Demolitions - Garth
There are tunnels that run through most port cities in this part of the world. Even into the late 20th century, men disappeared into those tunnels, awaking bound for the Chinese mainland. They were, as it was called, Shanghaied. Few were ever seen again. Demolitions still turn up hidden chambers upon hidden chambers beneath basements, with entrances to the tunnel labyrinth. At one time you could traverse most of this city underground, but many of those passages have been sealed or destroyed. It has been the city's policy to do so, to put an end to trafficking and mischief of all sorts.
But it is not as if they can ever police all of it; some tunnels thought to be destroyed never were. Some chambers remain open, many of which were never even reported to the city and remain known only to a select few. Men still disappear into those tunnels, but they never make it to sea. They are swallowed by the darkness.
Garth couldn't remember where he was last, and he had no idea where he was going. After a laced drink and a blow to the head, he could barely comprehend his current location: subterranean, cool, smelling of mold and harsh chemicals, unsanitary, dangerous. When he tried to remember clean air, he had a vague vision of the riverfront at twilight. As he sought for a spatial reference, he would lose track of the fact that he was still moving, but not of his own accord. He was being dragged by his legs and shoulders and couldn't move his hands. They were bound behind him. He would realize this, then forget as he attempted to comprehend his surroundings.
He could not see who was dragging him through this confusion. The voices, their threatening laughter and orders to not struggle were indistinct. In trying to concentrate on what had preceded, he saw glimpses of faces, somewhat familiar. It occurred to him that they might be men he had worked with on some construction job—and this was true. He didn't remember their names, but they knew his.
There were three of them, though only two had hands on him as they moved through the darkness. The other led the way with a halogen lantern. That was Cole, the one who had marked Garth for this fate. Cole didn't need much reason when he picked a man; he just needed to develop a vague dislike of his attitude while physically desiring him. Provided he saw a way to get his mark, he would. He had six able and murderous hands, after all.
Those other hands, now holding Garth in a bruising way, belonged to Logan and Gordon. Logan was a little older than Cole and had met Cole in a drug ring years before. The tunnels and chambers they were now using had been a secret stash before that ring was busted. Cole had been a low level enforcer and did a few years for his part in it. He was tall and lanky in a way that belied incredible strength. He had shielded Logan and for this he had earned Logan's loyalty. In shielding the younger Gordon in prison (in on burglary and assault) he had earned another loyal man.
There is no honor among thieves, they say, and even in this trio's case this was quite true. Cole knew how to manipulate, and Gordon and Logan were aggressive bruisers who yet wanted to follow someone else's lead. They would devour each other in the wrong circumstances, but so far their sadistic games had created something of a bloody bond among them. There was no profit in it and plenty of risk. It was necessary for them, though. A vent of hatred and instincts they could not face any other way than rape and murder.
Anyone would do for Gordon and Logan, especially among women. The thrill of forcing themselves on a man began purely as sadism and dominance, but they had developed an appetite for it independent of Cole, who did not desire female victims. Perhaps if someone cared to dig deeply enough, they might have uncovered resemblances between victims and past male figures in Cole's life, but I for one am willing to accept the existence of monsters, and Cole was simply a high-functioning, vain psychopath with peculiar tastes. He saw men in their prime as both objects and foes, and there was no overcoming that. All that brought him joy was the a lethal “ownership” of that other body.
Garth was indeed in his prime, to one who has a taste for men and not boys: late twenties, lean and broad-chested, tall and rugged...dumb and late to realize his own virility because of it and the dysfunction of his own upbringing. His dark green eyes peered our from the first hint of deepening crow's feet in a sun drenched face, beneath a fringe of thick brunette hair that joined two days of stubble along his strong, pointed jawline. Looking at him, no one would have guessed how unlucky he was with the ladies. And no one would have dared to imagine how unlucky he would be in other ways.
They had reached the door. Cole never bothered to lock it from the outside; anyone who might discover it would probably have a way to cut a lock. He opened the door and turned on a generator, then a spotlight on both sides of the door that crisscrossed the large chamber which sloped down into the edge of darkness, where it continued to slope downward to an unfinished floor. It was like this when he and some associates had found it, aside from a few modifications he had made to restrain victims—a few eye bolts, some pulleys, the usual. The hardest part had been adding some plumbing, leeching off a pipe that he had fed from the basement above the chamber, which sat beneath a bed and breakfast. (He had stayed there twice for the explicit purpose of the modification, which was not easy, but speaks both to his skill and his commitment to his purpose.) It gave him perverse pleasure to think that while people were having romantic honeymoons and romantic getaways above, he would be taking a man apart below. A tiny bit of sound travels through plumbing; perhaps the young couples might even hear on some almost intuitive level the screams emerge from a faucet as they fucked.
With the lights on, he whistled for the other two to drag Garth in, and as they pulled him to the center of the room, Cole locked the door behind them. No escapes, no interruptions. He considered this first part of the process a nuisance, so he just leaned against a cement partition and smoked a cigar, occasionally flexing and throwing a punch in the air to warm up for what was to come up next. Logan and Gordon dragged their dazed captive to the hose and forced him to his knees with ease. While Logan busied himself testing the water pressure and uncoiling the hose, Gordon tested the binds around Garth’s wrists, happily noting that the hands were already reddening with sharp constriction.
“Forehead to the floor, faggot,” he commanded, and received no response. A swift kick with the sole of his boot to Garth’s left shoulder blade did the trick. Garth landed on his shoulder, absorbing most of the impact, but his face planted painfully on the cold concrete a fraction of a second later. His brains rattled and he awkwardly drew his knees toward his chest to begin lifting himself, but the moment they were tucked under his torso, a boot landed on the back of his head, keeping him in place with his ass exposed just as they needed.
“Atta boy,” said Logan with a smirk, as he ran a steady stream of cool water over his fingertips and leered at the virgin hole puckering at him. “What a sight. From virgin to destroyed in one night. It doesn’t get better than this.”
