- Joined
- Jan 13, 2012
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- 6,470
- Location
- Cannibal Heaven
“I think you might want this one, Caleb. He wants a bit more than I can give him.”
Jack had invited me over to check out a boy he had been keeping. We both have the same taste in men. Young. Smooth. Pretty. Built. But we differ in how we use them. Jack just likes to have them around for sex and servitude. I prefer to take a more active role, one that brings more discomfort to the kid.
“Well, let me see him.”
“Pup! Come here.”
The kid comes in. Stark naked. 5’11” 160. Absolutely smooth. Black hair tied in a bun. Nice tits. Luscious uncut cock. No tats….anywhere. No facial hair. He smiled at me, really cute smile. His eyes sparkled, invitingly. My dick twitched as soon as I saw him.
“Pup. You’re finished here. You’re going with Caleb.”
“You call him Pup? What’s his name?”
“That’s it. He told me that was his name.”
“Come here, kid. You’re mine now. Call me Caleb.”
“Yes sir.” I smacked him in the face. “I said call me Caleb”
“Yes sir.” I hit him again. Harder. “I said call me Caleb!”
“Yes sir.” My fist cracked into his jaw and he went down, hitting his head on a wooden table. He got up very slowly, ignoring the blood that dripped from his scull onto his shoulder but rubbing his jaw. His face was already bruised from my first blows. He looked me in the eye with a hint of a smile, and a hard-on. “Yes…..Caleb.”
He went with me in my pickup. Naked. No possessions. And gave me a great blowjob as I drove.
I showed him his room. Sparse but well-heated. Blanket and pillow on a mattress against the wall. Toilet in the corner. Big wooden table. Multiple hooks and pulleys. Small shower and sink inside a gaged area which only I had a key to. He showed no reaction to the room. I chained his wrists behind him, hooked them to a pulley, and pulled until he was standing on his toes, bent forward with his arms painfully stretched toward the ceiling. I punched him hard in the ribs and left the room.
Six hours. Then I returned with a bag from McDonalds and a bottle of water, which I set on the table. I lowered the pulley and released him.. He sank to the floor onto his knees, moaning, and rubbing his shoulders. I left again.
Next morning I returned with another fast food bag. It looked like Pup had slept on the mattress. He was sitting against the wall, staring at me. I went into the shower cage and brought him a gallon bucket filled with drinking water.
“There’s a razor on the table. Use it every day. Face. Pits. Crotch. I want smooth. And let your hair hang loose. I like hair on the scalp. Nowhere else.”
“Yes, Sir. Caleb.”
“You OK? Like your new home?”
“It’s good. But I need toilet paper. There isn’t any.”
“Not going to be any either. Use your finger to clean your ass. Then use your mouth to clean your finger.”
“Ugh.”
“You’ll get used to it. And I’ll be checking to be sure you’re clean. Now get up.”
Just as Pup got to his feet, I punched him in the nose. Went down hard on the wood plank floor. He rolled around, moaning, holding his bleeding nose. I knelt, lifted his head, and put my mouth over his nose and sucked his blood. “I like blood, Pup. Hope you do too because you’re going to give me a lot of yours.” I sucked up a mouthful from his nose, put my mouth to his, and forced it in. He had a startled look on his face as he held it in his mouth and eventually swallowed. “Yeah, Pup. I’m gonna take your blood…a lot, actually…but I’ll share it with you. Hope you like the taste as much as I do.” I left again.
We didn’t do much the first few days. I punched and kicked him, and beat him with a stick, raising welts and bruises. Sometimes I drew blood but that only seemed to get him aroused, as if he was proud of the marks I left on him. Definitely a masochist. If I left him bloodied at night, he had cleaned himself up by next morning using just his fingers. So maybe he liked the taste of blood. He certainly kept his ass clean. I sucked on his fingers. Yeah. That’s what he used for clean-up. Did he like that taste, too?
Although I beat him severely every day, he never cringed when I approached him. Maybe it was machismo, but I had a sense that he looked forward to our sessions. Afterwards, he was always hurting badly, often moaning, sometimes screaming. But he quickly calmed down and usually had a strange, satisfied look when I left. And every morning, he greeted me with a smile, and his dick grew tall and hard as if looking forward to whatever I might do to him.
