to fuck this one?”
“Hell, no. I don’t fuck queers. I’d rather fuck em up. Just as soon kill em.”
“You ever kill one?”
“Well, yeah. Once. Bout ten years ago one tried to make nice with me at the Roadhouse. We went out back. Guess it was expecting to get my dick in its mouth but it got a knife in the belly instead. Jesus, I hate those fuckers. If I ever caught a faggot on my property, I’d throw it alive into the woodchipper, and use it as fertilizer.”
Oscar had a stick about two-feet long that he’d been whittling on, making a sharp point. He began to poke it into me. It hurt. My gut, chest, butt, back. Then my dick and balls. Jab, jab, jab, jab. No damage, just pain. But the damage came when he began to swing it, pummeling my body, from shins to shoulders. Then to the side of my head, my ears. That was serious pain.
“Does it hurt, Faggy? Bruises messing up your prettiness? I’ll fix your prettiness, fucker. How bout I puncture your bubble?”
He walked behind me and jammed the knife blade deep into my butt, the left cheek, puncturing the smooth round bubble, over and over. Then he sliced at the other cheek. I couldn’t see but I knew it was bad just from the pain and the blood I saw dripping into the dirt under me. He walked in front of me, spit in my eye, and slowly drew the knife down my face, eye to chin, making a big “X” on both cheeks. Put it to my nose and sliced off the tip. Then my nipples disappeared. He stared into my eyes for the longest time, with pure hatred. My eyes widened with fear as I watched the knife rise to the side of my head. He put the blade on top of my ear and, with a slow, deliberate sawing motion, sliced off my ear. Then he did the other ear and dropped them on the ground along with my nose and nipples, and ground them into the blood-soaked dirt with his boot. I was in physical pain, sure, but more psychologically devastated by the mutilation of my beautiful body. And by a fucking pimple-faced adolescent! A child half my age!
But he wasn’t through. He took the butt end of his knife handle and used it to hammer at my mouth. Cutting my lips and loosening some teeth. When I tried to keep my mouth clamped tight shut, he pulled a short stick from his pocket. It was one of the sticks he’d been whittling. About three inches long with sharp points on both ends. Grabbing my hair, he pulled my head back, forcing me to open my mouth. Then he wedged the stick in, the points digging into the roof and bottom, keeping my mouth wide open. The points were excruciatingly painful, but not as painful as what came next. I watched as he rummaged through his tackle box and pulled out some clippers, pruning clippers.
He knelt and lifted my left foot. His knife sliced at the soles of the foot, deep slashes from heel to toes. Then the other foot. The pain made me try to lift my feet from the ground, but I couldn’t keep both up at the same time, suspended only by my wrists. I had to stand on my feet but now my weight had become unbearable. Blood ran into the dirt, which turned it to red mud, which caused my feet to slip, aggravating the pain even more. He lifted one foot and methodically cut the toes off with the clippers. He stood up and I could see five toes in his palm. He picked one and tossed it into my open mouth. Told me to swallow, which I couldn’t. He dropped the other four toes in my mouth, pulled my head back so they rolled to the back of my throat, and poured in some whisky. Reflexively, I swallowed. My toes disappeared like gum drops. He knelt again and snipped off the other five toes. Again, into my mouth, and washed down my gullet with whisky. Tears ran down my cheeks, stinging the sliced skin. Pop was roaring with laughter.
Oscar giggled a bit and turned his attention to my mouth again. He fetched some pliers and began to pull on my teeth. His pimply face practically touched mine and his putrid breath drifted into my nostrils. He would clamp onto a tooth, yank back and forth, loosening it until it pulled out of my gums. One by one, so fucking painfully, every tooth in the front of my mouth was ripped out. Except one, which broke before he could get it out, so he left it there, sticking up. When he finally stopped, I had almost passed out from pain, and my mouth was a bloody void all across the front, except for the broken one.
“Give me the whiskey again, Pop.”
He hit my chin with his fist, then forced my head back and poured the whisky on my torn gums. I screamed as the alcohol burned and dribbled down my throat. Maybe, I prayed, all this whiskey will dull my pain. Oscar looked into my mouth for a while, spit into it, smiled, and ripped out the stick, the points tearing as they came out. Then he sat with Pop to sip whiskey, smoke cigars, and admire me.
“Son, you have surprised me. I’m fuckin proud of you. Didn’t know you had the imagination to do this. Or the inclination.”
Thanks, Pop. This is the best present I ever got. And I got lots more ideas. HEAR THAT FAG?”
“Well, you’ve used up our whisky on the fag, so I got to get some more from the truck. Don’t do anything while I’m gone. I don’t want to miss a thing.”
I hung limp, grateful for the respite. I still hurt badly but at least there was no new pain. I looked at Oscar, who was looking at me. No doubt, he was conjuring up new atrocities. I realized there were similarities between us. We both got off on torturing men. We both had vivid imaginations and inventive minds. Anything that could bring pain, we could imagine it. And do it. All we needed was a man’s body to work on. And we both had the talent to keep the pain going without let him die. But the difference between us was WHY we did it. I killed for love. I loved the man, or rather his body, a beautiful, smooth, muscular body. I wanted to take the beauty and destroy it, rip it apart, reduce the man to screams and tears, leaving a horrible pulpy mess that nowhere near resembled the beauty it once was. An agonizing death. But, I would consume the beauty. Yes, literally. Eat him. I have cannibal tastes. I killed beautiful men out of love. But Oscar kills for hate. He doesn’t appreciate beauty, my beauty. He was trained to hate me even before he ever set eyes on me. He’s doing to me exactly what I did to my victims, but my victims had to know how I loved and idolized their bodies. Oscar can’t appreciate what I am giving him with my pain.
