Luis Adam Bree
Forum Regular
- Joined
- Oct 31, 2016
- Messages
- 138
- Location
- London England
You're running a robbery gang in northern Mexico specializing in American college boys as victims. A van load of nine super-hunk gringo soccer-jocks with lots of valuables has just been spotted and will be shortly taken by the gang, disguised as police. Now you can't leave evidence of such a crime, can you? That would be stupid. You gotta dispose of the evidence. Well, gosh, these living college hunks are witnesses and that's a mighty strong form of evidence, isn't it? So, you really just have to dispose of them. Make them stop their pesky living. Of course, out here in the privacy of the desert, you need be in no hurry and who says you're not entitled to enjoy yourself in the process. There are, after all, so very many neat ways to make a jock hunk stop living.
Juan's eyes just about bugged out as he surveyed the contents of the huge, expensive van drawn up at the entry point into the Republic of Mexico. And it wasn't just the assortment of expensive watches, gold jewelry, radios, CD players and camping gear that whetted his interest. It was the group of occupants themselves, for to Juan they were just as much part of the loot as their belongings.
For Juan loved the killing as much or more than the robbing of these young gringo college hunks upon which the Hermanos specialized as prey. Juan was only twenty-two, not much older than the boys who were the gang's victims, but was hardened and experienced from his four years of membership in the ruthless group. All of the gang ... los Hermanos - The Brothers ... were young and fit and tough. And utterly ruthless. And gradually becoming reasonably wealthy. There were five of them. Two actually were brothers by blood ... Pedro and Alejandro Hernandez ... and it was they who had started the operation. He, Alfredo and Victorio had been carefully recruited one by one over time.
He frowned just a bit as he realized that crowded into this van were no fewer than nine of the macho, buff jock gringo kids, all between eighteen and twenty-three. This would be the biggest hit they had carried out if Pedro decided to go for it. Nine against five. But really, the five would have the complete advantage of arms, surprise, authority and intimidation. Done well, the strike would give complete control before the college boys had any idea what was coming down. It would work, he felt. He hoped Pedro would agree.
Jesus this bunch was attractive! Undoubtedly some type of team off on their spring break to raise hell on the isolated beaches of Rocky Point. He found it amusing that they would likely find a bit more of hell down here than they had bargained for. As he processed their entry documents, he sized them up, trying to guess what Pedro would have done to each of them. He hoped they would be able to carry out the killings at leisure. That was always so much more exciting and arousing. Hearing the boys scream and watching them suffer tortures as they died, rather than just shooting them or cutting their throats as must occasionally be done if conditions made speed a necessity. When he had the luxury, Pedro was a incredible master at devising the most delicious forms of agonizing death for their victims.
Surely, at a minimum, there would he time to rape at least a few of these studly young bulls. God how he loved the feel of forcing his rod up into the gut of a squealing, writhing, terrified young gringo. The feel of power was exquisite. He spotted a tall, superbly built blond youth with a buzzed haircut wearing just cut-offs. His sleek, athletic body was gorgeous and his bulging muscles magnificent. His tight, bubble ass was jutting out behind and was without a doubt nice and virgin.
He matched the blond with the paperwork and discovered he was called Erik Johansson. Nice. A nordic viking to serve his needs. Yes, definitely, Erik would be raped. And as he sized up the young hunk his cock got steely hard between his legs just anticipating the pleasure to come. And afterwards, he would talk Pedro into letting his little brother Alejandro use Erik to ply his skills with the bullwhip. God was Alejandro good with the whipl It was always a thrill to watch him work a man with that awful whip.
He found the necessary "technical" problems with a couple of the pieces of paperwork and made the group pull off into the parking lot to wait for it to be cleared up. While they waited, the group passed time by passing around a frisbee, leaping and jumping around, displaying the wonderful muscles in those nearly perfect toned, sculpted bodies.
In the meantime, Juan called Pedro and ran the situation by him. To his relief, Pedro was delighted at the challenge of taking such a large group. Within the hour the other four would be in place to follow the van. Once he got the radio call that they were in place, he released the van and the college boys, blissfully unaware of their deadly peril, proceeded happily on their way south. They didn't even notice the sham Federales police jeep that followed them at a discrete distance starting five minutes after they left the border crossing. Juan, taking the afternoon off, was shortly following in a large truck with a canvas covered back bed, somewhat similar to an army vehicle, also marked as a Federales patrol.
Juan kept pace with events by radio contact with the jeep. To their delight, eventually the van left the somewhat busily travelled main road and took one of the dirt tracks that would lead to less frequented beach campsites. One of the Americans had been down here before and knew where to go for privacy. and privacy with them was exactly what Los Hermanos wanted.
It wasn't long before Pedro made the stop, putting on the police lights. When he approached the wan, it was with his service pistol drawn while his three companions, all attired in stolen Federales uniforms, brandished Uzis and stationed all around the vehicle. The gringo jocks ... it turned out they Mere all on their university's soccer team ... quickly followed orders to get out with hands high. Their eyes were big as they stared down the barrels of the guns in the hands of the stern, tough-looking young "cops." They had all heard wild scare stories a~ut how crazy and gun happy the Federales were down here.
"We are going to search your vehicle for illegal contraband," Pedro advised in his clipped, accented English. "We are also going to search your persons first and then restrain you for our safety while we search the van. Please take off all of your clothing at once and face the van with your hands behind your backs."
"What the fuck!"
One of the young gringos looked utterly outraged.
"Listen, buddy, we're Americans and you can't be doing this...."
"Or what?"
Pedro smiled politely.
