spndx7hero
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Hey all thought I would try my hand at posting a story up here
Story- the Batherly Hunt
spndx7hero
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Part one - the delivery
Sir Marcus Batherly was everything the romance novels described, handsome, extremely wealthy, rugged and not afraid to get his hands dirty. He watched the delivery truck amble up his driveway with a smug satisfaction only the impossibly rich have, knowing that if he wanted to he could buy the delivery company in less than two seconds with the credit card he carried in his wallet, without batting an eye. The Batherly mansion rested in the middle of a dense evergreen forest, part castle, part luxury high tech residence the old money that kept it running was in no way going to run out, the Batherly estate saw to that. Marcus was the last of three sons, the other two had died in a tragic but mysterious boating accident; his parents, devastated died soon thereafter. Uncles, aunts, cousins even third cousins four times removed had all died from some strange genetic defect due to years of inbreeding, leaving Marcus the sole heir. Marcus kept the house well and his physique even better than he kept the house.
Gargantuan muscles thrust out of his arms as he crossed his firm gorilla-like chest; the bronze of his skin glistened in the bright sun-light as the thin wiry delivery man jumped out of the truck and gave him a curt nod of hello. Marcus licked his lips as the delivery man walked to the back of the truck, climbed the stairs up to the mansion’s loading dock and held out a tablet for Marcus to sign. Marcus took the tablet, not letting his cool green eyes stop from their intense stare at the delivery boy’s shorts, so tight that the wealthy blue-blood hungered to take the young man’s meat into his mouth. The delivery man noticed this, but customer service told him to ignore the eccentric rich and merely respond with a polite nod and a silent wave.
The delivery boy turned away to allow Sir Batherly to sign the proper forms and to remove the wealthy man’s item from the truck bed. Extremely large deliveries to the castles that dotted this mountain hamlet were not uncommon, most times they were filled with food or all the conveniences of the modern city without the traffic- one time he had delivered forty two albino peacocks to one of the mansions down the road. He turned the knob of the lock and heard the definite clink of the lock opening; he grabbed the handle of the truck door and unlatched the heavy metal instrument. With a swift and elegant move he thrust his hands upward sending the door up into its hiding place in the top of the truck’s roof. Wiping the dust off his hands the delivery man turned around,
“Well Sir Batherly…here’s your…”
Marcus Batherly was standing not but five inches away from him, that smug smile radiating off his face, the glistening, slightly sweat glazed chest of his so close it almost touched him. Gulping down his saliva he receded into the darkness of the truck and walked around the large solitary box that stood in there. The box was roughly 8 feet by 4 feet, big enough to fit a grown man, and it had holes carved into the upper corners. Each hole was covered by a metal grate that was screwed into place, the grates had nothing but dozens of tiny holes punched into them, air vents of some kind. Leaning his whole body into the dolly set up behind the box the delivery man pulled it down toward him letting it balance on the fulcrum of the dolly, the wheels groaning as they took on the weight of the massive box.
“Here’s you package sir…Not sure what’s in there, my bosses don’t tell me nothing about what’s in the back of the truck. All’s they say is to get it to you right away, rush order. She just came in four hours ago.”
The delivery man stammered as he wheeled the heavy package onto the loading dock of the mansion; he was clearly nervous to be in Marcus’ presence and the thought of another man nervous and frightened by his mere stature gave Marcus the biggest hard-on he had ever experienced. When the delivery man set the package down in the middle of the loading dock and returned the dolly to its place in the back of the truck Marcus walked up to him and handed him back the signed tablet.
“Here you go Billy…and here’s for your trouble.”
Marcus’s deep baritone voice was slightly rusty from years of smoking cigars and drinking heavy liquor; he handed the young man a crisp 100 ₤ note, more likely he stuffed it down the young man’s tight shorts, eliciting a small girlish whelp. Billy, as his name tag read, gulped down the nervousness in his throat, he was used to rich heiresses and madams tipping him in this manner but never a knight of the realm. With a quiet nod Billy turned away, descended the stairs and jumped in his truck, the rich man’s burning hungry eyes following him as he drove away from the Batherly Estate. Marcus Batherly had always been too strange for his family’s taste; he never married, preferred to have no servants around him, ate meat as raw as he could get it and wore the same thing day-in day out: a white buttoned shirt with the sleeves rolled up, khaki riding pants and glistening immaculate hunting boots. Marcus was overly fond of the family’s war regalia and from the age of 12 insisted his ancestor’s suit of armor be placed in his bedroom; he had no friends to speak of and was excessively competitive to the point of viciousness. All of this most wealthy people had, their money and their prestige breeding in them a distaste for their common man so profound it bordered on extreme sociopathic narcissism. Yet Marcus was unlike the other blue bloods that lived miles from him, in one very important way.
Sir Marcus Batherly was everything the romance novels described, handsome, extremely wealthy, rugged and not afraid to get his hands dirty. He watched the delivery truck amble up his driveway with a smug satisfaction only the impossibly rich have, knowing that if he wanted to he could buy the delivery company in less than two seconds with the credit card he carried in his wallet, without batting an eye. The Batherly mansion rested in the middle of a dense evergreen forest, part castle, part luxury high tech residence the old money that kept it running was in no way going to run out, the Batherly estate saw to that. Marcus was the last of three sons, the other two had died in a tragic but mysterious boating accident; his parents, devastated died soon thereafter. Uncles, aunts, cousins even third cousins four times removed had all died from some strange genetic defect due to years of inbreeding, leaving Marcus the sole heir. Marcus kept the house well and his physique even better than he kept the house.
Gargantuan muscles thrust out of his arms as he crossed his firm gorilla-like chest; the bronze of his skin glistened in the bright sun-light as the thin wiry delivery man jumped out of the truck and gave him a curt nod of hello. Marcus licked his lips as the delivery man walked to the back of the truck, climbed the stairs up to the mansion’s loading dock and held out a tablet for Marcus to sign. Marcus took the tablet, not letting his cool green eyes stop from their intense stare at the delivery boy’s shorts, so tight that the wealthy blue-blood hungered to take the young man’s meat into his mouth. The delivery man noticed this, but customer service told him to ignore the eccentric rich and merely respond with a polite nod and a silent wave.
The delivery boy turned away to allow Sir Batherly to sign the proper forms and to remove the wealthy man’s item from the truck bed. Extremely large deliveries to the castles that dotted this mountain hamlet were not uncommon, most times they were filled with food or all the conveniences of the modern city without the traffic- one time he had delivered forty two albino peacocks to one of the mansions down the road. He turned the knob of the lock and heard the definite clink of the lock opening; he grabbed the handle of the truck door and unlatched the heavy metal instrument. With a swift and elegant move he thrust his hands upward sending the door up into its hiding place in the top of the truck’s roof. Wiping the dust off his hands the delivery man turned around,
“Well Sir Batherly…here’s your…”
Marcus Batherly was standing not but five inches away from him, that smug smile radiating off his face, the glistening, slightly sweat glazed chest of his so close it almost touched him. Gulping down his saliva he receded into the darkness of the truck and walked around the large solitary box that stood in there. The box was roughly 8 feet by 4 feet, big enough to fit a grown man, and it had holes carved into the upper corners. Each hole was covered by a metal grate that was screwed into place, the grates had nothing but dozens of tiny holes punched into them, air vents of some kind. Leaning his whole body into the dolly set up behind the box the delivery man pulled it down toward him letting it balance on the fulcrum of the dolly, the wheels groaning as they took on the weight of the massive box.
“Here’s you package sir…Not sure what’s in there, my bosses don’t tell me nothing about what’s in the back of the truck. All’s they say is to get it to you right away, rush order. She just came in four hours ago.”
The delivery man stammered as he wheeled the heavy package onto the loading dock of the mansion; he was clearly nervous to be in Marcus’ presence and the thought of another man nervous and frightened by his mere stature gave Marcus the biggest hard-on he had ever experienced. When the delivery man set the package down in the middle of the loading dock and returned the dolly to its place in the back of the truck Marcus walked up to him and handed him back the signed tablet.
“Here you go Billy…and here’s for your trouble.”
Marcus’s deep baritone voice was slightly rusty from years of smoking cigars and drinking heavy liquor; he handed the young man a crisp 100 ₤ note, more likely he stuffed it down the young man’s tight shorts, eliciting a small girlish whelp. Billy, as his name tag read, gulped down the nervousness in his throat, he was used to rich heiresses and madams tipping him in this manner but never a knight of the realm. With a quiet nod Billy turned away, descended the stairs and jumped in his truck, the rich man’s burning hungry eyes following him as he drove away from the Batherly Estate. Marcus Batherly had always been too strange for his family’s taste; he never married, preferred to have no servants around him, ate meat as raw as he could get it and wore the same thing day-in day out: a white buttoned shirt with the sleeves rolled up, khaki riding pants and glistening immaculate hunting boots. Marcus was overly fond of the family’s war regalia and from the age of 12 insisted his ancestor’s suit of armor be placed in his bedroom; he had no friends to speak of and was excessively competitive to the point of viciousness. All of this most wealthy people had, their money and their prestige breeding in them a distaste for their common man so profound it bordered on extreme sociopathic narcissism. Yet Marcus was unlike the other blue bloods that lived miles from him, in one very important way.
spndx7hero
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The delivery truck well out of sight and the memory of young Billy’s tight ass as it danced in mid air filed securely for the night’s wank off, Marcus walked over to the large wooden crate in the middle of his loading dock. Slightly muffled sounds came from within when he knocked on the wooden crate with his knuckles; the sound made his cock jump with anticipation. His lips wet and saliva dripping down the corner of his mouth he took the key that had arrived two weeks earlier from the pocket of his tight riding pants. He inserted the heavy brass key into the lock and turned it three turns to the right, four to the left and another two to the right as per the envelope’s instructions. Already he could hear the sounds of heavy bolts sliding into place and tight flush corners expulsing the air trapped inside. He stood back and watched with child-like glee as the side of the box facing him slowly fell down as though by hydraulics.
