Hung Out To Dry


A man is a tasty morsel.
Elite Member
Jan 13, 2012
Cannibal Heaven
I wrapped my arms around the naked boy, caressing his smooth silky skin, running my hands over his sides, back, and soft round ass. I sniffed his sweat as his breath warmed my neck. My dick hard against his belly, impatient to erupt. His dick hanging limp, unaware of my passion. I slid to my knees and took his flaccid tool into my mouth. My lips and tongue began to work their magic. Some would think it impossible to arouse the dick of an unconscious man, but that’s my talent. I’m known as the best cocksucker in the county. “Cody could make a dead man cum,” they say. And they’re right. I could.

As my mouth worked the boy’s cock, I felt his body lurch. That would be Cory, my brother. My twin brother. We’re identical twins, with one exception. Cory has the biggest cock in the state. I’m not exaggerating. It’s huge. So fat and so long he can never get a guy to agree to being fucked. So, he has to fuck by force. Like today. As I suck the unconscious boy’s dick, Cory is making his forced entry from the rear. Ramming his enormous tool into this virgin butthole, literally ripping it apart. That’s the lurch I felt. And the cause of a yelp I heard as the boy was jolted to attention.

Cory and I work in unison. Him fucking. Me sucking. And the boy swinging to our rhythm. You see, the boy is hanging by his wrists from a cable, feet just off the ground, swaying forward and back with every thrust of Cory’s cock. Above my head, I hear the kid crying in pain. No way the ecstasy of my blowjob can cancel out the agony of Cory’s pile driver. But they cum simultaneously, Cory and the boy. My mouth is filled with warm, thick, viscous semen. The boy’s rectum has been shot full with a similar load of cum. We hold our positions, not moving, so Cory can let his passion cool and subside, and so I can run my tongue through the thick goo, savoring its sweet taste.

We pull off at the same time. I drop the boy’s cock as Cory extracts his dick, leaving a large hole that will never return to its original size. I remain on my knees as Cory walks from behind the boy. He smiles broadly. “One of the best yet, Cody. So tight and ripe. You ready?” “You bet, Brother.” Cory stood before me, his monstrous cock smeared with cum, blood and shit. I take it into my mouth, letting it slide deep into my throat. As I said, I’m the most talented cocksucker around and the only one that can take Cory and please him. And we’re both happy. He gets a fantastic blowjob, and I get his dirty cock in my mouth whenever it rips open a butt.

We stand, grab our bamboo switches, and begin to beat the boy. Hanging by his wrists, he’s an easy target. His legs flail as he lurches violently, but he can’t avoid the blows as they whack against his bare body. From his toes to his scalp, front, back and sides. Red marks form, and grow into welts, until blood runs. Even his face. We’re both experts with the rods and can muck up a face without touching the eyes.

We stop, release his wrists, and sling him over my shoulder. I carry the whimpering, naked pussy into the barn and, after Cory clips a metal bracelet to his ankle, I dump him into the Pen. The Pen is located inside the barn. Usually contains three to four boys. All beaten down, mentally and physically. It’s about six feet by eight feet, surrounded by a four-foot high steel fence. Although the barn is heated, we provide blankets and pillows (not too clean), shit pots, and eating troughs. The floor is dirt. Nearby are five hogs in their own pen. No real reason for the hogs, just ambiance. Makes the barn smell like a barn.

We collect the boys from various locations around the state, usually far from here. Our preferences are college campuses, construction sites, retail outlets like grocery stores. This one today came from a fast food joint about 400 miles away. Picked him up hitch-hiking, chloroformed him, then hung him on the line when we got home. His clothes and any possessions were dropped into a deep well-hole we drilled out back, and where he’ll end up when we’re through with him.

The boys in the Pen are always naked. They learn quickly that if they try to climb out, their ankle bracelet will give them a huge shock. When we dump a new one in the Pen, the guys already there take him under their wing and teach him the ropes. “Whatever you do, don’t try to go over the fence. Be patient. Do what you’re told. Eventually they’ll let us go.” Well, that’s what we let them think. In truth, they die here. It’s simple as that.

We keep the boys well-fed. Not great food, but nourishing. And it’s drugged to keep them docile. Even give them soft drinks, as well as water. It’s just that they have to eat out of troughs. And share the same shit bucket. Cory feeds them daily. I take the shit bucket away daily. Don’t ask what I do with it.

Cory and me are identical twins. Daddy was a preacher and Mom a housewife. We grew up comfortably because Grampa earned millions in the oil business. Still, we lived a humble existence. When we were about six, I found some of Daddy’s religious artwork hidden in his desk. These were mostly Renaissance pieces focusing on Christian themes. Lots or scantily clad men and women fighting or making love. What fascinated us was their nakedness. And their heavily muscled bodies. And their pee pees. In the pictures they were as small as ours. But when we looked at the pictures, our pee pees got bigger. Yeah, even at our young age. So, we began to play with each others’ dicks. Touch them. Lick them. Put them in our mouths. And moved on from there. At about ten, I put my finger in Cory’s ass and developed a new taste. I also learned how to suck Cory’s dick, which was getting bigger by the month. Then, at sixteen, while searching the net for muscled naked bodies (Oh, so many!), we chanced on a gay BDSM site. Cooool! We tried stuff on each other but neither of us liked pain. Still, we jerked off to the website. Then, a couple years later, we found a kid swimming down by the creek. Skinny dipping. We killed him by throwing rocks at him. That was fun, and opened a whole new world to us.

When we were nineteen, Daddy died. Mom moved back east to live with her sister. Then Grampa died and we inherited a ship load of money. We opened a well-drilling business, and bought a huge spread in the country. First hole we drilled was right here on our property. Thirty feet deep, about three feet wide. It’s where we dump the boys when we’re through with them.

The guys don’t last much over a month or two. We can get kinda rough on them and they usually just die. And down the hole they go. Sometimes they get injured so it isn’t fun to play with them anymore. And this is when Cory and I have one of our few disagreements. You see, when a kid gets boring or useless, I want to just dump him down the hole. Alive. Cory says they should be dead before they go in. That it’s cruel to kill a guy that way. Cruel? Everything else we do isn’t cruel? Shoving your monstrous cock into their pristine buttholes isn’t cruel? No. What we do to them is fun. And, for me, throwing a live kid into the hole is also fun. The idea of him falling down a narrow hole and landing on another decomposing kid….that’s hot! I drop a mic on a cord down so I can listen to everything on my headphones. Hearing the THUNK or SPLAT. Or any cries. Now that is fun. I love it.

We both love to beat the shit out of our boys. My favorite is to gut punch, kick, stomp. One kid, I dug his eyes out with a stick. Cory, of course, likes to fuck them. These are the only guys he gets to fuck, so he rips them open every day. You get that big tool in your bunghole five to ten times? You don’t feel good. Don’t look good. Soon lose control of its functions. Dribble. Dribble.

It's a good life for us. Twenty-two years old. We’re happy. We got money. We got a good cover in the drilling business. We always have someone to beat up. We take a boy out of the Pen. Beat him. Kick him. Stomp him. Bite him. Cut him. Burn him. Fuck him. Listen to his cries. Watch as bruises form, blood drips, flesh rips; watch him piss, shit himself, vomit. Then when he’s exhausted or unconscious, we clip him to the cable, hose him clean, and hang him out to dry before dumping him back into the Pen with his buddies.