One day, after I had battered and stomped him for hours, I said, “Follow me.” I walked out of his room, down a long dark hallway, and into a suite of rooms. Bedroom, kitchen, bath, and another small room like his, with hooks and pulleys. He limped into the rooms and looked around. “Fix me something to eat.” He smiled, rummaged around the kitchen, and in a surprisingly short time, prepared bacon and scrambled eggs. As he placed it in front of me on the table, I said “Fix a plate for yourself and sit down.” He was quite a sight, sitting across from me. Naked body and face covered with dark purple bruises, blood on his chin, and a cut lip. But his was smiling, content to be given this pleasure. We ate in silence and I said, “Clean the dishes and come to bed.”
I stripped and climbed into the bed. Shortly, he came into the room, pulled back the covers, and slipped in with me. I pulled him close. He felt good, so soft and perfectly smooth. I ran my fingers through his hair, kissed him and made love. Rough love. Violent love. In my bed, I beat him, bit him, scratched him, and fucked him. Later, as I lay on my back, falling asleep, he moved against me, put his head on my chest, whimpering in pain, and cried, whispering, “Thank you, Caleb. Thank you.” I could feel him wiggling and soon felt a warm, wet stream on my limp cock. He had shot his load on me.
Between beatings, Pup kept house and cooked meals. Sometimes he ate with me, sometimes not. Sometimes he slept with me, sometimes not. Still no TP, but his finger was always clean whenever I licked it. The bruises and cuts accumulated, covering his entire body. Not much smooth white skin was detectable. His eyes were puffy. His lips split. He limped constantly. Yet, his dick grew hard almost anytime he anticipated a blow. He smiled when I came near even though it hurt his cut lips.
I think our arrangement was ideal for each of us. Pup was subservient. He wanted to be under my control. He wanted to be “owned”. And he wanted to be hurt. He lived for pain. He wanted to be totally controlled by a strong, unfeeling man. One who could be demanding and vicious, and who didn’t give a shit for his feelings. In short, me.
I, in turn, just wanted someone to punch and kick and cut and bite whenever the mood struck. I never cared how much he was hurting from his last beating. If I wanted to hurt him again, I would. I love creating pain. I love to see a man in pain. Severe pain. Excruciating pain. I get off on it. I need it. So, Pup was an ideal subject. No matter how vicious and cruel I was, he always came back for more. And he always got more. I could beat him to near to death and he would crawl back in submission.
A further attraction for both of us was, well, -- both of us. I found him cute and sexy. And the more I fucked up his looks, the sexier he became. And he worshipped my body. Hard and smooth and muscular. He also loved that I was absolutely unconcerned about his feelings and well-being. He was merely a “thing”, a disposable “thing”. We both knew it and both thrived on it. In our strange, demented way, we loved each other.
I sat him at the big wooden table and laid his right arm out, palm up. “I won’t tie it down, Pup, but you will need all your willpower to keep it still.” I curled his fingers back, leaving just the index finger extended. I set a meat cleaver on the table and watched as his eyes grew wide with fear. He sensed what was coming but said nothing. He tensed and quivered with fear, but his dick grew anyway. Then he saw mine move upward, too, and he made a sickly, tentative grin. I set the cleaver on the first joint of his finger, keeping my eyes on him. His eyes were on the cleaver as my hands pressed downward. He grimaced as the sharp blade easily cut through the joint and the tip rolled off to the side. His whole body trembled in pain. I raised his disfigured hand from the table and slid the finger into my mouth. Our eyes met and held as I sucked the bleeding digit. Horror and pain on his face. Euphoria on mine. I sucked and swallowed for a couple minutes, then pulled it out and pushed it towards him. “Suck, Pup.” It was a command. He moved his hand slowly towards his face and slid the bleeding knuckle into his mouth. Tears streamed down his cheeks. Blood dribbled from his mouth. A mask of resignation on his face.
I got up and brought a fire starter to the table. “Give me a final taste, Pup.” I gently pulled his finger from his mouth and slipped it into mine. His blood flowed, as I swirled it in my mouth like a fine wine, which it was, really. I swallowed. I held his hand tightly in mine, and aimed the fire starter at the shortened digit. He screamed when the fire scorched his finger, cauterizing the wound. He lurched and tried to pull away, but I held firm until the fire had done its job. When I released his hand, he shook it wildly in the air and jumped around the room, screaming in pain. I sat patiently, waiting for his frenzy to subside, quietly rolling the severed fingertip back and forth across the tabletop. When he calmed down, I wrapped the finger in gauze, and turned to leave. “You have so much more to give me, Pup.” As I locked the door, I would hear a loud keening wail.
