When I think back on the men I’ve tortured and killed, I think of the magical moment when they realize that they are fucked. Totally and irrevocable fucked. The pain won’t end and they will die.
I wonder if it’s something they see in my eyes. My joy in torturing and mutilating. Are my eyes cold with hatred? No, not possible, because I don’t hate. At least not usually. Are my eyes warm and loving as I absorb the beauty of their bodies, and tear that beauty apart? I don’t know. I don’t see my eyes. Only they do.
No, I see their eyes. And sometimes I can recognize the moment when they realize this is not a simple sex game with a stranger. It’s real. They went home with a maniac, who really intends to do them harm. To torture. To kill.
It’s the moment they realize I’m not playing a game. When their anxiety and uncertainty become genuine fear. It shows in their eyes, their pleas, their screams. Abject terror. What goes on in their minds, I don’t know. Do they just give up? Do they maintain an unreasonable bit of hope? When the screams become sobs and whimpers, does that mean they give up? Or just that the pain is so great that screaming isn’t possible? It is so hard to tell.
I enjoy the process from the moment I bring him into my home to the moment I jack my last load onto his corpse. But even for me, the magical moment is special. There’s a special tingle in my cock when my victim fully recognizes me for who I am. The total master of his body and mind and fate. His torturer. His killer.
“I don’t get fucked and I don’t suck cock.” Gunther made that emphatically clear. He was Austrian, doing business in the area. He sounded just like Schwarzeneger and looked like him, too. A massive bodybuilder. Perfect muscles. Perfect skin, silky smooth and unblemished…no hair, no tats, no piercings. Handsome. Dark hair and piercing black eyes. Arrogant. Like he was doing me a huge favor by deigning to come home with me. No problem. I was humble (“You can fuck me all you want, Gunther. I’ll give you the best blow job ever, Gunther.”) Whatever it took, I wanted that body in my playroom.
The drugged beer took him down quickly. I shaved what little body hair he had and gave him an enema to clean him out. I knew what I wanted tonight. I wrapped a chain around his chest, just below his pecs, fastened it in the back and pulled him up so his feet were just off the floor. Chained his wrists behind his back. I also stretched chains tightly around each thigh, just above his knees. Because he was so strong, I used extra heavy duty chains and locks.
I stepped back to admire his gorgeous physique. I’ve had some guys here with great builds, but this was the first pure bodybuilder I’d ever lured into my playroom. Absolutely spectacular! He was about 6’2”, 240#, 32” waist, 50” chest, 20” biceps, and thighs almost as thick as his waist. His rock-hard muscles were wrapped in pure white skin, soft as silk. He was only 22 and fucking hung! A huge uncut cock and large balls hanging in a big loose sac from his shaved crotch. Not the stereotypical bodybuilder at all! I shot liquid Viagra into the base of his cock and watched it grow even bigger. Ten inches and thick! Glad as hell I won’t have to make good on that promise to let him fuck me!
Gunther was naked. I wore steel-toe construction boots and heavy socks, tight white hiking shorts, and a baseball cap. Well, the shorts weren’t white anymore. I’d worn them for most of my sessions and they were stained with the blood of many men. A bit crusty, too. Never been washed. A DNA test would tell quite a story.
As he dangled in front of me, I rubbed my hands and lips over every inch of his body. My dick was throbbing, unaccustomed to such magnificence. My mouth sucked at his tits, his biceps, his belly button (an outie), his thighs and calves, feet and toes, and of course, his cock and balls. I was in Heaven and God was in my arms.
“Shithead!” broke my reverie. Gunther was awake. “Let me out of here, you asshole! I don’t play games like this!” “Not yet, Gunther, we got stuff to do.” “No way, Fucker! I’m going home!” He kicked out at me and almost got my crotch. I grabbed his nuts and squeezed hard. As he sucked in breath, I said quietly “Do that again and these will be flat. Got that, Fucker?” I kept squeezing until he nodded and then let go. I slapped his face hard. He spit in my eye. I just smiled as the goober slid down my cheek. I leaned down and bit his left nipple, bit it hard. His body jerked and he let out a yelp as my teeth ripped at his tit. I drew blood and stepped back. His eyes shot pure hatred at me but I detected a little fear, too.
I hooked to the chains around his thighs and pulled them out and up. He soon was suspended horizontally, face up, by this shoulders and thighs, legs spread wide, his dick opposite my mouth. Wrists still bound at his back. His head hung backwards but he brought it up to see what I was going to do. “Nice dick, Gunther. Let’s make it happy.” I slid my mouth over it but couldn’t shallow more than half of it. I bit down hard. He lurched and yelled. I ground my teeth on his shaft, tearing the skin, and drawing blood. Then dropped my mouth to his huge nuts. I sucked on them, one at a time, pressing hard. My teeth ripped at his sac and tore off bits of skin.
My mouth dropped further and found his hole, puckered and pink, and very tight. As I tried to wedge my tongue inside, Gunther let out a shout. “No! No! That hurts! I don’t get fucked!” Well, that’s about to change. I spit on my finger and probed. Yeah, really tight. It’s true. He’s never been fucked. A virgin! Now I was excited. I slid my finger inside as Gunther howled in pain. I finger fucked him to loosen it up and then shoved in two fingers. Louder howls. (I sure as hell didn’t make this much noise the first time I got fucked.) Twisting, the two fingers became three. He was really in pain now and I wasn’t letting up. In and out, in and out. Three became four. I know it was painful because except for the first bit of saliva, I was using no lubricant, and his hole was dry. Finally, I took four fingers with my thumb tucked underneath, and began to push slowly, very slowly, into his butthole, stretching his sphincter. It ripped a little. Blood appeared. I pulled out to see several cracks in his sphincter, cracks oozing blood. I let it cover my hand and resumed my slow butt probe with the crimson lubricant easing my passage. The whole time, Gunther was screaming, his body lurching in the chains, head bobbing up and down, and legs below his chains kicking wildly. Finally, my hand popped through, entering comfortably into his colon.