Garth was coming around slowly, but not enough for even this blatant threat to fully register in his mind. Gordon’s boot grinding his head into the floor certainly wasn’t helping him comprehend the talk around him, though it spoke for itself quite eloquently.
“I think I need to pry him open a bit before I can fit the hose in,” Logan announced as he unbuckled his belt and opened the top of his jeans. His 8-inch prong was twice as thick as the hose, and the irony of the statement was not lost on Gordon. They shared a laugh as Garth squirmed beneath with his first cogent thoughts on what was actually happening. Logan lowered himself between Garth’s legs and grabbed the wrist binds beneath with his right hand, then lifted them, straining Garth’s arms as the man began to struggle in earnest...and in vain. With his left hand, Logan guided his fat cock directly onto its target, causing Garth to lurch forward and scream into his gag. His hole tightened as Logan pressed forward, gaining no entry for a moment. All Logan had to do, however, was yank the bound arms painfully up and forward with a quick pump of his corded biceps and Garth’s body opened with shock. The cock pierced in about three inches before the hole reflexively tightened again, pinching Logan’s cock almost painfully.
“Fuck, he’s got an angry, tight hole. But you know what they say...” He yanked on the arms and thrust forward in one movement, planting all but the last inch inside Garth, slamming into an interior wall and driving out a horrified bellow. The hole clamped down again and he withdrew a few inches, slowly, slowly, savoring the unbelievable tightness of the muscles in agony around his tool. “The tighter the cherry, the sweeter the juice.” He slammed his left fist into Garth’s left kidney, almost causing the man to vomit into his gag (which would have been dangerous). His hole spasmed open and Logan drove in, hitting a wall again an inch from the hilt.
“Guess that’s as good as it gets for now. And man, that’s fucking good.” He slowly drew out almost all the way, savoring the feel of the hole as it tightened again, but already not as strongly as before. He reached over and grabbed the running hose. As soon as he extracted the last inch of his cock, he jammed two inches of hose in, setting off a wild screech from Garth.
“This fucker is really in trouble if taking that hose is such a problem,” observed Gordon, while symbolically rubbing his fist. I am going to make such a mess of him. Logan only smiled in response as he fed another two inches into Garth, whose pucker was swelling and leaking a thin stream of water as he tried to expel the intruder. He was unwittingly aiding Logan. Before either man knew it, he had ten inches of hose embedded inside of him and filling his bowels with cold, cramping water.
Garth was spasming and sweating as his guts expanded violently. Cole was impatient as ever and called out, “Can you hurry up?”
Logan snickered. “Settle down man. We’ve got the hose running faster than it should.”
Gordon appended, “Faster than it should for people who wouldn’t want to rip him open. We just want to have something left, right man?”
Logan smiled and pumped his fist in the air. Cole grunted and went back to his cigar. Garth heard all of this, but the pain in his gut was keeping him most preoccupied, even as his terror and panic rose. It was the smallest relief when Logan ripped the hose out, letting him expel an initial burst of backwash from his shitter, but his intestines were still bloated with several liters, making it hard for him to move. Gordon hosed the sewage away while Logan straddled Garth and grabbed a handful of his hair, hauling the victim to a semi-upright position as more of the filthy water surged out of him.
“Push it out, whore, or I’ll punch it out of you.”
Garth didn’t need to be told to push out the distending fluid, but the added motivation made him strain a little harder, wreck himself a little more. When Garth’s gut was once again a contoured, concave slab of muscle, Logan pushed his forehead back to the floor and Gordon reinserted the hose into the red, pouting lips of his ass, pushing a groan of despair through Garth from his bowels up. Again, he was filled to bursting; again, he was lifted up and commanded to expel everything. The second time, however, Cole aided by pressing firmly against the bloated belly with his boot, then kicking him as it began to deflate noticeably. Garth’s abs were already starting to bruise by the time he was satisfactorily empty.
Cole smiled at the wheezing, dazed captive. “Clean enough for our purposes, wouldn’t you agree, boys?” A purely rhetorical question: He would not allow another purge. It was time to begin this ending.
Logan and Gordon dragged Garth to a stage of sorts, built from a reinforced loading palette and equipped with tethers, beneath other binds hanging from beams overhead. These were attached to Garth’s cuffs, hoisted, and clipped. Two others were wrapped around his ankles and pulled tight through eye rings drilled into the floor, six feet apart. They then further hoisted the tethers at his wrists, bringing him up on his knees, then to his feet, leaning out 45 degrees off the cement floor supported by his shoulders in demi-strappado. Pain surged through all his limbs and stretched hips, taking his mind off the continued ache of his guts, but only for a moment. Gordon was ready to take his turn on the spread hole still dribbling lukewarm water. His beer-can thick cock nuzzled against Garth’s cunt, and the three tormentors exchanged smiles as the bound man sobbed futilely into his gag. Even though his hole had already taken serious punishment and was loosened, both men had no choice but to take the entry slow. The excruciating process took a full minute of Gordon screwing in at different angles, clawing and slapping Garth’s trembling butt cheeks, and finally holding the hips in place as he drove in the last of 7 monstrously thick inches. Another minute had passed before he was actually able to fuck with any amount of rhythm (driving only about 3 inches in and out), and he kept that up for just a few minutes before deciding to give the other boys a go and he pulled his cock out.
“I know you’ll say No, but do you want to get in on this, Cole?”
Cole only smiled and shook his head. Logan was already moving in and soon Garth was again stuffed full. Logan was able to saw into Garth with long, full strokes thanks to the way Gordon had reamed and stretched Garth, and yet the hole was still exquisitely tight around him, oozing a little blood as the flesh began to tear. Logan punched, twisted, choked, brutalized the man beneath, making sure that he never had a chance to just float away and tune out what was happening to him. Garth was forced to remain present with the pain surging through his joints, searing his brain, making him go hoarse and half-blind as he screamed himself nigh unconscious.
