So here's the scoop.
* I'm actually a heterosexual male with snuff fantasies with women.
* I still like the site and wanted to contribute something.
* I've written a few stories, less than a handful.
* This is the first "gayish" snuff story I've written.
* Please consider this my contribution to the forum. If you like it, please say so.
- A
----------------------------------------------------
Perfecting the Craft
===============
There’s a knock at the door.
“Come in,” says Bruce. The door opens. The man standing in it is about 27 years old with a rough scrabbled face and high cheekbones with piercing dark brown eyes and jet-black hair, cropped short, military style. His uniform is simple, grey, with a jacket, bearing the name ‘LIVINGSTON’ on his right chest. “Ah! Frank! Come in! I’ve been expecting you!”
Frank nods, steps inside, and closes the door.
“Have a seat,” says Bruce. Bruce is older, about 40 years old. His hair which used to be uniformly thick and deep brown has started to thin, the short cropped mustache and beard on his face peppered with white. He motions to the empty chair opposite his desk while idly clearing out a spot on the paper littered desk to prop up his feet. “Thanks for coming. I wanted to ask you if the new train is scheduled to come in today. I have a request.”
Frank sits down on the metal chair in front of the desk. It’s too small for his muscular, military frame. He looks unbalanced as he tries to sit on it. Frank raises his eyebrows. “Oh? What kind of request?”
Bruce sets his feet on the newly cleared spot on his desk. Some papers tumble off the side of the desk. “Remember the Mexican guy we hung two weeks ago? The one who tented out his pants while he was strangling?”
Frank’s shoulders relax a bit. He realizes tell this was going to be a pleasure request. “Yeah, I remember. How could I forget? He took forever too. It was fun to watch.”
“Well,” continues Bruce, “after we hung him I had him cut down and brought to the morgue and I found something interesting. It kind of fits actually. I think I’ve made a discovery but I need something very specific off of the train today to prove it.”
Frank nods, taking a deep breath, trying to stay calm; already he’s getting excited about this. “What’s the discovery? And what do you need?”
Bruce lets the words hang there for several moments and then smiles. “I think I’ve figured out how to make angel lust happen in hanging victims. Consistently.”
Frank looks stunned. “Wait, what?”
“I said I figured out how to make angel lust happen consistently. When I got the ropes clear off of the Mexican, I noticed that he had severe bruising and spinal cord damage on each side of his neck around C2 and C3 where the rope pressed and fractured the vertebrae. That pressure, at that spot, causes massive priapism.”
Frank sighs. “In English Bruce, in English. I’m a logistics guy and a soldier, not a doctor.”
“Sorry,” says Bruce. “What I mean to say is that if you put the rope in the right place, you can damage the spinal cord in such a way so that guys get a giant stiffie as they die. That simple enough for you?”
“Oh, I get it. What do you need off of the train?”
“Well, strictly speaking I need someone young, 21, 22, no older than that. He needs to be not heavy set, on the thin side but with some stamina. Think a swimmer’s body. Or a long distance runner. He needs to have a straight spine and if possible, a thin neck so I can figure out where to precisely put the rope. Also, I need him weighed so that he’s no more than 185 pounds. If you can find someone from 170 to 175 pounds, that would be excellent.” Bruce pauses for a moment. “Also, it’d be great if he was cute. And if you’d run him through processing so he’s shaved. I need to be able to...to...observe clearly.”
“Wow,” says Frank. “You don’t ask for much do you?”
“Well, I am trying to mix science and pleasure here.”
Frank looks at his watch. “The train will be here in 15 minutes. I’ll do you a favor and inspect the whole lot. If I find something I’ll give you a call. But you have to promise me that if I do find you something you’ll let me watch too. You know. When you do your experiment.”
“Of course,” says Bruce.
Frank stands, straightening the creases in his pants and uniform. He nods, smiles, and walks stiffly out of the office, like all military men do.
----------------
The phone rings. “I have your guy, you are one lucky bastard.” It’s Frank. “How so?” Bruce asks. Frank being coy is not in his nature. “He weighs 172.5 pounds. He’s used to be a delivery boy in the city. He’s exactly the build you’re looking for and amazingly enough, he’s extremely, extremely trusting and will take orders.”
“Wait, when you say trusting, what do you mean?”
“I mean he’s kinda slow. Mentally. Somehow he used to be in some kind of halfway house and he got separated from his keepers, or handlers or whatever when he was rounded up. He’ll believe anything you tell him. Tell him that’s it’s good for him to stand on one foot and he will. And he’s adorable looking.”
Bruce can’t believe his luck. “Can you bring him to the lab early? I’ll have my folks prep him a bit and prep the chamber. Be here at 4:30 PM. Give him to my assistant, Jeff. He’ll know what to do.”