"This is not Los Estados Unidos and your 'rights' when dealing with police authority are very different here. If you like we can go to the jail in Mexicali and you can sit there a few days while we sort all of this out."
"Shit, Dan," one of the other boys called out, "Don't fuck with these guys. If they want to search our fuzzy young asses, let 'em do it. We ain't got nothin' to hide."
And he began to peel off his clothes. The others, Dan obviously reluctantly and sulkily, followed suit. In moments, all nine of the super-buff bodies were nude and assuming the stance ordered.
Pedro all but laughed aloud. These stupid Americans were so like sheep. So ready to comply with show of authority. He supposed it was something to do with their upbringing. Cops, they were taught, are their "friends" and trustworthy. What a crock. With swift reaction, two of the "officers" slapped handcuffs on the nine sets of wrists while the other two kept guard. Then each boy was made to bring his ankles together and these too were cuffed together.
Since he didn't want the prisoners to panic too early, Pedro went through the sham of "finding" a small bag of pot in the van and venting "outrage" that they would have so little respect for the laws of their host country. Ignoring their shocked protests of innocence, they loaded all nine naked youths into the back of Juan's truck as soon as he arrived. They were now looking truly scared, some actually trembling a little as they were tossed up into the truck roughly, like sacks of grain.
Pedro had a standing arrangement with a chop shop and fencing operation in San Luis and Victorio took the van and all the possessions stripped from the prisoners and headed off. He would join the others in a couple of hours at the site Pedro had selected for the killings. It was a little rocky canyon just a few miles off the main road where the likelihood of company was almost nonexistent.
Pedro also liked it because there was a small stand of long-dead cottonwood trees that provided some useful props for the entertainments he had in mind. He never used the sam~ site twice and he had been reserving this one for just such a larger group where they would want lots of time to "dispose of the evidence" of the robbery at slow, exquisite leisure
For that was how he viewed it, coldly and logically. The living boys were witnesses ... prime "evidence" against his gang in a court. They needed to be disposed of. That meant they should no longer be living. It was just a little necessity that went along with the flourishing robbery enterprise he had established. And an enjoyable one.
Even as they unloaded the living cargo from his truck and tossed them into a pile on a sand dune a few yards from the stark wooden trunks and posts of the dead cottonwoods, Juan wondered if it had yet dawned on the young gringo jocks that they were not going to survive this experience.
He vaguely doubted it. It just seemed to impossible to believe in the clean, safe world from which they originated. And it was that confident, almost smug certainty of their future that made killing them such a sweet pleasure.
Pedro surveyed the prisoners with interest. He selected a tall, lean, handsome youngster with nicely styled, silky, sandy hair and Alfredo and Alejandro took him to stand beneath a still strong, solid cottonwood with a thick branch a few feet overhead. They tossed a rope over the branch and Juan fashioned a nice noose, smiling at the trembling, big-eyed teenager all the while.
"See, gringo, I make you nice necktie. Jus' for you
They looped it around the young jock's neck and snugged it tight. Then they freed his ankles. It was fun to watch a boy kick and thrash with his legs as he was hanged and they wanted this pretty young man to be completely unfettered in doing that to his heart's content.
"S...shit," he stuttered, "Y...you can't really be gonna h...hang me...."
His words ended in a choking little gasp as they hauled on the rope and drew his feet just a few vital inches off the ground.
"Si, gringo," Juan laughed. "We really are."
And they tied the rope off on the tree trunk and watched with delight as the kid began to very slowly strangle as he swung slowly back and forth like a living pendulum, his muscular body writhing and contracting beautifully. His long, strong legs kicked and walked and strained in frantic effort to get his toes back onto the ground. But they were just a few inches too far up.
And as they watched, they stripped off the uniforms and let the sun play on their own powerfully muscled, bronzed-brown nude bodies, all four cocks thrusting up in hungry excitement. They slowly stroked themselves as they watched the hanging boy slowly, slowly choke away his life.
The other eight, of course, were perfectly able to see the whole scene as their buddy was executed. Some were begging for his life, others just cursing in helpless, frustrated anger, struggling in vain against their own restraints. A couple were openly sobbing both at the death of their friend and teammate and the knowledge that almost certainly they too were about to be put to death out here in this stark, sun-broiled desert wasteland.
"You know...."
Pedro looked mock-concerned,
"All this hot sun on these pale gringo bodies can be very dangerous. It is not too safe for them to be running around in the naked like this. All sorts of bad things could happen."
"Like what, Jefe," Alfredo played along. "I no understand."
"Ah, you are such a dumb Mexican," Pedro shook his head.
"I guess we gotta show you, huh?"
"Si, Jefe, show me."
They seized a stocky little bull of a kid, wonderfully buff with a deliciously cute face. He could have been no more than eighteen. He struggled valiantly but was not able to do much against his captors who laughed and giggled, glad he was going to go gamely.
From a small plastic tub in the jeep, Pedro produced four long, thoroughly soaked strips of rawhide and tied one snugly about the teen's thick neck. Another was tied around his chest over the roof of the pees, another over the lower chest, running just below the pees. The last went around the upper belly, around the diaphragm.
Then, without warning or ceremony, Pedro brought his knee smashing up into the boy's big balls with bone-crunching force. The kid let out a strangled shriek of pain and collapsed to his knees, face contorted in agony as he sought to cope with the awful pain.
Pedro leaned down to talk with the lad almost confidentially,
"That hurt, gringo boy?"
The youth finally managed to choke out the words through his gritted teeth,
"Y...yes, sir. I...It hurt something awful."