I left my hand inside his ass for a couple minutes, to both savor the pleasure and allow him to relax, and then yanked it out fast, really fast. As it popped out, Gunther let loose with a loud shriek followed by a long howl. “No! No! That hurts! Please! Stop!” Ignoring his pain, or reveling in it, I punched my fist in again and quickly withdrew. Several times more, in and out, in and out, stretching his hole more and more. Then I moved to two hands at once. Gunther’s screams and howls and shrieks became merely one long continuous moan. Sort of a whimpering “Nooooo. Nooooo. Pleeeeze. Hurt. Hurt. So bad. Pleeeeze.” His head dropped back and his legs kicked very little. For a full half hour, I worked his asshole, stretching and ripping. Sometimes using two hands. Sometimes punching my balled-up fist into the hole time and again. I finally got tired and stopped to look closely. The hole was five inches wide and didn’t close up like it should have. It just stared back at me. A huge, cavernous void.
I cleaned it with a cloth and examined its beauty. The pink folds of his colon were coated with specks of blood. I ran my finger over the soft tissue and tasted the essence of Gunther. I pushed my nose as far in as I could and inhaled deeply. Ahhhh, the scent of a man! There are certain aromas that are distinctly male. The sweat of an armpit. The reeking balls in the jockstrap of a sweaty athlete. The stink of a foot after a long trek in hiking boots. The stench of a soldier, unwashed during weeks in the field. And the pungency of an unclean asshole. These glorious scents define manhood. My nose absorbs. My dick throbs. I revel in the masculine stink of Gunther’s hole, mixing the sweet scent of blood with the fragrant odor of shit.
The first time I fisted a guy, I couldn’t believe the incredible feeling. My hand was inside a colon, so warm and moist, a silky texture of soft folds. I had never felt anything so stimulating. I’ve often fantasized shoving my head into a clean asshole, feeling my face caressed by the moist tissue, licking its warm interior, sucking at the folds. On the other hand, I’ve also fantasized ripping out the colon from within.
Gunther was in severe pain and almost passed out. Time for more fun. I brought out a pair of work boots I’d found in a thrift shop. Size eighteen. Huge. Gunther looks to be about an eleven. I filled the boots with broken glass and slid one over Gunther’s left foot. Then I poured more glass in, covering the sides and top of his foot, before tightening just one lace at the top of his ankle. The shards could move around inside the boot but not fall out. I did the same with the other foot. With his two feet hanging loose below the thigh chains and the pain he was feeling from his ass pounding, he wouldn’t notice this for now.
I walked around and massaged Gunther’s belly and chest. I cradled his head in my hands and whispered “OK, bud. That’s over. You’ll be fine. I’m going to let you down so you can stand up. And then I’ll loosen the chains.” He looked at me, beseechingly. I raised him by the chest a bit and then slowly lowered his legs. They hung a foot above the floor as I removed the chains around his thighs. Gunther’s eyes had a look of relief. “Thank you, sir. Danke schoen.” His breathing was almost normal, as I lowered his feet to the floor.
When his feet hit the floor under his full weight, he let out a shriek. He jerked his feet off the floor and held them in the air. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Ow! Ow! Oooooooooh! “Gunther, I’m going to loosen your wrists so you can grab the chain over your head and hold yourself up.” I unlocked his wrists and he reached up to grab the chain. As he did, I snapped his wrists together, hooked him to another chain, and pulled him up. The chain around his chest was removed and there he was, suspended solely by his wrists, all 240 pounds pulling down and digging the steel links into the bones of his wrists. I let him drop to the floor so the 240 pounds were now pressing down on his feet. More screams as broken glass tore into the soles of his feet. He danced. He hopped. Legs and feet flailing in every direction. When he tried pulling his feet up, I kept lowering him closer to the floor. I would not let him pull his feet off the floor.
I walked in front of him. Gunther’s body was covered with sweat, his face contorted. Crying. Wailing. Screeching. And every muscle straining to escape the pain. And, God, what muscles they were! Blood dripped from his asshole, running down the back of his thighs into his sharded boots. I raised him so his toes barely touched the floor. I moved close and let his rigid dick rub my shorts, adding his blood to the others’. I ran my hands over his glistening body, feeling abs and pecs, reaching around to touch his back and, yes, his sweet bubble butt. He still looked and felt magnificent. So sexy in his pain. Sexy sounds of pure pain emanating from his mouth. I lowered him again to the floor and stepped on his feet, my 180 pounds adding to the force which shoved the glass deep into his soles and instep. I stood with my arms wrapped around his body, caressing his back, my cheek next to his wailing mouth. So warm and sweaty and slick.
Eventually, I walked behind him, grabbed his sweat-soaked hair, pulled his head way back, slipped a wooden rod into his mouth, and let his head fall forward. The rod, about two inches in diameter and two feet long, was held firmly in his mouth by the force of his head pressing against his biceps. He quickly gripped the stick with his teeth, grinding them into it to try to ease the hurt, the way you grit your teeth when in pain.
The next hour was spent lifting and dropping him so his feet kept hitting the floor. Each time, shards dug deeper into his feet, slicing flesh, grinding against bone. Whenever he thought he might be in a position to ease the pain, I kicked his feet from under him. I punched his eyes and nose a couple times. Ground my teeth into his hard cock. Chewed at his outie belly button. Bit his nipples. Sometimes, I slowed down and his feet seemed to find a position that didn’t hurt so much. Just as he thought he might relieve the pain, I moved in and stomped on his boots, shoving glass deeper into his instep. Even louder screeching then! His boots turned dark and damp as blood soaked the leather and began to leak out.