Pop’s return jolted me from my reverie. They sat together, talking, smoking and drinking. Eventually, Oscar approached, cigar in hand. He touched it to my cockhead. I jumped and jerked about. Then he stopped and stood motionless, staring at my dick, frowning, thinking. Abruptly, he went off into the bushes and came back with an armful of dead branches and dry brush. He made a pile between my legs and lit it on fire. The flames shot up and licked at my my cock, my nuts, my thighs, my butt. Oh, fuck! This was the worst! I jerked and flailed helplessly in my ropes as Oscar and his Pop hooted and hollered and laughed.
“Yipeee! Look at Faggy dance for us! That how you dance at the disco, fag? Hey! Hey! Dancin queen! Dancin queer! O.K. Look! The flames are cooking his jewels, turning em crispy. And making the bloody ass sizzle. Yee Haw! Smell that, Oscar! Smell that! That’s the smell of a burning faggot! Don’t you love it?”
“Sure do, Pop. Smells bad at first but when you realize it’s a homo burning, then it’s the sweetest smell in the world!”
They sat and watched as I continued to twitch and jerk in the ropes, shrieking, breathing fast and heavy, unable to calm my body or my mind. My whole body continued to quiver uncontrollably even after the fire burned itself out. I moaned so loud and weirdly that Oscar shoved the tee-shirt back in my mouth to shut me up. Finally, I was able to calm a bit and the spasms stopped. That’s when Oscar got up, walked over, and calmly jammed his lit cigar into my left eye, grinding it into my eyeball, twisting it, pushing, melting. Through my pain and lurching, I watched him with my other eye, smiling, staring intently as he ground the cigar deeper into the sizzling orb. He was loving this moment. Finally, he stopped, looked intently, and spit a big loogie into the charred socket. It dribbled down my cheek as Oscar took a swig of whiskey and spit it into the ruined eye. It burned awful in the eye and as it ran down my slashed cheek.
“That should put the fire out. But don’t relax, Fag, we ain’t gonna cool down just yet.”
From the tackle box, he brought out a bicycle chain. Swung it in a circle over his head a few times, to be sure I could hear the whirring sound of it swishing through the air before it ripped into my side. Ahhhhh! Ahhhhh! Oh! Oh! No! Please! Don’t! Please! But it kept on coming. The worst pain yet! Again and again, Oscar whaled at my back, sides, belly, my legs, my arms, my torn-up ass. When he stopped, I slumped, limp. Where I could see, the skin was shredded. He dropped the chain, picked up his stick and began to whack the side of my head where the ear had been. Four or five times. Then the other side. The stick smacked my face, my cheeks, my jaw, my nose, my toothless mouth. He stopped.
“Don’t pass out, Faggy. Just relax. No more for now.”
I hung for a while, my full weight on my wrists. So painful. Yes, I could distinguish different pains or at least locations. I pulled myself up so I could put some weight on my feet, as painful as that was. I was in total misery, sobbing uncontrollably. Pop came over and began to touch my shredded skin.
“Hey, Pop. You shouldn’t touch a faggot like that, should you? Maybe catch something?”
“Nope. Nothing will happen. This here homo is too fucked up now to do anything that could turn us. Come on over and take a look at what happens when a fag goes up against God-fearing men.”
So both Oscar and Pop ran their hands over my torn body. Pulling at torn skin. Fingering welts. Rubbing blood. Some had dried, some still oozed, and some was running. They poked and pinched and pulled and occasionally punched. I think they were both turned on, in a way, by what had been done to me. Oscar’s hands seemed to linger from time to time, and when he turned away to get the whisky bottle, I saw a swell in his pants. Not that it gave me any satisfaction. I wanted to cut it off, but feared that could still be my fate. Pop stuck his finger into my empty socket.
“Gooey. Sticky. Never felt anything like that. But then, I never saw anyone put his cigar out that way. Boy, you have a talent. But don’t you think we should let the fag down, let it rest a tad?”
“Fuck, no. I’m doin nothin to make Caleb the Fag feel better. But I will be careful to keep it alive so I can try a few more things I’ve considered.”
“Like what?”
“Well, like this.”
Oscar disappeared behind me so I couldn’t see what was coming. He reached up and pulled on my hand and cut off a finger. FUCK! Then he was standing in front of me with my middle finger hanging from his lips like a cigarette. Like he was giving me the finger.
“Very good, son. Can I have one, too?”
“Yep.”
He went behind me and snipped off every one of my fingers and thumbs. I screamed again, and soon felt warm blood running down my arms. With my good eye, I saw it drizzling over my bicep into my armpit. He came around front with nine digits in his palm. Pop took one and put it between his teeth.
“We could fry these and chew on em during the NASCAR tomorrow.”
“Fuck no. I won’t eat no fag.
“Oh, you’re right. Probably taste like faggot shit.”
“Hey, Queer Caleb. You came here with a pretty face and big muscles. Well, your pretty face is pretty fucked up. Shit. Even I’m prettier than you now. But look at your muscles. Still hard, and big. Pop says you go to a gym to make them look nice. You done well. Impressive. Bet you get lots of fag dicks by showing them off. But not no more. Little Oscar is going to take care of these big fag muscles.”
Oscar’s knife began to slice into my pecs. Deep vertical cuts, followed by deep horizontal ones. When he finished, my pecs were like a checkerboard, square pieces of flesh, jiggling slightly when touched. He reached up and jabbed the knife deep into my bicep, and then again, and did it to the other bicep. He sliced my abs, too, but only lightly so as not to do serious damage to my gut. Then, on his knees, he stabbed at my calves and thighs. Stabbed them over and over. Shit, it hurts for a knife to slice into hard, solid muscle. Behind me, he slashed at my back. Don’t know what pattern he was carving but I knew it wasn’t nice, and it sure stung. And the whole time he was cutting me, he was muttering “Faggot, Faggot, Faggot”, over and over. Then he grabbed the bicycle chain and swung it into my back, messing it up further. My entire body was quivering in pain. I was screaming and crying. Oh, Christ! I was hurting so fucking bad!