"Well, good. I wanted it to hurt. Because I want you to know how it's gonna feel if you even try to stand up or move from where you are. 'Cause it's gonna get very hot in a hurry out here fully in the sun like you are. And those cords are gonna start shrinking and drying and gradually they gonna keep you from breathing and you'll turn blue and then die for us. It ain't gonna be nice, nor fast. We gonna enjoy it. But it can be worse. You try to move or stand and I'm gonna kick you in the balls much harder than I just did. I'll crush those pretty, soft baby makers into putty. You understand me gringo boy?"
Sobbing now with fear, the young head nodded to signal understanding.
They selected another of the hunky soccer-jocks, a boy with dark auburn hair and light freckles and made him kneel in the full sunlight. Then they bound his knees tightly to stakes to either side, then unbound his hands and bound them to two more stakes out before him, palms to the ground and his body lined out in a classic push-up position.
Then a cord was bound around his throat and drawn to a tree at an angle such that his head was forced back, his back arched in a tight curve. This forced him to support himself on his straining arms.
If ... no ... WHEN his arms gave out, he would be strangled. But that also was not likely for this cord too was wet rawhide. As it dried it would contract with incredible force and either choke the boy or bend his back so far that his spine would snap. It was a close question as to which would occur first and the captors took friendly bets as to which would be the case.
Leaving these two to suffer, for their deaths would be far, far more protracted and agonized than that of the dead puppy who had been hanged, Pedro showed the others his prize. It was a "Y" shaped cottonwood bole with a stout branch stump jutting out just below the branching of the arms. It was like a huge slingshot.
"I been lookin' at this tree ever since I found this spot. It just cries out to be used. Can you imagine how nice and pretty one of these big jock boys would look up there. His arms drawn out up those branches, his crotch hooked on that little stump, his feet nailed to the lower trunk. And then just hanging there, sorta like Christ, broiling and suffering and bleeding in the sun."
Juan drew in a sharp breath. Holy shit, he thought. A fucking crucifixion. He damn near had a spontaneous orgasm just thinking about that.
As Captain Picard on Star Trek, Next Generation, would have put it ... "Make it so." They made it so.
Tom Russle, a wonderfully built twenty year old bull of a boy with a strong, macho face and short, neatly groomed sandy curls, was selected as their victim. He was at first prone to resist, but a swift punch to his balls by Alejandro got his begrudging cooperation. Trembling, he allowed his rugged, manly nude body to be hoisted up until he was straddling the limb stump with his legs, the wood pressing painfully up into his crotch.
They used some fallen logs as stands to get high enough to work with Tom's limbs. While Pedro and Juan held the boy tightly in place, Alejandro and Alfredo freed his arms and drew one out up one of the branches of the wooden "Y."
Pedro, always the planner, had brought a number of thick iron spikes and a mallet. Alfredo held a spike against Tom's right wrist and slammed it home with the mallet. Tom screamed as the iron pierced his wrist and drove deep into the underlying wood. A second blow drove the spike nearly flush with the skin of the wrist. A thick curling run of dark crimson began to writhe out from around the boy's hand and arm and run down the tree trunk.
Then they repeated the process with Tom's other arm. Next they made him bend up a knee and plant one of his big, long-toed male feet flat against the tree trunk. He screamed again as the spike was driven through the arch of his foot, a couple of inches above the toes. Blood spurted heavily from the pierced foot. And he screamed again as they spiked down his other foot.
He had been crucified and now hung on his cottonwood slingshot-shaped cross to suffer in the broiling mid-day sun of the Sonora Desert until he died.
Well, they did have one last torment to add to his suffering. Pedro produced two large, shiny nails and positioned Tom's huge balls against the branch stump beneath. Then he positioned one of the nails over a big sex orb. And raised the hammer.
"Oh God. NO!!" Tom shrieked as he realized what was coming. "PLEASE don't do that!"
Then he really shrieked as Pedro drove the nail home. They let him suffer that horrible agony for a bit, then Juan was given the pleasure of nailing down the other ball. He teased Tom at length with the nail before finally driving it on in.
Tom really was majestically beautiful, his body flexing in his suffering, as he hung there for their viewing pleasure.
They checked out the two studs cooking in the sun with the shrinking rawhide cords working their dreadful magic. The first boy was in dire condition. His chest and belly were so tightly bound now, the rawhide cutting deep into the skin, that he could just barely suck in air.
The cord about his neck was tightly strangling him as well. He was turning blue-black in the face, his eyes were bugging and his tongue protruding from his gasping, gaping mouth. It would be a bit yet ... boys like this had the most remarkable ability to stave off the end and cling to life for unbelievable periods of time ... but death was not too far off.
It was a race to see who went first. The second boy was being stretched backwards so tightly, being slowly strangled at the same time, that surely that strong back of his could not last much longer. They chose up sides and made bets and watched the suffering soccer-jocks with open, lusting pleasure.
With surprising suddenness, there was a clearly audible snapping, crunching CRACK as the one boy's spinal column snapped under pressure. He went into brief death convulsions and then sagged limp and lifeless against his bonds. Juan was very pleased. He had not only bet that this one would die from the broken back rather than strangulation but also that he would go before the first boy. That one actually made it another terrible, anguished fifteen minutes before he died.
Three dead, six to go, though the crucified gringo was undergoing his suffering already. Death for him would be very protracted. Very.
About then, Victorio rejoined them and exulted in seeing the results of their toils so far. He admired the crucified boy at length and the three corpses. He lost no time in stripping naked himself and his cock was no less aroused than the rest of the gang's. And it was high time that they sated their urges before they began to get blue balls on a fatal level.
