Call Me Caleb (2): Jason

callmecaleb

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Nick was the first and the best. I think we fell in love that night and I’m certain we both wanted the same scene. After all, he looked into my eyes and said, so sweetly, “I want to please you. Anything you want to do. I want to give you everything.” It was the greatest sex I ever had and nobody else has come close. Oh, sure, the others have been good, real good, but just not the same, not as totally satisfying. I guess what they say is true. The first time is the best, whether it’s the first man you kiss or the first man you kill.

The fantasies started when I was about six and culminated two years ago when I was 23. I met Nick with the intention of killing him but until I actually drugged him, I still wasn’t sure I could do it. But I did, and in two days of pure ecstasy, I turned that beautiful hunk of masculinity into a bloody butchered carcass. And I knew I would do it again.

There have been about a dozen guys since Nick. My adolescent mind had developed so many fantasies that I still haven’t fulfilled them all. And there are always new ones popping into my mind. But like I said, it’s not the same. If Nick was pure sexual ecstasy, the others have been more like masturbation, a great release but little more.

I’m 25, 6’1, 185, fortunate in my genes, in that I’m extremely good looking and have a near-perfect body. Classic proportions and absolutely smooth. No tattoos or facial hair. Quiet, good-humored and totally masculine. No affectations. Few know me. I work a consulting business out of my house, which is in an isolated area outside of town. My family lives a couple hundred miles away.

I can usually get any man I want, but don’t go out cruising much, and never use the web. I observe, and when I see a dude I like, I don’t try to meet him right away. I let him see me in some situation where I’m in a muscle tee, a tank top, or shirtless. I want him to want me. Then I wait for just the right moment to meet him, when nobody will see us together. Don’t engage in much conversation. Don’t try to learn much about him, or let him know me. It’s like “Call me Caleb. Want to come home?” There aren’t many guys out there who meet my standards. But I’m patient. I’ll wait for the perfect man. And when I get him, our time together is unforgettable.

Once I get them home, the routine is pretty much the same. Drug the beer, or whatever drink they want, do a little kissing and touching until the drug knocks them out, and then drag them to the playroom. Strip the dude naked, shoot a tube of fast-setting construction adhesive up his ass to, you know, keep any shit from happening, hang him by the wrists just off the floor, and then shave him smooth from the neck down. I like guys that look like me, handsome, smooth-shaven face, full head of hair, no tattoos, just smooth white skin on a classically muscular body. Which means there usually isn’t a lot to shave off except around the crotch, pits and legs. I inject liquid Viagra into the base of the cock to get it rock-hard, and then wrap him in my arms for a long time, holding him tight, caressing his smooth muscles with my hands and my mouth. It’s almost a spiritual experience, worship his masculinity, his final moments of masculine beauty.

I have a fully equipped playroom that Jake and I built. We loved doing all sorts of heavy stuff to each other in this room, alternating being top and bottom. I wonder sometimes if I’d have gotten into killing guys if Jake hadn’t died in that traffic accident. Who knows? Maybe we’d have taken that path together. After all, it was Jake who first got the drug to date rape some kid he brought home.

The ritual of destruction begins as they hand suspended. My first move is a hard punch into his relaxed belly. Punching a naked man was one of my earliest fantasies, and is still one of my greatest thrills. In fact, it’s a huge release of pent-up sexual desire that pulls me into this weird scene. A few more punches into the gut, ribs, and kidneys, and possibly a Billy club to the ribcage. Often, I’ll also suck his hard dick, scraping the shaft with my teeth, biting and chewing on the head. First blood flows down my throat. Then, before he comes off the drug, I arrange him into whatever position I’ve chosen to start the action.

Usually, inflicting pain isn’t my intention. I’m more interested in the act itself: the destruction of a beautiful male body, the broken limbs, the blood. Ah yes, the blood. I’m still amazed at how much a man has inside him. Nothing like the first warm splatter onto my face. Doesn’t take long into a session before I’m covered with it. Kinda like it. Love it, in fact. Crave its taste. Feel it spray into my face, mat my hair, dry crusty in my moustache. Guess I’m a little kinky.