How could this get worse? My hair was grabbed from behind and my head pulled back. I felt Oscar’s knife on my head. Oh, Jesus, Jesus! It hurts so fucking much! He jerked my head around and then let go. A minute later, I saw Oscar in front of me, with a huge grin on his face…….and my hair, my scalp, stuck on top of his skinhead skull. “Faggot!” Oh! Oh! Please let me die! Kill me! Don’t let me suffer any more! Please!
“Oscar, my boy, you look right nice with hair. Maybe you should grow yours out.
But Faggy here, it don’t look so handsome anymore. Here, I’ll use the phone to take its picture. Maybe a video this time.”
Pop aimed the phone at me and walked slowly closer, filming all of me. Up and down, front and back, from every angle. He finished with a closeup of my face. He punched the buttons and held it up so I could see what they had done to me. Oscar held my head so I couldn’t turn away from the horror. My gorgeous sculpted body, the very one that had enraptured Felipe just this morning, was gone. In its place I saw skin bruised purple and black, sliced and ripped and shredded. A thing with no teeth and cut cheeks. A powerful back now a bloody pulpy mass of mush. Luscious cock and balls burned black. A beautiful bubble butt shredded, unrecognizable. And a bald bloody head with no ears. I was no longer a man. They had turned me into a THING! An ugly, repulsive THING! From deep inside me came a howl of despair and anger and pain and disgust and horror. A primal scream that could have been heard for miles. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHGH!
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
“Oh, Lordy, Oscar. I think it’s pissed at you.”
I think I eventually passed out, totally spent from pain and grief from what I saw in the video. I became aware that they were both near me when I felt a sharp pain in my gut.
Oh, SHIT! The little prick had pushed the stick into my ass, and the point had poked through my colon and was working its way through my gut! Pushing, pushing. I could sense each time point broke through some tissue. Then I looked down to see the point poking at my belly skin from inside! Oscar struggled, banging on the end of the stick, and finally broke through. The goddam stick ran into my asshole and out my belly! The fuckers were beside themselves with joy. Laughin. Hollerin. Wiggling the point of the stick. Sliding the stick back and forth like it was fucking me.
“O.K. Oscar. Now pull the stick back out. You’ll see something you’d never imagine possible! That’s good. It’s out. Now, give me the knife. I’m going to make the belly hole just a tad bigger. There. Now look. Faggy is breathing hard so watch what happens now. There! See that yellow stuff beginning to ooze out? That’s guts. Intestines. They’ll squeeze through any opening in the belly. And since the fag is breathing hard, it’s actually helping force the guts through the hole!”
I could look down and see exactly that. My yellowish guts were slowly sliding out the hole in my belly, sort of in rhythm to my heavy panting. It would have been beautiful to watch if I were anywhere else. But I was beginning to lose it. Sinking. Vision beginning to blur. Oscar was whooping and bouncing in and out of my limited field of vision. I could see him grabbing at the emerging yellow mass, pulling on it, making it slide faster. Then I felt a sharp pain somewhere below and through my blood-covered eye, I saw Oscar holding up my singed cock and balls. Felt him shove them past my bloody gums and deep into my throat, gagging me. Still wearing my scalp, he smiled as he brought his knife close to my eye, and poked a couple times before pushing it in, slowly, through my eye and into my brain until it touched the back of my skull. I was suddenly feeling an excruciating pain a hundred times worse than anything else they had done to me. Scorching. Burning. Like my head was on fire. I heard a loud screeching sound. Me? It was so loud my brain seemed to vibrate. Through the searing pain and the screech, I could sense a knife slicing at my body, all over my body, up, down, front, back. I vaguely felt a sharp slice at my throat, and something warm pouring onto my chest.
Then nothing. Silence. Oblivion.
I pushed Felipe off a cliff. After a night of wild sex, we had gone jogging through the woods, clad only in hiking shorts and boots. At the edge of a cliff, Felipe was admiring the view and also my magnificently sculpted body. Seconds later, I watched as he slid and tumbled and bounced down the rocky hillside. I scurried down the path to where he lay. Skull crushed. Bones fractured. But a beautiful man still, so I had sex with his broken body. Fucked him over and over. Bliss! Then I dragged him about fifty yards to a ravine, about fifteen feet deep and covered with brush. I shoved him over the side and watched him disappear into the bushes below, to sleep forever with four other men I had dumped here. The night critters will have another tasty meal. This was a perfect place for my kills. So far from any civilization.
As I turned to leave, I sensed a movement near me, and something smashed into my face. Stunned, I stumbled backward. My foot slipped over the edge and I slid down into the brush below. I landed awkwardly and was suddenly hit with a barrage of fists and boots into my face and ribs. I let out a howl of pain and heard, ]”Stop! Oscar, stop!” was roughly pulled to my feet and saw two men. One man, really. One was a kid, thirteen or fourteen, pimply-faced, a skinhead covered with tattoos. The other was in his thirties, with long red hair and a long, greasy red beard. Both uglier than sin, and smelled worse. I hurt like hell, especially my ribs, but I stood perfectly still because the older one had a knife. They tied my wrists behind me with my belt.
“Look, Oscar. We finally got the killer who dumped those naked bodies in the ravine. And it turns out he’s a fag, too.”