Standing inside the box was a young man, naked except for a pair of skin tight, white trunks which hugged his firm ass and bulge so nicely Marcus could see the impression of pubic hairs upon the surface of the trunks. He stood because his tight young, smooth body was strapped to a simple metal fram that was bolted to the inside of the box. Marcus had ordered this young man from a little known website only the very wealthy and depraved could find and log on to; this website did not peddle prostitutes or slaves it sold one thing and one thing only…prey, human prey.
Hanging around the neck of the unconscious young man was a placard that read:
The young man seemed to be sleeping as though in a good dream; the company had obviously drugged him for the journey; making sure he was well rested before arriving at his destination. Attached to the placard was a small syringe wrapped in medical plastic; the yellow translucent drug within the syringe was a shot of a potent adrenaline that would counteract the effect of the narcotic the young man was given prior to shipping. Marcus admired the bright blonde hair and fair slightly tanned skin of the young man before him; he knew that the boy before him would be unconscious for another 72 hours if he didn’t administer the drug. But letting him wake up on his own made him groggy and unreliable in terms of prey, and these boys were raised to be just that – the finest prey money could buy.
Exelon, the corporation Marcus bought Specimen 4227 from was a heavily guarded and shrouded company operating under the guise of a human rights organization. They recruited young men from developing countries at the age of 10, turning them into efficient running, fighting and hunting machines, trained to be hunted and possibly killed by people who could pay the right price. Caucasian males were the most pricey since they were harder to come by; 4227 probably came from the U.S. foster system. Marcus leaned in to the fine specimen of lean muscled flesh before him and imagined the young man’s blood pouring out of his chest cavity. Taking the syringe he ripped off the plastic packaging and the safetystopper over the needle tip. He wrapped his arms around 4227, relishing the young, sweet smell of nubile flesh, pressing his hardened cock into the young man,
“Wakey, wakey handsome.”
Marcus whispered into 4227’s ear, jamming the needle point into the bubble butt, feeling the slight resistance of tight muscle but then giving way. He injected the serum PX97 and almost immediately the young man’s body flashed to life. Moaning with exquisite joy, 4227 stirred his body pressed against Marcus and the metal frame holding him up. His muscles returned to life, but they were lethargic and felt heavy; in 24 hours though it would be as though he did not spend five days on a boat from the training grounds in an undisclosed South American country to wherever Sir Marcus Batherly ordered him to. Marcus untied the young man and dragged his limp but awakening body out of the crate; lying him serenely on the floor of the loading dock he watched intently as the young man lay there, spread eagle. Then locking the young man inside the loading dock he went off to sharpen his hunting knife, eager for the next day when his fun was going to begin.
Standing inside the box was a young man, naked except for a pair of skin tight, white trunks which hugged his firm ass and bulge so nicely Marcus could see the impression of pubic hairs upon the surface of the trunks. He stood because his tight young, smooth body was strapped to a simple metal fram that was bolted to the inside of the box. Marcus had ordered this young man from a little known website only the very wealthy and depraved could find and log on to; this website did not peddle prostitutes or slaves it sold one thing and one thing only…prey, human prey.
Hanging around the neck of the unconscious young man was a placard that read:
Specimen 4227
Caucasian Male, 25 years old, 163 lbs. 6 feet; 2/3
Specialties: knife, cross-bow, spear, speed
Ready to begin within 24 hours of administration of PX97.
Caucasian Male, 25 years old, 163 lbs. 6 feet; 2/3
Specialties: knife, cross-bow, spear, speed
Ready to begin within 24 hours of administration of PX97.
The young man seemed to be sleeping as though in a good dream; the company had obviously drugged him for the journey; making sure he was well rested before arriving at his destination. Attached to the placard was a small syringe wrapped in medical plastic; the yellow translucent drug within the syringe was a shot of a potent adrenaline that would counteract the effect of the narcotic the young man was given prior to shipping. Marcus admired the bright blonde hair and fair slightly tanned skin of the young man before him; he knew that the boy before him would be unconscious for another 72 hours if he didn’t administer the drug. But letting him wake up on his own made him groggy and unreliable in terms of prey, and these boys were raised to be just that – the finest prey money could buy.
Exelon, the corporation Marcus bought Specimen 4227 from was a heavily guarded and shrouded company operating under the guise of a human rights organization. They recruited young men from developing countries at the age of 10, turning them into efficient running, fighting and hunting machines, trained to be hunted and possibly killed by people who could pay the right price. Caucasian males were the most pricey since they were harder to come by; 4227 probably came from the U.S. foster system. Marcus leaned in to the fine specimen of lean muscled flesh before him and imagined the young man’s blood pouring out of his chest cavity. Taking the syringe he ripped off the plastic packaging and the safetystopper over the needle tip. He wrapped his arms around 4227, relishing the young, sweet smell of nubile flesh, pressing his hardened cock into the young man,
“Wakey, wakey handsome.”
Marcus whispered into 4227’s ear, jamming the needle point into the bubble butt, feeling the slight resistance of tight muscle but then giving way. He injected the serum PX97 and almost immediately the young man’s body flashed to life. Moaning with exquisite joy, 4227 stirred his body pressed against Marcus and the metal frame holding him up. His muscles returned to life, but they were lethargic and felt heavy; in 24 hours though it would be as though he did not spend five days on a boat from the training grounds in an undisclosed South American country to wherever Sir Marcus Batherly ordered him to. Marcus untied the young man and dragged his limp but awakening body out of the crate; lying him serenely on the floor of the loading dock he watched intently as the young man lay there, spread eagle. Then locking the young man inside the loading dock he went off to sharpen his hunting knife, eager for the next day when his fun was going to begin.
Tecpatl
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Yes please, I've been waiting.
spndx7hero
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Part two - The hunt for 4227
Agent 4227 was a fine specimen of young man meat, firm slim muscle-build he had been raised since 12 to be a lean killing and running machine. He was picked up off the streets of Chicago 13 years ago by a man who promised him food, shelter and chance to become filthy rich beyond his dreams. He was called Kyle then; kicked out of his parents home for getting caught sticking his hand down another boy’s pants. The man Kyle would follow had no name, Kyle never saw his face because he always wore large sunglasses, the kinds models wore, and stuck to the shadows of his limo, yet he could see a large scar down where the right eye should be. Kyle thought he was gonna be a prostitute yet what awaited him was something very different. The moment Kyle stepped into the limo he was drugged and transported to a small island in the tropics; there he was stripped of his clothes and made to wear a loin cloth, his training gear he was told.
From then on he was trained to run faster than most men could run, trained to hide and wait for hours on end, trained to make fake tracks and hide his footprints. Most boys at the camp learned only this, told that if they survived they would earn their freedom and be set for the rest of their lives…They never made it past 20. These were called thirds, the general rule of the Company was that you survived three hunts you were set free. Thirds were boys who never made it past a third of their quota, they were 1/3rd of their way to freedom when they died, pathetic and useless, they were often very cheap. Two-threes were less common, they achieved a ranking of 2/3rds, having survived two hunts – 4227 was a two-three, and an excellent one at that. Then there were the most expensive boys the Three Nulls.
Usually being a Three Null meant the boy had to kill three very wealthy hunters or at least out last them- if you did you got two of their estates, no taxes, no questions asked, one third went to the company. Very few boys outran their hunters without killing them; they usually made it to a city if they could outrun their hunter and they would call a number tattooed on their inner thigh. If they still had more hunts left in their quota, the billionaire would be thanked for his business, though he could always have another go at you if he wanted, as many as he wanted until he was satisfied. Boys who outran their third hunter and he was satisfied with the hunt were given the estates of their two previous hunters (who sometimes had to be killed in the process). But these boys were rare, they were the kind of guys who were masters at hide-and-seek; the Company didn’t like them and usually they died of “mysterious” causes, deemed too cowardly to be proof that you could leave the Company without blood on your hands.