They each raped one of the remaining prisoners, who protested and begged and cried out in impotent rage at their violation. Juan, naturally, took on the blond crew-cut viking Erik. He forced the boy onto his belly, made him bend his knees to open up his ass crack, and pressed his cock to the puckered hole.
"Jesus!" Erik moaned, "Don't do this, man ... UHHHHH!"
Juan drove into him with one hard, brutal thrust. He almost swooned with pleasure as he felt the virgin gut pulse and contract and grip him. Erik writhed beneath him. Juan slowly drew his hips back and then pumped hard again. And again. And again. As his lust built he began to fuck the blond hunk with feverish violence, trying ;o rip open his asshole with each vicious drive.
All around him, the other four handsome college boys were being raped with equal gusto and violence. And one by one the Mexican captors reached their heated orgasms and pumped the boy guts full of their seed-rich cream. Juan thought Erik had been just about the best fuck he'd ever experienced as he fired off his load up into the moaning blond's tormented ass canal.
Afterwards, Pedro thought that Juan's suggestion to subject Erik to Alejandro's bullwhip was a truly splendid idea. The blond Adonis was swiftly tied tightly to a stout cottonwood stump that jutted up many feet from the ground. Alejandro produced the black, coiled snake with its braided leather and knotted tip and unlimbered his arm with a few practice snaps. Erik jerked in terror at each loud POP.
Finally ready, Alejandro positioned himself and drew back his arm. The ann flexed, the whip flew, curling through the air with a loud sucking hiss. Then there was a slashing, wet and very loud CRAACK as the leather chewed into Erik's broad back.
Instantly a deep cut appeared and blood began to seep from the wound.
Erik flexed every muscle in his lithe, beautiful body and his face contorted into a mask of agonized grimace. But he didn't scream. It was not until the third stroke that his screaming began.
Methodically, letting the agony from each new wound sink in, Alejandro skinned Erik alive with the bullwhip. Strokes were placed carefully to attack new, fresh skin at each stroke and varied all over the body. Here on the upper back. On one of the hard muscled thighs. Over that sweet, bubble butt. In the small of the back. On the shoulders.
It took nearly forty-five minutes and over sixty strokes, but Alejandro executed Erik with the bullwhip. Towards the end, sensing the prisoner was approaching unconsciousness, Alejandro sent expert lashes of the whip directly into the blond jock's crotch and literally castrated him, ripping the genitals apart like they were made of paper. The balls seemed to actually explode as the knot delivered its full force.
It all made Juan and his friends hard all over again.
The next boy up faced a nasty end. And slow. He was hung upside down by his feet, legs widely splayed, his hands bound to his muscular thighs. Then a length of piano razor wire was looped around his big genitals and drawn taut. Each end of the wire was attached to a wooden handle and Alejandro and Alfredo began to slowly on the handles.
The gringo screamed as he felt the wire cutting ever so slowly through the neck of his manhood and his rich, red blood began to stream down over his gut and chest from his crotch.
The castration was drawn out as long as possible but eventually the organs were severed and plopped untended to the dusty earth below where red ants quickly found them and began to swarm over the fresh meat.
And the freshly castrated boy was just left to suffer in the hot sun and bleed to death from the gaping wound between his thighs.
Three left.
One of these, another tough, wonderfully muscled dark-haired stud, was spiked to two short tree stumps standing a couple of feet apart. The kneeling jock's ankles were positioned at each stump, his hand placed over the foot and against the wood. Then the spikes were driven home, pinning hand to foot and foot to stump. The guy's shrieks echoed in the empty desert
Pedro then very slowly castrated the kid, slitting open his nut sac and drawing out the balls one by one. They all played around with the exposed gonads, teasing the owner, before cutting them free and scornfully dropping them into the dirt before the agonized young prisoner.
Their need was great again so they paused to rape the two remaining boys a second time, each patiently awaiting his turn, two taking one boy, three another.
Then they tied one of the two, a stocky, dark-haired fox, to a cottonwood pole in a squatting position and built up a little pile of dry wood down between this thighs, just below his ass and crotch.
And set it ablaze. As the boy was burned, his legs, crotch and ass cooking to a burnt, blackened crisp before death finally gave him its mercy, his screams were nearly continuous. And nearly demented with suffering. Juan always loved a burning. He thought it had to be the most terrible torture of all, particularly in this devilish way that Pedro always did it.
The last boy was given what they had come to call the "piñata " treatment. His arms and legs were tied into a tight ball behind him and then he was suspended face down, from a tree limb.
Pedro brought out the thick bamboo cane that would now be used and approached the dangling boy who was slowly swaying around like some decorative mobile from the tree limb. He was a cute, crew-cut boy with big liquid eyes and a lot of fight left in him. He was cursing his captors straight to hell when Pedro brought the cane whistling directly into his low-hanging, juicy cock and balls, wonderfully exposed by his position.
Blood flew from the torn organs and the cursing boy began to scream.
They took turns in caning him until he was turned into a bloody chunk of meat and lapsed into unconsciousness.
The day was ebbing into dusk by then. It was time to tidy up and get out of there. To head for the cantina, the coronas and the celebration of this wonderful afternoon.
Pedro produced his pistol and aimed at the dangling, bloody piñata boy. He fired three times, the bullets ripping the unconscious boy savagely. Three of the others still were clinging to life. The two castrates and the crucified stud, Tom. It would have been pleasant to just leave them to continue to suffer the pangs of hell, but they dared not take that risk. The evidence, after all, needed to be "disposed" of.