And yet, in the morning, he smiled as I entered to room, and his dick was hard. Our relationship had entered a new phase, a darker stage. If he hadn’t before, Pup now knew his true fate. He would die. He would die painfully. Was it what he wanted? Or did he just crave pain at the hands of another man? A game to be played, a fantasy fulfilled, then stop and go home? But, no, it’s not a game. Perhaps still a fantasy but now reality. Caleb. My name took on a new dimension. More than just dispenser of pain. Caleb. Executioner.
He stood to greet me and before he could react, I rammed my fist into his gut. As air gushed from his lungs, he doubled over and fell to his knees. My boot thudded into his ribs and, as he lurched about, the boot connected with his face, knocking out a few teeth. I sat in the chair and watched as he squirmed on the floor. Wheezing, trying to fill his lungs with air. High-pitched squeal from a broken rib. Gurgling as blood filled his mouth. I pressed my hand to my crotch, felt a throbbing cock and the ecstasy of ejaculation, followed by warm sticky cum against my skin.
I left the door open and went to my bedroom. Stripped and lay naked on the sheets. Hours later, Pup staggered in, hobbled with pain, climbed onto the bed, put his mouth on my dick, and blew me. Afterwards, I threw him on his back and went down on him. What must he be thinking? “Was Caleb changing? He had never had my cock in his mouth. He’s going to suck my dick!” Pup’s dick grew hard and bounced in anticipation as I slid my mouth over his shaft. Then my teeth clamped down, sinking through skin deep into the rigid spongy tissue. A cry of pain. Jerking his hips to twist away. But my teeth held firm, grinding, penetrating into his cock. I tasted blood. Then, suddenly, his dick exploded, filling my mouth with a blast of warm, gooey semen. My teeth didn’t loosen their grip on his shaft, but the cum kept pumping into my throat. He was lurching on the bed, screaming in ecstasy and pain, as I struggled to swallow the huge load without losing any of it or loosening my grip. And my own cock spurted a new load onto the bed. We stayed that way until our cocks began to relax. I released my grip and pulled off, seeing a large gash in his tool. Torn skin and dribbling blood. I pulled Pup close and wrapped him in my arms. He was crying. I bit his shoulder. Then his ear. More blood. More crying. But no attempt to pull away. He was hard again. I ground my fist into the broken rib. A screech. Then I rolled over and fell asleep. Damn, I love to hurt hum.
In the morning, I found Pup in the kitchen, making breakfast for us. “Thanks, Pup,” I said when he had cleaned everything up. “Come with me.” He hobbled painfully along behind me as I led him to a room in the house he hadn’t seen before. It was a large room, beautifully furnished, with a huge TV screen on one wall, running a vid of me battering a naked guy. Opposite, was a large fireplace. And on the mantel, two large clear plastic cubes, containing two human heads. Both were men; beautiful, young men. And on shelves next to the fireplace were several more cubes, displaying feet, hands, cocks, testicles, and eyeballs. Pup stood silent and unmoving. His mouth gaped, fear crept into his eyes……….but his cock grew hard.
“You understand, don’t you, Pup. What this is. Why I’m showing you this.” He didn’t move. “These two boys, George and Trent. They were beautiful, hot, and very sexy. But they resisted. Didn’t like the pain I gave to them. Not like you. You get off on it. When I hurt you, you are happy. And you want to go further. You want to stretch your limits. I know what you want. What you’ve dreamed since you were a kid. You want to be snuffed, Pup. You want to be dismembered. You want me to cut you in pieces. And you want to watch. Right?” A slight nod of Pup’s head. He stared blankly, unbelieving. He felt terror but the terror made his dick twitch, bobbing with fretful anticipation. His dream. His nightmare. His fate. He could not resist. Tears welled in his eyes as he looked forlornly at me, and bowed his head in submission.
“You can watch yourself die, Pup. There are several mirrors so you can see everything. I can lessen your pain so you won’t pass out, so you can watch as I cut you apart. I’ll also have several cameras recording and you’ll be the star of a wildly popular underground video. A snuff video. You’ll be famous and I’ll make a shitload of money. Now, let’s go and make our magnum opus.” Pup didn’t follow as I walked back to the big room. Not right away. But, after about five minutes, he let out a sigh, and followed. I flipped the switch to start recording.