Eventually, I let his body drop to the floor, face down, the wooden rod resting on his outstretched arms. He lay whimpering, breathing heavily, softly moaning, “Mummy. Mummy. Ohhhhhhhh. Meine mummy.” I let him rest momentarily and then stomped my boot down on his head, driving the rod further into his mouth. I knelt, pulled his head back by his hair, and tried to pull the stick out. Wouldn’t move. His teeth had been driven deep into the wood. I dropped his head so the stick was resting again on his biceps and went to get my sledgehammer. Wielding it like a croquet mallet, I smashed one end of the wooden rod, driving it to his left side and out of his mouth. One loud shriek and then silence. He had passed out from the shock of pain.
I rolled Gunther over. Blood ran from his mouth. I looked at the rod and saw many of his teeth embedded in the wood. Ran my fingers inside his mouth. Most of his teeth had been ripped out when I hit the rod and the rest were loose. I sat him up against a post and sucked a lot of blood from his mouth. Didn’t want his to choke on it while unconscious. I used pliers to remove the rest of his teeth. Most were loose and came out easily but two broken ones in the back required a lot of force to pull out. Finally, when I ran my fingers into his mouth, all I could feel was the soft, bloody pulp of his ripped-up gums. Nice. The fucker had been through a lot: stretched asshole, feet ripped by broken glass, and now severe dental work. He deserved a rest. And also some morphine to lessen his pain a little and keep him going. So I shoved him onto the floor and gave him a shot of morphine. Then I rolled him over, face down, and let him sleep.
An hour later, I returned and he was just as I’d left him. He lay face down, slightly on his left side. His left arm was at his side; his right hand lay on the floor near his head. Left leg straight, right slightly bent. From this angle, there was not one mark on his body, no evidence of his ordeal, except for a little blood on his inner thighs. His hair was still slick from sweat but the body had dried. For all anyone could tell, he was a god reclining. But when I rolled him onto his back, a different story. Bruised face, gaping hole for a mouth, bloody tits and cock, and a brutalized sphincter. I couldn’t say which side of him turned me on the most.
I pulled Gunther over to a post and sat him up. Slapped his face a few times until he woke. Eyes glazed over. Was he comprehending anything? I stood, slipped off my shorts, and slapped my rigid cock against his face, back and forth. Then I slid it into his mouth and deep into his throat. And fucked his face. He hardly resisted. His hands came up and held my calves, but that was all. No strength to push me away. Once it felt as if he tried to bite but all that did was cause his bloody gums to hurt. When I pulled out once and looked into his eyes, they seemed to flash a bit of hatred. I resumed pounding my dick down his throat. He choked once and I held it in his throat until he retched. Dry heaves. Face-fucking a man with no teeth and torn bloody gums is an awesome sensation. So sensuous! Finally, I let it go, and with deep spasms of ecstasy as I shot my thick gooey jizz into his throat. Exhausted, I slipped down and rested my head in his lap. No resistance. “I’m proud of you, Muscle Boy. Fucked in both ends. You’re a pussy now.” He was sobbing softly, tears mixing with blood, dripping off his cheeks to my face below. I left him there to rest for a couple hours in a sitting position, wrists secured behind the post.
When I returned, Gunther was more alert. As soon as he saw me, he began to call me a fucker, asshole, shithead, and some Austrian words too. Kind of funny listening to him. It’s hard to understand someone with no teeth and a mouthful of blood. I just smiled and said he needed to wash his mouth. I pushed his head back, shoved my dick into his mouth, and peed down his throat. He gagged and spit bloody piss out onto his chest and belly. I pulled back and aimed the stream into his open mouth. When he clamped it closed, I continued pissing in his face.
I pushed him onto the floor, wrapped a chain around one wrist, hooked it to a pulley, dragged him across the room and up to a standing position again. I stretched his legs and arms out in a spread-eagle position and looked him over. Of course, his mouth was a mess and there were bruises on his face. His tits, belly button, cock and sac were bloody from my teeth and wet from my piss. His inner thighs sticky with blood that had seeped from his torn butthole. A few bruises on his thighs. But nothing serious, not much real damage at all. He still looked like a god.
I took his helpless body into my arms, caressing his warm silky skin, holding him tight against my own nakedness. Christ, he was sooooo fucking sensual! His dick had begun to soften and needed more liquid Viagra. But first, I picked up my scissors and snipped away at his foreskin. He writhed in pain, but I managed to complete the circumcision and swallow the skin and lick the smegma. Then a shot of Viagra popped his cock up to once again stand tall and rock hard. As it bled, I gave him the blow job I’d promised. I couldn’t get him to cum but I did swallow a lot of red juice from his cock. I was in Heaven! And Gunther was about to resume his descent into Hell.
I opened a box of cork screws. I walked to his left side and caressed his huge bicep. I set the point of the cork screw against it and pressed. The skin broke and I began to slowly, very slowly, turn it. Gunther jerked wildly, screaming as the sharp metal ripped steadily through his muscle until the entire three-inch cork screw was embedded in his arm. I had never experienced such sexual arousal. With every turn of the screw, ripping through this massive bicep, hearing Gunther’s terrified screams, feeling his excruciating pain, my cock grew harder than I could ever imagine, and just as I made the final turn, it erupted, blasting my splooge onto Gunther’s thigh. I grabbed him around his waist and just kept humping his leg until I finally ran out of juice and slid to the floor, exhausted and oblivious to the screeching and writhing above me.
In time, we both calmed down. When I stood, our eyes met, each aware of his fate. His eyes were wide with terror, but also with an acceptance of inevitability. He knew he would die but feared the pain that would come first. My eyes were soft and dreamy, as if anticipating a night of love. He was a mass of solid muscle. I was holding a box of corkscrews. An ideal match.
I moved to his right arm and twisted one into his tricep, very slowly, feeling each layer of tissue being punctured. It was as sensual as sliding a knife into a man’s gut. Unless you’ve done it, you cannot know how incredibly erotic it feels to slice through male skin and tissue with a sharp object.