It only took a few minutes before his hips were banged out of place, until it felt like a blowtorch was pulsing into his joints at every thrust. The tethers were tightened gradually until the ligaments ripped in their sockets, forcing Garth's body to sag even deeper and his shoulders to bear even more weight as they too began to unravel, bone against bone. It became clear to Garth that this was not merely rape, but a protracted murder, and there was no escape or mercy.
Logan roared and longdicked his victim as he came, painting the red tunnel white and slicking it up for Gordon. Garth could feel it all: a warm torrent bathing his insides that could have been soothing had it not been so degrading and, in the back of his mind, signaled that they were one step closer to being finished with him...to him being finished. He didn’t have much time to contemplate this before Gordon’s spike was tearing into him, turning his anus to a bloody, puffy, burning core of pain that ascended his spine and radiated through his torn hips, which were darkening where the ligaments had been torn. Gordon made sure to complete churn the soft tissue of his ass, thrust thick fingers alongside his massive cock. He drew them out, wet with blood and sweat and Logan’s frothy jizz, then smeared the mixture into Garth’s eyes and under his nose. The acrid mixture sizzled in his nostrils and blurred his vision with tears.
Meanwhile, Cole’s impatience got the best of him and he started punching Garth’s chest and stomach, knocking the wind out of him and mercifully bringing him close to unconsciousness—but not all the way. When Gordon finally unloaded, mucking up interior wounds with a thick, heavy load saved up over 5 days, Garth was starting to go catatonic. The men had to remedy that, so at last the tethers were released. Their victim crumpled to the floor with a thud and a groan, and they flipped him over to wake him up. One, then two, then three streams of piss pounded his face and neck. He could not breathe, and in his binds on the concrete floor he was effectively waterboarded by their heavy urine.
When his shower ceased, his chest was heaving erratically, his eyes wide with terror. Though he could barely move his unhinged legs and doing so brought searing pain, the flight instinct kicked in and he splayed and kicked his quite useless limbs. He managed to push himself three inches along while the men looked down and smiled. Cole was thrilled. His turn had come.
He knelt between the twitching legs and looked down the sopping, twisting torso before him. He took a deep breath, savoring the aromatic piss and fear.
“From day one, I knew I’d get you. I knew I’d demolish you. You think the worst is over, but you have no idea. I’m starting...right...” a hand slid along Garth’s inner thigh. “Now.”
It snatched, pulled, crushed Garth’s testicles, causing him to arch his back, ripping more at the ligaments in his hips and exposing his bleeding hole which Cole deftly jammed with four fingers. Garth’s reflexes tried to yank his body back down and away, but the grip on his balls held tight. He did not budge, only strained his body further as Cole folded a thumb across his palm and slid his hand fully into the rupturing muscle. Cole’s corded arms bulged with disciplined power, holding Garth in place within and without as he began to pump deeper and deeper.
Prior to this, the wounds were the sort that would debilitate and cripple. They were not life-threatening or ending. The torturers collectively understood that the more fatal wounds would be Cole’s job. It was Cole who not only wanted but needed to have blood on his hands. He wasted no time in achieving that. Garth’s insides were like a wet furnace around his hand, thoroughly slicked with cum and mucous, but only tinged with blood. This made it easy for Cole to escalate from a smooth but abrupt fisting session into a brutal punch fuck. Garth struggled to breathe at first from the pain in his testicles, and he could only shallowly gasp in horror as he saw his lower belly bulge with the impact of Cole’s fist within him.
The first dozen times were a pain that somehow seemed distant and secondary to the other pain he felt, as if they were happening miles within him, a howl from deep within barely registered. But then something tangibly broke within him. Cole laughed as he felt it happen, a rupture in Garth’s guts that bathed his fist in fluid to the elbow. He had made it that far in before Garth had broken and now the damage was irreparable.
“You’re a dead man now,” he sneered. Rather than drawing out, he pushed his arm further in, just to see how far he could get without meeting much resistance. To his delight and Garth’s horror, he didn’t meet much resistance at all. His hand brushed over the coils of Garth’s small intestines and internal organs, triggering involuntary spasms in his victim. Neither man, however, could take his eyes off the visible lump of Cole’s fist moving just beneath Garth’s once perfect abs, distending the corrugated muscles obscenely. Cole had to bend his elbow inside Garth to keep pushing deeper, further ripping the rectum into a tattered flap and bathing everything in a wash of blood. The pressure building put strain on the dying man’s diaphragm, making it even harder to breathe, but still he wheezed, gazing in stupefied horror at the churning lump of muscled arm bloating his gut. He couldn’t feel it when Cole grabbed handfuls of tissue and squeezed and pulled them as he continued his punch fuck up to his shoulder. Organs detached, crumbled between his digging fingers, but Garth didn’t feel any specific pain. He felt a coldness creeping over his body. His feet had long since gone numb and that numbness was slowly taking over all of his limbs. Things were shutting down, but still his mind frantically witnessed and tried to process everything that was happening.
He was babbling and drooling by the time that Cole began inserting his other hand. He had pulled the left out to the elbow—biceps dripping with blood and sweat—and inserted his flattened palm alongside the joint. He pressed and with some coercion he managed to get the fingers in up to the crook of his thumb. He pulled the muscle apart proving enough room to slide the thumb inside and then began to work the rest of the arm in. Garth began howling again, fresh pain coursing around his ass as his anus ripped. The flesh tore up toward his perineum as Cole flexed and forced both arms in past their elbows. Both hands gripped the small intestine firmly as he extracted the arms. The grip in his right hand yielded nothing as the tissue tore as he pulled, but his left hand triumphantly yanked a length of Garth’ stink tube fully out into the open.
Gordon and Logan were not repulsed, but they couldn’t help but grimace. They admired Cole’s handiwork for a moment as the sadist panted and gloated at Garth over the man’s blackened belly, where hemorrhages now spattered his sunken abs.