He climbed meekly onto the table without being ordered to. I strapped his arms and legs spreadeagled. Shot morphine into a vein. Then brought out a machete and an axe. His dick rose. Damn! He was so predictable. And mine got hard, too. Pup’s body was trembling when I picked up the axe. Tears in his eyes. Soft whimpers of fear. Yet the dick stayed up. Twitching. Anticipating. His lifelong dream was about to come true. His ultimate sexual fantasy. His dick was excited at the prospect, but his mind was terrified. He looked into my eyes for some sign, some recognition, some feeling, some sympathy….but saw nothing.
I raised the axe. Pup let out a squeal. I swung downward, easily severing his hand from his wrist. As the hand fell to the table, his dick erupted and shot a stream of cum high into the air. It wouldn’t stop. A lifetime of pent-up passion, longing and waiting for just this moment, pumped a continuous stream of white creamy jizz that mingled with crimson blood.
I set the severed hand on his face. It lay there, looking as if it were gently caressing his cheek. Then, I turned back to his body and, with quick precision, chopped off his other hand and both feet. He screamed once, then fell silent, passing out from shock and pain. It was done. Pup had been dismembered, as he wished. He saw, he cummed, he passed out. With a knife, I cut off his cock and balls, and then with my thumb, I popped both eyeballs from their sockets. One I set aside, the other I popped into my mouth. With the machete, I sliced his neck, into the Adam’s apple and windpipe. As blood gurgled from his throat, spurting as he tried to breath, I put my lips to his neck and drank. My dick sprayed cum onto his belly. Then I completed his beheading and set his head on the table.
Later that day, I took Pup’s head, feet, hands, cock, nuts, and eyeball to Cory’s house. He will clean them up and encase them in plastic. It is expensive but well worth the cost. Pup was a pretty boy whose face and body I turned into a black and purple mass of swollen flesh. In his place of honor on my mantel, I will gaze at his battered face and relive the ecstasy. I had never enjoyed beating a man as much as I did with Pup. He fantasized. I delivered. I snuffed Pup.
Jack had invited me over to check out a boy he had been keeping. We both have the same taste in men. Young. Smooth. Pretty. Built. But we differ in how we use them. Jack just likes to have them around for sex and servitude. I prefer to take a more active role, one that brings more discomfort to the kid.
“Well, let me see him.”
“Pup! Come here.”
The kid comes in. Stark naked. 5’11” 160. Absolutely smooth. Black hair tied in a bun. Nice tits. Luscious uncut cock. No tats….anywhere. No facial hair. He smiled at me, really cute smile. His eyes sparkled, invitingly. My dick twitched as soon as I saw him.
“Pup. You’re finished here. You’re going with Caleb.”
“You call him Pup? What’s his name?”
“That’s it. He told me that was his name.”
“Come here, kid. You’re mine now. Call me Caleb.”
“Yes sir.” I smacked him in the face. “I said call me Caleb”
“Yes sir.” I hit him again. Harder. “I said call me Caleb!”
“Yes sir.” My fist cracked into his jaw and he went down, hitting his head on a wooden table. He got up very slowly, ignoring the blood that dripped from his scull onto his shoulder but rubbing his jaw. His face was already bruised from my first blows. He looked me in the eye with a hint of a smile, and a hard-on. “Yes…..Caleb.”
He went with me in my pickup. Naked. No possessions. And gave me a great blowjob as I drove.
I showed him his room. Sparse but well-heated. Blanket and pillow on a mattress against the wall. Toilet in the corner. Big wooden table. Multiple hooks and pulleys. Small shower and sink inside a gaged area which only I had a key to. He showed no reaction to the room. I chained his wrists behind him, hooked them to a pulley, and pulled until he was standing on his toes, bent forward with his arms painfully stretched toward the ceiling. I punched him hard in the ribs and left the room.
Six hours. Then I returned with a bag from McDonalds and a bottle of water, which I set on the table. I lowered the pulley and released him.. He sank to the floor onto his knees, moaning, and rubbing his shoulders. I left again.