“Ain’t never seen a fag before, Pop. How do you know? He looks normal.”
“First, we saw him doin sex stuff with the dead guy. That’s proof enough. And, second, Son, don’t ever call a fag ‘normal’. A fag is the lowest of the low. Lower than a Muslim. Filthier than shit on a nigger’s boot. An abomination says the Bible.”
“What makes him a fag?”
“And another thing. Don’t ever say ‘him’ or ‘he’ or ‘man’ when talking about a fag. It ain’t human. It does vile things with its own kind. And tries to entice God-fearing men into joining them. See? Look at this one. A bit prettier than most, I’ll admit. Most faggots look and act like girls, like sissies. Some, like this one, go to a gym to build muscles and try to look like look like real men. It’s just a disguise so they can entice normal folk. See? Its chest and belly are hard and smooth. Let’s pull its pants down and check its hiney. Holy shit! Look, Oscar! Its got a shaved pussy. I heard queers shaved their pussies, but never believed it. Whoo-ee! Nothin there but a big prick and two shiny balls. And look! No hair in his arm pits either! This one’s a 100 per cent queer for certain! Noe let’s check his hiney. (Turn around, fucker!) See. Its got a bubble butt. Definitely a fag.”
“What’s a bubble-butt, Pop?”
“See how round it is? Faggots like smooth, round, hard butts. For fucking each other. Say, Oscar. You wanna fuck this one? You gotta try it someday, and today’s as good as any.”
“I don’t know, Pop. If I fuck a fag, won’t that make me one?”
“No. You can fuck a fag in the ass or let him suck your dick. That don’t make you a fag. It’s only when YOU get fucked or YOU suck a dick, that you become a fag. So, do you want to fuck this one?”
“Well, O.K. Sure.”
Pop yanked my arm and pulled me over to a fallen log, right where Felipe had landed. With my shorts wrapping my ankles, I sort of hopped, and then was thrown roughly over the log. My ass was in the air and my face in the dirt. Oscar pulled his pants down and put his dick, already hard, to my ass. He pushed and pushed.
“It won’t go in, Pop”
“You need grease. Don’t have none but this should do it.”
The shithead took his knife and poked it into my asshole. Oh, fuck, that hurt! But I gritted my teeth and made no sound. With blood as a lubricant, Oscar was able to slide in easily.
“Oh! Oh! Ooooh! Hey, Pop, turn away. Don’t watch.”
“Sorry, Oscar. Gotta watch. Never be alone with a fag. They might entice you. Always have a friend with you, watchin, to protect you”
Oscar was already pumping me, making guttural noises. As he finally came, he let out a loud howl, and let his body go limp on top of me, panting. After a few seconds, he realized he was lying on my bare back and recoiled, jumping to his feet.
“Oh, fuck, Pop! Look at my dick. It’s covered with blood and shit! Yuck!”
“Don’t worry. Faggy here will clean you up. That’s another thing. Fags like to eat shit. Sit down over there.”[/COLOR][/I]
Pop dragged me off the log and over to where Oscar sat with his shitty cock. He grabbed my hair, pulled my head back, and snarled “Clean his dick and make him feel real, real good.” Then he dropped my face onto Oscar’s dick. I had no choice. The kid’s cock was semi-hard when I took it in my mouth. The shit tasted awful and his crotch smelled even worse. Christ! These degenerates don’t even bathe. The dick swelled into my throat. With my wrists tied behind me, I could only work with my head. But an adolescent with no cock-sucking experience will get hard immediately, and cum even faster. He shot his load down my throat, and I worked my mouth and tongue to get all the shit off him. Oscar relaxed as Pop said
“Since we’ll be here a while, I’m going to the truck for our lunch and some whiskey. Wait here with the queer. Here’s my knife if he tries anything.”
Pop pulled me up and propped me against a tree. And walked away. Oscar sat watching me, thinking, not sure of himself, or me. This was my one chance. He’s young. Maybe I can talk to him.
“Oscar. You don’t really want to hurt me. Just untie me and I’ll get out of here and never come back. Please. You’re a good kid. You don’t want to harm anyone.”
“No, I don’t want to harm anyone. But you’re not just anyone. You’re a fag, a homo, a queer. All my buddies say fags are worthless pieces of shit who don’t deserve to live on God’s good earth with quality folk like us. I mean, look at what just happened. I fucked you in the ass. You sucked my dick. You swallowed my cum. You ate shit. Don’t that prove it? If you don’t deserve to die, well…who does? I hate faggots! But hey! Tell me, is Pop right? Is it true you fags really like to eat shit?”
My heart sank. I was truly fucked. This little bastard whose voice was still changing had me totally in his control. Oscar pulled me away from the tree, onto my knees. He stuck a finger into my ass, then two, then three, I don’t know, I couldn’t see. He pushed me back up against the tree and I saw he had pulled a handful of shit from my ass. “Eat.” I wouldn’t open my mouth. He repeated “Eat.” Still, I didn’t react. He picked up the knife, put the tip to my nipple, pushed it in, and sliced downward. My nipple tit was split and blood was dribbling down my chest. “Eat.” I opened my mouth and he shoved the shit in. Slowly, agonizingly, I began to chew. So dry. No saliva. No water. Hard to chew. Harder to swallow. I felt like I would vomit, but didn’t dare. It was awful, but I did as he told me. Finally, I swallowed it all.
“Good. Now lick my fingers clean.”
Nothing happened for a while. I sat against the tree, scared to move, my mind churning with possible scenarios…all bad. Oscar sat cross-legged and just looked at me. I could tell his mind was also turning over possibilities. Like I said, his head and neck and arms were covered with tattoos. Most were white supremacist or Nazi words. More ominously, on his neck was “Kill Fags” above a bloody knife. My, God! He was too young for this shit! Eventually, Pop returned, carrying some paper bags and a tackle box.
