M
m3m1
Guest
Wow. These kids get younger each year. Maybe it’s just that I’m getting older. It doesn’t matter. But I seem to save fewer of them as time goes by.
It doesn’t matter. I still love my work. Pain and fear still exist. The fuckmeat still squeals and dies in a welter of blood and semen. Nothing changes.
Thank God!
The one I’m watching is Mexican. Straight black hair, beautiful black eyes. He’s adorable. I’m gonna cum so hard when he dies.
He’s hustling as hard as he can. Skin-tight faded jeans highlight his junk. He must be wearing a cockring; I’ve been watching him for twenty minutes and he’s been rock hard the entire time. Oh, that’s good. This is gonna be fun.
I know this boy’s a whore and already lost and beyond redemption. But I’m feeling wild tonight, so this will be perfect. I have some frustrations to work out. This one’s gonna be messy.
He hasn’t had any luck. They seem to be going for the more well-built rentboys tonight; this kid is slim, almost a swimmer’s build. He’s got on a simple white t-shirt and a pair of scuffed lace-up work boots.
He looks like part of a landscaping crew and that may be what he does during the day. This may just be a sideline to make some extra money.
Oh, I hope he’s straight. His suffering will be so much more intense.
Ok, he’s the only one left on the street now. Time to get the show going. He’s grateful that he’s got a paying customer and hops in my car right away. I ask him how much he wants for a blowjob and then punch him in the face hard. He stares at me, stunned. I pop him on the jaw and put out his lights.
He’s out for a while, which is good, because it’s a long drive. I’ve saved this location for a special occasion. It’s an abandoned house way out of town near the intersection of a couple of two-lane state highways. The nearest inhabited building is a cement plant about a mile and a half up one of the highways, and at this hour, it’s closed. And it’s not guarded; I’d checked.
I needed a place in a middle of nowhere. See, this one gets to scream.
I’ve already got a mattress and my steel frame in place. I’d made this one custom for this situation; I’d been planning it for some time and had set up everything I needed in advance.
I strip the kid of everything—I was right, he’s got thick leather cockring on, which I leave in place--but put his boots back on. I love it when they die with their boots on. Did you know that’s the title of a movie? It’s an old western.
Doubt I could get anyone to produce the porno I’d want to go with that title.
Bitchboy goes on his back on the mattress. This frame has two pairs of upright posts at one end of the mattress. The whore’s hands are tied to one pair and his ankles to the other. He’s lying there with his fuckhole in the air, unable to move. Perfect.
Even better—he’s starting to wake up. This is an almost unique experience for me; I think it’s the first one I’ve done where my snuff toy wasn’t drugged. This should be fun.
None of his senses will be dulled. There won’t be any chemical joy offsetting the horror. He’s going to experience this in a way none of the others did.
He gives a loud moan as I stuff my thick cock into his ass. He’s only semi-conscious, but he’s coming around quickly. Little Mexican cunt has been fucked before—but never like this, I’ll bet.
He’s awake now. Awake and unhappy. He’s yelling at me in Spanish and twisting his body, trying to get away from my dick.
Tough luck—the kid’s impaled on my meat and isn’t going anywhere. He’s scared, but he doesn’t want to show it, so he’s acting tough and threatening to hurt me. So sweet and smooth with those soft black eyes, trying to be intimidating—I love him and am almost moved to pity.
Almost. Not quite. Time to turn it up.
“Shut up, you fucking cholo cocksucker,” I snarl at him. “You’ve had plenty of cocks up your faggot fuckhole. You ain’t ever had anyone like me, though. My dick ain’t the only hard thing that’s getting stuck into you. I’m gonna hurt you, fucker, and there’s not a goddam thing you can do about it. You’re gonna like there and suffer like a punk bitch so I can cum.”
“What? What the fuck are you talking about? Get the fuck off me, you fucking psycho bastard; I’m gonna fuck you up! GET FUCKIN’ OFF ME!!”