The Company loved boys like Kyle, Two Threes like him had fought their way to the top by killing their hunters. Specimen 4227, as he now preferred to be called, had killed his first hunter in less than an hour; the fat balding CEO of some fast food conglomerate thought he could run 4227 down while on a Safari Jeep. An hour into the hunt 4227 fashioned a spear and ran him through his neck, the blood was everywhere and draped 4227 and the excitement led to him fucking the hole he made with his spear. 4227 was allowed a week’s vacation before the Company found him, re-drugged him and took him back to the Camp. GPS chips embedded in prey shoulder blades prevented boys from running if they killed their hunter or escaped while they still owed the Company hunts.
4227’s second hunter was a Japanese Cell Phone tycoon; he wanted a boy who could swim, he always fancied himself an expert marksman with a harpoon. 4227 was the only one in his remaining cohort given special water hunt training. This hunt lasted much longer, mostly because 4227 found his way to Tokyo and was gone a month before the Company found him – then he was still naïve enough to think he could escape. The tycoon wanted a second go, 4227 outsmarted him though; he swam into a side of the tycoon’s private island that was treacherous, forcing the ship to go slowly. 4227 boarded the boat in the dead of night, slit the necks of the tycoon’s crew and then shoved the harpoon in the tycoon’s ass and pulled the trigger.
This time he didn’t wait, he wanted his third kill and a chance to join the big boys in the three null camp. Most guys, if they survived their three hunts took their money and lived the rest of their lives in peace, but some, some chose to stay on camp and train the others who would come after them. 4227’s trainer was Abe, he had survived 7 hunts and had each hunter’s head mounted on his wall; he was 45 then and taught 4227 all he knew. He was bought by Lord Batherly two years ago, the man wanted a champion, a real kill worthy of his skill. Abe was itching to go back into the field and so he was bought for 45 billion dollars for one hunt. 4227 never knew what happened to Abe, only word that came back to the Camp was that Batherly wanted a new boy to hunt, something light to wet his appetite for another bigger hunt he was planning.
So 4227 was called into the Doc’s office (which usually happened before a boy was sent to the Hunting Field), he was given a complete physical and then given an injection of PX97. Immediately his head began to swoon and he fell to his knees as the world became blurry and then in an instant he was out. Boys, after receiving their injection were placed in special crates and then sent off to their hunters.
4227 woke from his drug induced coma with a start, his blood rushed into his muscles so suddenly it was usually quite a shock, despite the drug taking 24 hours to run out of his system.
He awoke in a strange garage, a loading dock with a cold cement floor. It smelled dank and dusty but he had woken up in worse situations. He looked around him and a single light bulb illuminated the dock, he looked at his muscular body and saw they had put him in white square-cut trunks and white boots, signals that he was still a level one 2/3 prey, relatively cheap and new but promising. Champions wore black or camo, but always this skimpy gear, the clients enjoyed it; thirds wore a g-string and not much else; hunters could request any kind of gear for their prey, one guy was even sent to his grave wearing a full on batman gear, the hunter paid extra for that and even filmed it (rumor was he was in some Hollywood business), sending a copy to the Company as a thank you. 4227 saw the poor guy’s brutal death, weighed down by the bulky rubber suit the Three Null lasted only two hours in the maze the hunter had set up, dying from a well placed gun shot to the forehead; if that wasn’t enough the hunter brutally raped and dissected his prey, sending his head back to the Company, stuffed with his own balls.
Getting to his knees and then finally standing 4227 shook his head and his blurry vision cleared; his large hunting knife was still strapped to his thigh; this was the one stipulation from the company, prey had to be given a full five hour head start and a way to defend themselves. 4227 looked about the dismal warehouse, a large freezer stood in the corner and meat hooks hung heavily from large chains above him. Sighing he knew the hunt began as soon as he woke up so casing the area he found the open door that led out into a large wooded area. His heart began to race as his eyes scanned the area for traps; then with a quick jump down a short flight of stairs he burst out of the warehouse and into the woods, choosing not to take the road that led to the gate, which would have been a rookie mistake. The twigs and branches cut into his skin but it didn’t matter, an alarm had rung the moment he burst out of the door. The hunt had begun.
Agent 4227 was a fine specimen of young man meat, firm slim muscle-build he had been raised since 12 to be a lean killing and running machine. He was picked up off the streets of Chicago 13 years ago by a man who promised him food, shelter and chance to become filthy rich beyond his dreams. He was called Kyle then; kicked out of his parents home for getting caught sticking his hand down another boy’s pants. The man Kyle would follow had no name, Kyle never saw his face because he always wore large sunglasses, the kinds models wore, and stuck to the shadows of his limo, yet he could see a large scar down where the right eye should be. Kyle thought he was gonna be a prostitute yet what awaited him was something very different. The moment Kyle stepped into the limo he was drugged and transported to a small island in the tropics; there he was stripped of his clothes and made to wear a loin cloth, his training gear he was told.
From then on he was trained to run faster than most men could run, trained to hide and wait for hours on end, trained to make fake tracks and hide his footprints. Most boys at the camp learned only this, told that if they survived they would earn their freedom and be set for the rest of their lives…They never made it past 20. These were called thirds, the general rule of the Company was that you survived three hunts you were set free. Thirds were boys who never made it past a third of their quota, they were 1/3rd of their way to freedom when they died, pathetic and useless, they were often very cheap. Two-threes were less common, they achieved a ranking of 2/3rds, having survived two hunts – 4227 was a two-three, and an excellent one at that. Then there were the most expensive boys the Three Nulls.
Usually being a Three Null meant the boy had to kill three very wealthy hunters or at least out last them- if you did you got two of their estates, no taxes, no questions asked, one third went to the company. Very few boys outran their hunters without killing them; they usually made it to a city if they could outrun their hunter and they would call a number tattooed on their inner thigh. If they still had more hunts left in their quota, the billionaire would be thanked for his business, though he could always have another go at you if he wanted, as many as he wanted until he was satisfied. Boys who outran their third hunter and he was satisfied with the hunt were given the estates of their two previous hunters (who sometimes had to be killed in the process). But these boys were rare, they were the kind of guys who were masters at hide-and-seek; the Company didn’t like them and usually they died of “mysterious” causes, deemed too cowardly to be proof that you could leave the Company without blood on your hands.
The Company loved boys like Kyle, Two Threes like him had fought their way to the top by killing their hunters. Specimen 4227, as he now preferred to be called, had killed his first hunter in less than an hour; the fat balding CEO of some fast food conglomerate thought he could run 4227 down while on a Safari Jeep. An hour into the hunt 4227 fashioned a spear and ran him through his neck, the blood was everywhere and draped 4227 and the excitement led to him fucking the hole he made with his spear. 4227 was allowed a week’s vacation before the Company found him, re-drugged him and took him back to the Camp. GPS chips embedded in prey shoulder blades prevented boys from running if they killed their hunter or escaped while they still owed the Company hunts.
4227’s second hunter was a Japanese Cell Phone tycoon; he wanted a boy who could swim, he always fancied himself an expert marksman with a harpoon. 4227 was the only one in his remaining cohort given special water hunt training. This hunt lasted much longer, mostly because 4227 found his way to Tokyo and was gone a month before the Company found him – then he was still naïve enough to think he could escape. The tycoon wanted a second go, 4227 outsmarted him though; he swam into a side of the tycoon’s private island that was treacherous, forcing the ship to go slowly. 4227 boarded the boat in the dead of night, slit the necks of the tycoon’s crew and then shoved the harpoon in the tycoon’s ass and pulled the trigger.
This time he didn’t wait, he wanted his third kill and a chance to join the big boys in the three null camp. Most guys, if they survived their three hunts took their money and lived the rest of their lives in peace, but some, some chose to stay on camp and train the others who would come after them. 4227’s trainer was Abe, he had survived 7 hunts and had each hunter’s head mounted on his wall; he was 45 then and taught 4227 all he knew. He was bought by Lord Batherly two years ago, the man wanted a champion, a real kill worthy of his skill. Abe was itching to go back into the field and so he was bought for 45 billion dollars for one hunt. 4227 never knew what happened to Abe, only word that came back to the Camp was that Batherly wanted a new boy to hunt, something light to wet his appetite for another bigger hunt he was planning.
So 4227 was called into the Doc’s office (which usually happened before a boy was sent to the Hunting Field), he was given a complete physical and then given an injection of PX97. Immediately his head began to swoon and he fell to his knees as the world became blurry and then in an instant he was out. Boys, after receiving their injection were placed in special crates and then sent off to their hunters.
4227 woke from his drug induced coma with a start, his blood rushed into his muscles so suddenly it was usually quite a shock, despite the drug taking 24 hours to run out of his system.
He awoke in a strange garage, a loading dock with a cold cement floor. It smelled dank and dusty but he had woken up in worse situations. He looked around him and a single light bulb illuminated the dock, he looked at his muscular body and saw they had put him in white square-cut trunks and white boots, signals that he was still a level one 2/3 prey, relatively cheap and new but promising. Champions wore black or camo, but always this skimpy gear, the clients enjoyed it; thirds wore a g-string and not much else; hunters could request any kind of gear for their prey, one guy was even sent to his grave wearing a full on batman gear, the hunter paid extra for that and even filmed it (rumor was he was in some Hollywood business), sending a copy to the Company as a thank you. 4227 saw the poor guy’s brutal death, weighed down by the bulky rubber suit the Three Null lasted only two hours in the maze the hunter had set up, dying from a well placed gun shot to the forehead; if that wasn’t enough the hunter brutally raped and dissected his prey, sending his head back to the Company, stuffed with his own balls.