“Ready to finish this, Cole?” Gordon asked.
“Oh yeah,” he breathed. “Bring it out.”
“It” was something Garth had used earlier that day. “It” was the sort of thing that some men foolishly might have fantasized about putting inside themselves. “It” was going to obliterate Garth from the inside.
A concrete vibrator: The large metal head of it glistened pristinely. With a firm grip, Logan pumped it a few times to make sure it was operating properly. Garth wanted to scream, but didn’t have the strength. He just vomited blood onto his chest.
“May I do the honors?” Logan asked. Cole raised his burly arms, allowing the blood that coated them to dribble down his sides, into his pits. He nodded with a smile. Logan moved in and wasted no time slamming the full length of the head into Garth. All four men held their breath for a moment of stillness and silence. Logan had the device set to its lowest power (which isn’t saying much) and turned it on.
Garth’s body jarred upwards and seemed to seizure, though it was all by force of the device alone. The men heard a bone crack. It was not part of Garth’s pelvis.
The machine halted for a moment. Garth breathed deeply, sobbed, and tried to inhale again but choked on a fresh flow of blood that shot out his nostrils.
“Finish this,” Gordon said.
“Good night, Garth,” Logan said.
The vibrator kicked on again at full power. Inside Garth, the steel head slammed around, obliterating everything, snapping his spine at the base and churning what remained of his kidneys, liver, and intestines into a bloody paste. Pancreas was beaten to pulp in seconds, and the vibrations made it impossible to breathe. The vibrations were not contained to this part of him, of course. In his skull, his teeth splintered and his neck was whipped about near to snapping. Nothing but pain and despair filled his mind. He was suffocating, no longer drowning in blood as he could not even attempt to breathe. But it was not this that ended Garth. The vibrations were simply too much for his heart after all the other shocks it had endured and it simply stopped beating just short of a minute after the vibrations began. His body seized suddenly and a geyser of blood shot from his mouth.
The men did not know that Garth was medically dead at this point, and Logan plowed the device in and out of the torn hole, widening the tear in his taint and spewing an intestinal slurry out of the crack. Two minutes of demolition passed before Logan shut off the vibrator and the three men gazed on. They would have been shocked to see signs of breathing. There were none. The vibrator came out with a swell of blood and pulverized tissue.
As gruesome as this was, Logan and Gordon were still shaking with anticipation for the grand finale.
“Ready to get your nut, Cole?” Gordon asked, well knowing the answer. For Cole had already picked up the circular saw and was advancing toward Garth’s body. Without a word, he knelt and turned on the blade, staring with a hunger at the lightless eyes, the rugged beauty of the blood spattered, sunken face, the mouth still half open and drooling blood. The blade met flesh just beneath the ear, along the mandible and moved across the cheeks, just beneath Garth’s upper teeth. Another cut went through the base of Garth’s jaw to the neck until the entire thing had been removed down to the Adam’s apple. Trachea and esophagus were both visible, begging to be filled as Cole saw it. He whipped out his thick cock and smeared it with blood, then straddled Garth’s dead head and lowered himself. Garth’s upper teeth scraped along his testicles and ass, just the feeling he wanted before he plunged his cock into the bleeding tube.
The throat bulged around the intrusion, rhythmically inflating and deflating as it was fucked. Almost like taking breaths or gulps, it pulsed with a life for the last time, though it was a murderous life not of its own body.
“Oh fuck, Garth. You are fucking flawless. You were fucking beautiful. God fucking damn I love this. I love your fucking throat on my cock. Wish I could kill you every night, you hot piece of shit. Fuck.”
Gordon and Logan were entranced by the spectacle and jerked each other off as they watched their companion sweat and swear as he plowed dead flesh. There were so many desecrations they could visit on the body, but this seemed perfect to them.
Cole wanted to savor the moment, but he couldn’t hold off long before shooting a load deep into Garth’s blood-soaked lungs. That didn’t stop him from fucking though. His roars and convulsions were a brutal turn on to watch and Gordon shot off in Logan’s hand just seeing his mate blow deep into the corpse, but Cole kept fucking. Gordon dropped to his knees and sucked his jizz from Logan’s hand, then spat the wad over Logan’s cock and began a sensuous deepthroat. Logan’s eyes rolled back in his head and he moaned. When he looked at Cole, his mate’s were locked on his with a wicked grin. The thought was clear to both of them—deepthroat for each, but in peculiar ways. Sweat dripped from Cole’s hard brow as he laughed through gritted teeth, continuing to fuck Garth’s body.
He and Logan panted harder and harder and came nearly in unison into their respective cum dumps, howling primally. Cole had put two loads in that end to match the ones that Logan and Gordon had planted in the now utterly demolished back end. Cole drew his cock out slowly, watching the throat collapse bit by bit until the head was dragged out, still tethered to the hot innards by a thick strand of bloodied jizz. It snapped over Garth's nose, glistening atop the sprays of blood that ran over the entire face and were spreading still beneath the head. When Cole stood and looked down, the eyes were staring straight up into his. He wished for a flicker of life in them, just so he could see it go out again.
Gordon and Logan moved forward and each grabbed one of Garth's legs. They dragged it to a pit on the far side, filled with loose earth and quicklime. Together, they swung the body around and it collapsed in a mangled heap, stirring a whitish cloud. They slipped on masks and coveralls while the dust settled, then returned to the pit and peered in. A wrinkled, stiff hand protruded by Garth's head. A leg was twisted under one of his. The two began shoveling dirt and lime into the pit, covering Garth only partially.
They slid a cover over it then rinsed off with their gear still on. After undressing again, Gordon remarked to Cole, “Pit's getting full.”
Cole, still sticky with drying blood, was enjoying his cigar. He shrugged. “Still plenty of room.”
“Got someone in mind?” asked Gordon.
Cole smiled. “Oh, I think we all know who's next.”
Gordon and Logan exchanged glances and laughed. In unison they said, “Greg.”