Next, I twisted one into each shoulder, aiming the steel point right into the joint. Now that really had to fucking hurt. Again, I embraced the unfortunate Gunther. His pain was immense and I knew it was time to give him morphine. I caressed his body, kissed his face, whispered encouragement into his ear. I pulled his head forward. “Look down, Gunther. Your dick. It’s still hard. I think it’s getting off on all this pain.” His dick was still rigid and standing tall, so I twisted a screw into his pee hole. Then I gave him another shot of morphine. Don’t know why I was being kind to him. He never deserved sympathy. Guess I’m just a nice guy.
I’m sure the morphine did some good because, instead of shrieking as each corkscrew entered his body, he made moaning sounds, the volume and intensity rising and falling depending on my actions. Into his calves. Thighs, both front and back. Butt cheeks. I entered each pectoral from the side, and then chewed vigorously on his tits, consuming each nipple. I squeezed his sac tightly and pierced both balls at once.
I knelt behind him and slid my fist once more into his expanded butthole. Again, I felt his soft moist colon. But this time, instead of luxuriating in its sweet warmth, I tore at it with my fingernails. As tissue began to rip and tear, I felt a flood of warm liquid on my arm. I pulled my bloody arm out. This time, blood wasn’t just seeping from his butt and dribbling down his thighs, it was flowing like a small stream. Time to end it.
Gunther’s eyes were glassy, his moans low and uneven. I took one final corkscrew and put it to his neck, just below his Adam’s apple and above his sternum, and pressed, twisting, slowly piercing his throat and windpipe. I left it there and stepped back. His body twitched once. Then the gurgling began. Strange guttural sounds. An eruption of blood from his mouth. And then his nose. Blood was draining into his lungs and then spurting out as he instinctively tried to breath. A few more gurgles. A few more eruptions. A few more twitches. Then silence. Head drooping loosely to the side, motionless, glassy eyes staring into mine.
I stared back. Blood still dripped from his mouth, and his chest was a delicious crimson color.
I smiled. “That was nice, Gunther. You were an arrogant and stunningly beautiful asshole, but now you’re dead, a hunk of bloody meat. I reduced you to a sobbing, blubbering, mutilated mess, begging for my mercy. I broke your spirit. I destroyed your beauty. You can’t imagine how much I enjoyed watching your skin shred and bleed, hearing you scream, seeing your terror, chewing your body, swallowing your beauty, reducing you to nothing more than a simpering, whining, broken sissy. It was fulfilling. And fun.
“You know something, Gunther? I’ll soon find another beautiful man and do the same to him. I can’t stop myself. And I don’t want to.”
Call me Caleb, and come home with me.
You will suffer hideously. You will die beautifully.
I was sitting in my easy chair, watching Santos, hanging by his wrists in front of me. Barely conscious. Naked body covered with purple welts and bruises. I’d had him here for a couple days, whacking him with a stick. Nothing more. Sometimes I like a simple kill. No blood. No torture. Just a slow death. I’m hoping I can keep this one going for five days, and a new record for me.
I love my easy chair. So comfortable. And sentimental. It is splattered with the blood of most of my boys. It’s a cloth upholstery, so the blood soaks in. But the blood doesn’t dry hard, it seems to just soak into the cloth and the covering keeps its softness. Got some of my own blood, too, from the time I cut myself with a box cutter. If I ever get caught, the cops could identify all my victims just by DNA testing my chair. Ha!
So, I’m sitting here, looking at Santos. It’s quiet in the room with no sound other than his heavy breathing. I find his bruised body quite beautiful. He has light brown hair but his body is pure white. Or was. Skin so smooth and soft, like satin, stretched over hard muscles, and white as a marble statue. That’s why he’s here. I saw him at the gym and immediately envisioned his ivory body slowly turning red and blue and black from being whacked. And he is.
I really get off on the sound of a stick hitting against flesh and bone. One of the first CDG videos that turned me on was four teens in an African village being beaten to death for stealing a cell phone. The villagers later burned them but it was the whack whack whack of the sticks against their naked bodies that got me hard. The villagers didn’t shout much and the boys didn’t cry out. Only the sounds of incessant blows. Nice.
My favorite vids are of men being killed with sharp objects or being beaten. Or kicked. Or dragged. Especially when they are naked or partially naked. And alive. I prefer it when the attacker is quiet and methodical. Some guys go nuts when they kill. Way too fast. Way too loud. If the killer is quiet, we can hear cries and screams, the sweet sounds of death. Occasionally the victim is quiet. One of my favorite vids is the beefy black guy lying on the ground. A dude cuts off his arm at the shoulder. No cries. Just the sound of the knife cutting through flesh. Can’t really describe it, sort of sloosh-sloosh-sloosh. God, that sound is so sensual. The victim did cry out once when they turned him over, but then remained silent as they cut his other arm off and began to slice his pecs. They slit his belly open, spilling his guts, and he died. But his killers remained silent as they continued to slice his flesh. The whole scene was serene and sensual. A naked man being quietly butchered is always a sweet dream. For me, anyway. It might be a nightmare for him.
There was also a vid of a young guy having his arms, ears and legs cut off while alive before being shot in the face. Unfortunately, the gang members watching the kill made so much noise, it spoiled the scene. Couldn’t hear the boy dying or the cutting sounds as knives sliced through flesh and bone. Pity.
I’ve watched a lot of throat-cutting videos that were extremely sexy. The sight of blood spurting from a slit neck is fucking HOT. I always wish I could put my mouth to the neck and drink from the fountain. Warm blood. Drinking. Slurping. Swallowing. Love it. The gusher from the stump. The sound of a slit throat is another thing. The guy tries to breath but just sucks blood into his lungs, then tries to force it out, succeeding only in making wheezing, gurgling sounds. So cool. Best one was a young guy being held from behind, head forced back, and the knife opening a huge gash, exposing his entire inner throat. Then, too soon, being pushed forward into a hole, his grave, and lying face down in the hole, legs up, and hands tied behind him, twisting and twitching, as we hear his blood-filled gasps. That was a really great death.