Getting to his knees and then finally standing 4227 shook his head and his blurry vision cleared; his large hunting knife was still strapped to his thigh; this was the one stipulation from the company, prey had to be given a full five hour head start and a way to defend themselves. 4227 looked about the dismal warehouse, a large freezer stood in the corner and meat hooks hung heavily from large chains above him. Sighing he knew the hunt began as soon as he woke up so casing the area he found the open door that led out into a large wooded area. His heart began to race as his eyes scanned the area for traps; then with a quick jump down a short flight of stairs he burst out of the warehouse and into the woods, choosing not to take the road that led to the gate, which would have been a rookie mistake. The twigs and branches cut into his skin but it didn’t matter, an alarm had rung the moment he burst out of the door. The hunt had begun.
spndx7hero
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- Feb 6, 2009
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- Midwest
Sorry for the long wait guys, been busy, hope you are enjoying the hunt so far.
Part 3: Batherly's trophy
Batherly awoke with a start as his perimeter alarm sang off,
“Hell, the little fucker ran off already…”
He said to himself, his sleep taking a little while to rub off. He had hoped the young man would stick around to hear the rules of the game but Marcus figured a 2/3 prey like him knew what he was supposed to do, run and don’t get caught. Marcus looked at his clock 4:07pm, 24 hours on the dot; he had fallen asleep while watching a video feed of the young man sleeping, imaging all the ways he was going to kill him, he had settled on a cross bow death, something like a gun but which would make the hunt more interesting. Smiling he rubbed the dark stubble on his chin and went to his wardrobe. Hanging in the large two room closet was an assortment of gear, tall riding boots, tight leather and canvas riding pants. He put these on discarding the old pair he had just jacked off in; then he put on a tight leather jerkin, studded with cast iron spikes. The jerkin was still stained with the blood from his last hunt: the man was a fine specimen, finely muscled, barely any scars, which was a good sign in prey, it meant they had killed their hunters with nothing more than a scratch. Two years ago to the day the man arrived, dressed in nothing but a black speedo and tall leather boots; he lasted fourteen days, never once making a run for it or wanting to stop the hunt. He practically had begged Marcus to hunt him down…too much pride could kill a man.
The tall man that he had spent 42 billion dollars on eventually came upon Marcus as he was resting his feet, having hunted the man for fourteen days straight Marcus lay there enjoying the sun. The prey probably thought him for a fool, lying there defenseless; the prey crept up on him raised his knife to stab the hunter when Marcus leapt up and tackled the handsome man to the ground. They fought wildly, rolling over one another; there was a time as they wrestled for dominance that Marcus actually thought it would be the end, where he found himself pinned to the floor by the muscled man, his life being choked out of him as the prey laughed at the turn of events. Wrapping his legs around him they rolled some more, their wrestling getting hotter and hotter, each attempt to end the other’s life being thwarted. Wrestling turned to sex and they both gave in to that primal urge; Marcus had never been fucked before but the exhilarating feel of it turned him on so much he almost forgot that he had started out wanting to kill the man before him.
They lay there for a few brief moments, after each had deposited their spunk in the other's mouth, Marcus hearing the gentle breathing of the man next to him. He slowly got up found a long stick and broke off one end making a crude rudimentary spear. He trembled as he approached the other man, who had just woken up refreshed with a smile on his face.
Poor fool
Marcus thought to himself. He snuck up behind the naked man who held his black speedos gingerly in his hands looking around for Batherly. The crunch of a twig forced his attention to his back, his eyes shot wide open as Marcus thrust forward with the broken branch. The handsome man didn’t have a second to react, he gasped as the broken piece of wood entered his gut pinning him to a tree behind him; he looked at Marcus with such pain and shock in his eyes, they were nothing but white and blue orbs, wide and tearing up. Blood began to trickled down the corner of his mouth,
“But…I…thought…”
, he said in a defeated and confused tone. Marcus laughed heartily,
“You thought I was gonna keep you alive? I paid 42 billion dollars fucker, I’m getting my money’s worth. Now scream…”
He thrust forward pushing the broken branch deeper into the man, his shocked face turned into a mask of screaming and pain, his shouts heard throughout the forest, blood curdling and eerie. Batherly licked his lips as he thrust harder, lifting this time forcing the tall handsome prey off his feet letting him dangle on the branch. His feet kicked wildly as he cried and screamed; his spent cock dangling heavily between his legs, too tired from the fucking it had just performed. Marcus could hear the piece of wood pushing aside muscle, organs, pressing deeper and deeper into his victim. Blood spurted out of the man’s gut and mouth as he screamed wildly as he died; his face sprayed with a champion’s blood, Marcus was laughing, his raging hard on thirsty to penetrate something. The handsome man kicked slower now, his gurgling becoming labored as the long wooden branch stuck him up into his chest cavity.
“NNNNNNNNNGAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
He screamed as the final bit of branch found its way to his back and pushed itself out through his spine. The combined force of gravity on his heavy muscled body and Marcus’s strong urgent thrusts upward forced the branch to impale the handsome prey messily through. The man’s body stopped its violent kicking and turned instead to spasms and twitching; the heavy piece of meat hung for a moment at the top of the branch until the weight of his body pulled him deeper and deeper. Marcus let the branch go and the body came crashing to the floor in a heap. Taking his reward, Marcus jammed his raging hard on into the corpse’s ass as it was still warm, hoping the dying champion prey could still feel his ass being penetrated in his humiliation. A champion who sent 7 hunters to their grave now dead because he let his guard down. Once Marcus had left his sperm in the corpse he dragged the body back to his mansion to do his customary ritual.
Coming back into the present Marcus touched his leather jerkin with pride, knowing that the blood on there came from one of the best prey the Company had ever released. Licking his chops he went down to his armory to load up his arrows and now hunt the easy prey he was about to kill mercilessly.
The Batherly armory was in the basement of the mansion and consisted of a huge array of guns, knives, swords, bows and arrows, crossbows as well as Marcus’s trophy collection. The trophy collection was an assortment of body parts cut from their previous owners, the body parts were covered in pure gold like what parents do to their child’s first shoes. There were hands, feet, cocks still hard from rigor mortis and their balls delicately dangling from their shafts all incased immortally in gold, silver and bronze, each depending on the skill involved in killing the prey. In the center of the wall were his most prized possessions, prey that had almost killed him.
There was the heart of a heavy muscled Asian who broke his arm in a wrestling match. Next to it was the head of a cocky Norwegian hunter who had challenged his prowess, he loved this trophy the best because the head was stuck in the perfect expression: a scream with a wide open oval mouth and the look of pain on the man’s face, stuck that way after a violent decapitation. Next to them was his most recent catch, the balls and cock of the handsome man whom he had impaled. They remained in a permanent state of hard on, next to them was his head as well, this however was encased in silver; the expression was a classic death stare, eyes rolled to the back of the head, mouth slightly open. This he had personally made as his own fucking doll, the inside of the mouth was a silicone chamber like a Fleshlight, which he could run his cock into and deposit his semen. He walked past his trophy wall and came to his cross bow collection nhis cock already fully hard with anticipation.
Part 3: Batherly's trophy
Batherly awoke with a start as his perimeter alarm sang off,
“Hell, the little fucker ran off already…”
He said to himself, his sleep taking a little while to rub off. He had hoped the young man would stick around to hear the rules of the game but Marcus figured a 2/3 prey like him knew what he was supposed to do, run and don’t get caught. Marcus looked at his clock 4:07pm, 24 hours on the dot; he had fallen asleep while watching a video feed of the young man sleeping, imaging all the ways he was going to kill him, he had settled on a cross bow death, something like a gun but which would make the hunt more interesting. Smiling he rubbed the dark stubble on his chin and went to his wardrobe. Hanging in the large two room closet was an assortment of gear, tall riding boots, tight leather and canvas riding pants. He put these on discarding the old pair he had just jacked off in; then he put on a tight leather jerkin, studded with cast iron spikes. The jerkin was still stained with the blood from his last hunt: the man was a fine specimen, finely muscled, barely any scars, which was a good sign in prey, it meant they had killed their hunters with nothing more than a scratch. Two years ago to the day the man arrived, dressed in nothing but a black speedo and tall leather boots; he lasted fourteen days, never once making a run for it or wanting to stop the hunt. He practically had begged Marcus to hunt him down…too much pride could kill a man.
The tall man that he had spent 42 billion dollars on eventually came upon Marcus as he was resting his feet, having hunted the man for fourteen days straight Marcus lay there enjoying the sun. The prey probably thought him for a fool, lying there defenseless; the prey crept up on him raised his knife to stab the hunter when Marcus leapt up and tackled the handsome man to the ground. They fought wildly, rolling over one another; there was a time as they wrestled for dominance that Marcus actually thought it would be the end, where he found himself pinned to the floor by the muscled man, his life being choked out of him as the prey laughed at the turn of events. Wrapping his legs around him they rolled some more, their wrestling getting hotter and hotter, each attempt to end the other’s life being thwarted. Wrestling turned to sex and they both gave in to that primal urge; Marcus had never been fucked before but the exhilarating feel of it turned him on so much he almost forgot that he had started out wanting to kill the man before him.