Pistols shots rang out repeatedly as three or four bullets were pumped into each boy to finish him.
And the next day, back at his border post, Juan smiled pleasantly at the jeep with three very rich looking and very handsome American boys, shirtless, their flawless, muscular chests displayed in full glory.
"Bienvenidos a Mexico, muchachos," he nodded to them. "Welcome to Mexico, boys. Where you headed?"
Juan's eyes just about bugged out as he surveyed the contents of the huge, expensive van drawn up at the entry point into the Republic of Mexico. And it wasn't just the assortment of expensive watches, gold jewelry, radios, CD players and camping gear that whetted his interest. It was the group of occupants themselves, for to Juan they were just as much part of the loot as their belongings.
For Juan loved the killing as much or more than the robbing of these young gringo college hunks upon which the Hermanos specialized as prey. Juan was only twenty-two, not much older than the boys who were the gang's victims, but was hardened and experienced from his four years of membership in the ruthless group. All of the gang ... los Hermanos - The Brothers ... were young and fit and tough. And utterly ruthless. And gradually becoming reasonably wealthy. There were five of them. Two actually were brothers by blood ... Pedro and Alejandro Hernandez ... and it was they who had started the operation. He, Alfredo and Victorio had been carefully recruited one by one over time.
He frowned just a bit as he realized that crowded into this van were no fewer than nine of the macho, buff jock gringo kids, all between eighteen and twenty-three. This would be the biggest hit they had carried out if Pedro decided to go for it. Nine against five. But really, the five would have the complete advantage of arms, surprise, authority and intimidation. Done well, the strike would give complete control before the college boys had any idea what was coming down. It would work, he felt. He hoped Pedro would agree.
Jesus this bunch was attractive! Undoubtedly some type of team off on their spring break to raise hell on the isolated beaches of Rocky Point. He found it amusing that they would likely find a bit more of hell down here than they had bargained for. As he processed their entry documents, he sized them up, trying to guess what Pedro would have done to each of them. He hoped they would be able to carry out the killings at leisure. That was always so much more exciting and arousing. Hearing the boys scream and watching them suffer tortures as they died, rather than just shooting them or cutting their throats as must occasionally be done if conditions made speed a necessity. When he had the luxury, Pedro was a incredible master at devising the most delicious forms of agonizing death for their victims.
Surely, at a minimum, there would he time to rape at least a few of these studly young bulls. God how he loved the feel of forcing his rod up into the gut of a squealing, writhing, terrified young gringo. The feel of power was exquisite. He spotted a tall, superbly built blond youth with a buzzed haircut wearing just cut-offs. His sleek, athletic body was gorgeous and his bulging muscles magnificent. His tight, bubble ass was jutting out behind and was without a doubt nice and virgin.
He matched the blond with the paperwork and discovered he was called Erik Johansson. Nice. A nordic viking to serve his needs. Yes, definitely, Erik would be raped. And as he sized up the young hunk his cock got steely hard between his legs just anticipating the pleasure to come. And afterwards, he would talk Pedro into letting his little brother Alejandro use Erik to ply his skills with the bullwhip. God was Alejandro good with the whipl It was always a thrill to watch him work a man with that awful whip.
He found the necessary "technical" problems with a couple of the pieces of paperwork and made the group pull off into the parking lot to wait for it to be cleared up. While they waited, the group passed time by passing around a frisbee, leaping and jumping around, displaying the wonderful muscles in those nearly perfect toned, sculpted bodies.
In the meantime, Juan called Pedro and ran the situation by him. To his relief, Pedro was delighted at the challenge of taking such a large group. Within the hour the other four would be in place to follow the van. Once he got the radio call that they were in place, he released the van and the college boys, blissfully unaware of their deadly peril, proceeded happily on their way south. They didn't even notice the sham Federales police jeep that followed them at a discrete distance starting five minutes after they left the border crossing. Juan, taking the afternoon off, was shortly following in a large truck with a canvas covered back bed, somewhat similar to an army vehicle, also marked as a Federales patrol.
Juan kept pace with events by radio contact with the jeep. To their delight, eventually the van left the somewhat busily travelled main road and took one of the dirt tracks that would lead to less frequented beach campsites. One of the Americans had been down here before and knew where to go for privacy. and privacy with them was exactly what Los Hermanos wanted.
It wasn't long before Pedro made the stop, putting on the police lights. When he approached the wan, it was with his service pistol drawn while his three companions, all attired in stolen Federales uniforms, brandished Uzis and stationed all around the vehicle. The gringo jocks ... it turned out they Mere all on their university's soccer team ... quickly followed orders to get out with hands high. Their eyes were big as they stared down the barrels of the guns in the hands of the stern, tough-looking young "cops." They had all heard wild scare stories a~ut how crazy and gun happy the Federales were down here.
"We are going to search your vehicle for illegal contraband," Pedro advised in his clipped, accented English. "We are also going to search your persons first and then restrain you for our safety while we search the van. Please take off all of your clothing at once and face the van with your hands behind your backs."
"What the fuck!"
One of the young gringos looked utterly outraged.
"Listen, buddy, we're Americans and you can't be doing this...."
"Or what?"
Pedro smiled politely.
"This is not Los Estados Unidos and your 'rights' when dealing with police authority are very different here. If you like we can go to the jail in Mexicali and you can sit there a few days while we sort all of this out."
"Shit, Dan," one of the other boys called out, "Don't fuck with these guys. If they want to search our fuzzy young asses, let 'em do it. We ain't got nothin' to hide."