“You got it. 4:30 PM.”
The phone clicks and the line goes silent.
-----------------
At 4:30 PM the next day there’s a knock on the door of Bruce’s office. A beat passes, and then Frank walks in, dressed casually in shorts and a t-shirt with his name and the military stripes of rank. “I didn’t say you could come in,” says Bruce. Bruce is dressed simply in a tropical shirt and shorts, clearly flaunting the military dress code. Frank waves his hand dismissively, and sits down again on the little chair in front of Bruce’s desk, again threatening to teeter over.
Bruce reaches over and tosses something at Frank, which he easily snags with his right hand. It’s cool and metallic. Frank recognizes it as a standard locking prisoner neck collar, but there’s a piece of rebar on one side, welded on, bent at an angle from the collar, about six inches long with a small loop on the other end. “Cute Bruce.” Frank rolls over the collar in his hand, examining it, looking at the curious piece of additional metal.
“It’s a guide wire ” says Bruce. “See, one of the problems in traditional hanging is that when you short drop them on the noose, you have no way of knowing where the knot or the rope is going to end up. It’s a crapshoot. Ahh, but see, this little loop at the end? The rope goes right through here. So you can control exactly were the back of the knot is going to end up.” Bruce speaks rapidly and excitedly.
“You going to put that on him now?” asks Frank.
“Oh no no, my assistant did that already. All I need to do is make the final adjustment and fitting of the rope. What you’re holding is an early prototype. You were right by the way. Your boy is very gullible and very compliant. Jeff radioed me a second ago. The boy is ready. We can go now if we want.”
“Now. Like, now now?” asks Frank.
Bruce stands up, not saying anything as he starts to walk to the other door of his office. Frank immediately stands up, knocking over the chair, following him. Bruce enters in a code into a tiny keypad in the wall. A second later relays and latches respond, unlocking the door and unsealing the passageway with a hiss. Together, they walk inside the chamber.
The chamber had been Bruce’s idea. Bruce immediately recognized the potential to contribute to the field of science in an unencumbered way as well as to satisfy his own curiosities with resources from the trains. The chamber had everything needed for the required wet work. The floor was smooth concrete, slanted ever so slightly toward a central drain in the middle of the floor. The walls were smooth, cool tile. In the corner there was a faucet connected to a nearby hose for easy cleanup. One wall housed the medical equipment in gleaming stainless steel drawers and cabinets with an autoclave resting as an afterthought on a nearby table. The ceiling held multiple skylights for daytime use as well several large lamp assembles, stolen from several nearby hospital operating theatres. Autopsy tables were stored off to the side, always clean and shiny. But the one feature that captivated both Bruce and Frank was the ceiling rail and hoist system. With the wheeled cars, electric hoists and multiple powered pulley system, they could lift and suspend several thousand pounds anywhere in the chamber.
Today they would only need to suspend 172.5 pounds.
“Oh, new setup”, remarks Frank. He has entered the chamber many times but this time the hanging setup was different than usual. The beam rails were in place as they always were, with the easily recognizable hangman’s noose dangling below, the loop looking like an open mouth. Below it rested a small platform set on a pair of wheels and rails that trail to the back of the room. The trapdoor is there, but the standard square pattern has been replaced by a rectangular one that extends to the front of a platform. Beneath the platform, carefully cut around the rail system is heavy clear plastic that extends in all directions, directly underneath the noose. In front of the platform were two large folding chairs, just a few feet from the bottom of the noose.
“Yeah, new setup,” says Bruce. “I had Bill make it for me out of spare stuff in the rail house. This way we can put our boy up there, drop him, and then have the platform wheel backwards so he can float free. What do you think? I think Bill did nice work.”
Frank nods, looking at the elaborate setup. “Yes, Bill always does good work,” says Frank, stepping forward a few feet until his feet crunch under the plastic. “What’s the plastic for? I mean, you have a drain and all.
“Oh. THAT.” Bruce stammers a bit. “That’s for, well, catching any fluids we might get today. I was going to run some analysis on it and see if there was anything unusual about it.”
“Oh”.
Bruce wanders over to a nearby phone, picks up the receiver, and stabs a few buttons on the front. “Let’s get started. Hey, Jeff? Yeah, bring him in. We’re here.” Bruce hangs up, as both men look at a door at the far end of the chamber. In a few moments the double doors open. Jeff is in front, wearing his usual laboratory white coat and pants. He stops at the door and then holding out a hand, leads out the boy. Bruce lets in a quiet gasp as he sees him for the first time.