Next morning I returned with another fast food bag. It looked like Pup had slept on the mattress. He was sitting against the wall, staring at me. I went into the shower cage and brought him a gallon bucket filled with drinking water.
“There’s a razor on the table. Use it every day. Face. Pits. Crotch. I want smooth. And let your hair hang loose. I like hair on the scalp. Nowhere else.”
“Yes, Sir. Caleb.”
“You OK? Like your new home?”
“It’s good. But I need toilet paper. There isn’t any.”
“Not going to be any either. Use your finger to clean your ass. Then use your mouth to clean your finger.”
“Ugh.”
“You’ll get used to it. And I’ll be checking to be sure you’re clean. Now get up.”
Just as Pup got to his feet, I punched him in the nose. Went down hard on the wood plank floor. He rolled around, moaning, holding his bleeding nose. I knelt, lifted his head, and put my mouth over his nose and sucked his blood. “I like blood, Pup. Hope you do too because you’re going to give me a lot of yours.” I sucked up a mouthful from his nose, put my mouth to his, and forced it in. He had a startled look on his face as he held it in his mouth and eventually swallowed. “Yeah, Pup. I’m gonna take your blood…a lot, actually…but I’ll share it with you. Hope you like the taste as much as I do.” I left again.
We didn’t do much the first few days. I punched and kicked him, and beat him with a stick, raising welts and bruises. Sometimes I drew blood but that only seemed to get him aroused, as if he was proud of the marks I left on him. Definitely a masochist. If I left him bloodied at night, he had cleaned himself up by next morning using just his fingers. So maybe he liked the taste of blood. He certainly kept his ass clean. I sucked on his fingers. Yeah. That’s what he used for clean-up. Did he like that taste, too?
Although I beat him severely every day, he never cringed when I approached him. Maybe it was machismo, but I had a sense that he looked forward to our sessions. Afterwards, he was always hurting badly, often moaning, sometimes screaming. But he quickly calmed down and usually had a strange, satisfied look when I left. And every morning, he greeted me with a smile, and his dick grew tall and hard as if looking forward to whatever I might do to him.
One day, after I had battered and stomped him for hours, I said, “Follow me.” I walked out of his room, down a long dark hallway, and into a suite of rooms. Bedroom, kitchen, bath, and another small room like his, with hooks and pulleys. He limped into the rooms and looked around. “Fix me something to eat.” He smiled, rummaged around the kitchen, and in a surprisingly short time, prepared bacon and scrambled eggs. As he placed it in front of me on the table, I said “Fix a plate for yourself and sit down.” He was quite a sight, sitting across from me. Naked body and face covered with dark purple bruises, blood on his chin, and a cut lip. But his was smiling, content to be given this pleasure. We ate in silence and I said, “Clean the dishes and come to bed.”
I stripped and climbed into the bed. Shortly, he came into the room, pulled back the covers, and slipped in with me. I pulled him close. He felt good, so soft and perfectly smooth. I ran my fingers through his hair, kissed him and made love. Rough love. Violent love. In my bed, I beat him, bit him, scratched him, and fucked him. Later, as I lay on my back, falling asleep, he moved against me, put his head on my chest, whimpering in pain, and cried, whispering, “Thank you, Caleb. Thank you.” I could feel him wiggling and soon felt a warm, wet stream on my limp cock. He had shot his load on me.
Between beatings, Pup kept house and cooked meals. Sometimes he ate with me, sometimes not. Sometimes he slept with me, sometimes not. Still no TP, but his finger was always clean whenever I licked it. The bruises and cuts accumulated, covering his entire body. Not much smooth white skin was detectable. His eyes were puffy. His lips split. He limped constantly. Yet, his dick grew hard almost anytime he anticipated a blow. He smiled when I came near even though it hurt his cut lips.
I think our arrangement was ideal for each of us. Pup was subservient. He wanted to be under my control. He wanted to be “owned”. And he wanted to be hurt. He lived for pain. He wanted to be totally controlled by a strong, unfeeling man. One who could be demanding and vicious, and who didn’t give a shit for his feelings. In short, me.
I, in turn, just wanted someone to punch and kick and cut and bite whenever the mood struck. I never cared how much he was hurting from his last beating. If I wanted to hurt him again, I would. I love creating pain. I love to see a man in pain. Severe pain. Excruciating pain. I get off on it. I need it. So, Pup was an ideal subject. No matter how vicious and cruel I was, he always came back for more. And he always got more. I could beat him to near to death and he would crawl back in submission.