And he began to peel off his clothes. The others, Dan obviously reluctantly and sulkily, followed suit. In moments, all nine of the super-buff bodies were nude and assuming the stance ordered.
Pedro all but laughed aloud. These stupid Americans were so like sheep. So ready to comply with show of authority. He supposed it was something to do with their upbringing. Cops, they were taught, are their "friends" and trustworthy. What a crock. With swift reaction, two of the "officers" slapped handcuffs on the nine sets of wrists while the other two kept guard. Then each boy was made to bring his ankles together and these too were cuffed together.
Since he didn't want the prisoners to panic too early, Pedro went through the sham of "finding" a small bag of pot in the van and venting "outrage" that they would have so little respect for the laws of their host country. Ignoring their shocked protests of innocence, they loaded all nine naked youths into the back of Juan's truck as soon as he arrived. They were now looking truly scared, some actually trembling a little as they were tossed up into the truck roughly, like sacks of grain.
Pedro had a standing arrangement with a chop shop and fencing operation in San Luis and Victorio took the van and all the possessions stripped from the prisoners and headed off. He would join the others in a couple of hours at the site Pedro had selected for the killings. It was a little rocky canyon just a few miles off the main road where the likelihood of company was almost nonexistent.
Pedro also liked it because there was a small stand of long-dead cottonwood trees that provided some useful props for the entertainments he had in mind. He never used the sam~ site twice and he had been reserving this one for just such a larger group where they would want lots of time to "dispose of the evidence" of the robbery at slow, exquisite leisure
For that was how he viewed it, coldly and logically. The living boys were witnesses ... prime "evidence" against his gang in a court. They needed to be disposed of. That meant they should no longer be living. It was just a little necessity that went along with the flourishing robbery enterprise he had established. And an enjoyable one.
Even as they unloaded the living cargo from his truck and tossed them into a pile on a sand dune a few yards from the stark wooden trunks and posts of the dead cottonwoods, Juan wondered if it had yet dawned on the young gringo jocks that they were not going to survive this experience.
He vaguely doubted it. It just seemed to impossible to believe in the clean, safe world from which they originated. And it was that confident, almost smug certainty of their future that made killing them such a sweet pleasure.
Pedro surveyed the prisoners with interest. He selected a tall, lean, handsome youngster with nicely styled, silky, sandy hair and Alfredo and Alejandro took him to stand beneath a still strong, solid cottonwood with a thick branch a few feet overhead. They tossed a rope over the branch and Juan fashioned a nice noose, smiling at the trembling, big-eyed teenager all the while.
"See, gringo, I make you nice necktie. Jus' for you
They looped it around the young jock's neck and snugged it tight. Then they freed his ankles. It was fun to watch a boy kick and thrash with his legs as he was hanged and they wanted this pretty young man to be completely unfettered in doing that to his heart's content.
"S...shit," he stuttered, "Y...you can't really be gonna h...hang me...."
His words ended in a choking little gasp as they hauled on the rope and drew his feet just a few vital inches off the ground.
"Si, gringo," Juan laughed. "We really are."
And they tied the rope off on the tree trunk and watched with delight as the kid began to very slowly strangle as he swung slowly back and forth like a living pendulum, his muscular body writhing and contracting beautifully. His long, strong legs kicked and walked and strained in frantic effort to get his toes back onto the ground. But they were just a few inches too far up.
And as they watched, they stripped off the uniforms and let the sun play on their own powerfully muscled, bronzed-brown nude bodies, all four cocks thrusting up in hungry excitement. They slowly stroked themselves as they watched the hanging boy slowly, slowly choke away his life.
The other eight, of course, were perfectly able to see the whole scene as their buddy was executed. Some were begging for his life, others just cursing in helpless, frustrated anger, struggling in vain against their own restraints. A couple were openly sobbing both at the death of their friend and teammate and the knowledge that almost certainly they too were about to be put to death out here in this stark, sun-broiled desert wasteland.
"You know...."
Pedro looked mock-concerned,
"All this hot sun on these pale gringo bodies can be very dangerous. It is not too safe for them to be running around in the naked like this. All sorts of bad things could happen."
"Like what, Jefe," Alfredo played along. "I no understand."
"Ah, you are such a dumb Mexican," Pedro shook his head.
"I guess we gotta show you, huh?"
"Si, Jefe, show me."
They seized a stocky little bull of a kid, wonderfully buff with a deliciously cute face. He could have been no more than eighteen. He struggled valiantly but was not able to do much against his captors who laughed and giggled, glad he was going to go gamely.
From a small plastic tub in the jeep, Pedro produced four long, thoroughly soaked strips of rawhide and tied one snugly about the teen's thick neck. Another was tied around his chest over the roof of the pees, another over the lower chest, running just below the pees. The last went around the upper belly, around the diaphragm.
Then, without warning or ceremony, Pedro brought his knee smashing up into the boy's big balls with bone-crunching force. The kid let out a strangled shriek of pain and collapsed to his knees, face contorted in agony as he sought to cope with the awful pain.
Pedro leaned down to talk with the lad almost confidentially,
"That hurt, gringo boy?"
The youth finally managed to choke out the words through his gritted teeth,
"Y...yes, sir. I...It hurt something awful."
"Well, good. I wanted it to hurt. Because I want you to know how it's gonna feel if you even try to stand up or move from where you are. 'Cause it's gonna get very hot in a hurry out here fully in the sun like you are. And those cords are gonna start shrinking and drying and gradually they gonna keep you from breathing and you'll turn blue and then die for us. It ain't gonna be nice, nor fast. We gonna enjoy it. But it can be worse. You try to move or stand and I'm gonna kick you in the balls much harder than I just did. I'll crush those pretty, soft baby makers into putty. You understand me gringo boy?"