ISIS did great throat-cutting. Fabulous camera work. Stunning close-ups of the cut and the spurt. But no sound, and those awful orange jumpsuits. An executed man should be naked. Simple as that. Blood needs bare skin. The cartels understand and most of their victims at least are shirtless. Much sexier. The cartels have the same diabolic imagination of ISIS, and accomplish some wonderful deaths, like live dismemberment and live autopsies. And they give us the sound of death.
I like the sound of death. When I kill, my dick gets hard from the screams, cries, pleas, sobs, whimpers of my man. But I often inject morphine to calm him down and keep him living longer. Don’t want to waste the experience by letting him die too soon. Of course, I can eat him. Dead flesh is great, but live flesh tastes so much better. You know how much I love blood. Watching it spurt in rhythm with the heartbeat. Or run slowly down a smooth body, puddling on the floor. Putting my mouth over the wound as it seeps out. Licking it off the body. Or sometimes just getting down on my hands and knees with my tongue lapping at the puddle, like a dog. Dried or coagulated blood is also delicious. There’s no bad blood.
I try to clean the guy out before I begin the torture. But sometimes shit happens. It stinks. Just have to deal with it. Like puke. Sometimes it just comes up. Vile bile. And opening the belly can let a stink out. I tell myself that killing a man means accepting all of him. Most of him is beautiful to look at, wonderful to slice up, and very tasty. All natural and organic. Wholesome food.
Some nights, I lie in bed and wonder why I do it. Why kill and mutilate? It’s simple. I like it. Same reason a guy jerks off. To feel good. There aren’t any complicated explanations that a shrink might spout. I’m just me. A perfectly normal gay necro, serial killer, torturer, cannibal, vampire. Nothing more. Nothing less. I love my fellow man, and love to consume the sexy ones.
So, hey. Any of you who have read my journals, know my preferences. Likes and dislikes. Young, smooth, muscular, pretty. No facial hair, piercings or tats. I’m a loner. Kind of dull and uninteresting, really. Besides, I can’t afford to have a friend, especially a good looking one. I know at some time, like when drinking or doing drugs, I’d lose control and give in to my cravings. I’d kill my friend. Torture him. Eating him would be creepy, like kissing my brother. So, I keep to myself and search. I see someone, introduce myself, “Hi. Call me Caleb and come home with me.” Like with Santo.
Yeah. Santo. Pearly white and muscular. When I enticed him here and drugged him, I hung him by his wrists with his toes barely off the floor. As soon as he was up, my dick was hard and throbbing. I picked up the stick and swung it hard against his ribs. THWACK. At the moment of contact, my cock exploded and I shot cum all the way up to his chin. And kept shooting as I hit him again and again. Until I ran out of cum and my passion ebbed. Still panting heavily, I dropped the stick. His left side had a dozen red marks from hip to pit. I lightly touched the darkening skin. It was warm. I kissed it. Oh, Fuck! Santo! Santo Blanco! My white saint. So hot. Your gorgeous white body will soon turn black and purple. Santo Negro y Pupura!
And it did. He lasted seven days. Except for some screams early on, he seemed to acquiesce. Strange. No fight in him. First guy I had here who didn’t resist for as long as he had the energy. Santo seemed to have no will. Did he want to die? Did he enjoy it? A strange guy. Whimpered a lot. Short intakes of breath when I struck him. Tears and soft sobs when he hung as I rested. It must have hurt. I mean, hanging by chains on his wrists for all that time? And when I broke bones? My stick broke at least eight ribs. Both ankles. One forearm. After two days, I dropped one arm and let his 160 pounds hang by a single wrist. On day four, I dropped him to the floor and broke his wrists, fingers, and kneecaps. No restraints, and no resistance. I cuddled with his broken body, kissing and pinching and punching all at the same time. He moaned and sniveled in my ear. So sweet to hear a man’s fear and pain. Whimper or scream, it’s all good. I desperately wanted to bite and chew, but was determined he would die with no breaks in his soft skin. Of course, that meant I couldn’t whack his head and face. No problem. When he finally died, he was an amazing sight. From the neck down, an alluring mass of purple and black. Not an inch of white. But his face was still beautiful, all white and unblemished. I fucked him and slept for a while, clasping the cooling corpse to my body. Then got up and boot-stomped his face until the skull cracked and his brains spilled onto the floor.
Oh, something I forgot to tell you about Santo. As I often do, I played with the corpse for a day or two until it began to stink. Santo’s arm was sticking up when rigor mortis set in, with his hand forming a closed fist. So, I sat on it. Fisted myself. Cool! Always something new.
Gonzalo was a rent boy. Brown skin, lean and smooth, with a rugged masculinity. Shoulder-length black hair. Impressively long dick, which he set off by shaving his pubes. My kind of man. Asked him if he’d like to come home with me. He wanted two hundred bucks. I gave him five hundred and said I’d like him to hang around my place for a while. Deal.
And so he did…..hang around my place. After I drugged his beer and he passed out, I stripped him. Then ran two suspension hooks into his back, above the shoulder blades. And pulled him up so he hung with his toes just off the floor. Chin on his chest and long black hair hanging loosely over his face. I ran my hands over his skin, admiring its softness. I nibbled at his nips and sucked his cock and took his nuts into my mouth. Oh, so delectable, this Gonzalo.
I got a beer and waited in my easy chair. It took about an hour before he began to awake, and another five minutes before he felt pain. Then a loud screech and some wiggling on the hooks before he realized it hurt more when he moved. He forced himself to remain still. He had a strong will. After all, he sold his body and knew to be ready for anything. But not this. He saw me. “FUCKER! Let me down!” I smiled and lifted my bottle. “Not likely, kid. Remember, I paid you five hundred to hang with me, and I intend to get my money’s worth. Actually more, but we didn’t negotiate that.” Gonzalo let loose with more profanities, mostly in Spanish. Called me “puta madre” a lot. He continued spewing profanities for a while, but gradually turned to
pleading. In time, his voice began to break, tears ran down his cheeks, and finally. He sobbed. He babbled stuff like “por favor” and “duele mucho”. I couldn’t understand him. So, I walked up in front of him, wrapped my arms around him, and spoke softly and mockingly. “I know. I know. I wish I could kiss it and make it go away. But I can’t make it better. I can only make it worse.” I gently pushed his chest and he swung in the air. He screamed. Long and loud. I kept pushing him. The hooks were burrowed deep into his trapezoid muscles. His pain was intense. I took him by the shoulders and twisted him ninety degrees. A long agonizing groan, and he passed out.