“What’s that on its mouth? Looks like shit.”
“It is. I fed it some more shit from out of its ass.”
“Good boy. A nourishing meal for any fag. Say, it looks like you were playing with the knife while I was gone. Ain’t it fun to cut a queer? And I brought some rope to string up the fag before we have our lunch.”
Oscar kicked me in the chest and yanked me to my feet. They tied my wrists above my head and hung me from a tree branch. Then they took cut off my shorts and boots, and spread-eagled my legs. So, I was standing with my weight on my feet, but with my arms stretched tight above me and my naked body totally exposed and vulnerable.
“Anything in the pockets, Oscar?”
“Let’s see. Drivers license. Name is Caleb McDonagh, lives on Aspen Road, 6’1”, 185, green eyes, 26 years old. There’s keys, a wallet with, let’s see, 62 dollars, a cellphone, and a membership card for Muscle Boys Gym.”
“Sound like a fag gym. Yep, our queerboy here surely works on his muscles. Gotta look pretty to do the Devil’s work.”
“So, what are we going to do with it, this here fag?”
“Well, I been thinking. When you turned fourteen last month, we couldn’t afford to get you a decent gift. So, how bout this being your gift? The faggot. All yours to play with, however you want. Just don’t tell your mom.”
“Really, Pop? Mine? Totally mine? I can do anything?”
“Yup. Anything you want. You’re a man now. I won’t interfere. And I am pleased I could give you such a high-quality fag to celebrate your birthday. And such a pretty one, too.
“Pretty. Yeah. It’s real pretty, but I can fix that.”
Oscar stood in front of me and pulled out a small pen knife. He reached up and cut into my forehead. I screamed. He told me to shut up, but I kept screaming. He pulled off his tee shirt and stuffed it in my mouth. Pop said he had something better and walked a few feet away. He came back with something soft, smelly and putrid tasting, which he shoved into my mouth and then tied the tee shirt around my head as a gag.
“That should keep it quiet”
“What’d you put in its mouth?”
“Ha! One of those fag corpses over there, that’s decomposing? This is its half-rotted dick and balls. Figure this Caleb fag sucked on em once before and just might like to do it again.”
Oscar laughed as he continued cutting at my forehead, and then moved to my chest. He was obviously carving words but I couldn’t know what they were. Then he made a big circular cut on my belly.
Oscar and Pop sat on the slope of the ravine, about ten feet from me. Opened the paper bags and began to eat sandwiches. And drink whiskey. The old man slobbered mayo and mustard into his beard. They talked in a normal tone but I didn’t hear much of what they said. I was too busy thinking about my sad situation.
After eating their sandwiches, they smoked cigars. Oscar got up and walked slowly over to me. He was so ugly, and skinny, and smelled terrible. His skinny torso was also covered with tattoos. He leaned in so close I could smell his putrid breath in spite of the cigar smoke he kept blowing in my face.
“You don’t like me, do you? You think you’re superior to me. You think I’m just a little kid. You got money and education, and I ain’t got neither. You’re pretty and have muscles. I’m skinny and ugly. All true. But I’m superior to you for two reasons. First, you’re a faggot and I’m not. Second, you’re hanging buck naked from a tree and I got this here knife."
As he talked, Oscar kept running the tip of the knife over my belly. Not cutting, but just scratching the skin, drawing beads of blood. Up and down and across my ab muscles.
“Pop says you’re going to rot in Hell and suffer Lucifer’s fire for all eternity. But my Uncle Lem says there is no Hell, or Heaven for that matter. Now, I don’t know who’s right. Maybe there is and maybe there ain’t a Hell. But just in case Uncle Lem is right, I’m going to make sure you suffer the Torments of Hell right here, today, under this tree. You won’t die soon. Not til I let you. But you will surely suffer the Torments. Big Caleb. Queer Caleb. Hell is coming for you in the person of Little Oscar. I hate you, FAGGOT!”
He put his cigar on my nipple. The blood sizzled. My tit sizzled. My body jerked in the ropes. I tried to scream but the gag muffled it. Then he touched the cigar to my nose, and then to my chest and belly. He leaned close to my face again and I pulled back and closed my eyes.
“Don’t close your eyes, faggot! I want you to see me. You don’t like my looks? Think I’m ugly? Well, you will look at my ugly face as I drag you into Hell. Hey, Pop. You got your Army knife, the one with the little scissors?”
Pop tossed him the knife and Oscar pulled out the scissors. With two fingers, he pulled my eyelid out and snipped it off. It bled a little into my eye, but not much. Then he cut off the other one. With no eyelids, my eyes were permanently open. I saw everything that happened in front of me. Oscar and Pop sitting, drinking, smoking, talking, gesturing at me, laughing. I hung in front of them like a carcass in a slaughter house. Which I was. They were destroying the most precious thing I owned: my physical beauty. Tears began to run down my cheeks. Then soft sobs. And finally, bigger, louder, heaving sobs.
“See, Oscar. That’s another sign of a true faggot. When a real man is faced with bad times, he grits his teeth and suffers his fate. A queer just cries like a girl. Look at that, sobbing like your friend Melissa.”
“Seeing it cry like that makes me sick.”
“I like this cell phone. Much better than ours and probably cost a whole lot more. Let me try taking a picture. Good. It works. I’ll show Faggy what I got. Look, Fag. Here’s you.”
I looked at the phone and saw myself hanging naked. Then I saw the words. On my forehead, Oscar had carved “FAG”. My chest, “HOMO”. And a big “Q” on my belly. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. I’m really done. But at least they hadn’t inflicted real pain. Yet.