They lay there for a few brief moments, after each had deposited their spunk in the other's mouth, Marcus hearing the gentle breathing of the man next to him. He slowly got up found a long stick and broke off one end making a crude rudimentary spear. He trembled as he approached the other man, who had just woken up refreshed with a smile on his face.
Poor fool
Marcus thought to himself. He snuck up behind the naked man who held his black speedos gingerly in his hands looking around for Batherly. The crunch of a twig forced his attention to his back, his eyes shot wide open as Marcus thrust forward with the broken branch. The handsome man didn’t have a second to react, he gasped as the broken piece of wood entered his gut pinning him to a tree behind him; he looked at Marcus with such pain and shock in his eyes, they were nothing but white and blue orbs, wide and tearing up. Blood began to trickled down the corner of his mouth,
“But…I…thought…”
, he said in a defeated and confused tone. Marcus laughed heartily,
“You thought I was gonna keep you alive? I paid 42 billion dollars fucker, I’m getting my money’s worth. Now scream…”
He thrust forward pushing the broken branch deeper into the man, his shocked face turned into a mask of screaming and pain, his shouts heard throughout the forest, blood curdling and eerie. Batherly licked his lips as he thrust harder, lifting this time forcing the tall handsome prey off his feet letting him dangle on the branch. His feet kicked wildly as he cried and screamed; his spent cock dangling heavily between his legs, too tired from the fucking it had just performed. Marcus could hear the piece of wood pushing aside muscle, organs, pressing deeper and deeper into his victim. Blood spurted out of the man’s gut and mouth as he screamed wildly as he died; his face sprayed with a champion’s blood, Marcus was laughing, his raging hard on thirsty to penetrate something. The handsome man kicked slower now, his gurgling becoming labored as the long wooden branch stuck him up into his chest cavity.
“NNNNNNNNNGAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
He screamed as the final bit of branch found its way to his back and pushed itself out through his spine. The combined force of gravity on his heavy muscled body and Marcus’s strong urgent thrusts upward forced the branch to impale the handsome prey messily through. The man’s body stopped its violent kicking and turned instead to spasms and twitching; the heavy piece of meat hung for a moment at the top of the branch until the weight of his body pulled him deeper and deeper. Marcus let the branch go and the body came crashing to the floor in a heap. Taking his reward, Marcus jammed his raging hard on into the corpse’s ass as it was still warm, hoping the dying champion prey could still feel his ass being penetrated in his humiliation. A champion who sent 7 hunters to their grave now dead because he let his guard down. Once Marcus had left his sperm in the corpse he dragged the body back to his mansion to do his customary ritual.
Coming back into the present Marcus touched his leather jerkin with pride, knowing that the blood on there came from one of the best prey the Company had ever released. Licking his chops he went down to his armory to load up his arrows and now hunt the easy prey he was about to kill mercilessly.
The Batherly armory was in the basement of the mansion and consisted of a huge array of guns, knives, swords, bows and arrows, crossbows as well as Marcus’s trophy collection. The trophy collection was an assortment of body parts cut from their previous owners, the body parts were covered in pure gold like what parents do to their child’s first shoes. There were hands, feet, cocks still hard from rigor mortis and their balls delicately dangling from their shafts all incased immortally in gold, silver and bronze, each depending on the skill involved in killing the prey. In the center of the wall were his most prized possessions, prey that had almost killed him.
There was the heart of a heavy muscled Asian who broke his arm in a wrestling match. Next to it was the head of a cocky Norwegian hunter who had challenged his prowess, he loved this trophy the best because the head was stuck in the perfect expression: a scream with a wide open oval mouth and the look of pain on the man’s face, stuck that way after a violent decapitation. Next to them was his most recent catch, the balls and cock of the handsome man whom he had impaled. They remained in a permanent state of hard on, next to them was his head as well, this however was encased in silver; the expression was a classic death stare, eyes rolled to the back of the head, mouth slightly open. This he had personally made as his own fucking doll, the inside of the mouth was a silicone chamber like a Fleshlight, which he could run his cock into and deposit his semen. He walked past his trophy wall and came to his cross bow collection nhis cock already fully hard with anticipation.
spndx7hero
Forum Regular
- Joined
- Feb 6, 2009
- Messages
- 62
- Location
- Midwest
The Hunt
Meanwhile 4227 was running through the dense woods making sure to hide his trail and lead the hunter off into another path, hoping he would take the bait and then be surprised in the middle of the woods. 4227 was a pro at this type of evasion, and it was his trade mark, no other prey could do evasion like 4227. Sure enough after a few hours of running 4227 heard the heavy foot falls of the hunter entering the woods behind him, cautiously and meticulously stopping to scan the foot paths for evidence of broken twigs, bent limbs and kicked up dirt. 4227 smiled as he leapt up into the air and caught a low hanging branch of a tree above him, making the trail run suddenly cold. Pulling himself up into the higher branches he stopped at a well hidden place and waited for his breath and heartbeat to slow down. His eyes trained upon the clearing below him where the hunter would no doubt make a sudden stop. Sure enough within five minutes Sir Batherly came stomping through the clearing, brandishing a large machete and a fully loaded crossbow, sweat glistened upon his muscled arms and dangled precariously on the tiny curls of body hair that adorned his limbs and chest. He wore a tight leather jerkin stained with dark dried blood. 4227 felt the familiar jump in his cock as the hunter stooped low upon the ground inspecting a path that sped off to the left.
Marcus at first entered the woods carefully and silently, not wanting to give away his position too much; though he wore heavy steel toe boots he walked with the precision of a master hunter, without making marks and without a sound. He imagined himself to be like Alan Quartermaine his childhood idol, for an hour he followed the winding paths through the woods, stooping for signs that the young prey had blundered through like a rookie. Yet as an hour passed he noticed the path had no order to it. It didn’t head off to the road nor did it go further than a mile into the property but came looping back again toward the house. Three hours passed of meticulous hunting and still no sign of the prey; he thought he had found some new tracks but they eventually melted into another circuitous path that joined with the former. Eventually, tired and frustrated he lost his concentration and began heavily stomping his boots through the forest making far too much noise. Now he stopped in a narrow clearing near a brook where the trail went cold once more. At the opposite end of the clearing was a clear sign that the prey had taken off that way, 4227 Marcus began to realize was much more savvy than the wealthy man had taken him for. He stooped low to the ground listening for sounds of the forest and above him heard the faint shallow breaths of a young man and the smell of his sweet light sweat still lingered in the air coaxing his head up into the canopy.
4227 looked down at the hunter with a smile upon his lips, now was the time to move away. He slowly balanced himself on the tree and jumped skillfully to another branch the sound of his effort drowned out by the sound of the brook below. Marcus however smiled knowing that though the young man could mask his movements his breath gave him away. Bolting up toward the branched of the trees Marcus let loose an arrow from his cross bow.
THWIP!!!
An arrow went sailing past 4227’s left ear and his heart skipped a beat. He had been found! No longer caring that he was heard 4227 leapt from branch to branch and tree to tree like a monkey or deranged squirrel while Marcus gave chase on the ground below shouting,
“You won’t get away that easy kid!”
THWIP THWIP!!
Another two arrows flew into the canopy above and each one came close to piercing 4227’s alabaster skin, but they sailed impotently into the air or got lodged in a tree. 4227’s heart began to race as he knew that soon he would run out of trees, for Marcus was pushing him closer and closer to the river that ran through the property. Yet while he merely leapt from tree to tree Marcus was held back by thick wild undergrowth, shrubs and fallen trees blocked his path. Looking over his shoulder 4227 saw Marcus cursing loudly as he tried to climb over a fallen tree trunk that blocked his formerly unimpeded path. 4227 laughed out loud and jumped to the ground now running on foot to put distance between him and the hunter. Once he was out of sight 4227 duck into a narrow ravine and hid himself under a rock that bridged the gap in the earth.
Marcus landed with a heavy thud as he jumped from the wide trunk, hearing youthful laughter fill the forest and echo off the rocks and trees. He looked up and saw that the young man was no longer visible. He looked at his crossbow and spit, realizing he had only 5 arrows left. He took off once more into the forest now incredibly angry that this kid had made a fool out of him.