Gonzalo hung around for eight days. I didn’t do much with him. Just an occasional bite or punch. I simply wanted to see how long he would last on the hooks, and how he would react to his plight and his pain. After a couple days, he got kind of glassy eyed. The swearing and shouting ended after about a day, but moans and whimpers continued, especially when I moved him around. After six days, I went out and found another hustler, named Blake, and hung him up so he and Gonzalo faced each other just four feet apart. Blake gave me lots more pleasure than Gonzalo, but that’s a story for another day.
When it looked like Gonzalo was about done, I knelt in front of him and ate his crotch. Chewed his dick and balls until they were bloody mush and mostly in my belly. Took a nap. Woke up to find Gonzalo dead and Blake…. Well, I had fun with Blake. Enormous fun!
Another rent-boy. Rent-boys are plentiful and disposable. But I liked Jody. Felt sorry for him. We started hiking from my cabin. I wore only hiking boots, a baseball cap, and a knapsack. He was totally naked. And happy. He had taken a liking to me, and offered himself free-of-charge. After an hour, we stopped at a clearing, just above a thick patch of blackberries. I laid on my back and pulled him on top of me. I lifted my legs and said, “Fuck me, Jody.” His eyes lit up and he spit in his hand and in a moment his dick was pumping my ass. It was good. He was good. When he had exhausted himself, I rolled out, grabbed a wrist and ankle, spun him around and let him fly through the air and straight into the blackberry patch. He went in headfirst. Only his feet showed above the brambles as his screaming began.
I let him be for about ten minutes, when his screaming died down. “Jody. Shut up. I said, SHUT UP! Now listen. I’ll pull you out but first you have to get over here, to me. You can do it. Get yourself standing on your feet and make your way to me.” “I can’t!” “Yes, you can. Otherwise you’ll never get out.” I’ll give the kid credit. He was tough. And determined. He actually righted himself and somehow worked his way toward me. Walking on the thorns, sliding over and through the thorns, he came within five feet of me. I tossed him a rope and told him to tie one end to his wrist. Then I pulled his body through the thorny bushes and up towards the path. Watching for just the right moment, I suddenly let him drop back into the thorns, so his crotch straddled a heavily thorned branch. His cock and sac were skewered. Then I pulled him all the way out. I laid down and pulled him on top of my naked body. His skin, from scalp to feet, had been ripped to shreds.
Jody laid on me, sobbing, crying, trying to hit me. “You’re cruel, Caleb. You are fucking cruel! Why did you do this? I can never work again! You fucked me up!” He sobbed onto my chest for the longest time. I said nothing, just held him close. Held his bloody body close. He was right. He’d never work again as a rent-boy. His beautiful body was beyond repair. He raised himself and looked into my eyes. “You are going to kill me, aren’t you? That was your plan all along. Well, do it! Kill me. I’m ready.” Sobbing, he began to tell me his story. Rotten parents. Sold to a sex ring at age five. At fourteen, the ring was busted and he was on the streets, fending for himself. He was nineteen now and could remember nothing in his life except being used for sex. By older men. Nasty men. He thought I was different. But I wasn’t any better than the rest. Maybe worse. Now he can never sell his body ever again. So he wants me to kill him.
“You’ll kill me?”
“Can you do it without pain?”
“Don’t know. Come with me.”
I pulled him up and told him to follow me. He could hardly walk because of thorns in his bare feet. I pulled at the rope around his wrist and dragged him along the dirt path for a few hundred feet. Then stopped and picked him up and tossed him over my shoulder and carried him to a clearing about a mile away. I dropped him into a nearby creek. The cold water washed the dirt and blood from his body. Then I strung him up, wrists from a tree branch, and spread-eagled his legs. In the bushes nearby was a metal chest where I kept lots of tools. I got some towels and dried Jody off, although he continued to bleed from his scratches and cuts and ripped skin.
“Will you kill me now?”
“Not yet. I’m still horny. You haven’t done anything to please me yet.”
I leaned close to his face. There was a flap of torn skin on his cheek. I took it in my teeth and pulled. He let out a screech as I peeled off the skin. And an even louder one when he saw that I had swallowed it. His eyes bugged and he said,
“You ate that?”
“Yep, Jody, and you’ve got a lot more for me.”
“No, No, No. You promised!”
For the next hour, I pulled bits of skin from Jody’s body. Some with my teeth, some with a pair of pliers. I especially liked the skin from his cock and balls. They were pretty torn up and there were lots of flaps for me to feast on. His face was fun, too, because these two places caused him lots of pain. More pain than his back and legs and belly. He was sobbing when I finally held his face between my hands. “You’re still cute, Jody. A bloody mess but that’s what makes you so sexy.”
With my thumb, I gouged out an eye. He screamed bloody murder. His eyeball hung about three inches below the socket. I held it by the ligaments or whatever was attached and pointed it towards my face. “Can you still see my face, Jody. Is your eye still working?” No answer, of course. I put my mouth over the eyeball and closed my mouth. We were so close we could feel each other’s breathing. And I could feel his overwhelming pain. I rolled the eyeball around my mouth with my tongue, and then bit into it. More screaming but I concentrated only on the thin, bitter liquid that spurted into my mouth. Mmmm! Jody’s face was scrunched up, this other eye closed tight, as if afraid I might want the other eye. Nope. Instead, I pushed my knife blade into that eye, all the way to the back of his brain. His whole body lurched in convulsions. His pain was horrific. I held him tight against me, shooting streams of cum onto his belly. Our bodies in rhythm, he convulsing, me cumming. Until he died.
