twicebebeaded
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- Joined
- Jul 16, 2011
- Messages
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- Location
- Lincoln, NE
This is my first fiction I've posted online. I actually met a guy online and we were going to go through with a version of this scene (for real, not roleplay), but he backed out at the last minute. I'd still love to go out this way, but for now, fantasy and fiction will have to do. I hope you like it.
===================
The park was dark and the air cool, but not too dark or too cold. It had been an unseasonably warm week for October, and even now, at 10:30 PM, the temperature hung in the mid-60s. The park was just outside city limits and bordered a few houses on its east end, but was otherwise free of electric light; still, the moon was nearly full and the sky clear.
Max parked his car along the road by the northeast entrance, as they had discussed. He looked at his phone--GPS and cellular radios turned off as a precaution--and re-read the email he downloaded earlier. His heart was pounding and he trembled a bit. This was really it. He shut the phone off and removed its battery, and left both in the car, and set off walking across the park.
In the summer, darkness wouldn't prevent other visitors this late, but on a school (and work) night in the cool fall months, the park was deserted. Max half-expected to see or hear groups of teenagers drinking or couples necking, but the park seemed still. He walked at a fast pace. It technically closed at 11:00; cops rarely came in during the colder months to check for trespassers, but still he wanted to be away from the roads that wound through it well before closing.
After he'd covered about a mile, he recognized a statue mentioned by his partner, and left the paved roadway. The dry grass crunched below his shoes as he walked past a picnic shelter and a stand of restrooms. Down a small slope, past a stand of trees, and up and down a small hill; finally, ahead he saw a dark shape--a heavy picnic table, with a figure that could be a man sitting on it--beside an oak tree, taller than the ones around it. A small light appeared--a cigarette. Was this Brian?
"There you are," said the man as Max approached. "I wondered if you'd really show. So you are serious."
"I'm serious. I was hoping you were, too," replied Max.
Brian extended his hand and they shook. He had seen Max's picture, but this was Max's first look--they had agreed Brian should remain unseen until tonight, to better escape prosecution. He was older--48 to Brian's 32--and in fairly average shape, with a little paunch but not too much extra weight. He was a bit taller, too.
"So, you really want to do this?"
"I do. Just like we discussed." Max looked nervously around, feeling exposed as he thought about what was about to transpire.
"Relax," said Brian. "Just us. I've made sure." Max could see that this spot was well chosen--due to elevation and ground cover, no one could see them if they were more than 20 years away, but they would also be able to hear anyone coming for quite a ways.
Max looked back and Brian just in time to see him shrugging his shirt off as he stepped out of his pants. Max fumbled the top buttons on his own shirt, and found a now-nearly-naked Brian pressed up against his first. "Let me," he said, taking the buttons from Max as he brought his face in for a hard, open-mouthed kiss. They made out as Brian stripped him, Max's average cut cock growing hard. He groped for Brians, and found it making a perfect 8-inch tentpole for the taller man's boxers.
He dropped to his knees and pulled Brian's pants down, taking the older man's cock into his mouth. He worked it for a while until Brian stopped him, took his hands, pulled him up, and bent him over the table. Max now saw the glint of metal implements in the moonlight, and caught his breath. In the excitement of the sexual encounter, he'd stopped thinking about his impending death.
Brian reached around and grabbed his meat. "Do you want this off before I fuck you?" he asked.
"No," said Max. "But maybe you can have this?" He held up his left hand and made most of a fist, extending only his left ring-finger, the silver wedding band glinting in the light.
"Ah, perfect," said Brian. He moved around Max, picking up one of the tools in his left hand, resting his right on Maxs back. Max's heart was pounding, he could hear it in his ears. Brian set the tool down inches from Max's face, and he could see it was a small hatchet. He felt something under his left hand--Brian had picked up a thick, sturdy board, and was positioning it under Max's ring finger with his other fingers curled against its edge. "Here," said Brian, "Push like this." He pulled Max's wrist towards the wood, popping his knuckles as he strained to get more of the ring finger onto the surgace of the board. Max complied. Brian gave the wedding right a little tug towards the finger tip to expose more of the first joint, but he left it on, just as Max had hoped he would.