The boy was exactly what he had hoped for. He was thin, wiry and toned. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him anywhere, his chest was not chiseled but angled and cut. His stomach wasn’t 6 packed, but it had that familiar hump in the middle from a strong toned core which led down, descending into the familiar V shape near his hips, leading to his uncut shaven cock. The standard preparation protocol requires shaving off body hair, so both his skull and the base of his shaft were smooth, leaving both areas whitish pink. His face was thin and you could tell by his eyebrows that he had been blonde, the eyebrows setting and framing piercing blue eyes.
“Oh my god...” whispers Frank, watching as Jeff leads the boy ever closer, holding him by an elbow, the boys hands are already tied behind his back with some standard zip ties. The boy is holding his head up high, but you can tell it’s a trained response, the custom hanging collar is already on his neck, jostling slightly with each step. In a few moments Jeff has brought him close, making the boy stand in front of Bruce and Frank. Frank shudders once, barely able to contain himself.
Jeff breaks the silence. “Here you go Bruce. He tells me his name is Rocky.” Jeff reaches into his pocket, and hands a few more zip ties off to Frank. “I figured you might needs some more of these.” He turns toward Bruce. “If you don’t need anything else, I’ll go.”
Bruce, still captivated by Rocky’s bare, naked form doesn’t answer for a moment. He blinks realizing that Jeff was talking to him. “Oh! Yes yes, we have everything, thank you Jeff.” Bruce goes back toward staring at Rocky’s body, barely hearing the double doors closing and locking behind Jeff.
Frank swallows once, shifting uneasily on each foot, getting impatient.
Bruce takes a deep breath, then comes closer to Rocky. “Your name is Rocky?”
Rocky nods.
“Do you know why you’re here Rocky?” asks Bruce, probing to see how slow the boy really is. He must have seen the noose and the platform, surely he has to realize what’s going to happen.
Rocky shakes his head. “J...Jeff? He said that I needed to see a doctor to help out my neck.”
Bruce blinks once, stunned. It can’t possibly be this easy. “Why, err, yes. Your neck is crooked and we need to stretch it out some using that collar and that rope behind you. Here, why don’t we get started! Let’s just step up to this platform up here. Oh, and Rocky, this is my helper Frank.” Bruce takes Rocky by the arm and takes him around to the back of the platform up the small set of steps built into the back. Frank follows, carrying the zip ties.
“Helper. Helper, ” says Rocky, as if the words were new, rolling them slowly around in his mouth.
“Yes, he’s my helper Rocky. Now just stand here, right under this rope, ok? Good...” Bruce turns his face toward Frank with a look of are you fucking kidding me?
Frank smiles, coming up from behind them both, his eyes glued to Rocky’s tight ass.
“No, this way a little Rocky...” says Bruce, grabbing Rocky by the hips, letting his hand brush against Rocky’s pinkish, uncut cock for a second as he positions Rocky a few more inches under the rope. “There. Now stand up straight.” Rocky stands up straight, his tall form and posture straight, a perfect specimen of youth and hardness. Frank,” says Bruce as he steps behind the standing Rocky. “Hold the collar straight on his neck will you? I have to fit the noose in just the right spot.”
Frank steps in front of Rocky, trying hard not to stare down at Rocky’s cock and instead concentrate on holding the collar steady, watching as Bruce reaches up over his head and brings the noose down, carefully threading the rope through the little guide hole on the back of the collar. Bruce’s fingers come up and start palpating the back of Rocky’s neck, starting at the top of his head and then moving down, feeling the little ridges of vertebra, counting them, trying to find the exact place to press the large knot of the noose. “Aha. Here,” exclaims Bruce as he moves the rope around until the upside-down ‘V’ of the noose is pressing right against a particular spot on the neck. Bruce takes a breath and then clicks the rope into position on the collar.
Bruce looks up, talking over Rocky’s shoulder. “We’re good. Get his legs.”
Frank bends down, crouching, his face barely inches from Rocky’s limp cock as he reaches around the top part of Rocky’s muscular thighs and straps in a zip tie. It quickly zips into place. Frank moves down and does this again around Rocky’s knees and then lastly, zipping around the plastic around his ankles. Frank then stands, taking a step back, making sure his work is done before heading down the steps as Bruce talks to Rocky. “Now Rocky,” he says. “You can’t move your neck or your body, ok? You have to stay still in order for this to fix you.”
Rocky stiffens a bit when he’s told he can’t move. Not like he could move now that he was totally restrained. “Ok, Rocky will stay still.”
“Good, good,” says Bruce as he turns around, heading back down the steps at the back of the platform, stopping for a moment to admire Rocky’s tight ass. Bruce walks around the platform, his footsteps crinkling on the plastic on the floor before finally sitting down next to Frank in the other folding chair.
Frank leans over to Bruce. “You taping this?”
“No, this would be a little difficult to explain to central command.”