There are tunnels that run through most port cities in this part of the world. Even into the late 20th century, men disappeared into those tunnels, awaking bound for the Chinese mainland. They were, as it was called, Shanghaied. Few were ever seen again. Demolitions still turn up hidden chambers upon hidden chambers beneath basements, with entrances to the tunnel labyrinth. At one time you could traverse most of this city underground, but many of those passages have been sealed or destroyed. It has been the city's policy to do so, to put an end to trafficking and mischief of all sorts.
But it is not as if they can ever police all of it; some tunnels thought to be destroyed never were. Some chambers remain open, many of which were never even reported to the city and remain known only to a select few. Men still disappear into those tunnels, but they never make it to sea. They are swallowed by the darkness.
Garth couldn't remember where he was last, and he had no idea where he was going. After a laced drink and a blow to the head, he could barely comprehend his current location: subterranean, cool, smelling of mold and harsh chemicals, unsanitary, dangerous. When he tried to remember clean air, he had a vague vision of the riverfront at twilight. As he sought for a spatial reference, he would lose track of the fact that he was still moving, but not of his own accord. He was being dragged by his legs and shoulders and couldn't move his hands. They were bound behind him. He would realize this, then forget as he attempted to comprehend his surroundings.
He could not see who was dragging him through this confusion. The voices, their threatening laughter and orders to not struggle were indistinct. In trying to concentrate on what had preceded, he saw glimpses of faces, somewhat familiar. It occurred to him that they might be men he had worked with on some construction job—and this was true. He didn't remember their names, but they knew his.
There were three of them, though only two had hands on him as they moved through the darkness. The other led the way with a halogen lantern. That was Cole, the one who had marked Garth for this fate. Cole didn't need much reason when he picked a man; he just needed to develop a vague dislike of his attitude while physically desiring him. Provided he saw a way to get his mark, he would. He had six able and murderous hands, after all.
Those other hands, now holding Garth in a bruising way, belonged to Logan and Gordon. Logan was a little older than Cole and had met Cole in a drug ring years before. The tunnels and chambers they were now using had been a secret stash before that ring was busted. Cole had been a low level enforcer and did a few years for his part in it. He was tall and lanky in a way that belied incredible strength. He had shielded Logan and for this he had earned Logan's loyalty. In shielding the younger Gordon in prison (in on burglary and assault) he had earned another loyal man.
There is no honor among thieves, they say, and even in this trio's case this was quite true. Cole knew how to manipulate, and Gordon and Logan were aggressive bruisers who yet wanted to follow someone else's lead. They would devour each other in the wrong circumstances, but so far their sadistic games had created something of a bloody bond among them. There was no profit in it and plenty of risk. It was necessary for them, though. A vent of hatred and instincts they could not face any other way than rape and murder.
Anyone would do for Gordon and Logan, especially among women. The thrill of forcing themselves on a man began purely as sadism and dominance, but they had developed an appetite for it independent of Cole, who did not desire female victims. Perhaps if someone cared to dig deeply enough, they might have uncovered resemblances between victims and past male figures in Cole's life, but I for one am willing to accept the existence of monsters, and Cole was simply a high-functioning, vain psychopath with peculiar tastes. He saw men in their prime as both objects and foes, and there was no overcoming that. All that brought him joy was the a lethal “ownership” of that other body.
Garth was indeed in his prime, to one who has a taste for men and not boys: late twenties, lean and broad-chested, tall and rugged...dumb and late to realize his own virility because of it and the dysfunction of his own upbringing. His dark green eyes peered our from the first hint of deepening crow's feet in a sun drenched face, beneath a fringe of thick brunette hair that joined two days of stubble along his strong, pointed jawline. Looking at him, no one would have guessed how unlucky he was with the ladies. And no one would have dared to imagine how unlucky he would be in other ways.
They had reached the door. Cole never bothered to lock it from the outside; anyone who might discover it would probably have a way to cut a lock. He opened the door and turned on a generator, then a spotlight on both sides of the door that crisscrossed the large chamber which sloped down into the edge of darkness, where it continued to slope downward to an unfinished floor. It was like this when he and some associates had found it, aside from a few modifications he had made to restrain victims—a few eye bolts, some pulleys, the usual. The hardest part had been adding some plumbing, leeching off a pipe that he had fed from the basement above the chamber, which sat beneath a bed and breakfast. (He had stayed there twice for the explicit purpose of the modification, which was not easy, but speaks both to his skill and his commitment to his purpose.) It gave him perverse pleasure to think that while people were having romantic honeymoons and romantic getaways above, he would be taking a man apart below. A tiny bit of sound travels through plumbing; perhaps the young couples might even hear on some almost intuitive level the screams emerge from a faucet as they fucked.
With the lights on, he whistled for the other two to drag Garth in, and as they pulled him to the center of the room, Cole locked the door behind them. No escapes, no interruptions. He considered this first part of the process a nuisance, so he just leaned against a cement partition and smoked a cigar, occasionally flexing and throwing a punch in the air to warm up for what was to come up next. Logan and Gordon dragged their dazed captive to the hose and forced him to his knees with ease. While Logan busied himself testing the water pressure and uncoiling the hose, Gordon tested the binds around Garth’s wrists, happily noting that the hands were already reddening with sharp constriction.
“Forehead to the floor, faggot,” he commanded, and received no response. A swift kick with the sole of his boot to Garth’s left shoulder blade did the trick. Garth landed on his shoulder, absorbing most of the impact, but his face planted painfully on the cold concrete a fraction of a second later. His brains rattled and he awkwardly drew his knees toward his chest to begin lifting himself, but the moment they were tucked under his torso, a boot landed on the back of his head, keeping him in place with his ass exposed just as they needed.
“Atta boy,” said Logan with a smirk, as he ran a steady stream of cool water over his fingertips and leered at the virgin hole puckering at him. “What a sight. From virgin to destroyed in one night. It doesn’t get better than this.”