Sobbing now with fear, the young head nodded to signal understanding.
They selected another of the hunky soccer-jocks, a boy with dark auburn hair and light freckles and made him kneel in the full sunlight. Then they bound his knees tightly to stakes to either side, then unbound his hands and bound them to two more stakes out before him, palms to the ground and his body lined out in a classic push-up position.
Then a cord was bound around his throat and drawn to a tree at an angle such that his head was forced back, his back arched in a tight curve. This forced him to support himself on his straining arms.
If ... no ... WHEN his arms gave out, he would be strangled. But that also was not likely for this cord too was wet rawhide. As it dried it would contract with incredible force and either choke the boy or bend his back so far that his spine would snap. It was a close question as to which would occur first and the captors took friendly bets as to which would be the case.
Leaving these two to suffer, for their deaths would be far, far more protracted and agonized than that of the dead puppy who had been hanged, Pedro showed the others his prize. It was a "Y" shaped cottonwood bole with a stout branch stump jutting out just below the branching of the arms. It was like a huge slingshot.
"I been lookin' at this tree ever since I found this spot. It just cries out to be used. Can you imagine how nice and pretty one of these big jock boys would look up there. His arms drawn out up those branches, his crotch hooked on that little stump, his feet nailed to the lower trunk. And then just hanging there, sorta like Christ, broiling and suffering and bleeding in the sun."
Juan drew in a sharp breath. Holy shit, he thought. A fucking crucifixion. He damn near had a spontaneous orgasm just thinking about that.
As Captain Picard on Star Trek, Next Generation, would have put it ... "Make it so." They made it so.
Tom Russle, a wonderfully built twenty year old bull of a boy with a strong, macho face and short, neatly groomed sandy curls, was selected as their victim. He was at first prone to resist, but a swift punch to his balls by Alejandro got his begrudging cooperation. Trembling, he allowed his rugged, manly nude body to be hoisted up until he was straddling the limb stump with his legs, the wood pressing painfully up into his crotch.
They used some fallen logs as stands to get high enough to work with Tom's limbs. While Pedro and Juan held the boy tightly in place, Alejandro and Alfredo freed his arms and drew one out up one of the branches of the wooden "Y."
Pedro, always the planner, had brought a number of thick iron spikes and a mallet. Alfredo held a spike against Tom's right wrist and slammed it home with the mallet. Tom screamed as the iron pierced his wrist and drove deep into the underlying wood. A second blow drove the spike nearly flush with the skin of the wrist. A thick curling run of dark crimson began to writhe out from around the boy's hand and arm and run down the tree trunk.
Then they repeated the process with Tom's other arm. Next they made him bend up a knee and plant one of his big, long-toed male feet flat against the tree trunk. He screamed again as the spike was driven through the arch of his foot, a couple of inches above the toes. Blood spurted heavily from the pierced foot. And he screamed again as they spiked down his other foot.
He had been crucified and now hung on his cottonwood slingshot-shaped cross to suffer in the broiling mid-day sun of the Sonora Desert until he died.
Well, they did have one last torment to add to his suffering. Pedro produced two large, shiny nails and positioned Tom's huge balls against the branch stump beneath. Then he positioned one of the nails over a big sex orb. And raised the hammer.
"Oh God. NO!!" Tom shrieked as he realized what was coming. "PLEASE don't do that!"
Then he really shrieked as Pedro drove the nail home. They let him suffer that horrible agony for a bit, then Juan was given the pleasure of nailing down the other ball. He teased Tom at length with the nail before finally driving it on in.
Tom really was majestically beautiful, his body flexing in his suffering, as he hung there for their viewing pleasure.
They checked out the two studs cooking in the sun with the shrinking rawhide cords working their dreadful magic. The first boy was in dire condition. His chest and belly were so tightly bound now, the rawhide cutting deep into the skin, that he could just barely suck in air.
The cord about his neck was tightly strangling him as well. He was turning blue-black in the face, his eyes were bugging and his tongue protruding from his gasping, gaping mouth. It would be a bit yet ... boys like this had the most remarkable ability to stave off the end and cling to life for unbelievable periods of time ... but death was not too far off.
It was a race to see who went first. The second boy was being stretched backwards so tightly, being slowly strangled at the same time, that surely that strong back of his could not last much longer. They chose up sides and made bets and watched the suffering soccer-jocks with open, lusting pleasure.
With surprising suddenness, there was a clearly audible snapping, crunching CRACK as the one boy's spinal column snapped under pressure. He went into brief death convulsions and then sagged limp and lifeless against his bonds. Juan was very pleased. He had not only bet that this one would die from the broken back rather than strangulation but also that he would go before the first boy. That one actually made it another terrible, anguished fifteen minutes before he died.
Three dead, six to go, though the crucified gringo was undergoing his suffering already. Death for him would be very protracted. Very.
About then, Victorio rejoined them and exulted in seeing the results of their toils so far. He admired the crucified boy at length and the three corpses. He lost no time in stripping naked himself and his cock was no less aroused than the rest of the gang's. And it was high time that they sated their urges before they began to get blue balls on a fatal level.
They each raped one of the remaining prisoners, who protested and begged and cried out in impotent rage at their violation. Juan, naturally, took on the blond crew-cut viking Erik. He forced the boy onto his belly, made him bend his knees to open up his ass crack, and pressed his cock to the puckered hole.
"Jesus!" Erik moaned, "Don't do this, man ... UHHHHH!"