Too bad Nick couldn’t have been my Prometheus, his perfect body regenerating itself after each session, so I would have my ideal man to destroy again and again. That way only Nick, and no other man, would suffer. With him, though, I tried very hard to prevent him from feeling excessive pain. Didn’t have morphine that night but kept injecting liquid Valium into him to help him cope. Now, I use a lot of morphine to both ease the pain and keep them quieter and motionless. I really get off on a deep masculine grunt or long low moans and groans. But not screaming, screeching or whimpering, which are not manly sounds. Of course, there are times I want a guy to feel pain in order for him to react in a way that arouses me.

Why is punching a guy so satisfying? I think it’s some sort of primal urge in men. Why else to guys fight so much? Or join fight clubs? Or film themselves gut punching on YouTube? I don’t think I’m all that unusual in the enjoyment of pummeling a dude, although I may take it to more extremes than others do. It’s really just a guy thing.

Punching Jason was especially satisfying. He was a really gorgeous dude, but way too full of himself and disdainful of everyone. When he came on to me, in a demeaning way, I was like, here’s my chance to rid the world of a classic asshole.

He ended up on his knees, wrists tied behind him to his ankles, and propped up so he couldn’t fall over. I ran a small chain into his mouth and fastened it tightly behind his head. “Jason, you’re an arrogant shit”, I whispered, “and I’m going to do what a lot of guys wish they could.” I hit upward on his chin with my palm a few times so his teeth could grind on the chain. Then I put on boxing gloves, ground a thumb into his eye, and began to punch his face. Lightly at first, just to make him feel it. Moving all around him, I hit his eyes, ears, jaw, top and back of his head. From every direction. Swelling began to occur on his face, especially around the eyes. Then purple bruising. Finally, I punched upwards on his chin so his teeth started to break against the chain.

After ten minutes my arms were so tired I had to stop. Amazing how much damage I’d done in that short time. He looked worse than a Rocky movie. Both eyes swollen shut. Blood dripping from his mouth, nose, and above one eye. He was still trying to say something through his broken teeth, maybe pleading, maybe being arrogant, but I couldn’t understand him and didn’t really care. I took a pin and poked at his swollen face. A red liquid oozed out of the bruised, swollen mess. Dripped down his face. I pressed my finger, forcing out even more of the liquid. Cool!

At that point, I pushed Jason forward. I ground my boot on the back of his head, jamming his face hard onto the floor, and then stomped his head a couple times. I heard his nose break and saw blood pooling around his face. He remained trussed with his wrists tied to his ankles, ass in the air. Couldn’t resist. I drove my boot into his ass five or six times. Then rolled him on his back and slipped my face between his legs and took his cock in my mouth and began to chew. As I bit into the cockhead, he felt a different kind of pain and the sounds from his mouth became higher pitched. He squirmed violently but couldn’t dislodge my mouth. Don’t know how long my frenzy lasted, but when I got up, his sac had been ripped open, his balls crushed flat, and his shaft skin torn off. Jason had passed out from pain, and I passed out from exhaustion.

Later, I propped him up again. He was still out and his head sagged forward. I drove my steel-toe boot up under his chin, breaking his jaw and a lot of teeth. Then again. Took off the chain and felt inside his mouth. Yeah, most of his teeth were busted or knocked out completely. Put the gloves on again and began again, smashing his head from every direction, until it was obvious his brain was mush and he was insensitive to anything I did to him.

I played with him for a couple more hours, kicking and stomping, cutting open the wounds on his face, and slicing his muscles with my knife. In the end, I untied him, laid him out and did something I’d fantasized for years. I plunged a butcher knife into his belly, between two of his six-packs, just below his navel, and twisted it. Then I shoved my dick into the hole and, with blood and soft intestines as a lubricant, fucked Jason’s guts. His life ended with my cum inside his belly.
 

callmecaleb

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Elite Member
Joined
Jan 13, 2012
Messages
3,438
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Bowels of Hell
Love the destruction of a beautiful male body.
It's my ultimate dream. Since I was six. Keeps me awake at night, thinking, fantasizing. Just reading the eight words deadleatherguy typed has gotten me hard.
 
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