Garth was coming around slowly, but not enough for even this blatant threat to fully register in his mind. Gordon’s boot grinding his head into the floor certainly wasn’t helping him comprehend the talk around him, though it spoke for itself quite eloquently.
“I think I need to pry him open a bit before I can fit the hose in,” Logan announced as he unbuckled his belt and opened the top of his jeans. His 8-inch prong was twice as thick as the hose, and the irony of the statement was not lost on Gordon. They shared a laugh as Garth squirmed beneath with his first cogent thoughts on what was actually happening. Logan lowered himself between Garth’s legs and grabbed the wrist binds beneath with his right hand, then lifted them, straining Garth’s arms as the man began to struggle in earnest...and in vain. With his left hand, Logan guided his fat cock directly onto its target, causing Garth to lurch forward and scream into his gag. His hole tightened as Logan pressed forward, gaining no entry for a moment. All Logan had to do, however, was yank the bound arms painfully up and forward with a quick pump of his corded biceps and Garth’s body opened with shock. The cock pierced in about three inches before the hole reflexively tightened again, pinching Logan’s cock almost painfully.
“Fuck, he’s got an angry, tight hole. But you know what they say...” He yanked on the arms and thrust forward in one movement, planting all but the last inch inside Garth, slamming into an interior wall and driving out a horrified bellow. The hole clamped down again and he withdrew a few inches, slowly, slowly, savoring the unbelievable tightness of the muscles in agony around his tool. “The tighter the cherry, the sweeter the juice.” He slammed his left fist into Garth’s left kidney, almost causing the man to vomit into his gag (which would have been dangerous). His hole spasmed open and Logan drove in, hitting a wall again an inch from the hilt.
“Guess that’s as good as it gets for now. And man, that’s fucking good.” He slowly drew out almost all the way, savoring the feel of the hole as it tightened again, but already not as strongly as before. He reached over and grabbed the running hose. As soon as he extracted the last inch of his cock, he jammed two inches of hose in, setting off a wild screech from Garth.
“This fucker is really in trouble if taking that hose is such a problem,” observed Gordon, while symbolically rubbing his fist. I am going to make such a mess of him. Logan only smiled in response as he fed another two inches into Garth, whose pucker was swelling and leaking a thin stream of water as he tried to expel the intruder. He was unwittingly aiding Logan. Before either man knew it, he had ten inches of hose embedded inside of him and filling his bowels with cold, cramping water.
Garth was spasming and sweating as his guts expanded violently. Cole was impatient as ever and called out, “Can you hurry up?”
Logan snickered. “Settle down man. We’ve got the hose running faster than it should.”
Gordon appended, “Faster than it should for people who wouldn’t want to rip him open. We just want to have something left, right man?”
Logan smiled and pumped his fist in the air. Cole grunted and went back to his cigar. Garth heard all of this, but the pain in his gut was keeping him most preoccupied, even as his terror and panic rose. It was the smallest relief when Logan ripped the hose out, letting him expel an initial burst of backwash from his shitter, but his intestines were still bloated with several liters, making it hard for him to move. Gordon hosed the sewage away while Logan straddled Garth and grabbed a handful of his hair, hauling the victim to a semi-upright position as more of the filthy water surged out of him.
“Push it out, whore, or I’ll punch it out of you.”
Garth didn’t need to be told to push out the distending fluid, but the added motivation made him strain a little harder, wreck himself a little more. When Garth’s gut was once again a contoured, concave slab of muscle, Logan pushed his forehead back to the floor and Gordon reinserted the hose into the red, pouting lips of his ass, pushing a groan of despair through Garth from his bowels up. Again, he was filled to bursting; again, he was lifted up and commanded to expel everything. The second time, however, Cole aided by pressing firmly against the bloated belly with his boot, then kicking him as it began to deflate noticeably. Garth’s abs were already starting to bruise by the time he was satisfactorily empty.
Cole smiled at the wheezing, dazed captive. “Clean enough for our purposes, wouldn’t you agree, boys?” A purely rhetorical question: He would not allow another purge. It was time to begin this ending.
Logan and Gordon dragged Garth to a stage of sorts, built from a reinforced loading palette and equipped with tethers, beneath other binds hanging from beams overhead. These were attached to Garth’s cuffs, hoisted, and clipped. Two others were wrapped around his ankles and pulled tight through eye rings drilled into the floor, six feet apart. They then further hoisted the tethers at his wrists, bringing him up on his knees, then to his feet, leaning out 45 degrees off the cement floor supported by his shoulders in demi-strappado. Pain surged through all his limbs and stretched hips, taking his mind off the continued ache of his guts, but only for a moment. Gordon was ready to take his turn on the spread hole still dribbling lukewarm water. His beer-can thick cock nuzzled against Garth’s cunt, and the three tormentors exchanged smiles as the bound man sobbed futilely into his gag. Even though his hole had already taken serious punishment and was loosened, both men had no choice but to take the entry slow. The excruciating process took a full minute of Gordon screwing in at different angles, clawing and slapping Garth’s trembling butt cheeks, and finally holding the hips in place as he drove in the last of 7 monstrously thick inches. Another minute had passed before he was actually able to fuck with any amount of rhythm (driving only about 3 inches in and out), and he kept that up for just a few minutes before deciding to give the other boys a go and he pulled his cock out.
“I know you’ll say No, but do you want to get in on this, Cole?”
Cole only smiled and shook his head. Logan was already moving in and soon Garth was again stuffed full. Logan was able to saw into Garth with long, full strokes thanks to the way Gordon had reamed and stretched Garth, and yet the hole was still exquisitely tight around him, oozing a little blood as the flesh began to tear. Logan punched, twisted, choked, brutalized the man beneath, making sure that he never had a chance to just float away and tune out what was happening to him. Garth was forced to remain present with the pain surging through his joints, searing his brain, making him go hoarse and half-blind as he screamed himself nigh unconscious.