He’s yelling because there’s nothing else he can do. His legs are tied back up over his head, rope looped around his booted ankles running to the steel posts at the end of the mattress. The only part of his body he can really move is his ass—and I’m so deep in him that he can’t manage to squirm off my dick, hard as he tries.
I start pounding his hole as hard as I can, relentlessly fucking the living shit out of him. He screams loudly; it must really hurt since I’m not using any lube but my own spit. But this is only foreplay, of course. He may not know it, but this is the most fun he’s gonna have tonight.
I mean, the LAST fun he’s gonna have tonight.
I keep reaming him till he settles down. Good little whore; now he’s starting to enjoy it. I love him so much. It’s a shame he can’t be saved. Thanks ok, though; I’ll send him off right. He starts moaning with pleasure. And then—he’s working his ass in synch with my thrusts. He’s matching my rhythm. Damn—little spic whore is good!
He really wants me to cum. He’s working desperately to make me give him my load. He has no idea what it’s gonna take to get that—but I think it’s about time he found out. I pick up my knife from the floor beside the mattress.
It’s a black Ka-bar seven-inch serrated fighting knife. It’s a vicious, brutal tool that’s designed to kill. I let the fuckmeat get a good look at it.
“What, did you think I was gonna blow a wad into you and be done like one of your usual tricks? You’re gonna have to do more than that to get my sperm, cumpig. You’re gonna have to die like the worthless fucking faggot whore you are. I’m gonna cut your useless pig throat. Watching you bleed out and die in agony is gonna make me shoot. That’s how this ends for you, bleeding and dying on my cock.”
He looks at the knife and then back at my face, those amazing eyes wide with terror. He’s trying to process what’s happening. His brain isn’t able to handle it; the idea that his existence is about to end just won’t compute.
I make it compute. Without missing a stoke in my fucking, I lean down and kiss him, ramming my tongue deep in his mouth. Then I take my knife and start slicing into his throat.
Slowly.
He screams; oh my god, does he scream. Deep whooping shrieks. Oh, it’s beautiful. Each one resonates throughout his entire body and works my shaft life a velvet glove.
This takes some precision. I don’t want him dying too soon. I want to savor these precious moments. I have to grab his hair in one hand to hold his head still while I slice deeper into his tender, exposed throat, carefully avoiding the carotid and the jugular. The last thing I want if for him to bleed out too soon.
He’s still shrieking; the pain must be phenomenal. Let’s see if I can intensify the horror for him.
“Fucking die, you whore. You’re gonna leave this world with my dick in your worthless guts. You’re gonna scream and bleed and suffer and it’s gonna last as long as I want it to, to make me cum. I’m gonna dump my load into you and throw out your rotting meat like garbage. I want this to hurt, punk. The more you suffer, the more I enjoy it. Look into my eyes and see how much I want to hurt you, fucker.”
He obeys and stares into my eyes, but he doesn’t stop shrieking. His screams get louder as he realizes how much pain I can inflict on him at will. It’s incredibly erotic, how consumed with terror his is. As I lie on top of him, I feel a warmth spreading over my groin and belly. Thanks to his too-tight cockring, he’s still sporting a serious tent pole, but he’s lost control of his bladder. He’s pissing himself in fear.
Still screaming. I’m so glad I found this place; this isn’t something I could have done closer to town. The tempo of his cries increases with the speed of my thrusts while I’m fucking him. But I’m so close to shooting my wad. Time to grant my beautiful fuckmeat its release.
I plant one hand squarely on the Mexican’s face and slash into his throat as hard as I can, penetrating the carotid and the trachea simultaneously. Suddenly, my adorable cholo isn’t screaming any more; he’s gargling. The gout of blood that’s been pouring over my hand changes to a pink froth as the punk bitch struggles futilely to breathe. His head shudders beneath my hand as his rectum spasms against the engorged head of my cock. I cum explosively in his ass as I hear his last breath gurgle out of his mangled airway and see his eyes glaze over.