Jody was a nice kid. Cute. Personable. Had a rough life. A sad, miserable, painful life. All he asked of me was a merciful, painless death. Painless? Fuck him.
Alejandro was a guy from my gym who was a serious bodybuilder. Rock hard, smooth brown skin tight against muscle, no body fat. Short brown dreads, sticking out in all directions. He was a peasant Indian from Bolivia who’d emigrated a few years ago and sometimes went by his Indian name, Chee-kah, which supposedly meant “silent strength”. He was not at all good looking by my standards, with those peasant Indian features you see on the TV news, and his skin wasn’t as light as I prefer, but I’d become fascinated by Chee-kah’s body piercings. I mean, normally, I hate tattoos and piercings. But this dude had so many on his spectacularly sexy body that I got to fantasizing how awesome it would be to rip every ring and stud right off his body.
Once I’d drugged him and he was passed out naked, I knew I’d hit the jackpot. There were even more piercings than I’d imagined: ears, nose, lip, tongue, eyebrows, nipples, belly button, cock, and ball sac!
I removed all his studs and rings, and suspended him by chains under his armpits. His wrists were chained to his thighs, and his feet touched the floor. He was still passed out when I slid a thin wire through the hole in each nipple. The wire had an extremely high tensile strength but was thin enough to act like a knife. I looped the wire around my gloved fist and pulled. The body moved toward me but the skin held. I tugged harder but with the same result. OK. Now I know how tough skin can be. Pulling hard on the wire, I began to rotate my hand back and forth, causing the wire to slide inside the nipples, slowly slicing his skin. In a few minutes, the wire broke through and both nipples split open, spurting blood onto my hand and down Chee-kah’s smooth brown belly. Within seconds, my mouth enveloped one of his split tits, sucking his blood, my tongue flicking at the two flaps of skin. Oh, God! What a trip! Couldn’t help myself! My teeth ripped off one of the nipple halves, and then the other. I almost came right then! I moved on to the other nipple and chewed until there was nothing left. Fuck! This is going to be fantastic! So many more holes to rip open!
OK, some may think I’m a freak, getting off on eating nipples and sucking blood and killing hot men. Well, I don’t give a shit. This is my house and what I do here for pleasure is my business. These dudes come here willingly. They want me! I am exceedingly good looking and sexy, a real catch for them and they want to please me. And so they do! So what if there is some pain. I give them morphine—sometimes--and besides, the pain never lasts longer than two days, and once they die they can’t remember it. But I do. I remember every moment. Every knife slice. Every puncture. Every groan and shriek. Every crack of my stick or whip on their hot, hard bodies. How each man has a different taste and smell. This is personal, between us. No one else knows of our mutual ecstasy. I don’t tell anyone. I don’t make public videos, like that Luka Magnotta jerk in Montreal. No, this is my own private Heaven, their own private Hell. My soul is nourished by their destruction. No, I’m definitely not a freak, just a beautiful, sensitive man who appreciates other beautiful men.
Sorry about the rant. Chee-kah was still passed out as I threaded wires through his ear lobes and the several holes in the top of his ears. Each wire was a little different in length and all were secured to a chain above him, with some slack. Then I raised his body about six feet off the floor. His wrists were still chained to his thighs and his ankles tied together. I let his body drop. As he fell, the wires ripped his earlobes open. But the tops of his ears held and he ended up with most of his body on the floor but his head suspended about a foot off the floor, face up, his eyes open and staring at me, expressionless. Just staring. I pushed on his head but the ears still held. Put my boot on his forehead and pushed. Same result. And the eyes still stared up at me. Well, fuck it! I lifted my boot and smashed it down on his face. One ear split off. Another hard stomp and his head fell to the floor. I dropped down, fingered the split ears and then began to chew. Within twenty minutes, both ears were in my belly. Damn! Cannibalism is awesome!
During the whole time, Chee-kah hadn’t made a sound, not even a groan. Didn’t even struggle. Looking back, that was the most fascinating thing about him, his silent stoicism, as if he wasn’t going to give me the pleasure of hearing him cry out. But that made it even more sexually stimulating for me. As I said, I don’t mind guys crying, whimpering or screaming. It’s a necessary part of the scene, their way of participating, telling me that I am indeed inflicting pain. Their torment gets me off. It’s why I do it. But Chee-kah’s silence was equally stimulating. The only noise he made was an occasional deep groan or a sharp intake of breath. Sometimes he’d close his eyes or squinch up his face, but mostly he just stared blankly at me. So hot!
I attached wires to his eyebrows and rolled him face down onto a wide plank I’d fixed with nails and sharp screws poking through one side, none more than a quarter of an inch exposed. Sat down hard on his back, forcing his smooth muscular torso into the nails. Then I reached over his head, grabbed the wires, and pulled his head back, way back. I kept pulling on the wires until they broke through his brows and his face smacked down hard on the nails. I leaned forward, grabbed his hair, and pulled his head back to see his face. The ripped skin above his eyes was bleeding pretty good and his face had lots of blood spots from the nail points. Grasping his hair, I smashed his face back down onto the nails. Three times.
I rolled him onto his back, still on the nail board, and ran the wires through his nostril piercings, his nose, and his lower lip. Using both hands, I yanked outward on the wires through his nostrils, creating a half-inch rip in each. Then I stood over him and attached the wire though his lip to a dumbbell bar. As I did a curl, his head came off the nail board, then back down and up and down, all the time pulling on that lower lip, the wire gradually cutting through. In an instant, his head smashed back onto the nail board and blood poured from his split lip, a split of more than an inch. His white teeth turned red as I grabbed the nose wire and repeated the curl motion until the septum split. Blood really gushed now as the lower part of his nose was completely separated from his face. To staunch the bleeding, I rolled him on his side and pressed a towel tight on his nose. I also didn’t want him to choke on his blood.