He picked up the hatchet and put a firm hand on Max's wrist, leaning in to hold it still against the table. He rested the blade on the spot he intended to cut, then slowly raised and lowered it twice, feeling the balance of the hatchet and checking his ark. Then he raised it decisively. Max looked away and tensed; "This is it," he thought, "No turning back now." A small "woosh" and a heavy, wet "thunk."
It felt more like a hard, sharp impact than a cut at first, then the pain started. Max looked back, seeing blood on the wood, pooling on the table, pumping from his hand. He pulled his hand back from the block, and saw his ring finger lying there. The pain was worse than most he had ever felt, but he was in shock and a little bit turned on. The cut bone was the worst--it felt vaguely like an open cavity hitting icecream or hot soup, but far more intense. He reached for the finger and picked it, and held it where it had gone, then brought it up close to his face.
Brian took his hand and tied a piece of cloth tightly around his wrist and through the space between Max's middle and pinky fingers. "That won't do much for the bleeding, but it will help a little."
"And we're not that worried about blood loss," said Max, smiling. He had lost his erection in the course of losing his ring finger, but felt incredibly alive. He held out the finger, wedding band still attached. "This is for you. I belong to you now. My life is in your hands."
Brian took it from him and looked it over. "I promise I'll treat it as well as we promised, and end it the way you wanted. He bent Max back over the table and thrust his cock into Max. They moaned and writhed until Brian came. As he slid his cock out, Max felt the warmth trickle out and felt more satisfied than he ever had with a man.
"Do we need to wait a while, so you can get it up again?" asked Max.
"Not unless you want to wait. I understand if you're scared," said Brian, wiping himself clean with another cloth.
"No. I mean, I am scared, but we don't need to wait." He had gotten hard again during their fuck, and now felt his heart pounding and his hands beginning to shake.
"Good," said Brian. "Let's get that cock off."
He took Max's unwounded hand and let him to the far end of the picnic table. When he had been pinned to it by Brian's cock, Max had marvelled at how old it was--one of those heavy oak jobs you don't see anymore, the kind that barely shook no matter what you put them through. Brian stroked Max's cock idly; Max could feel the skin stretching. Even in puberty he had never been so hard!
"You're sure you don't want to get off first? I mean, this is your last chance ever," said Brian. "Do you really want to die without one more orgasm?"
"No, I'm sure," said Max. "With men, I'm always more of a bottom, and that's how I want to die. Plus, I think if I get off I'll find all of this less exciting afterwards, and who knows if I'll still want to go through with it."
Brian considered this and nodded. "Fair enough. And I don't want you getting cold feet now. I've already committed felony assault on you tonight--I can't let you live to tell the authorities." Rather than feeling threatened by this, Max smiled broadly. Up until this point, there he had known there was a chance Brian could back down--and leave him crippled with these first two cuts.
Brian pulled Max close to the table by his cock; he placed the block under it, which felt stick-warm from where Max's finger had been cut. Max leaned into the table, feeling the edge of the wood pushing into his legs, straining to get as much of his shaved 5-inch shaft onto the table as possible. Brian stroked it once more, and then started to line up his arc, just as he had for the finger-chop. He raised it up beside his head, and asked, "Ready?"
"Take my manhood," said Max. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. He felt a rush of air as the hatchet dropped, and a sharp pain that flashed in his cock and extended deep into his core between his legs. He looked immediately, and saw his cock had popped off and landed a few inches ahead of where it had been. An impossibly large pool of blood, shiny and black in the moonlight, seemed to have pooled behind the cut end. It still held most of its shape, but Max swore he could see it visibly shrinking as the blood flowed out.
"If you want to play with it, better hurry," said Brian. Max became very aware of his pulse--and there was blood coming from his crotch, keeping time with it. The pain was intense, and his whole body seemed to throb with a current between his hand and the hold where his dick had been. He knew Brian was right--he'd soon faint and then die from the penectomy, and they'd miss the finale. But he'd waited his whole life to hold his severed dick, so he picked it up.