It only took a few minutes before his hips were banged out of place, until it felt like a blowtorch was pulsing into his joints at every thrust. The tethers were tightened gradually until the ligaments ripped in their sockets, forcing Garth's body to sag even deeper and his shoulders to bear even more weight as they too began to unravel, bone against bone. It became clear to Garth that this was not merely rape, but a protracted murder, and there was no escape or mercy.
Logan roared and longdicked his victim as he came, painting the red tunnel white and slicking it up for Gordon. Garth could feel it all: a warm torrent bathing his insides that could have been soothing had it not been so degrading and, in the back of his mind, signaled that they were one step closer to being finished with him...to him being finished. He didn’t have much time to contemplate this before Gordon’s spike was tearing into him, turning his anus to a bloody, puffy, burning core of pain that ascended his spine and radiated through his torn hips, which were darkening where the ligaments had been torn. Gordon made sure to complete churn the soft tissue of his ass, thrust thick fingers alongside his massive cock. He drew them out, wet with blood and sweat and Logan’s frothy jizz, then smeared the mixture into Garth’s eyes and under his nose. The acrid mixture sizzled in his nostrils and blurred his vision with tears.
Meanwhile, Cole’s impatience got the best of him and he started punching Garth’s chest and stomach, knocking the wind out of him and mercifully bringing him close to unconsciousness—but not all the way. When Gordon finally unloaded, mucking up interior wounds with a thick, heavy load saved up over 5 days, Garth was starting to go catatonic. The men had to remedy that, so at last the tethers were released. Their victim crumpled to the floor with a thud and a groan, and they flipped him over to wake him up. One, then two, then three streams of piss pounded his face and neck. He could not breathe, and in his binds on the concrete floor he was effectively waterboarded by their heavy urine.
When his shower ceased, his chest was heaving erratically, his eyes wide with terror. Though he could barely move his unhinged legs and doing so brought searing pain, the flight instinct kicked in and he splayed and kicked his quite useless limbs. He managed to push himself three inches along while the men looked down and smiled. Cole was thrilled. His turn had come.
He knelt between the twitching legs and looked down the sopping, twisting torso before him. He took a deep breath, savoring the aromatic piss and fear.
“From day one, I knew I’d get you. I knew I’d demolish you. You think the worst is over, but you have no idea. I’m starting...right...” a hand slid along Garth’s inner thigh. “Now.”
It snatched, pulled, crushed Garth’s testicles, causing him to arch his back, ripping more at the ligaments in his hips and exposing his bleeding hole which Cole deftly jammed with four fingers. Garth’s reflexes tried to yank his body back down and away, but the grip on his balls held tight. He did not budge, only strained his body further as Cole folded a thumb across his palm and slid his hand fully into the rupturing muscle. Cole’s corded arms bulged with disciplined power, holding Garth in place within and without as he began to pump deeper and deeper.
Prior to this, the wounds were the sort that would debilitate and cripple. They were not life-threatening or ending. The torturers collectively understood that the more fatal wounds would be Cole’s job. It was Cole who not only wanted but needed to have blood on his hands. He wasted no time in achieving that. Garth’s insides were like a wet furnace around his hand, thoroughly slicked with cum and mucous, but only tinged with blood. This made it easy for Cole to escalate from a smooth but abrupt fisting session into a brutal punch fuck. Garth struggled to breathe at first from the pain in his testicles, and he could only shallowly gasp in horror as he saw his lower belly bulge with the impact of Cole’s fist within him.
The first dozen times were a pain that somehow seemed distant and secondary to the other pain he felt, as if they were happening miles within him, a howl from deep within barely registered. But then something tangibly broke within him. Cole laughed as he felt it happen, a rupture in Garth’s guts that bathed his fist in fluid to the elbow. He had made it that far in before Garth had broken and now the damage was irreparable.
“You’re a dead man now,” he sneered. Rather than drawing out, he pushed his arm further in, just to see how far he could get without meeting much resistance. To his delight and Garth’s horror, he didn’t meet much resistance at all. His hand brushed over the coils of Garth’s small intestines and internal organs, triggering involuntary spasms in his victim. Neither man, however, could take his eyes off the visible lump of Cole’s fist moving just beneath Garth’s once perfect abs, distending the corrugated muscles obscenely. Cole had to bend his elbow inside Garth to keep pushing deeper, further ripping the rectum into a tattered flap and bathing everything in a wash of blood. The pressure building put strain on the dying man’s diaphragm, making it even harder to breathe, but still he wheezed, gazing in stupefied horror at the churning lump of muscled arm bloating his gut. He couldn’t feel it when Cole grabbed handfuls of tissue and squeezed and pulled them as he continued his punch fuck up to his shoulder. Organs detached, crumbled between his digging fingers, but Garth didn’t feel any specific pain. He felt a coldness creeping over his body. His feet had long since gone numb and that numbness was slowly taking over all of his limbs. Things were shutting down, but still his mind frantically witnessed and tried to process everything that was happening.
He was babbling and drooling by the time that Cole began inserting his other hand. He had pulled the left out to the elbow—biceps dripping with blood and sweat—and inserted his flattened palm alongside the joint. He pressed and with some coercion he managed to get the fingers in up to the crook of his thumb. He pulled the muscle apart proving enough room to slide the thumb inside and then began to work the rest of the arm in. Garth began howling again, fresh pain coursing around his ass as his anus ripped. The flesh tore up toward his perineum as Cole flexed and forced both arms in past their elbows. Both hands gripped the small intestine firmly as he extracted the arms. The grip in his right hand yielded nothing as the tissue tore as he pulled, but his left hand triumphantly yanked a length of Garth’ stink tube fully out into the open.
Gordon and Logan were not repulsed, but they couldn’t help but grimace. They admired Cole’s handiwork for a moment as the sadist panted and gloated at Garth over the man’s blackened belly, where hemorrhages now spattered his sunken abs.