I knelt beside him and caressed his hard body, running my hands over his skin, not quite as smooth now, with dozens of small punctures oozing droplets of blood. His face was a mess. Bloody holes where his ears had been. Eyebrows ripped open. Lower lip split wide open. Nose hanging loose. I touched each of these, flicking his nose, squeezing his lip, fingering his ear canals. And as I did this, my cock grew rigid, and I shot a huge load of cum onto his face, my white creamy globs mixing nicely with his thickening blood.
After a while, the blood clotted and the flow slowed down to merely oozing. Using the ropes attached to his shoulders, I raised him so he hung suspended, his crotch about the height of my neck. A wire through his dick head and fixed to the wall pulled his cock straight out. A wire through his nut sac hole was attached to a twenty pound weight which I let drop. Chee-kah’s whole body jerked as the heavy weight ripped open his sac. Even as he was still shuddering, I knelt, wrapped my mouth around it and sucked both balls out, leaving them to dangle loose.
Next, I threaded wires through in each side of the shaft and ripped them open. Shit! The rips were almost the length of his dick, exposing soft, mushy, pinkish flesh inside. Using fingers and teeth, I ripped back the skin even more, almost skinning his cock. Unhooking the wire from his dick head, I took his bloody shaft in my mouth. With no skin containing the blood in to keep his cock hard, it began to shrink. I wanted to chew the bloody thing but didn’t want to damage the urethra or big vein, at least not yet. So I just dropped him to the floor. We needed to rest.
It must have been a couple hours later that I woke up, finding myself cuddled up against Chee-kah on the floor. My eyes still closed, I ran my hand up and down his body, his smooth skin crusted in places by dried blood. He felt so good, so warm. When I finally opened my eyes, I found them looking straight into his open staring eyes. “You are fantastic” I whispered. I slid down to his crotch and sucked on his mushy soft dick, and licked at the two nuts that hung outside his empty sac. Slid back up and looked into his face. I wiggled his partially dangling nose with my finger. “This looks kinda silly, guy.”
I brought him up into a kneeling position, suspended by his shoulders. From behind him, I grabbed a handful of hair and pulled his head back, forcing his mouth to open. Using pliers, I pulled his tongue and attached a quarter-pound weight to the wire through it. As the weight kept the tongue from going back into his mouth, I wrapped a strap under his chin and over his head, and then twisted it to force his mouth closed. Chee-kah’s eyes widened as he realized what was happening, but he couldn’t stop me. His teeth clamped down on his tongue and then, little by little, began to slowly bite into and through it. Once his teeth were clamped into his tongue, I removed the weight and wire, leaving almost two inches of his tongue exposed. As I resumed tightening the strap, his nose suddenly erupted with a blast of blood and snot smack into my face. This startled me so much, I almost let loose of the strap. Then I realized he had to clear his nose to breath now that his mouth was forced shut. Christ, what a feeling, all that slimy, bloody snot sliding down my face! My dick shot a wad with no help from my hand.
I took a moment to relax and resumed twisting the strap. Chee-kah’s eyes were tightly closed in pain as his teeth cut through his tongue. A bit of blood dribbled down his chin. And finally, I couldn’t tighten the strap any more. I flicked his tongue. It seemed mostly severed, but since his teeth were uneven, it held in a couple places. “Hang in there, guy, this may hurt a bit”, I whispered before taking the protruding tongue in my teeth and ripping it off. Then I let loose of the strap. His mouth opened and he spewed a mouthful of hot, red blood into my face. He gasped for breath and for a moment I thought he might choke on the blood. But the dude was smart. He quickly managed to control his breathing through both his mouth and nose, as well as showering me with more blood and snot. Even with blood in my eyes, I could see his tongue stub wiggling wildly inside his mouth. He stared again, watching his severed tongue in my mouth, being chewed (it was tough meat) and then disappearing down my throat.
I sat back on my haunches and looked at the ravaged man kneeling in front of me. I admired his ripped nipples, skinless dick, and lacerated head. Wrapping my arms around him, my hands caressed his smooth, hard back and ass, but I was soon scraping my fingernails deep into his skin. (Even when I try to be gentle, I can’t resist my primal urge to mutilate.) I kissed his face and sucked at his torn lip. “You’ve been a stud, Chee-kah. Never once did you whine or whimper or scream or cry like all those pretty muscle boys I brought here. Hardly a sound. I don’t know what your name really means, but to me it means you’re a man, a real man. So, it’s time to stop.” I touched his face, and flicked his nose with a finger. “But first, let’s fix that nose. It looks ridiculous.” I grabbed hold and yanked it from his face. With it also came a wide strip of skin running from his bridge to his hairline. He winced, gritted his teeth, felt blood run into his eyes, but made no sound. Awesome!
I picked up two dueling foils I’d found in a junk store and had sharpened to very fine, sharp points. Kneeling again in front of Chee-kah, I set the point of one under his belly button and slowly shoved. It slid easily into his belly, through his guts, and out his back. This time his eyes momentarily showed surprise but quickly became expressionless again. As he looked down at the handle, sticking out about six inches from his gut, I said “It’s over, dude.”
I walked behind him, careful not to cut myself on the foil protruding from his back, removed all the restraining ropes, grabbed his bloody dreads, and pulled his head way back, forcing his mouth open. The severed tongue still flicked about. Chee-kah stared up at me as I put the other foil into his open mouth and slowly, very slowly, pushed it down his throat and into his belly. He closed his eyes. I knelt again in front of him. He remained motionless, unsupported, his head back, as his open mouth slowly filled with blood. A soft gurgling sound deep within him, then a huge eruption of blood from his mouth, emptying his lungs, I guess. He died fairly quickly, drowned in his own blood. And I knelt for a long time, stroking my dick, admiring the scene before me: a muscular man, kneeling, naked, mutilated and bloody, with sword hilts protruding from his belly and his mouth. It was gorgeous, and as sexy as Sebastian. I jerked off three times.