Meanwhile 4227 was running through the dense woods making sure to hide his trail and lead the hunter off into another path, hoping he would take the bait and then be surprised in the middle of the woods. 4227 was a pro at this type of evasion, and it was his trade mark, no other prey could do evasion like 4227. Sure enough after a few hours of running 4227 heard the heavy foot falls of the hunter entering the woods behind him, cautiously and meticulously stopping to scan the foot paths for evidence of broken twigs, bent limbs and kicked up dirt. 4227 smiled as he leapt up into the air and caught a low hanging branch of a tree above him, making the trail run suddenly cold. Pulling himself up into the higher branches he stopped at a well hidden place and waited for his breath and heartbeat to slow down. His eyes trained upon the clearing below him where the hunter would no doubt make a sudden stop. Sure enough within five minutes Sir Batherly came stomping through the clearing, brandishing a large machete and a fully loaded crossbow, sweat glistened upon his muscled arms and dangled precariously on the tiny curls of body hair that adorned his limbs and chest. He wore a tight leather jerkin stained with dark dried blood. 4227 felt the familiar jump in his cock as the hunter stooped low upon the ground inspecting a path that sped off to the left.
Marcus at first entered the woods carefully and silently, not wanting to give away his position too much; though he wore heavy steel toe boots he walked with the precision of a master hunter, without making marks and without a sound. He imagined himself to be like Alan Quartermaine his childhood idol, for an hour he followed the winding paths through the woods, stooping for signs that the young prey had blundered through like a rookie. Yet as an hour passed he noticed the path had no order to it. It didn’t head off to the road nor did it go further than a mile into the property but came looping back again toward the house. Three hours passed of meticulous hunting and still no sign of the prey; he thought he had found some new tracks but they eventually melted into another circuitous path that joined with the former. Eventually, tired and frustrated he lost his concentration and began heavily stomping his boots through the forest making far too much noise. Now he stopped in a narrow clearing near a brook where the trail went cold once more. At the opposite end of the clearing was a clear sign that the prey had taken off that way, 4227 Marcus began to realize was much more savvy than the wealthy man had taken him for. He stooped low to the ground listening for sounds of the forest and above him heard the faint shallow breaths of a young man and the smell of his sweet light sweat still lingered in the air coaxing his head up into the canopy.
4227 looked down at the hunter with a smile upon his lips, now was the time to move away. He slowly balanced himself on the tree and jumped skillfully to another branch the sound of his effort drowned out by the sound of the brook below. Marcus however smiled knowing that though the young man could mask his movements his breath gave him away. Bolting up toward the branched of the trees Marcus let loose an arrow from his cross bow.
THWIP!!!
An arrow went sailing past 4227’s left ear and his heart skipped a beat. He had been found! No longer caring that he was heard 4227 leapt from branch to branch and tree to tree like a monkey or deranged squirrel while Marcus gave chase on the ground below shouting,
“You won’t get away that easy kid!”
THWIP THWIP!!
Another two arrows flew into the canopy above and each one came close to piercing 4227’s alabaster skin, but they sailed impotently into the air or got lodged in a tree. 4227’s heart began to race as he knew that soon he would run out of trees, for Marcus was pushing him closer and closer to the river that ran through the property. Yet while he merely leapt from tree to tree Marcus was held back by thick wild undergrowth, shrubs and fallen trees blocked his path. Looking over his shoulder 4227 saw Marcus cursing loudly as he tried to climb over a fallen tree trunk that blocked his formerly unimpeded path. 4227 laughed out loud and jumped to the ground now running on foot to put distance between him and the hunter. Once he was out of sight 4227 duck into a narrow ravine and hid himself under a rock that bridged the gap in the earth.
Marcus landed with a heavy thud as he jumped from the wide trunk, hearing youthful laughter fill the forest and echo off the rocks and trees. He looked up and saw that the young man was no longer visible. He looked at his crossbow and spit, realizing he had only 5 arrows left. He took off once more into the forest now incredibly angry that this kid had made a fool out of him.
spndx7hero
Forum Regular
- Joined
- Feb 6, 2009
- Messages
- 62
- Location
- Midwest
4227 sat in the narrow ravine waiting to hear the sound of the hunter coming and blundering through. He was having a great time at this, the hunter was an idiot, to be making so much noise, it was a wonder that he had ever been successful. He was probably one of those rich hunters who loved to hunt from helicopters or 4x4s taking all the fun out of the hunt. 4227 was brushing his arms and legs, removing the dirt from his white skin when he saw something lying in the ravine, caught in a net of twigs and leaves that had been left after a heavy rain had washed some contents of the forest floor toward the river. It was not the usual detritus from the forest floor because it seemed to shimmer and was rolled up like fabric. What caught his eye was not the fabric persay but something that was stitched onto it. In bright silver letters the letters A and E were left behind with the faint outline of a B, sewn right where the succulent bubble butt would have protruded. 4227’s face blanched as he picked up his trainer’s speedo, stretching it out and looking at its defeated state; it was covered in old blood stains and 4227 knew that Abe had gone to his grave in this forest. 4227 couldn’t believe it, when Abe hadn’t returned from his last hunt most everyone assumed he had survived and was now living a life of luxury with the untold trillions he won from his seven hunters. This was the rumor because usually the Company liked to have pieces of their prey sent back as a proof of purchase of sorts, when now scraps of Abe came back rumor spread that he was living somewhere in Bangkok, in a villa Abe had told 4227 about that he had purchased to have vacations in. Abe, who always thought 4227 had promise told him when he got his third kill to find him in Bangkok and they could spend retirement together. 4227’s mind began to race, he never thought of Abe as ever dying by a hunter’s hand, he was just too good. The thought of his teacher, his idol, mentor and sometimes lover just broke his spirits; suddenly a huge hand grabbed a tuft of his hair and pulled him up out of the ravine making him scream in pain.
Marcus had run in the direction of the river, knowing that eventually the young man would run out of room. The river was wide and deep, too dangerous to cross and swim this time of year, because it flowed so violently, often crushing nubile young boys on the rocks as they vainly tried to head to the other end of the property- which left him only one other option run back toward the house or to the gate at the end of the property and escape. The fence of course was electrified but the gate was not, the only means of escape. As he was running he realized that he was in the exact same place where he had killed the champion two years ago; his cock jumped with anticipation. Remembering the day fondly; he even had stuck the pole into the ground its sharpened edge pointing to the sky as a reminder of one of his great matches. Just then a rustling could be heard over the flowing of the river; he crouched to the ground half expecting the young prey to try to take him unawares. But no one was there; the rustling continued and after sniffing the air Marcus smelled the faint scent of male sweat. Stepping silently toward the sound he stopped before reaching ridge that led to the river valley below. The river valley was filled with ravines that fed the river during the rainy season and there, stupidly hidden in a narrow ravine was the boy, inspecting a pair of old tattered speedos. Smiling Marcus crept down the slopping ridge and came to the place where 4227 stood, barely hidden by the shallow ravine. Reaching his hand in he dragged the stupid young prey to the surface laughing all the while.
4227 was shocked and surprised as he opened his eyes to see the massive menacing form of Marcus Batherly standing over him. His eyes went wide, never before had he let a hunter get this close, his heart was pounding and his usually quick mind was blank, filled with images of the different ways Abe could have died. Marcus seemed to be enjoying the fear on the boy’s face for he placed a boot on the boy’s chest and reveled in the moment, his subtly enlarging cock growing in its tight enclosure.
“You know kid you almost had me there…But you got stupid. That speedo have sentimental value for yah? I bet he was your daddy wasn’t he? Stuck him like a pig then I fucked his still warm corpse. I got his head on my mantle piece, fuck it every chance I get.”
He let out a loud boisterous laugh that echoed through the darkened forest, night had come upon them unawares. 4227’s heart began to race, though not out of fear but out of anger. This stupid rich fuck had no right to make Abe a trophy or a fuck doll, a champion like that should have been sent back to the Company so that they could immortalize him. So they could give him a proper burial.
“You fucking asshole!”
Shouted 4227, he threw his legs up wrapping them around the hunter’s waist and pulling him to the floor. Marcus was twice the boy’s size but he was caught unawares and tumbled hard onto the forest floor, his cross bow flying from his hand. 4227 immediately seized the opportunity and straddled the muscle man pounding his fists hard into the hard stone like face. Marcus laughed at the boy’s bravado, even as his nose was shattered. With a swift move he reached up and grabbed the young man’s throat immediately causing the lithe swimmer’s body to contort as air was being stopped from going in or out. 4227’s face grimaced in pain as the hunter, with his other free hand pounded not one but three fists into his immaculate 6 pack abs. Marcus got up and with a grunted heave lifted 4227 off the ground and held him dangling in the air, kicking wildly as his face turned from red to mauve. Acting purely on animal rage 4227 pulled his legs up, trying to ignore the burning pain from his bruised abs; he yanked his bowie knife from its sheath on his thigh holster. With a flash of silver light Marcus felt a searing pain in his arm forcing him to let go of his catch while he let out a yelp.