Oh, it’s the best one yet. And I wasn’t even able to save him.
What shall I do with my next true lost soul?
It doesn’t matter. I still love my work. Pain and fear still exist. The fuckmeat still squeals and dies in a welter of blood and semen. Nothing changes.
Thank God!
The one I’m watching is Mexican. Straight black hair, beautiful black eyes. He’s adorable. I’m gonna cum so hard when he dies.
He’s hustling as hard as he can. Skin-tight faded jeans highlight his junk. He must be wearing a cockring; I’ve been watching him for twenty minutes and he’s been rock hard the entire time. Oh, that’s good. This is gonna be fun.
I know this boy’s a whore and already lost and beyond redemption. But I’m feeling wild tonight, so this will be perfect. I have some frustrations to work out. This one’s gonna be messy.
He hasn’t had any luck. They seem to be going for the more well-built rentboys tonight; this kid is slim, almost a swimmer’s build. He’s got on a simple white t-shirt and a pair of scuffed lace-up work boots.
He looks like part of a landscaping crew and that may be what he does during the day. This may just be a sideline to make some extra money.
Oh, I hope he’s straight. His suffering will be so much more intense.
Ok, he’s the only one left on the street now. Time to get the show going. He’s grateful that he’s got a paying customer and hops in my car right away. I ask him how much he wants for a blowjob and then punch him in the face hard. He stares at me, stunned. I pop him on the jaw and put out his lights.
He’s out for a while, which is good, because it’s a long drive. I’ve saved this location for a special occasion. It’s an abandoned house way out of town near the intersection of a couple of two-lane state highways. The nearest inhabited building is a cement plant about a mile and a half up one of the highways, and at this hour, it’s closed. And it’s not guarded; I’d checked.
I needed a place in a middle of nowhere. See, this one gets to scream.
I’ve already got a mattress and my steel frame in place. I’d made this one custom for this situation; I’d been planning it for some time and had set up everything I needed in advance.
I strip the kid of everything—I was right, he’s got thick leather cockring on, which I leave in place--but put his boots back on. I love it when they die with their boots on. Did you know that’s the title of a movie? It’s an old western.
Doubt I could get anyone to produce the porno I’d want to go with that title.
Bitchboy goes on his back on the mattress. This frame has two pairs of upright posts at one end of the mattress. The whore’s hands are tied to one pair and his ankles to the other. He’s lying there with his fuckhole in the air, unable to move. Perfect.
Even better—he’s starting to wake up. This is an almost unique experience for me; I think it’s the first one I’ve done where my snuff toy wasn’t drugged. This should be fun.
None of his senses will be dulled. There won’t be any chemical joy offsetting the horror. He’s going to experience this in a way none of the others did.
He gives a loud moan as I stuff my thick cock into his ass. He’s only semi-conscious, but he’s coming around quickly. Little Mexican cunt has been fucked before—but never like this, I’ll bet.
He’s awake now. Awake and unhappy. He’s yelling at me in Spanish and twisting his body, trying to get away from my dick.
Tough luck—the kid’s impaled on my meat and isn’t going anywhere. He’s scared, but he doesn’t want to show it, so he’s acting tough and threatening to hurt me. So sweet and smooth with those soft black eyes, trying to be intimidating—I love him and am almost moved to pity.
Almost. Not quite. Time to turn it up.
“Shut up, you fucking cholo cocksucker,” I snarl at him. “You’ve had plenty of cocks up your faggot fuckhole. You ain’t ever had anyone like me, though. My dick ain’t the only hard thing that’s getting stuck into you. I’m gonna hurt you, fucker, and there’s not a goddam thing you can do about it. You’re gonna like there and suffer like a punk bitch so I can cum.”
“What? What the fuck are you talking about? Get the fuck off me, you fucking psycho bastard; I’m gonna fuck you up! GET FUCKIN’ OFF ME!!”