As he turned it over in his hands, Brian cleared everything off the table, and got out a length of roap. Max slowly slid the mostly-soft cock into his mouth. To taste his own dick! What a privilege.
"Don't swallow that," he heard Brian say. The older man seemed to be miles away. Max removed it.
"I know, it's yours," he said. He felt he might have slurred his speech a little. He felt groggy--still excited, still alive, but unfocused, not quite there.
"Come on, it's time. Can't have you bleeding out," said Brian.
Max saw his severed, ringed finger sitting at the corner of the table. He set his dick down next to it, parallel. "Perfect," he said. Two souveniers for you."
"Soon to be three," said the older man. He took Max's hand and helped him climb up onto the table. "Here, lie down--yep, that's it." Max was face down, and he could see over the end of the table. Brian placed a hand under his chin and pulled up, and slid the block under Max's Adam's apple for the final cut. Max felt movement on his back--Brian was pulling roap around his body, just below the shoulders, to secure him to the table. He did the same to Max's legs, just below the knees, and in his peripheral vision, Max could see him picking up what looked like a silver axe.
He heard Brian sigh, and grunt a little. Then he felt a cold, thin, sharp poke across his neck as the older man rested the blade there. "What do you think is waiting for me?" asked Brian.
"Probably Hell," said Brian. "Perhaps just blackness. Does that worry you?"
"No," said Max. "I've known a long time I'd be damned, and just as long that this is how I wanted to go."
"I'm glad I could help," said Brian.
"Me, too," said Max. "Thank you--for all of this. I really hope you don't get caught."
"Let me worry about that," said Brian. Max heard him take a deep breath and exhale, slowly. He looked down at the moonlit grass.
"Ready to die?" asked Brian?
Max took a long, deep breath slowly in, held it for a secon, and said, "Yes." He felt the tip of the blade come off his neck as Brian lifted it to the top of its arc. He started to exhale slowly, hearing a whoosh as the blade cut through the air. He felt like he wasn't flinching--perhaps he wanted this as badly as he thought, or perhaps he was calm because of the shock--and marvelled at how long it seemed to take to arrive.
When it did, at first it seemed like something hitting his neck really hard. In his head and sinuses, he felt a sudden pressure, like when he'd been punched once in middle school. He felt the blade cutting through his neck, or thought he did, through the muscle, windpipe, finally skin in front. It all happened incredibly fast, but he with incredibly vivid detail. He had always imagined it would be like that, time slowing, brought on by adrenalin and his brain's knowledge of its certain death. But he didn't think about any of that--he just experienced it all. And then falling, and everything going black for a minute as his head hit the ground.
He felt himself rolling a bit--a couple of dizzying turns as the whole world spun around. He couldn't feel his arms or legs, but it also felt like every nerve in his (now disconnected) body was on fire. The world slowly came into focus, and he realized he was sideways, and could see Brian's feet, feel the stiff dry grass poking the side of his head. Then hands--Brian was picking him up--and he caught a glimpse of his body, still twitching against its ropes and blood spurting with less and less enthusiasm from the neck, trying in vain to supply life to a brain that was no longer attached.
Suddenly, Brian's cock reared into view, hard again. It was coming towards him--or rather, Brian was bringing his head towards it. Max opened his mouth, obligingly. Brian fucked his head, hard; Max's mouth was dry, but he didn't mind the chaffing. He didn't mind much of anything--it was all so surreal, so purfect. He felt Brian's cock going deeper down his throat than anyone's ever had, but with no breathing and no gag reflex that was all good, too. Brian came quickly, but Max only tasted a bit of the cum as it has all been shot from the tip of a cock sticking out of Max's thoat. Everything seemd gray and distant now, and there was a buzzing in his head. Brian brought Max's head up to his face and kissed him on the mouth--Max, delerious with physical pain and spiritual pleasure, kissed his murderer.