Bruce leans backward in the chair, grabbing a remote off the desk behind him as casually, as if he were going to change channels on a television. He presses a button and a winch above Rocky’s turns on, slowly revolving, taking up the slack in the rope is until it is nearly taut. Bruce turns to Frank. “Ready?” Frank leans forward in his chair a few inches. “Yeah, I’m ready.” Bruce nods, sits up straight, and then pushes the lit green button.
There’s an audible click, then the trap door Rocky is standing on gives way, perfectly bisected in two. Rocky drops a couple of feet before the rope cinches around his neck, suddenly stopping his downward momentum with a quick jerk. The knot behind Rocky’s milky white neck tightens, the little wedge of rope snapping inward like a vice suddenly and without mercy, pushing through muscle, sinew and bone until the bones can’t handle the strain. There’s a tiny ‘crick’ sound as they fracture, driving pieces of fractured bone right into Rocky’s spinal cord.
Frank and Bruce don’t breathe for a moment, hearing the tiny crunch, the room strangely quiet for a second until the platform motors kick in, pulling it back 8 feet before turning off again, leaving Rocky suspended, hanging in the middle of the room over a piece of circular plastic, a mere three feet away with nothing surrounding him.
Rocky’s face registers shock, surprise and pain, his body jerking ram-rod straight at the end of the rope which is buried deeply into his neck, biting into his perfectly milky skin. His eyes are open wide, his mouth closed, his lips pursed together as his hands flutter behind him. His chest heaves sharply, his stomach collapsing inward, his diaphragm collapsing as hard as it can to expel the air from his lungs which is growing more and more stale by the second.
Frank watches. “He’s a fighter.”
“Yeah, you expect the young ones to fight.”
“How long till he gets stiff?”
“I don’t know,” whispers Bruce. “I think in a minute or two.”
Both men watch, silently as Rocky continues to struggle, jerking on the end of the rope, fighting for his life as his chest heaves and heaves, the oxygen in his lungs used up as his hands start to go limp. Both men focus on his face for a moment, watching the shuddering blue eyes, watching the color of his face start to darken as the red highlights turning darker red, then turn purple. Rocky’s lips are turning blue as his eyebrows crinkle together, his face showing the strain as his lips slowly start to pull back, revealing his gritting teeth.
Frank notices it first. His arm comes out and taps Bruce on the shoulder. “There! Look!” Frank points excitedly at Rocky’s cock. Bruce watches as it begins to jerk, slowly at first, then faster as his cock begins to fill, twitching, jerking upward, stiffening and becoming thicker.
“Yes! Yes it worked!” cries out Bruce, watching with a smile as Rocky’s face turns dark purple, the muscles in his neck straining as his eyebrows crinkle together. Rocky’s cock is now bright and pink, large and twitching, arcing upward toward the ceiling, his hips thrusting forward occasionally as his cock stretches and searches for a warm hole.
Frank stares. “It’s beautiful.”
Bruce gazes in wonder. A few seconds later, it’s his turn to tap Frank on the shoulder. “Look, the tip....!”
They both stare, noticing a glint of wetness at the tip of Rocky’s trembling, unfulfilled cock, clear and damp. Bruce risks looking away, glancing up at Rocky’s body, watching the heaving of his chest start to slow and noticing a spot between his teeth which slowly grows, pushing steadily outward, revealing a swollen purple tongue.
Frank moves his chair closer to one side. After a pause, Bruce moves his closer in too, so that they are barely a foot away from Rocky’s quietly jerking, dying form. Rocky’s eyelids are now fluttering, his tongue is fully pushed out over the bottom lip of his mouth, a string of saliva comes down and falls onto his slowly heaving chest.
“Hey Frank!” yelps, Bruce. “Watch it, his balls are shrinking, I think he’s gonna...”
Rocky shivers once on the end of the rope, then a ripple moves down his sweaty chest, down his rock hard stomach before descending to his crotch. With explosive force, Rocky begins to cum, spurting out rope after rope of white semen out of his trembling manhood. It splatters audibly onto the plastic like little tinkles of rain. Neither Bruce or Frank make a sound as they both watch Rocky’s cock continue to spurt in desperation, painting the plastic in front of him with milky white fluid, as if hoping that it would land somewhere useful. It goes on for nearly 10 seconds until he pumps himself dry and even then, both men watch as his balls continue to contract, dry heaving, trying to expel out a lifetime of cum.
Finally the contractions stop. There’s no movement at all as Rocky stares back at them, his face blank, the blue eyes glassy and empty.
Frank speaks first. “My...my God. Is he dead? Finally?”
Bruce looks up, gasping, his body still pumping excitement and adrenaline. “Well, his heart probably gave out but he won’t be brain dead for another 5 minutes.”
Frank nods. “Let’s just enjoy the moment then.”
