- Joined
- Jan 13, 2012
- Messages
- 6,470
- Location
- Cannibal Heaven
A good friend died last week. Way too young. Trent was a kinky, sexy dude who loved to entertain. Had a secluded ranch in the Sierras, which was the scene of many hot parties. He was a gracious and generous host. Provided every guest with a boy to kill.
He collected rentboys. Found them in the big cities, drugged them, hauled them many miles to the ranch, and plopped them naked into stalls in a big heated barn. Kept a few horses in the barn, too, to give it a nice earthy smell. When a guest arrived, they would visit the stalls and pick a boy. Trent usually had four or five on hand. Different looks and builds. But all good looking and very sexy. They were mostly 18 to 21, sometimes older, sometimes younger. All sexy in their stalls When we would walk into the barn, they were silent, slunk back in the corner of their stall, staring apprehensively at us. A few effected a macho defiant air. But when they were alone, there was fear. Hidden microphones let us hear them. Sounds of crying and whimpering. Despair. Some trying to console others. Hopeful talk that they’d be released soon. Hah! Fat chance! They were destined to die. Every one. Painfully. They were just hustlers. Pretty bodies to be played with and enjoyed before they were flushed like shit. Disposable trash.
Trent had a guy named Ricardo who kept the stalls and the boys clean and presentable. He was into some sort of scat scene and said the boys made him happy. Never said how, but….well, who cares. Ricardo exercised them daily and kept them looking trim and sexy for the guests.
We all enjoyed Trent’s annual barbeque. When the huge grill was red hot, a boy would be brought out and plopped down on the red hot grill. That was the best moment. The simultaneous sizzle of skin and the screech of the boy.
One guy, Dieter, a German, liked to hang his victim by his feet and gut him, like a side of beef. But he didn’t like to hear pain. So Trent would inject something that froze the vocal chords, and then Dieter would go to work on the flailing boy, who could feel every cut but made no noise. Surreal and stimulating. Live gutting on mute. So sensual.
As Trent’s special friend, I got to see a lot of it. Many guests preferred to do their thing with the rentboys in private, but some liked to perform publicly. Like Howard, who was a master with the knife and put on live skinning shows.
I saw a lot of boys killed but won’t bore you with all the methods and details. I’ll just mention my favorite way. You see, Trent and I were sometimes lovers and liked to take a boy to bed with us. He would lie between and beneath us as we had sex, nibbling and chewing on his body. As gay cannibals and vamps, both of us were voracious in our appetite for young flesh and blood. The bed became a soggy mush of blood, gore, piss and shit. It seemed we shot our wad with every screech. When the screams eventually settled into low moans and whimpers, our lovemaking became even more passionate. We developed great skill in simultaneously kissing and biting and swallowing and fucking and slurping. For me, there is nothing as sexual and sensual than the sounds made by a boy in pain. Pain inflicted by my teeth.
I’ll miss Trent, and his ranch, and the pretty young men . Good times. Good memories.
He collected rentboys. Found them in the big cities, drugged them, hauled them many miles to the ranch, and plopped them naked into stalls in a big heated barn. Kept a few horses in the barn, too, to give it a nice earthy smell. When a guest arrived, they would visit the stalls and pick a boy. Trent usually had four or five on hand. Different looks and builds. But all good looking and very sexy. They were mostly 18 to 21, sometimes older, sometimes younger. All sexy in their stalls When we would walk into the barn, they were silent, slunk back in the corner of their stall, staring apprehensively at us. A few effected a macho defiant air. But when they were alone, there was fear. Hidden microphones let us hear them. Sounds of crying and whimpering. Despair. Some trying to console others. Hopeful talk that they’d be released soon. Hah! Fat chance! They were destined to die. Every one. Painfully. They were just hustlers. Pretty bodies to be played with and enjoyed before they were flushed like shit. Disposable trash.
Trent had a guy named Ricardo who kept the stalls and the boys clean and presentable. He was into some sort of scat scene and said the boys made him happy. Never said how, but….well, who cares. Ricardo exercised them daily and kept them looking trim and sexy for the guests.
We all enjoyed Trent’s annual barbeque. When the huge grill was red hot, a boy would be brought out and plopped down on the red hot grill. That was the best moment. The simultaneous sizzle of skin and the screech of the boy.
One guy, Dieter, a German, liked to hang his victim by his feet and gut him, like a side of beef. But he didn’t like to hear pain. So Trent would inject something that froze the vocal chords, and then Dieter would go to work on the flailing boy, who could feel every cut but made no noise. Surreal and stimulating. Live gutting on mute. So sensual.
As Trent’s special friend, I got to see a lot of it. Many guests preferred to do their thing with the rentboys in private, but some liked to perform publicly. Like Howard, who was a master with the knife and put on live skinning shows.
I saw a lot of boys killed but won’t bore you with all the methods and details. I’ll just mention my favorite way. You see, Trent and I were sometimes lovers and liked to take a boy to bed with us. He would lie between and beneath us as we had sex, nibbling and chewing on his body. As gay cannibals and vamps, both of us were voracious in our appetite for young flesh and blood. The bed became a soggy mush of blood, gore, piss and shit. It seemed we shot our wad with every screech. When the screams eventually settled into low moans and whimpers, our lovemaking became even more passionate. We developed great skill in simultaneously kissing and biting and swallowing and fucking and slurping. For me, there is nothing as sexual and sensual than the sounds made by a boy in pain. Pain inflicted by my teeth.
I’ll miss Trent, and his ranch, and the pretty young men . Good times. Good memories.