Then found himself back on the ground, watching Brian cut his body loose from the table. Things went dark before Brian, the murder fueling his lust, began to fuck it. Max couldn't see, could barely think; he felt his eyes pushing against their sockets and his face twitch. But he smiled, slightly, as he died. The Lord could judge him and the devil could have his soul--he had died the death of his dreams.
===================
The park was dark and the air cool, but not too dark or too cold. It had been an unseasonably warm week for October, and even now, at 10:30 PM, the temperature hung in the mid-60s. The park was just outside city limits and bordered a few houses on its east end, but was otherwise free of electric light; still, the moon was nearly full and the sky clear.
Max parked his car along the road by the northeast entrance, as they had discussed. He looked at his phone--GPS and cellular radios turned off as a precaution--and re-read the email he downloaded earlier. His heart was pounding and he trembled a bit. This was really it. He shut the phone off and removed its battery, and left both in the car, and set off walking across the park.
In the summer, darkness wouldn't prevent other visitors this late, but on a school (and work) night in the cool fall months, the park was deserted. Max half-expected to see or hear groups of teenagers drinking or couples necking, but the park seemed still. He walked at a fast pace. It technically closed at 11:00; cops rarely came in during the colder months to check for trespassers, but still he wanted to be away from the roads that wound through it well before closing.
After he'd covered about a mile, he recognized a statue mentioned by his partner, and left the paved roadway. The dry grass crunched below his shoes as he walked past a picnic shelter and a stand of restrooms. Down a small slope, past a stand of trees, and up and down a small hill; finally, ahead he saw a dark shape--a heavy picnic table, with a figure that could be a man sitting on it--beside an oak tree, taller than the ones around it. A small light appeared--a cigarette. Was this Brian?
"There you are," said the man as Max approached. "I wondered if you'd really show. So you are serious."
"I'm serious. I was hoping you were, too," replied Max.
Brian extended his hand and they shook. He had seen Max's picture, but this was Max's first look--they had agreed Brian should remain unseen until tonight, to better escape prosecution. He was older--48 to Brian's 32--and in fairly average shape, with a little paunch but not too much extra weight. He was a bit taller, too.
"So, you really want to do this?"
"I do. Just like we discussed." Max looked nervously around, feeling exposed as he thought about what was about to transpire.
"Relax," said Brian. "Just us. I've made sure." Max could see that this spot was well chosen--due to elevation and ground cover, no one could see them if they were more than 20 years away, but they would also be able to hear anyone coming for quite a ways.
Max looked back and Brian just in time to see him shrugging his shirt off as he stepped out of his pants. Max fumbled the top buttons on his own shirt, and found a now-nearly-naked Brian pressed up against his first. "Let me," he said, taking the buttons from Max as he brought his face in for a hard, open-mouthed kiss. They made out as Brian stripped him, Max's average cut cock growing hard. He groped for Brians, and found it making a perfect 8-inch tentpole for the taller man's boxers.
He dropped to his knees and pulled Brian's pants down, taking the older man's cock into his mouth. He worked it for a while until Brian stopped him, took his hands, pulled him up, and bent him over the table. Max now saw the glint of metal implements in the moonlight, and caught his breath. In the excitement of the sexual encounter, he'd stopped thinking about his impending death.
Brian reached around and grabbed his meat. "Do you want this off before I fuck you?" he asked.
"No," said Max. "But maybe you can have this?" He held up his left hand and made most of a fist, extending only his left ring-finger, the silver wedding band glinting in the light.
"Ah, perfect," said Brian. He moved around Max, picking up one of the tools in his left hand, resting his right on Maxs back. Max's heart was pounding, he could hear it in his ears. Brian set the tool down inches from Max's face, and he could see it was a small hatchet. He felt something under his left hand--Brian had picked up a thick, sturdy board, and was positioning it under Max's ring finger with his other fingers curled against its edge. "Here," said Brian, "Push like this." He pulled Max's wrist towards the wood, popping his knuckles as he strained to get more of the ring finger onto the surgace of the board. Max complied. Brian gave the wedding right a little tug towards the finger tip to expose more of the first joint, but he left it on, just as Max had hoped he would.