Juan drove into him with one hard, brutal thrust. He almost swooned with pleasure as he felt the virgin gut pulse and contract and grip him. Erik writhed beneath him. Juan slowly drew his hips back and then pumped hard again. And again. And again. As his lust built he began to fuck the blond hunk with feverish violence, trying ;o rip open his asshole with each vicious drive.
All around him, the other four handsome college boys were being raped with equal gusto and violence. And one by one the Mexican captors reached their heated orgasms and pumped the boy guts full of their seed-rich cream. Juan thought Erik had been just about the best fuck he'd ever experienced as he fired off his load up into the moaning blond's tormented ass canal.
Afterwards, Pedro thought that Juan's suggestion to subject Erik to Alejandro's bullwhip was a truly splendid idea. The blond Adonis was swiftly tied tightly to a stout cottonwood stump that jutted up many feet from the ground. Alejandro produced the black, coiled snake with its braided leather and knotted tip and unlimbered his arm with a few practice snaps. Erik jerked in terror at each loud POP.
Finally ready, Alejandro positioned himself and drew back his arm. The ann flexed, the whip flew, curling through the air with a loud sucking hiss. Then there was a slashing, wet and very loud CRAACK as the leather chewed into Erik's broad back.
Instantly a deep cut appeared and blood began to seep from the wound.
Erik flexed every muscle in his lithe, beautiful body and his face contorted into a mask of agonized grimace. But he didn't scream. It was not until the third stroke that his screaming began.
Methodically, letting the agony from each new wound sink in, Alejandro skinned Erik alive with the bullwhip. Strokes were placed carefully to attack new, fresh skin at each stroke and varied all over the body. Here on the upper back. On one of the hard muscled thighs. Over that sweet, bubble butt. In the small of the back. On the shoulders.
It took nearly forty-five minutes and over sixty strokes, but Alejandro executed Erik with the bullwhip. Towards the end, sensing the prisoner was approaching unconsciousness, Alejandro sent expert lashes of the whip directly into the blond jock's crotch and literally castrated him, ripping the genitals apart like they were made of paper. The balls seemed to actually explode as the knot delivered its full force.
It all made Juan and his friends hard all over again.
The next boy up faced a nasty end. And slow. He was hung upside down by his feet, legs widely splayed, his hands bound to his muscular thighs. Then a length of piano razor wire was looped around his big genitals and drawn taut. Each end of the wire was attached to a wooden handle and Alejandro and Alfredo began to slowly on the handles.
The gringo screamed as he felt the wire cutting ever so slowly through the neck of his manhood and his rich, red blood began to stream down over his gut and chest from his crotch.
The castration was drawn out as long as possible but eventually the organs were severed and plopped untended to the dusty earth below where red ants quickly found them and began to swarm over the fresh meat.
And the freshly castrated boy was just left to suffer in the hot sun and bleed to death from the gaping wound between his thighs.
Three left.
One of these, another tough, wonderfully muscled dark-haired stud, was spiked to two short tree stumps standing a couple of feet apart. The kneeling jock's ankles were positioned at each stump, his hand placed over the foot and against the wood. Then the spikes were driven home, pinning hand to foot and foot to stump. The guy's shrieks echoed in the empty desert
Pedro then very slowly castrated the kid, slitting open his nut sac and drawing out the balls one by one. They all played around with the exposed gonads, teasing the owner, before cutting them free and scornfully dropping them into the dirt before the agonized young prisoner.
Their need was great again so they paused to rape the two remaining boys a second time, each patiently awaiting his turn, two taking one boy, three another.
Then they tied one of the two, a stocky, dark-haired fox, to a cottonwood pole in a squatting position and built up a little pile of dry wood down between this thighs, just below his ass and crotch.
And set it ablaze. As the boy was burned, his legs, crotch and ass cooking to a burnt, blackened crisp before death finally gave him its mercy, his screams were nearly continuous. And nearly demented with suffering. Juan always loved a burning. He thought it had to be the most terrible torture of all, particularly in this devilish way that Pedro always did it.
The last boy was given what they had come to call the "piñata " treatment. His arms and legs were tied into a tight ball behind him and then he was suspended face down, from a tree limb.
Pedro brought out the thick bamboo cane that would now be used and approached the dangling boy who was slowly swaying around like some decorative mobile from the tree limb. He was a cute, crew-cut boy with big liquid eyes and a lot of fight left in him. He was cursing his captors straight to hell when Pedro brought the cane whistling directly into his low-hanging, juicy cock and balls, wonderfully exposed by his position.
Blood flew from the torn organs and the cursing boy began to scream.
They took turns in caning him until he was turned into a bloody chunk of meat and lapsed into unconsciousness.
The day was ebbing into dusk by then. It was time to tidy up and get out of there. To head for the cantina, the coronas and the celebration of this wonderful afternoon.
Pedro produced his pistol and aimed at the dangling, bloody piñata boy. He fired three times, the bullets ripping the unconscious boy savagely. Three of the others still were clinging to life. The two castrates and the crucified stud, Tom. It would have been pleasant to just leave them to continue to suffer the pangs of hell, but they dared not take that risk. The evidence, after all, needed to be "disposed" of.
Pistols shots rang out repeatedly as three or four bullets were pumped into each boy to finish him.
And the next day, back at his border post, Juan smiled pleasantly at the jeep with three very rich looking and very handsome American boys, shirtless, their flawless, muscular chests displayed in full glory.
"Bienvenidos a Mexico, muchachos," he nodded to them. "Welcome to Mexico, boys. Where you headed?"