A further attraction for both of us was, well, -- both of us. I found him cute and sexy. And the more I fucked up his looks, the sexier he became. And he worshipped my body. Hard and smooth and muscular. He also loved that I was absolutely unconcerned about his feelings and well-being. He was merely a “thing”, a disposable “thing”. We both knew it and both thrived on it. In our strange, demented way, we loved each other.
I sat him at the big wooden table and laid his right arm out, palm up. “I won’t tie it down, Pup, but you will need all your willpower to keep it still.” I curled his fingers back, leaving just the index finger extended. I set a meat cleaver on the table and watched as his eyes grew wide with fear. He sensed what was coming but said nothing. He tensed and quivered with fear, but his dick grew anyway. Then he saw mine move upward, too, and he made a sickly, tentative grin. I set the cleaver on the first joint of his finger, keeping my eyes on him. His eyes were on the cleaver as my hands pressed downward. He grimaced as the sharp blade easily cut through the joint and the tip rolled off to the side. His whole body trembled in pain. I raised his disfigured hand from the table and slid the finger into my mouth. Our eyes met and held as I sucked the bleeding digit. Horror and pain on his face. Euphoria on mine. I sucked and swallowed for a couple minutes, then pulled it out and pushed it towards him. “Suck, Pup.” It was a command. He moved his hand slowly towards his face and slid the bleeding knuckle into his mouth. Tears streamed down his cheeks. Blood dribbled from his mouth. A mask of resignation on his face.
I got up and brought a fire starter to the table. “Give me a final taste, Pup.” I gently pulled his finger from his mouth and slipped it into mine. His blood flowed, as I swirled it in my mouth like a fine wine, which it was, really. I swallowed. I held his hand tightly in mine, and aimed the fire starter at the shortened digit. He screamed when the fire scorched his finger, cauterizing the wound. He lurched and tried to pull away, but I held firm until the fire had done its job. When I released his hand, he shook it wildly in the air and jumped around the room, screaming in pain. I sat patiently, waiting for his frenzy to subside, quietly rolling the severed fingertip back and forth across the tabletop. When he calmed down, I wrapped the finger in gauze, and turned to leave. “You have so much more to give me, Pup.” As I locked the door, I would hear a loud keening wail.
And yet, in the morning, he smiled as I entered to room, and his dick was hard. Our relationship had entered a new phase, a darker stage. If he hadn’t before, Pup now knew his true fate. He would die. He would die painfully. Was it what he wanted? Or did he just crave pain at the hands of another man? A game to be played, a fantasy fulfilled, then stop and go home? But, no, it’s not a game. Perhaps still a fantasy but now reality. Caleb. My name took on a new dimension. More than just dispenser of pain. Caleb. Executioner.
He stood to greet me and before he could react, I rammed my fist into his gut. As air gushed from his lungs, he doubled over and fell to his knees. My boot thudded into his ribs and, as he lurched about, the boot connected with his face, knocking out a few teeth. I sat in the chair and watched as he squirmed on the floor. Wheezing, trying to fill his lungs with air. High-pitched squeal from a broken rib. Gurgling as blood filled his mouth. I pressed my hand to my crotch, felt a throbbing cock and the ecstasy of ejaculation, followed by warm sticky cum against my skin.
I left the door open and went to my bedroom. Stripped and lay naked on the sheets. Hours later, Pup staggered in, hobbled with pain, climbed onto the bed, put his mouth on my dick, and blew me. Afterwards, I threw him on his back and went down on him. What must he be thinking? “Was Caleb changing? He had never had my cock in his mouth. He’s going to suck my dick!” Pup’s dick grew hard and bounced in anticipation as I slid my mouth over his shaft. Then my teeth clamped down, sinking through skin deep into the rigid spongy tissue. A cry of pain. Jerking his hips to twist away. But my teeth held firm, grinding, penetrating into his cock. I tasted blood. Then, suddenly, his dick exploded, filling my mouth with a blast of warm, gooey semen. My teeth didn’t loosen their grip on his shaft, but the cum kept pumping into my throat. He was lurching on the bed, screaming in ecstasy and pain, as I struggled to swallow the huge load without losing any of it or loosening my grip. And my own cock spurted a new load onto the bed. We stayed that way until our cocks began to relax. I released my grip and pulled off, seeing a large gash in his tool. Torn skin and dribbling blood. I pulled Pup close and wrapped him in my arms. He was crying. I bit his shoulder. Then his ear. More blood. More crying. But no attempt to pull away. He was hard again. I ground my fist into the broken rib. A screech. Then I rolled over and fell asleep. Damn, I love to hurt hum.