He picked up the hatchet and put a firm hand on Max's wrist, leaning in to hold it still against the table. He rested the blade on the spot he intended to cut, then slowly raised and lowered it twice, feeling the balance of the hatchet and checking his ark. Then he raised it decisively. Max looked away and tensed; "This is it," he thought, "No turning back now." A small "woosh" and a heavy, wet "thunk."
It felt more like a hard, sharp impact than a cut at first, then the pain started. Max looked back, seeing blood on the wood, pooling on the table, pumping from his hand. He pulled his hand back from the block, and saw his ring finger lying there. The pain was worse than most he had ever felt, but he was in shock and a little bit turned on. The cut bone was the worst--it felt vaguely like an open cavity hitting icecream or hot soup, but far more intense. He reached for the finger and picked it, and held it where it had gone, then brought it up close to his face.
Brian took his hand and tied a piece of cloth tightly around his wrist and through the space between Max's middle and pinky fingers. "That won't do much for the bleeding, but it will help a little."
"And we're not that worried about blood loss," said Max, smiling. He had lost his erection in the course of losing his ring finger, but felt incredibly alive. He held out the finger, wedding band still attached. "This is for you. I belong to you now. My life is in your hands."
Brian took it from him and looked it over. "I promise I'll treat it as well as we promised, and end it the way you wanted. He bent Max back over the table and thrust his cock into Max. They moaned and writhed until Brian came. As he slid his cock out, Max felt the warmth trickle out and felt more satisfied than he ever had with a man.
"Do we need to wait a while, so you can get it up again?" asked Max.
"Not unless you want to wait. I understand if you're scared," said Brian, wiping himself clean with another cloth.
"No. I mean, I am scared, but we don't need to wait." He had gotten hard again during their fuck, and now felt his heart pounding and his hands beginning to shake.
"Good," said Brian. "Let's get that cock off."
He took Max's unwounded hand and let him to the far end of the picnic table. When he had been pinned to it by Brian's cock, Max had marvelled at how old it was--one of those heavy oak jobs you don't see anymore, the kind that barely shook no matter what you put them through. Brian stroked Max's cock idly; Max could feel the skin stretching. Even in puberty he had never been so hard!
"You're sure you don't want to get off first? I mean, this is your last chance ever," said Brian. "Do you really want to die without one more orgasm?"
"No, I'm sure," said Max. "With men, I'm always more of a bottom, and that's how I want to die. Plus, I think if I get off I'll find all of this less exciting afterwards, and who knows if I'll still want to go through with it."
Brian considered this and nodded. "Fair enough. And I don't want you getting cold feet now. I've already committed felony assault on you tonight--I can't let you live to tell the authorities." Rather than feeling threatened by this, Max smiled broadly. Up until this point, there he had known there was a chance Brian could back down--and leave him crippled with these first two cuts.
Brian pulled Max close to the table by his cock; he placed the block under it, which felt stick-warm from where Max's finger had been cut. Max leaned into the table, feeling the edge of the wood pushing into his legs, straining to get as much of his shaved 5-inch shaft onto the table as possible. Brian stroked it once more, and then started to line up his arc, just as he had for the finger-chop. He raised it up beside his head, and asked, "Ready?"
"Take my manhood," said Max. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. He felt a rush of air as the hatchet dropped, and a sharp pain that flashed in his cock and extended deep into his core between his legs. He looked immediately, and saw his cock had popped off and landed a few inches ahead of where it had been. An impossibly large pool of blood, shiny and black in the moonlight, seemed to have pooled behind the cut end. It still held most of its shape, but Max swore he could see it visibly shrinking as the blood flowed out.
"If you want to play with it, better hurry," said Brian. Max became very aware of his pulse--and there was blood coming from his crotch, keeping time with it. The pain was intense, and his whole body seemed to throb with a current between his hand and the hold where his dick had been. He knew Brian was right--he'd soon faint and then die from the penectomy, and they'd miss the finale. But he'd waited his whole life to hold his severed dick, so he picked it up.
As he turned it over in his hands, Brian cleared everything off the table, and got out a length of roap. Max slowly slid the mostly-soft cock into his mouth. To taste his own dick! What a privilege.