“Ready to finish this, Cole?” Gordon asked.
“Oh yeah,” he breathed. “Bring it out.”
“It” was something Garth had used earlier that day. “It” was the sort of thing that some men foolishly might have fantasized about putting inside themselves. “It” was going to obliterate Garth from the inside.
A concrete vibrator: The large metal head of it glistened pristinely. With a firm grip, Logan pumped it a few times to make sure it was operating properly. Garth wanted to scream, but didn’t have the strength. He just vomited blood onto his chest.
“May I do the honors?” Logan asked. Cole raised his burly arms, allowing the blood that coated them to dribble down his sides, into his pits. He nodded with a smile. Logan moved in and wasted no time slamming the full length of the head into Garth. All four men held their breath for a moment of stillness and silence. Logan had the device set to its lowest power (which isn’t saying much) and turned it on.
Garth’s body jarred upwards and seemed to seizure, though it was all by force of the device alone. The men heard a bone crack. It was not part of Garth’s pelvis.
The machine halted for a moment. Garth breathed deeply, sobbed, and tried to inhale again but choked on a fresh flow of blood that shot out his nostrils.
“Finish this,” Gordon said.
“Good night, Garth,” Logan said.
The vibrator kicked on again at full power. Inside Garth, the steel head slammed around, obliterating everything, snapping his spine at the base and churning what remained of his kidneys, liver, and intestines into a bloody paste. Pancreas was beaten to pulp in seconds, and the vibrations made it impossible to breathe. The vibrations were not contained to this part of him, of course. In his skull, his teeth splintered and his neck was whipped about near to snapping. Nothing but pain and despair filled his mind. He was suffocating, no longer drowning in blood as he could not even attempt to breathe. But it was not this that ended Garth. The vibrations were simply too much for his heart after all the other shocks it had endured and it simply stopped beating just short of a minute after the vibrations began. His body seized suddenly and a geyser of blood shot from his mouth.
The men did not know that Garth was medically dead at this point, and Logan plowed the device in and out of the torn hole, widening the tear in his taint and spewing an intestinal slurry out of the crack. Two minutes of demolition passed before Logan shut off the vibrator and the three men gazed on. They would have been shocked to see signs of breathing. There were none. The vibrator came out with a swell of blood and pulverized tissue.
As gruesome as this was, Logan and Gordon were still shaking with anticipation for the grand finale.
“Ready to get your nut, Cole?” Gordon asked, well knowing the answer. For Cole had already picked up the circular saw and was advancing toward Garth’s body. Without a word, he knelt and turned on the blade, staring with a hunger at the lightless eyes, the rugged beauty of the blood spattered, sunken face, the mouth still half open and drooling blood. The blade met flesh just beneath the ear, along the mandible and moved across the cheeks, just beneath Garth’s upper teeth. Another cut went through the base of Garth’s jaw to the neck until the entire thing had been removed down to the Adam’s apple. Trachea and esophagus were both visible, begging to be filled as Cole saw it. He whipped out his thick cock and smeared it with blood, then straddled Garth’s dead head and lowered himself. Garth’s upper teeth scraped along his testicles and ass, just the feeling he wanted before he plunged his cock into the bleeding tube.
The throat bulged around the intrusion, rhythmically inflating and deflating as it was fucked. Almost like taking breaths or gulps, it pulsed with a life for the last time, though it was a murderous life not of its own body.
“Oh fuck, Garth. You are fucking flawless. You were fucking beautiful. God fucking damn I love this. I love your fucking throat on my cock. Wish I could kill you every night, you hot piece of shit. Fuck.”
Gordon and Logan were entranced by the spectacle and jerked each other off as they watched their companion sweat and swear as he plowed dead flesh. There were so many desecrations they could visit on the body, but this seemed perfect to them.
Cole wanted to savor the moment, but he couldn’t hold off long before shooting a load deep into Garth’s blood-soaked lungs. That didn’t stop him from fucking though. His roars and convulsions were a brutal turn on to watch and Gordon shot off in Logan’s hand just seeing his mate blow deep into the corpse, but Cole kept fucking. Gordon dropped to his knees and sucked his jizz from Logan’s hand, then spat the wad over Logan’s cock and began a sensuous deepthroat. Logan’s eyes rolled back in his head and he moaned. When he looked at Cole, his mate’s were locked on his with a wicked grin. The thought was clear to both of them—deepthroat for each, but in peculiar ways. Sweat dripped from Cole’s hard brow as he laughed through gritted teeth, continuing to fuck Garth’s body.
He and Logan panted harder and harder and came nearly in unison into their respective cum dumps, howling primally. Cole had put two loads in that end to match the ones that Logan and Gordon had planted in the now utterly demolished back end. Cole drew his cock out slowly, watching the throat collapse bit by bit until the head was dragged out, still tethered to the hot innards by a thick strand of bloodied jizz. It snapped over Garth's nose, glistening atop the sprays of blood that ran over the entire face and were spreading still beneath the head. When Cole stood and looked down, the eyes were staring straight up into his. He wished for a flicker of life in them, just so he could see it go out again.
Gordon and Logan moved forward and each grabbed one of Garth's legs. They dragged it to a pit on the far side, filled with loose earth and quicklime. Together, they swung the body around and it collapsed in a mangled heap, stirring a whitish cloud. They slipped on masks and coveralls while the dust settled, then returned to the pit and peered in. A wrinkled, stiff hand protruded by Garth's head. A leg was twisted under one of his. The two began shoveling dirt and lime into the pit, covering Garth only partially.
They slid a cover over it then rinsed off with their gear still on. After undressing again, Gordon remarked to Cole, “Pit's getting full.”
Cole, still sticky with drying blood, was enjoying his cigar. He shrugged. “Still plenty of room.”
“Got someone in mind?” asked Gordon.
Cole smiled. “Oh, I think we all know who's next.”
Gordon and Logan exchanged glances and laughed. In unison they said, “Greg.”