And they do.
* I'm actually a heterosexual male with snuff fantasies with women.
* I still like the site and wanted to contribute something.
* I've written a few stories, less than a handful.
* This is the first "gayish" snuff story I've written.
* Please consider this my contribution to the forum. If you like it, please say so.
- A
----------------------------------------------------
Perfecting the Craft
===============
There’s a knock at the door.
“Come in,” says Bruce. The door opens. The man standing in it is about 27 years old with a rough scrabbled face and high cheekbones with piercing dark brown eyes and jet-black hair, cropped short, military style. His uniform is simple, grey, with a jacket, bearing the name ‘LIVINGSTON’ on his right chest. “Ah! Frank! Come in! I’ve been expecting you!”
Frank nods, steps inside, and closes the door.
“Have a seat,” says Bruce. Bruce is older, about 40 years old. His hair which used to be uniformly thick and deep brown has started to thin, the short cropped mustache and beard on his face peppered with white. He motions to the empty chair opposite his desk while idly clearing out a spot on the paper littered desk to prop up his feet. “Thanks for coming. I wanted to ask you if the new train is scheduled to come in today. I have a request.”
Frank sits down on the metal chair in front of the desk. It’s too small for his muscular, military frame. He looks unbalanced as he tries to sit on it. Frank raises his eyebrows. “Oh? What kind of request?”
Bruce sets his feet on the newly cleared spot on his desk. Some papers tumble off the side of the desk. “Remember the Mexican guy we hung two weeks ago? The one who tented out his pants while he was strangling?”
Frank’s shoulders relax a bit. He realizes tell this was going to be a pleasure request. “Yeah, I remember. How could I forget? He took forever too. It was fun to watch.”
“Well,” continues Bruce, “after we hung him I had him cut down and brought to the morgue and I found something interesting. It kind of fits actually. I think I’ve made a discovery but I need something very specific off of the train today to prove it.”
Frank nods, taking a deep breath, trying to stay calm; already he’s getting excited about this. “What’s the discovery? And what do you need?”
Bruce lets the words hang there for several moments and then smiles. “I think I’ve figured out how to make angel lust happen in hanging victims. Consistently.”
Frank looks stunned. “Wait, what?”
“I said I figured out how to make angel lust happen consistently. When I got the ropes clear off of the Mexican, I noticed that he had severe bruising and spinal cord damage on each side of his neck around C2 and C3 where the rope pressed and fractured the vertebrae. That pressure, at that spot, causes massive priapism.”
Frank sighs. “In English Bruce, in English. I’m a logistics guy and a soldier, not a doctor.”
“Sorry,” says Bruce. “What I mean to say is that if you put the rope in the right place, you can damage the spinal cord in such a way so that guys get a giant stiffie as they die. That simple enough for you?”
“Oh, I get it. What do you need off of the train?”
“Well, strictly speaking I need someone young, 21, 22, no older than that. He needs to be not heavy set, on the thin side but with some stamina. Think a swimmer’s body. Or a long distance runner. He needs to have a straight spine and if possible, a thin neck so I can figure out where to precisely put the rope. Also, I need him weighed so that he’s no more than 185 pounds. If you can find someone from 170 to 175 pounds, that would be excellent.” Bruce pauses for a moment. “Also, it’d be great if he was cute. And if you’d run him through processing so he’s shaved. I need to be able to...to...observe clearly.”
“Wow,” says Frank. “You don’t ask for much do you?”
“Well, I am trying to mix science and pleasure here.”
Frank looks at his watch. “The train will be here in 15 minutes. I’ll do you a favor and inspect the whole lot. If I find something I’ll give you a call. But you have to promise me that if I do find you something you’ll let me watch too. You know. When you do your experiment.”
“Of course,” says Bruce.
Frank stands, straightening the creases in his pants and uniform. He nods, smiles, and walks stiffly out of the office, like all military men do.
----------------
The phone rings. “I have your guy, you are one lucky bastard.” It’s Frank. “How so?” Bruce asks. Frank being coy is not in his nature. “He weighs 172.5 pounds. He’s used to be a delivery boy in the city. He’s exactly the build you’re looking for and amazingly enough, he’s extremely, extremely trusting and will take orders.”
“Wait, when you say trusting, what do you mean?”
“I mean he’s kinda slow. Mentally. Somehow he used to be in some kind of halfway house and he got separated from his keepers, or handlers or whatever when he was rounded up. He’ll believe anything you tell him. Tell him that’s it’s good for him to stand on one foot and he will. And he’s adorable looking.”
Bruce can’t believe his luck. “Can you bring him to the lab early? I’ll have my folks prep him a bit and prep the chamber. Be here at 4:30 PM. Give him to my assistant, Jeff. He’ll know what to do.”