Marcus had run in the direction of the river, knowing that eventually the young man would run out of room. The river was wide and deep, too dangerous to cross and swim this time of year, because it flowed so violently, often crushing nubile young boys on the rocks as they vainly tried to head to the other end of the property- which left him only one other option run back toward the house or to the gate at the end of the property and escape. The fence of course was electrified but the gate was not, the only means of escape. As he was running he realized that he was in the exact same place where he had killed the champion two years ago; his cock jumped with anticipation. Remembering the day fondly; he even had stuck the pole into the ground its sharpened edge pointing to the sky as a reminder of one of his great matches. Just then a rustling could be heard over the flowing of the river; he crouched to the ground half expecting the young prey to try to take him unawares. But no one was there; the rustling continued and after sniffing the air Marcus smelled the faint scent of male sweat. Stepping silently toward the sound he stopped before reaching ridge that led to the river valley below. The river valley was filled with ravines that fed the river during the rainy season and there, stupidly hidden in a narrow ravine was the boy, inspecting a pair of old tattered speedos. Smiling Marcus crept down the slopping ridge and came to the place where 4227 stood, barely hidden by the shallow ravine. Reaching his hand in he dragged the stupid young prey to the surface laughing all the while.
4227 was shocked and surprised as he opened his eyes to see the massive menacing form of Marcus Batherly standing over him. His eyes went wide, never before had he let a hunter get this close, his heart was pounding and his usually quick mind was blank, filled with images of the different ways Abe could have died. Marcus seemed to be enjoying the fear on the boy’s face for he placed a boot on the boy’s chest and reveled in the moment, his subtly enlarging cock growing in its tight enclosure.
“You know kid you almost had me there…But you got stupid. That speedo have sentimental value for yah? I bet he was your daddy wasn’t he? Stuck him like a pig then I fucked his still warm corpse. I got his head on my mantle piece, fuck it every chance I get.”
He let out a loud boisterous laugh that echoed through the darkened forest, night had come upon them unawares. 4227’s heart began to race, though not out of fear but out of anger. This stupid rich fuck had no right to make Abe a trophy or a fuck doll, a champion like that should have been sent back to the Company so that they could immortalize him. So they could give him a proper burial.
“You fucking asshole!”
Shouted 4227, he threw his legs up wrapping them around the hunter’s waist and pulling him to the floor. Marcus was twice the boy’s size but he was caught unawares and tumbled hard onto the forest floor, his cross bow flying from his hand. 4227 immediately seized the opportunity and straddled the muscle man pounding his fists hard into the hard stone like face. Marcus laughed at the boy’s bravado, even as his nose was shattered. With a swift move he reached up and grabbed the young man’s throat immediately causing the lithe swimmer’s body to contort as air was being stopped from going in or out. 4227’s face grimaced in pain as the hunter, with his other free hand pounded not one but three fists into his immaculate 6 pack abs. Marcus got up and with a grunted heave lifted 4227 off the ground and held him dangling in the air, kicking wildly as his face turned from red to mauve. Acting purely on animal rage 4227 pulled his legs up, trying to ignore the burning pain from his bruised abs; he yanked his bowie knife from its sheath on his thigh holster. With a flash of silver light Marcus felt a searing pain in his arm forcing him to let go of his catch while he let out a yelp.
spndx7hero
Forum Regular
- Joined
- Feb 6, 2009
- Messages
- 62
- Location
- Midwest
4227 dropped to the floor coughing and gasping what air he could get in through his crushed larynx. His knife he dropped once oxygen had returned to his lungs coursing into his muscles. Marcus meanwhile looked at the large gash on his arm and the copious amounts of blood that came spewing out. Not only did the little punk sever a major artery but he also knew were to cut several important tendons that allowed his fingers to operate.
“You fucking little prick!”
, he turned in his rage to face where the young man had gone and saw him crawling away, his ample butt a white heart shaped shadow in the darkness. He stomped over to him and sent a powerful kick into the young man’s side.
UFFFFFFFFFFFF!
4227 grunted, having just steeled his abs to absorb the blow. Rolling over 4227 pulled his intended target out and smiled when he saw Batherly’s face. The rushing river was loud in the back ground, in their struggle they had come to a part of the river bank where a hill had half washed away, leaving behind a small rocky cliff that dipped vertically into the roaring river. Marcus could not believe his eyes, lying upon the floor was 4227 and in his hands was deftly held his own crossbow, the tip of a steel arrow shimmering menacingly in the moonlight. 4227 breathed in and pulled the trigger.
THWIP!
The sound of the arrow could barely be heard and Marcus barely had time to duck and land flat on the floor as the arrow whizzed by the space where his heart would have been. 4227 re-cocked the crossbow allowing another arrow to lock into place. He pulled the weapon up and aimed to fire again at Marcu who was now getting to his feet, kneeling upon one foot.
“You’re a dead fuck!”
4227 shouted over the loud crashing and fluid roaring of the river behind him. He made to fire again but this time aimed lower.
THWIP!
Marcus closed his eyes expecting the shaft to enter his chest cavity or his neck but then a sharp fire like pain hit him between the legs causing him to scream in a high pitched howl,
YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGGGGGGGGGGHH!
Looking down he saw a rip in his tight riding pants and blood spraying out of it flooding to the floor. He instinctually grabbed the wounded area and screamed in pain as 4227 laughed his boyish laugh. The arrow shaft had flown right between Marcus’s legs, and with its force and deadly accuracy had ripped through his crotch, pulling and removing one of his massive cum filled testicles, which now lay in a heap, with some scrotum skin and fabric below him still pierced by the arrow that had dug into the ground. Marcus heaved deep breaths in and out, never had he ever been so maimed and with his own weapon. HE wanted to kill 4227, he wanted to punch his fist into the boy’s gut to hard that his skin and muscles parted and the boy was impaled by his massive fist. 4227 raised the crossbow higher now aiming for the rich man’s skull, he was going to kill this man, go back to his house and find Abe’s remains. He would give it a proper burial and then retire, he was certain of that decision.
“Go to hell you son of a bitch!”
He said, his voice not quivering, his steely gaze unflinching. Marcus’s heart leapt and raced, trying to produce more blood that was quickly oozing out of a hole in the genitals. His hand firmly grasped the bloody space and he even felt his other testicle rub against his fingers dangerously close to falling out as well. Without a thought Marcus reached down and quickly unsheathed his knife on his belt just as another arrow whizzed by his head THWIP!. With a quick flick of his wrist he flung the massive blade through the air and its barbed teeth sunk into his prey right in the navel. Dropping the crossbow 4227’s eyes went wide as he looked down to see the blade gingerly sticking out of him. HE grabbed the handle and yanked it out, tearing the wound wider open
Nnnnnnnnnyaaaaaaaahhhh
He moaned in pain as he back away, Marcus looked with some glee as the young man stepped too far back and tumbled into the roaring river current behind him, his body’s splash barely audible. Marcus himself crumpled to the floor fumbling for his cell phone which he wore on his belt. Dialing a number he knew by heart he started to feel woozy and was barely able get his words out before falling to a heap on the forest floor.
“You fucking little prick!”
, he turned in his rage to face where the young man had gone and saw him crawling away, his ample butt a white heart shaped shadow in the darkness. He stomped over to him and sent a powerful kick into the young man’s side.
UFFFFFFFFFFFF!
4227 grunted, having just steeled his abs to absorb the blow. Rolling over 4227 pulled his intended target out and smiled when he saw Batherly’s face. The rushing river was loud in the back ground, in their struggle they had come to a part of the river bank where a hill had half washed away, leaving behind a small rocky cliff that dipped vertically into the roaring river. Marcus could not believe his eyes, lying upon the floor was 4227 and in his hands was deftly held his own crossbow, the tip of a steel arrow shimmering menacingly in the moonlight. 4227 breathed in and pulled the trigger.
THWIP!
The sound of the arrow could barely be heard and Marcus barely had time to duck and land flat on the floor as the arrow whizzed by the space where his heart would have been. 4227 re-cocked the crossbow allowing another arrow to lock into place. He pulled the weapon up and aimed to fire again at Marcu who was now getting to his feet, kneeling upon one foot.
“You’re a dead fuck!”
4227 shouted over the loud crashing and fluid roaring of the river behind him. He made to fire again but this time aimed lower.
THWIP!
Marcus closed his eyes expecting the shaft to enter his chest cavity or his neck but then a sharp fire like pain hit him between the legs causing him to scream in a high pitched howl,
YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGGGGGGGGGGHH!
Looking down he saw a rip in his tight riding pants and blood spraying out of it flooding to the floor. He instinctually grabbed the wounded area and screamed in pain as 4227 laughed his boyish laugh. The arrow shaft had flown right between Marcus’s legs, and with its force and deadly accuracy had ripped through his crotch, pulling and removing one of his massive cum filled testicles, which now lay in a heap, with some scrotum skin and fabric below him still pierced by the arrow that had dug into the ground. Marcus heaved deep breaths in and out, never had he ever been so maimed and with his own weapon. HE wanted to kill 4227, he wanted to punch his fist into the boy’s gut to hard that his skin and muscles parted and the boy was impaled by his massive fist. 4227 raised the crossbow higher now aiming for the rich man’s skull, he was going to kill this man, go back to his house and find Abe’s remains. He would give it a proper burial and then retire, he was certain of that decision.
“Go to hell you son of a bitch!”