The two of them sat looking at me, occasionally talking. Sounded like they were discussing rabbits.
“I know how to do it, Pop. Watch.”
They stood beside me and Oscar pulled out the big knife. He brought it up to my side, below the armpit. Made a couple vertical cuts, all the way down to my hip. Shit, that stung! From the top, he began to slice slowly back and forth, under the skin. His fingers grabbed the skin and, slowly, deliberately, he pulled the strip of skin away from my torso. Oh, it was so fucking painful. I tried to scream through the gag. It stung and hurt so bad! But I couldn’t move much, the way I was tied. Finally, Oscar stood back and held up a long bloody strip my skin. He laid it over my shoulder and moved to my other side. He came away with another long strip which he laid on my other shoulder.
“See, Fag. I’m gonna skin you live. Partial, leastwise. But not yet. Hold the knife, Pop.”
He gave the knife to Pop and stood so close our noses touched, staring hard into my eyes. Then stepped back and kicked me in the nuts. I howled and could feel my vomit coming up into my gagged mouth. Pop knew what was happening and pulled the gag off, letting me puke. I must have let out a high-pitched squeal, because the two of them began to laugh. They sat on the slope again and watched my pain, exchanging swigs from the whiskey bottle. I remained slumped over, retching. I could see Oscar whittling away on a stick with his knife.
“Hey, Pop. I heard guys talk of beating up queers. You ever do that?”
“Once, in high school. Bunch of us caught a queer out by the filling station. Beat the shit out of it and then gang banged it.”
“You want to fuck this one?”
“Hell, no. I don’t fuck queers. I’d rather fuck em up. Just as soon kill em.”
“You ever kill one?”
“Well, yeah. Once. Bout ten years ago one tried to make nice with me at the Roadhouse. We went out back. Guess it was expecting to get my dick in its mouth but it got a knife in the belly instead. Jesus, I hate those fuckers. If I ever caught a faggot on my property, I’d throw it alive into the woodchipper, and use it as fertilizer.”
Oscar had a stick about two-feet long that he’d been whittling on, making a sharp point. He began to poke it into me. It hurt. My gut, chest, butt, back. Then my dick and balls. Jab, jab, jab, jab. No damage, just pain. But the damage came when he began to swing it, pummeling my body, from shins to shoulders. Then to the side of my head, my ears. That was serious pain.
“Does it hurt, Faggy? Bruises messing up your prettiness? I’ll fix your prettiness, fucker. How bout I puncture your bubble?”
He walked behind me and jammed the knife blade deep into my butt, the left cheek, puncturing the smooth round bubble, over and over. Then he sliced at the other cheek. I couldn’t see but I knew it was bad just from the pain and the blood I saw dripping into the dirt under me. He walked in front of me, spit in my eye, and slowly drew the knife down my face, eye to chin, making a big “X” on both cheeks. Put it to my nose and sliced off the tip. Then my nipples disappeared. He stared into my eyes for the longest time, with pure hatred. My eyes widened with fear as I watched the knife rise to the side of my head. He put the blade on top of my ear and, with a slow, deliberate sawing motion, sliced off my ear. Then he did the other ear and dropped them on the ground along with my nose and nipples, and ground them into the blood-soaked dirt with his boot. I was in physical pain, sure, but more psychologically devastated by the mutilation of my beautiful body. And by a fucking pimple-faced adolescent! A child half my age!
But he wasn’t through. He took the butt end of his knife handle and used it to hammer at my mouth. Cutting my lips and loosening some teeth. When I tried to keep my mouth clamped tight shut, he pulled a short stick from his pocket. It was one of the sticks he’d been whittling. About three inches long with sharp points on both ends. Grabbing my hair, he pulled my head back, forcing me to open my mouth. Then he wedged the stick in, the points digging into the roof and bottom, keeping my mouth wide open. The points were excruciatingly painful, but not as painful as what came next. I watched as he rummaged through his tackle box and pulled out some clippers, pruning clippers.
He knelt and lifted my left foot. His knife sliced at the soles of the foot, deep slashes from heel to toes. Then the other foot. The pain made me try to lift my feet from the ground, but I couldn’t keep both up at the same time, suspended only by my wrists. I had to stand on my feet but now my weight had become unbearable. Blood ran into the dirt, which turned it to red mud, which caused my feet to slip, aggravating the pain even more. He lifted one foot and methodically cut the toes off with the clippers. He stood up and I could see five toes in his palm. He picked one and tossed it into my open mouth. Told me to swallow, which I couldn’t. He dropped the other four toes in my mouth, pulled my head back so they rolled to the back of my throat, and poured in some whisky. Reflexively, I swallowed. My toes disappeared like gum drops. He knelt again and snipped off the other five toes. Again, into my mouth, and washed down my gullet with whisky. Tears ran down my cheeks, stinging the sliced skin. Pop was roaring with laughter.
Oscar giggled a bit and turned his attention to my mouth again. He fetched some pliers and began to pull on my teeth. His pimply face practically touched mine and his putrid breath drifted into my nostrils. He would clamp onto a tooth, yank back and forth, loosening it until it pulled out of my gums. One by one, so fucking painfully, every tooth in the front of my mouth was ripped out. Except one, which broke before he could get it out, so he left it there, sticking up. When he finally stopped, I had almost passed out from pain, and my mouth was a bloody void all across the front, except for the broken one.
“Give me the whiskey again, Pop.”
He hit my chin with his fist, then forced my head back and poured the whisky on my torn gums. I screamed as the alcohol burned and dribbled down my throat. Maybe, I prayed, all this whiskey will dull my pain. Oscar looked into my mouth for a while, spit into it, smiled, and ripped out the stick, the points tearing as they came out. Then he sat with Pop to sip whiskey, smoke cigars, and admire me.