He’s yelling because there’s nothing else he can do. His legs are tied back up over his head, rope looped around his booted ankles running to the steel posts at the end of the mattress. The only part of his body he can really move is his ass—and I’m so deep in him that he can’t manage to squirm off my dick, hard as he tries.
I start pounding his hole as hard as I can, relentlessly fucking the living shit out of him. He screams loudly; it must really hurt since I’m not using any lube but my own spit. But this is only foreplay, of course. He may not know it, but this is the most fun he’s gonna have tonight.
I mean, the LAST fun he’s gonna have tonight.
I keep reaming him till he settles down. Good little whore; now he’s starting to enjoy it. I love him so much. It’s a shame he can’t be saved. Thanks ok, though; I’ll send him off right. He starts moaning with pleasure. And then—he’s working his ass in synch with my thrusts. He’s matching my rhythm. Damn—little spic whore is good!
He really wants me to cum. He’s working desperately to make me give him my load. He has no idea what it’s gonna take to get that—but I think it’s about time he found out. I pick up my knife from the floor beside the mattress.
It’s a black Ka-bar seven-inch serrated fighting knife. It’s a vicious, brutal tool that’s designed to kill. I let the fuckmeat get a good look at it.
“What, did you think I was gonna blow a wad into you and be done like one of your usual tricks? You’re gonna have to do more than that to get my sperm, cumpig. You’re gonna have to die like the worthless fucking faggot whore you are. I’m gonna cut your useless pig throat. Watching you bleed out and die in agony is gonna make me shoot. That’s how this ends for you, bleeding and dying on my cock.”
He looks at the knife and then back at my face, those amazing eyes wide with terror. He’s trying to process what’s happening. His brain isn’t able to handle it; the idea that his existence is about to end just won’t compute.
I make it compute. Without missing a stoke in my fucking, I lean down and kiss him, ramming my tongue deep in his mouth. Then I take my knife and start slicing into his throat.
Slowly.
He screams; oh my god, does he scream. Deep whooping shrieks. Oh, it’s beautiful. Each one resonates throughout his entire body and works my shaft life a velvet glove.
This takes some precision. I don’t want him dying too soon. I want to savor these precious moments. I have to grab his hair in one hand to hold his head still while I slice deeper into his tender, exposed throat, carefully avoiding the carotid and the jugular. The last thing I want if for him to bleed out too soon.
He’s still shrieking; the pain must be phenomenal. Let’s see if I can intensify the horror for him.
“Fucking die, you whore. You’re gonna leave this world with my dick in your worthless guts. You’re gonna scream and bleed and suffer and it’s gonna last as long as I want it to, to make me cum. I’m gonna dump my load into you and throw out your rotting meat like garbage. I want this to hurt, punk. The more you suffer, the more I enjoy it. Look into my eyes and see how much I want to hurt you, fucker.”
He obeys and stares into my eyes, but he doesn’t stop shrieking. His screams get louder as he realizes how much pain I can inflict on him at will. It’s incredibly erotic, how consumed with terror his is. As I lie on top of him, I feel a warmth spreading over my groin and belly. Thanks to his too-tight cockring, he’s still sporting a serious tent pole, but he’s lost control of his bladder. He’s pissing himself in fear.
Still screaming. I’m so glad I found this place; this isn’t something I could have done closer to town. The tempo of his cries increases with the speed of my thrusts while I’m fucking him. But I’m so close to shooting my wad. Time to grant my beautiful fuckmeat its release.
I plant one hand squarely on the Mexican’s face and slash into his throat as hard as I can, penetrating the carotid and the trachea simultaneously. Suddenly, my adorable cholo isn’t screaming any more; he’s gargling. The gout of blood that’s been pouring over my hand changes to a pink froth as the punk bitch struggles futilely to breathe. His head shudders beneath my hand as his rectum spasms against the engorged head of my cock. I cum explosively in his ass as I hear his last breath gurgle out of his mangled airway and see his eyes glaze over.
Oh, it’s the best one yet. And I wasn’t even able to save him.
What shall I do with my next true lost soul?