“You got it. 4:30 PM.”
The phone clicks and the line goes silent.
-----------------
At 4:30 PM the next day there’s a knock on the door of Bruce’s office. A beat passes, and then Frank walks in, dressed casually in shorts and a t-shirt with his name and the military stripes of rank. “I didn’t say you could come in,” says Bruce. Bruce is dressed simply in a tropical shirt and shorts, clearly flaunting the military dress code. Frank waves his hand dismissively, and sits down again on the little chair in front of Bruce’s desk, again threatening to teeter over.
Bruce reaches over and tosses something at Frank, which he easily snags with his right hand. It’s cool and metallic. Frank recognizes it as a standard locking prisoner neck collar, but there’s a piece of rebar on one side, welded on, bent at an angle from the collar, about six inches long with a small loop on the other end. “Cute Bruce.” Frank rolls over the collar in his hand, examining it, looking at the curious piece of additional metal.
“It’s a guide wire ” says Bruce. “See, one of the problems in traditional hanging is that when you short drop them on the noose, you have no way of knowing where the knot or the rope is going to end up. It’s a crapshoot. Ahh, but see, this little loop at the end? The rope goes right through here. So you can control exactly were the back of the knot is going to end up.” Bruce speaks rapidly and excitedly.
“You going to put that on him now?” asks Frank.
“Oh no no, my assistant did that already. All I need to do is make the final adjustment and fitting of the rope. What you’re holding is an early prototype. You were right by the way. Your boy is very gullible and very compliant. Jeff radioed me a second ago. The boy is ready. We can go now if we want.”
“Now. Like, now now?” asks Frank.
Bruce stands up, not saying anything as he starts to walk to the other door of his office. Frank immediately stands up, knocking over the chair, following him. Bruce enters in a code into a tiny keypad in the wall. A second later relays and latches respond, unlocking the door and unsealing the passageway with a hiss. Together, they walk inside the chamber.
The chamber had been Bruce’s idea. Bruce immediately recognized the potential to contribute to the field of science in an unencumbered way as well as to satisfy his own curiosities with resources from the trains. The chamber had everything needed for the required wet work. The floor was smooth concrete, slanted ever so slightly toward a central drain in the middle of the floor. The walls were smooth, cool tile. In the corner there was a faucet connected to a nearby hose for easy cleanup. One wall housed the medical equipment in gleaming stainless steel drawers and cabinets with an autoclave resting as an afterthought on a nearby table. The ceiling held multiple skylights for daytime use as well several large lamp assembles, stolen from several nearby hospital operating theatres. Autopsy tables were stored off to the side, always clean and shiny. But the one feature that captivated both Bruce and Frank was the ceiling rail and hoist system. With the wheeled cars, electric hoists and multiple powered pulley system, they could lift and suspend several thousand pounds anywhere in the chamber.
Today they would only need to suspend 172.5 pounds.
“Oh, new setup”, remarks Frank. He has entered the chamber many times but this time the hanging setup was different than usual. The beam rails were in place as they always were, with the easily recognizable hangman’s noose dangling below, the loop looking like an open mouth. Below it rested a small platform set on a pair of wheels and rails that trail to the back of the room. The trapdoor is there, but the standard square pattern has been replaced by a rectangular one that extends to the front of a platform. Beneath the platform, carefully cut around the rail system is heavy clear plastic that extends in all directions, directly underneath the noose. In front of the platform were two large folding chairs, just a few feet from the bottom of the noose.
“Yeah, new setup,” says Bruce. “I had Bill make it for me out of spare stuff in the rail house. This way we can put our boy up there, drop him, and then have the platform wheel backwards so he can float free. What do you think? I think Bill did nice work.”
Frank nods, looking at the elaborate setup. “Yes, Bill always does good work,” says Frank, stepping forward a few feet until his feet crunch under the plastic. “What’s the plastic for? I mean, you have a drain and all.
“Oh. THAT.” Bruce stammers a bit. “That’s for, well, catching any fluids we might get today. I was going to run some analysis on it and see if there was anything unusual about it.”
“Oh”.
Bruce wanders over to a nearby phone, picks up the receiver, and stabs a few buttons on the front. “Let’s get started. Hey, Jeff? Yeah, bring him in. We’re here.” Bruce hangs up, as both men look at a door at the far end of the chamber. In a few moments the double doors open. Jeff is in front, wearing his usual laboratory white coat and pants. He stops at the door and then holding out a hand, leads out the boy. Bruce lets in a quiet gasp as he sees him for the first time.