In the morning, I found Pup in the kitchen, making breakfast for us. “Thanks, Pup,” I said when he had cleaned everything up. “Come with me.” He hobbled painfully along behind me as I led him to a room in the house he hadn’t seen before. It was a large room, beautifully furnished, with a huge TV screen on one wall, running a vid of me battering a naked guy. Opposite, was a large fireplace. And on the mantel, two large clear plastic cubes, containing two human heads. Both were men; beautiful, young men. And on shelves next to the fireplace were several more cubes, displaying feet, hands, cocks, testicles, and eyeballs. Pup stood silent and unmoving. His mouth gaped, fear crept into his eyes……….but his cock grew hard.
“You understand, don’t you, Pup. What this is. Why I’m showing you this.” He didn’t move. “These two boys, George and Trent. They were beautiful, hot, and very sexy. But they resisted. Didn’t like the pain I gave to them. Not like you. You get off on it. When I hurt you, you are happy. And you want to go further. You want to stretch your limits. I know what you want. What you’ve dreamed since you were a kid. You want to be snuffed, Pup. You want to be dismembered. You want me to cut you in pieces. And you want to watch. Right?” A slight nod of Pup’s head. He stared blankly, unbelieving. He felt terror but the terror made his dick twitch, bobbing with fretful anticipation. His dream. His nightmare. His fate. He could not resist. Tears welled in his eyes as he looked forlornly at me, and bowed his head in submission.
“You can watch yourself die, Pup. There are several mirrors so you can see everything. I can lessen your pain so you won’t pass out, so you can watch as I cut you apart. I’ll also have several cameras recording and you’ll be the star of a wildly popular underground video. A snuff video. You’ll be famous and I’ll make a shitload of money. Now, let’s go and make our magnum opus.” Pup didn’t follow as I walked back to the big room. Not right away. But, after about five minutes, he let out a sigh, and followed. I flipped the switch to start recording.
He climbed meekly onto the table without being ordered to. I strapped his arms and legs spreadeagled. Shot morphine into a vein. Then brought out a machete and an axe. His dick rose. Damn! He was so predictable. And mine got hard, too. Pup’s body was trembling when I picked up the axe. Tears in his eyes. Soft whimpers of fear. Yet the dick stayed up. Twitching. Anticipating. His lifelong dream was about to come true. His ultimate sexual fantasy. His dick was excited at the prospect, but his mind was terrified. He looked into my eyes for some sign, some recognition, some feeling, some sympathy….but saw nothing.
I raised the axe. Pup let out a squeal. I swung downward, easily severing his hand from his wrist. As the hand fell to the table, his dick erupted and shot a stream of cum high into the air. It wouldn’t stop. A lifetime of pent-up passion, longing and waiting for just this moment, pumped a continuous stream of white creamy jizz that mingled with crimson blood.
I set the severed hand on his face. It lay there, looking as if it were gently caressing his cheek. Then, I turned back to his body and, with quick precision, chopped off his other hand and both feet. He screamed once, then fell silent, passing out from shock and pain. It was done. Pup had been dismembered, as he wished. He saw, he cummed, he passed out. With a knife, I cut off his cock and balls, and then with my thumb, I popped both eyeballs from their sockets. One I set aside, the other I popped into my mouth. With the machete, I sliced his neck, into the Adam’s apple and windpipe. As blood gurgled from his throat, spurting as he tried to breath, I put my lips to his neck and drank. My dick sprayed cum onto his belly. Then I completed his beheading and set his head on the table.
Later that day, I took Pup’s head, feet, hands, cock, nuts, and eyeball to Cory’s house. He will clean them up and encase them in plastic. It is expensive but well worth the cost. Pup was a pretty boy whose face and body I turned into a black and purple mass of swollen flesh. In his place of honor on my mantel, I will gaze at his battered face and relive the ecstasy. I had never enjoyed beating a man as much as I did with Pup. He fantasized. I delivered. I snuffed Pup.