"Don't swallow that," he heard Brian say. The older man seemed to be miles away. Max removed it.
"I know, it's yours," he said. He felt he might have slurred his speech a little. He felt groggy--still excited, still alive, but unfocused, not quite there.
"Come on, it's time. Can't have you bleeding out," said Brian.
Max saw his severed, ringed finger sitting at the corner of the table. He set his dick down next to it, parallel. "Perfect," he said. Two souveniers for you."
"Soon to be three," said the older man. He took Max's hand and helped him climb up onto the table. "Here, lie down--yep, that's it." Max was face down, and he could see over the end of the table. Brian placed a hand under his chin and pulled up, and slid the block under Max's Adam's apple for the final cut. Max felt movement on his back--Brian was pulling roap around his body, just below the shoulders, to secure him to the table. He did the same to Max's legs, just below the knees, and in his peripheral vision, Max could see him picking up what looked like a silver axe.
He heard Brian sigh, and grunt a little. Then he felt a cold, thin, sharp poke across his neck as the older man rested the blade there. "What do you think is waiting for me?" asked Brian.
"Probably Hell," said Brian. "Perhaps just blackness. Does that worry you?"
"No," said Max. "I've known a long time I'd be damned, and just as long that this is how I wanted to go."
"I'm glad I could help," said Brian.
"Me, too," said Max. "Thank you--for all of this. I really hope you don't get caught."
"Let me worry about that," said Brian. Max heard him take a deep breath and exhale, slowly. He looked down at the moonlit grass.
"Ready to die?" asked Brian?
Max took a long, deep breath slowly in, held it for a secon, and said, "Yes." He felt the tip of the blade come off his neck as Brian lifted it to the top of its arc. He started to exhale slowly, hearing a whoosh as the blade cut through the air. He felt like he wasn't flinching--perhaps he wanted this as badly as he thought, or perhaps he was calm because of the shock--and marvelled at how long it seemed to take to arrive.
When it did, at first it seemed like something hitting his neck really hard. In his head and sinuses, he felt a sudden pressure, like when he'd been punched once in middle school. He felt the blade cutting through his neck, or thought he did, through the muscle, windpipe, finally skin in front. It all happened incredibly fast, but he with incredibly vivid detail. He had always imagined it would be like that, time slowing, brought on by adrenalin and his brain's knowledge of its certain death. But he didn't think about any of that--he just experienced it all. And then falling, and everything going black for a minute as his head hit the ground.
He felt himself rolling a bit--a couple of dizzying turns as the whole world spun around. He couldn't feel his arms or legs, but it also felt like every nerve in his (now disconnected) body was on fire. The world slowly came into focus, and he realized he was sideways, and could see Brian's feet, feel the stiff dry grass poking the side of his head. Then hands--Brian was picking him up--and he caught a glimpse of his body, still twitching against its ropes and blood spurting with less and less enthusiasm from the neck, trying in vain to supply life to a brain that was no longer attached.
Suddenly, Brian's cock reared into view, hard again. It was coming towards him--or rather, Brian was bringing his head towards it. Max opened his mouth, obligingly. Brian fucked his head, hard; Max's mouth was dry, but he didn't mind the chaffing. He didn't mind much of anything--it was all so surreal, so purfect. He felt Brian's cock going deeper down his throat than anyone's ever had, but with no breathing and no gag reflex that was all good, too. Brian came quickly, but Max only tasted a bit of the cum as it has all been shot from the tip of a cock sticking out of Max's thoat. Everything seemd gray and distant now, and there was a buzzing in his head. Brian brought Max's head up to his face and kissed him on the mouth--Max, delerious with physical pain and spiritual pleasure, kissed his murderer.
Then found himself back on the ground, watching Brian cut his body loose from the table. Things went dark before Brian, the murder fueling his lust, began to fuck it. Max couldn't see, could barely think; he felt his eyes pushing against their sockets and his face twitch. But he smiled, slightly, as he died. The Lord could judge him and the devil could have his soul--he had died the death of his dreams.