The boy was exactly what he had hoped for. He was thin, wiry and toned. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him anywhere, his chest was not chiseled but angled and cut. His stomach wasn’t 6 packed, but it had that familiar hump in the middle from a strong toned core which led down, descending into the familiar V shape near his hips, leading to his uncut shaven cock. The standard preparation protocol requires shaving off body hair, so both his skull and the base of his shaft were smooth, leaving both areas whitish pink. His face was thin and you could tell by his eyebrows that he had been blonde, the eyebrows setting and framing piercing blue eyes.
“Oh my god...” whispers Frank, watching as Jeff leads the boy ever closer, holding him by an elbow, the boys hands are already tied behind his back with some standard zip ties. The boy is holding his head up high, but you can tell it’s a trained response, the custom hanging collar is already on his neck, jostling slightly with each step. In a few moments Jeff has brought him close, making the boy stand in front of Bruce and Frank. Frank shudders once, barely able to contain himself.
Jeff breaks the silence. “Here you go Bruce. He tells me his name is Rocky.” Jeff reaches into his pocket, and hands a few more zip ties off to Frank. “I figured you might needs some more of these.” He turns toward Bruce. “If you don’t need anything else, I’ll go.”
Bruce, still captivated by Rocky’s bare, naked form doesn’t answer for a moment. He blinks realizing that Jeff was talking to him. “Oh! Yes yes, we have everything, thank you Jeff.” Bruce goes back toward staring at Rocky’s body, barely hearing the double doors closing and locking behind Jeff.
Frank swallows once, shifting uneasily on each foot, getting impatient.
Bruce takes a deep breath, then comes closer to Rocky. “Your name is Rocky?”
Rocky nods.
“Do you know why you’re here Rocky?” asks Bruce, probing to see how slow the boy really is. He must have seen the noose and the platform, surely he has to realize what’s going to happen.
Rocky shakes his head. “J...Jeff? He said that I needed to see a doctor to help out my neck.”
Bruce blinks once, stunned. It can’t possibly be this easy. “Why, err, yes. Your neck is crooked and we need to stretch it out some using that collar and that rope behind you. Here, why don’t we get started! Let’s just step up to this platform up here. Oh, and Rocky, this is my helper Frank.” Bruce takes Rocky by the arm and takes him around to the back of the platform up the small set of steps built into the back. Frank follows, carrying the zip ties.
“Helper. Helper, ” says Rocky, as if the words were new, rolling them slowly around in his mouth.
“Yes, he’s my helper Rocky. Now just stand here, right under this rope, ok? Good...” Bruce turns his face toward Frank with a look of are you fucking kidding me?
Frank smiles, coming up from behind them both, his eyes glued to Rocky’s tight ass.
“No, this way a little Rocky...” says Bruce, grabbing Rocky by the hips, letting his hand brush against Rocky’s pinkish, uncut cock for a second as he positions Rocky a few more inches under the rope. “There. Now stand up straight.” Rocky stands up straight, his tall form and posture straight, a perfect specimen of youth and hardness. Frank,” says Bruce as he steps behind the standing Rocky. “Hold the collar straight on his neck will you? I have to fit the noose in just the right spot.”
Frank steps in front of Rocky, trying hard not to stare down at Rocky’s cock and instead concentrate on holding the collar steady, watching as Bruce reaches up over his head and brings the noose down, carefully threading the rope through the little guide hole on the back of the collar. Bruce’s fingers come up and start palpating the back of Rocky’s neck, starting at the top of his head and then moving down, feeling the little ridges of vertebra, counting them, trying to find the exact place to press the large knot of the noose. “Aha. Here,” exclaims Bruce as he moves the rope around until the upside-down ‘V’ of the noose is pressing right against a particular spot on the neck. Bruce takes a breath and then clicks the rope into position on the collar.
Bruce looks up, talking over Rocky’s shoulder. “We’re good. Get his legs.”
Frank bends down, crouching, his face barely inches from Rocky’s limp cock as he reaches around the top part of Rocky’s muscular thighs and straps in a zip tie. It quickly zips into place. Frank moves down and does this again around Rocky’s knees and then lastly, zipping around the plastic around his ankles. Frank then stands, taking a step back, making sure his work is done before heading down the steps as Bruce talks to Rocky. “Now Rocky,” he says. “You can’t move your neck or your body, ok? You have to stay still in order for this to fix you.”
Rocky stiffens a bit when he’s told he can’t move. Not like he could move now that he was totally restrained. “Ok, Rocky will stay still.”
“Good, good,” says Bruce as he turns around, heading back down the steps at the back of the platform, stopping for a moment to admire Rocky’s tight ass. Bruce walks around the platform, his footsteps crinkling on the plastic on the floor before finally sitting down next to Frank in the other folding chair.
Frank leans over to Bruce. “You taping this?”
“No, this would be a little difficult to explain to central command.”