“Son, you have surprised me. I’m fuckin proud of you. Didn’t know you had the imagination to do this. Or the inclination.”
Thanks, Pop. This is the best present I ever got. And I got lots more ideas. HEAR THAT FAG?”
“Well, you’ve used up our whisky on the fag, so I got to get some more from the truck. Don’t do anything while I’m gone. I don’t want to miss a thing.”
I hung limp, grateful for the respite. I still hurt badly but at least there was no new pain. I looked at Oscar, who was looking at me. No doubt, he was conjuring up new atrocities. I realized there were similarities between us. We both got off on torturing men. We both had vivid imaginations and inventive minds. Anything that could bring pain, we could imagine it. And do it. All we needed was a man’s body to work on. And we both had the talent to keep the pain going without let him die. But the difference between us was WHY we did it. I killed for love. I loved the man, or rather his body, a beautiful, smooth, muscular body. I wanted to take the beauty and destroy it, rip it apart, reduce the man to screams and tears, leaving a horrible pulpy mess that nowhere near resembled the beauty it once was. An agonizing death. But, I would consume the beauty. Yes, literally. Eat him. I have cannibal tastes. I killed beautiful men out of love. But Oscar kills for hate. He doesn’t appreciate beauty, my beauty. He was trained to hate me even before he ever set eyes on me. He’s doing to me exactly what I did to my victims, but my victims had to know how I loved and idolized their bodies. Oscar can’t appreciate what I am giving him with my pain.
Pop’s return jolted me from my reverie. They sat together, talking, smoking and drinking. Eventually, Oscar approached, cigar in hand. He touched it to my cockhead. I jumped and jerked about. Then he stopped and stood motionless, staring at my dick, frowning, thinking. Abruptly, he went off into the bushes and came back with an armful of dead branches and dry brush. He made a pile between my legs and lit it on fire. The flames shot up and licked at my my cock, my nuts, my thighs, my butt. Oh, fuck! This was the worst! I jerked and flailed helplessly in my ropes as Oscar and his Pop hooted and hollered and laughed.
“Yipeee! Look at Faggy dance for us! That how you dance at the disco, fag? Hey! Hey! Dancin queen! Dancin queer! O.K. Look! The flames are cooking his jewels, turning em crispy. And making the bloody ass sizzle. Yee Haw! Smell that, Oscar! Smell that! That’s the smell of a burning faggot! Don’t you love it?”
“Sure do, Pop. Smells bad at first but when you realize it’s a homo burning, then it’s the sweetest smell in the world!”
They sat and watched as I continued to twitch and jerk in the ropes, shrieking, breathing fast and heavy, unable to calm my body or my mind. My whole body continued to quiver uncontrollably even after the fire burned itself out. I moaned so loud and weirdly that Oscar shoved the tee-shirt back in my mouth to shut me up. Finally, I was able to calm a bit and the spasms stopped. That’s when Oscar got up, walked over, and calmly jammed his lit cigar into my left eye, grinding it into my eyeball, twisting it, pushing, melting. Through my pain and lurching, I watched him with my other eye, smiling, staring intently as he ground the cigar deeper into the sizzling orb. He was loving this moment. Finally, he stopped, looked intently, and spit a big loogie into the charred socket. It dribbled down my cheek as Oscar took a swig of whiskey and spit it into the ruined eye. It burned awful in the eye and as it ran down my slashed cheek.
“That should put the fire out. But don’t relax, Fag, we ain’t gonna cool down just yet.”
From the tackle box, he brought out a bicycle chain. Swung it in a circle over his head a few times, to be sure I could hear the whirring sound of it swishing through the air before it ripped into my side. Ahhhhh! Ahhhhh! Oh! Oh! No! Please! Don’t! Please! But it kept on coming. The worst pain yet! Again and again, Oscar whaled at my back, sides, belly, my legs, my arms, my torn-up ass. When he stopped, I slumped, limp. Where I could see, the skin was shredded. He dropped the chain, picked up his stick and began to whack the side of my head where the ear had been. Four or five times. Then the other side. The stick smacked my face, my cheeks, my jaw, my nose, my toothless mouth. He stopped.
“Don’t pass out, Faggy. Just relax. No more for now.”
I hung for a while, my full weight on my wrists. So painful. Yes, I could distinguish different pains or at least locations. I pulled myself up so I could put some weight on my feet, as painful as that was. I was in total misery, sobbing uncontrollably. Pop came over and began to touch my shredded skin.
“Hey, Pop. You shouldn’t touch a faggot like that, should you? Maybe catch something?”
“Nope. Nothing will happen. This here homo is too fucked up now to do anything that could turn us. Come on over and take a look at what happens when a fag goes up against God-fearing men.”
So both Oscar and Pop ran their hands over my torn body. Pulling at torn skin. Fingering welts. Rubbing blood. Some had dried, some still oozed, and some was running. They poked and pinched and pulled and occasionally punched. I think they were both turned on, in a way, by what had been done to me. Oscar’s hands seemed to linger from time to time, and when he turned away to get the whisky bottle, I saw a swell in his pants. Not that it gave me any satisfaction. I wanted to cut it off, but feared that could still be my fate. Pop stuck his finger into my empty socket.
“Gooey. Sticky. Never felt anything like that. But then, I never saw anyone put his cigar out that way. Boy, you have a talent. But don’t you think we should let the fag down, let it rest a tad?”
“Fuck, no. I’m doin nothin to make Caleb the Fag feel better. But I will be careful to keep it alive so I can try a few more things I’ve considered.”
“Like what?”
“Well, like this.”