Bruce leans backward in the chair, grabbing a remote off the desk behind him as casually, as if he were going to change channels on a television. He presses a button and a winch above Rocky’s turns on, slowly revolving, taking up the slack in the rope is until it is nearly taut. Bruce turns to Frank. “Ready?” Frank leans forward in his chair a few inches. “Yeah, I’m ready.” Bruce nods, sits up straight, and then pushes the lit green button.
There’s an audible click, then the trap door Rocky is standing on gives way, perfectly bisected in two. Rocky drops a couple of feet before the rope cinches around his neck, suddenly stopping his downward momentum with a quick jerk. The knot behind Rocky’s milky white neck tightens, the little wedge of rope snapping inward like a vice suddenly and without mercy, pushing through muscle, sinew and bone until the bones can’t handle the strain. There’s a tiny ‘crick’ sound as they fracture, driving pieces of fractured bone right into Rocky’s spinal cord.
Frank and Bruce don’t breathe for a moment, hearing the tiny crunch, the room strangely quiet for a second until the platform motors kick in, pulling it back 8 feet before turning off again, leaving Rocky suspended, hanging in the middle of the room over a piece of circular plastic, a mere three feet away with nothing surrounding him.
Rocky’s face registers shock, surprise and pain, his body jerking ram-rod straight at the end of the rope which is buried deeply into his neck, biting into his perfectly milky skin. His eyes are open wide, his mouth closed, his lips pursed together as his hands flutter behind him. His chest heaves sharply, his stomach collapsing inward, his diaphragm collapsing as hard as it can to expel the air from his lungs which is growing more and more stale by the second.
Frank watches. “He’s a fighter.”
“Yeah, you expect the young ones to fight.”
“How long till he gets stiff?”
“I don’t know,” whispers Bruce. “I think in a minute or two.”
Both men watch, silently as Rocky continues to struggle, jerking on the end of the rope, fighting for his life as his chest heaves and heaves, the oxygen in his lungs used up as his hands start to go limp. Both men focus on his face for a moment, watching the shuddering blue eyes, watching the color of his face start to darken as the red highlights turning darker red, then turn purple. Rocky’s lips are turning blue as his eyebrows crinkle together, his face showing the strain as his lips slowly start to pull back, revealing his gritting teeth.
Frank notices it first. His arm comes out and taps Bruce on the shoulder. “There! Look!” Frank points excitedly at Rocky’s cock. Bruce watches as it begins to jerk, slowly at first, then faster as his cock begins to fill, twitching, jerking upward, stiffening and becoming thicker.
“Yes! Yes it worked!” cries out Bruce, watching with a smile as Rocky’s face turns dark purple, the muscles in his neck straining as his eyebrows crinkle together. Rocky’s cock is now bright and pink, large and twitching, arcing upward toward the ceiling, his hips thrusting forward occasionally as his cock stretches and searches for a warm hole.
Frank stares. “It’s beautiful.”
Bruce gazes in wonder. A few seconds later, it’s his turn to tap Frank on the shoulder. “Look, the tip....!”
They both stare, noticing a glint of wetness at the tip of Rocky’s trembling, unfulfilled cock, clear and damp. Bruce risks looking away, glancing up at Rocky’s body, watching the heaving of his chest start to slow and noticing a spot between his teeth which slowly grows, pushing steadily outward, revealing a swollen purple tongue.
Frank moves his chair closer to one side. After a pause, Bruce moves his closer in too, so that they are barely a foot away from Rocky’s quietly jerking, dying form. Rocky’s eyelids are now fluttering, his tongue is fully pushed out over the bottom lip of his mouth, a string of saliva comes down and falls onto his slowly heaving chest.
“Hey Frank!” yelps, Bruce. “Watch it, his balls are shrinking, I think he’s gonna...”
Rocky shivers once on the end of the rope, then a ripple moves down his sweaty chest, down his rock hard stomach before descending to his crotch. With explosive force, Rocky begins to cum, spurting out rope after rope of white semen out of his trembling manhood. It splatters audibly onto the plastic like little tinkles of rain. Neither Bruce or Frank make a sound as they both watch Rocky’s cock continue to spurt in desperation, painting the plastic in front of him with milky white fluid, as if hoping that it would land somewhere useful. It goes on for nearly 10 seconds until he pumps himself dry and even then, both men watch as his balls continue to contract, dry heaving, trying to expel out a lifetime of cum.
Finally the contractions stop. There’s no movement at all as Rocky stares back at them, his face blank, the blue eyes glassy and empty.
Frank speaks first. “My...my God. Is he dead? Finally?”
Bruce looks up, gasping, his body still pumping excitement and adrenaline. “Well, his heart probably gave out but he won’t be brain dead for another 5 minutes.”
Frank nods. “Let’s just enjoy the moment then.”
And they do.