Oscar disappeared behind me so I couldn’t see what was coming. He reached up and pulled on my hand and cut off a finger. FUCK! Then he was standing in front of me with my middle finger hanging from his lips like a cigarette. Like he was giving me the finger.
“Very good, son. Can I have one, too?”
“Yep.”
He went behind me and snipped off every one of my fingers and thumbs. I screamed again, and soon felt warm blood running down my arms. With my good eye, I saw it drizzling over my bicep into my armpit. He came around front with nine digits in his palm. Pop took one and put it between his teeth.
“We could fry these and chew on em during the NASCAR tomorrow.”
“Fuck no. I won’t eat no fag.
“Oh, you’re right. Probably taste like faggot shit.”
“Hey, Queer Caleb. You came here with a pretty face and big muscles. Well, your pretty face is pretty fucked up. Shit. Even I’m prettier than you now. But look at your muscles. Still hard, and big. Pop says you go to a gym to make them look nice. You done well. Impressive. Bet you get lots of fag dicks by showing them off. But not no more. Little Oscar is going to take care of these big fag muscles.”
Oscar’s knife began to slice into my pecs. Deep vertical cuts, followed by deep horizontal ones. When he finished, my pecs were like a checkerboard, square pieces of flesh, jiggling slightly when touched. He reached up and jabbed the knife deep into my bicep, and then again, and did it to the other bicep. He sliced my abs, too, but only lightly so as not to do serious damage to my gut. Then, on his knees, he stabbed at my calves and thighs. Stabbed them over and over. Shit, it hurts for a knife to slice into hard, solid muscle. Behind me, he slashed at my back. Don’t know what pattern he was carving but I knew it wasn’t nice, and it sure stung. And the whole time he was cutting me, he was muttering “Faggot, Faggot, Faggot”, over and over. Then he grabbed the bicycle chain and swung it into my back, messing it up further. My entire body was quivering in pain. I was screaming and crying. Oh, Christ! I was hurting so fucking bad!
How could this get worse? My hair was grabbed from behind and my head pulled back. I felt Oscar’s knife on my head. Oh, Jesus, Jesus! It hurts so fucking much! He jerked my head around and then let go. A minute later, I saw Oscar in front of me, with a huge grin on his face…….and my hair, my scalp, stuck on top of his skinhead skull. “Faggot!” Oh! Oh! Please let me die! Kill me! Don’t let me suffer any more! Please!
“Oscar, my boy, you look right nice with hair. Maybe you should grow yours out.
But Faggy here, it don’t look so handsome anymore. Here, I’ll use the phone to take its picture. Maybe a video this time.”
Pop aimed the phone at me and walked slowly closer, filming all of me. Up and down, front and back, from every angle. He finished with a closeup of my face. He punched the buttons and held it up so I could see what they had done to me. Oscar held my head so I couldn’t turn away from the horror. My gorgeous sculpted body, the very one that had enraptured Felipe just this morning, was gone. In its place I saw skin bruised purple and black, sliced and ripped and shredded. A thing with no teeth and cut cheeks. A powerful back now a bloody pulpy mass of mush. Luscious cock and balls burned black. A beautiful bubble butt shredded, unrecognizable. And a bald bloody head with no ears. I was no longer a man. They had turned me into a THING! An ugly, repulsive THING! From deep inside me came a howl of despair and anger and pain and disgust and horror. A primal scream that could have been heard for miles. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHGH!
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
“Oh, Lordy, Oscar. I think it’s pissed at you.”
I think I eventually passed out, totally spent from pain and grief from what I saw in the video. I became aware that they were both near me when I felt a sharp pain in my gut.
Oh, SHIT! The little prick had pushed the stick into my ass, and the point had poked through my colon and was working its way through my gut! Pushing, pushing. I could sense each time point broke through some tissue. Then I looked down to see the point poking at my belly skin from inside! Oscar struggled, banging on the end of the stick, and finally broke through. The goddam stick ran into my asshole and out my belly! The fuckers were beside themselves with joy. Laughin. Hollerin. Wiggling the point of the stick. Sliding the stick back and forth like it was fucking me.
“O.K. Oscar. Now pull the stick back out. You’ll see something you’d never imagine possible! That’s good. It’s out. Now, give me the knife. I’m going to make the belly hole just a tad bigger. There. Now look. Faggy is breathing hard so watch what happens now. There! See that yellow stuff beginning to ooze out? That’s guts. Intestines. They’ll squeeze through any opening in the belly. And since the fag is breathing hard, it’s actually helping force the guts through the hole!”
I could look down and see exactly that. My yellowish guts were slowly sliding out the hole in my belly, sort of in rhythm to my heavy panting. It would have been beautiful to watch if I were anywhere else. But I was beginning to lose it. Sinking. Vision beginning to blur. Oscar was whooping and bouncing in and out of my limited field of vision. I could see him grabbing at the emerging yellow mass, pulling on it, making it slide faster. Then I felt a sharp pain somewhere below and through my blood-covered eye, I saw Oscar holding up my singed cock and balls. Felt him shove them past my bloody gums and deep into my throat, gagging me. Still wearing my scalp, he smiled as he brought his knife close to my eye, and poked a couple times before pushing it in, slowly, through my eye and into my brain until it touched the back of my skull. I was suddenly feeling an excruciating pain a hundred times worse than anything else they had done to me. Scorching. Burning. Like my head was on fire. I heard a loud screeching sound. Me? It was so loud my brain seemed to vibrate. Through the searing pain and the screech, I could sense a knife slicing at my body, all over my body, up, down, front, back. I vaguely felt a sharp slice at my throat, and something warm pouring onto my chest.
Then nothing. Silence. Oblivion.
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