He said, his voice not quivering, his steely gaze unflinching. Marcus’s heart leapt and raced, trying to produce more blood that was quickly oozing out of a hole in the genitals. His hand firmly grasped the bloody space and he even felt his other testicle rub against his fingers dangerously close to falling out as well. Without a thought Marcus reached down and quickly unsheathed his knife on his belt just as another arrow whizzed by his head THWIP!. With a quick flick of his wrist he flung the massive blade through the air and its barbed teeth sunk into his prey right in the navel. Dropping the crossbow 4227’s eyes went wide as he looked down to see the blade gingerly sticking out of him. HE grabbed the handle and yanked it out, tearing the wound wider open
Nnnnnnnnnyaaaaaaaahhhh
He moaned in pain as he back away, Marcus looked with some glee as the young man stepped too far back and tumbled into the roaring river current behind him, his body’s splash barely audible. Marcus himself crumpled to the floor fumbling for his cell phone which he wore on his belt. Dialing a number he knew by heart he started to feel woozy and was barely able get his words out before falling to a heap on the forest floor.
spndx7hero
Forum Regular
- Joined
- Feb 6, 2009
- Messages
- 62
- Location
- Midwest
Afterhunt (sorry for the long wait, been busy as of late
Dr. Savage was cooking dinner when his phone unexpectedly rang; he bustled over to the small rotary dial and picked up the phone, only a dial tone came back into his ear. That’s when he realized the phone that was ringing was coming from his coat, only one person knew that number. He raced to where his coat hung and ripped the phone out of the pocket. This phone was a phone only one man had the number to, his employer Marcus Batherly. Dr. Savage was a young aspiring med student when Sir Marcus Batherly found him; he was looking to fund a scholarship to a medical school and instead found the young Savage. Savage had a predeliction for lingering too long around the morgue and his dissertation about the physical effects of medieval and inquisitional torture brought a certain sweaty glee to the wealthy man’s crotch. When Savage was kicked out of the medical school for stabbing his roommate during finals week, immediately before he was to begin his residency, Batherly offered him a very lucrative job as his own physician, provided he could keep very large and very dangerous secrets. Batherly had needed some patchwork done, strange stitches needed on gashes caused by hunting knives, arrows or gunshots. Most other times he lived a relative life of luxury, practicing local medicine at the small village that catered to the aristocrats who summered in those woods every year or conducting the random autopsies that seemed to happen relatively frequently near Batherly Manor. Always young men and always having died gruesome hunting accidents; there was no morgue or medical examiner for another hundred miles so Batherly allowed the procedures to be done in hunting lodge deep in his woods for free, as long as he could watch.
Once he answered the phone Savage went pale, Batherly fainted near the end of the conversation but not before he gave his exact GPS coordinates. Rushing out in his range rover Savage found his employer swimming in a pool of his own blood, so pale and worn that he feared he was already dead, but upon checking his pulse Savage found out that the burly man was indeed still alive. Helping him to his feet and into the opened flat surface of the Range Rover Savage drove Batherly to the infirmry in his Manor. Savage didn’t want to ask how the expert marksman had shot off one of his own testicles but he didn’t need to worry about why, Batherly nearly bled to death upon the forest floor, and the young doctor needed the money, so he never asked and filed his curiosities down deep in his memory.
When Batherly awoke several weeks later, he was deeply sore between his legs and he could barely move, the hunt had gone horribly wrong and he almost smiled thinking of the guile the young prey had to shoot off his predator’s ball. Then admiration turned to rage as Batherly felt blood rush to his privates, which caused him great pain; he pressed the morphine once more and drifted off into sleep. Dr. Savage, meanwhile was sitting downstairs in the library of the great Manor, dozing off several glasses of scotch, his wisps of blond hair delicately drooping down his forehead. After hours of emergency surgery to fix the wound between the rich man’s legs the young doctor was beat, but nothing could describe the horrors that Batherly told in his fits of drug induced sleep. Fantasies about gutting a young man open with such truthful honesty that it made the normally stoic doctor squeamish. Suddenly he sat up, he thought he heard a creaking noise coming from the foyer; Batherly could barely walk but he decided he needed to check on his patient, in case he moved too much and reopened his stitches. He walked like Frankenstein’s monster through the gilded hallways, the ice cubes in his scotch jingling and jangling. As he looked up the stairs that led to the master bedroom he never felt the delicate slicing of his carotid artery in his neck as a firm hand gripped his hair craned his neck up to the frescoed ceiling and silenced him forever. The young doctor’s eyes went wide as blood poured out his neck and onto his messy white shirt and he sank o his knees, seeing a vision of Apollo or St. Sebastian before him. The young man was tightly formed and wet from the evening rain, almost naked he wore blood stained speedos that clung to his ass and crotch and upon his gut he bore the tell tale markings of a self-stitched wound. The young man looked upon the doctor with a cool and collected rage and that was the last Dr. Savage saw before darkness took him.
4227 watched as the handsome haggard young man fell to the ground, his blood seeping out into a large puddle on the floor. After his fall into the raging river the current took him several miles down until he washed up on the river bed; battered and severely wounded he was able to crawl onto the bank. The knife had lodged itself so neatly into his gut that the bleeding was minimal and 4227 was able to treat his wounds; he made his way back to the manor and watched as the young doctor tended to Batherly. 4227’s blood filled with anger and rage at the death of his mentor and he didn’t care how injured he was he was going to cut off Batherly’s other ball and cock and stuff them in his mouth. Now the time had come, Batherly had almost recovered and 4227 knew the company would come looking for his body soon enough. He knew men like Batherly would have too much pride to admit to the Company that he had lost his prey’s body and so the Company usually waited a few weeks until they mounted a search for the young man that was lost. 4227 wanted them to find him in Batherly’s home a victor and…a free man.
He slowly climbed up the stairs careful not to have his footsteps heard; his reclaimed hunting knife firmly grasped in his hand, his cock hard from anticipation of revenge. He peered into Batherly’s room and found the hunter lying perfectly still in the bed; it wasn’t sporting to kill a man as he slept but 4227 didn’t care about that now, he just wanted to end it sweet and simply. He walked up to the heavily snoring man and smiled as he looked at the heavily bandaged crotch, on the bedside table he also saw a jar holding the recovered testicle swimming in mineral oil or formaldehyde. 4227 raised his arms aiming for the big man’s heart, he breathed in and whispered,
“This is for you Abe…”
Just then Batherly’s eyes popped open and a maniacal sneer played on his lips. His massive arms bolted up and caught the blade in mid descent.
“How touching…”
Batherly said in his gruff voice and grabbed 4227 by the throat, squeezing with all his might,
“AAAAAAAAAGHHKKK!!”
, was all 4227 could scream before his windpipe was closed. Immediately his face turned bright red and his eyes bloodshot. The pair struggled, Marcus fighting to choke out the smaller prey, while 4227 struggled to stick the hovering knife into his opponent’s chest. They fought for what seemed like hours, yet in truth seconds ticked by as 4227 began to loose consciousness, his vision becoming blurred and eventually blacking out with the frantic knowledge that he would surely die. His grip loosened on the knife and it fell softly onto Batherly’s chest, not even making a slight scratch. Batherly threw the young man’s unconscious body onto the floor and shot up, his adrenaline racing and allowing him to forget the pain between his legs. He looked down at the barely breathing form on the floor and in his cool rage he stooped down and picked up the boy’s ankle.
HE then marched out into the hallway, dragging the limp barely naked form behind him; he dragged him down the stairs, past the crumpled body of Doctor Savage and down another flight of stairs to the trophy room in the basement. In the middle of the trophy room was a long flat table with a drain in the middle and straps completely surrounding the table on all sides. Usually the bodies on this table were dead and this place was usually used for macabre dissections and amputations, where Batherly collected his trophies. But now in his quiet rage he found clarity enough to enact his vengeance on the young pup who took half his manhood. With rough vigor he picked up the unconscious young man and dropped him onto the table, making sure to stretch his nubile form tightly onto the table. He ran his hands upon the smooth body, making sure to cup and enjoy the curves of the young man’s crotch, bulging out of the white, wet speedos. With the young man’s hunting knife he cu the silken fabric off and placed them on a table next to a bowl. Slapping the young man awake Batherly concocted an evil plan in his mind and he smiled completely ignoring his pain for the first time in weeks.
Dr. Savage was cooking dinner when his phone unexpectedly rang; he bustled over to the small rotary dial and picked up the phone, only a dial tone came back into his ear. That’s when he realized the phone that was ringing was coming from his coat, only one person knew that number. He raced to where his coat hung and ripped the phone out of the pocket. This phone was a phone only one man had the number to, his employer Marcus Batherly. Dr. Savage was a young aspiring med student when Sir Marcus Batherly found him; he was looking to fund a scholarship to a medical school and instead found the young Savage. Savage had a predeliction for lingering too long around the morgue and his dissertation about the physical effects of medieval and inquisitional torture brought a certain sweaty glee to the wealthy man’s crotch. When Savage was kicked out of the medical school for stabbing his roommate during finals week, immediately before he was to begin his residency, Batherly offered him a very lucrative job as his own physician, provided he could keep very large and very dangerous secrets. Batherly had needed some patchwork done, strange stitches needed on gashes caused by hunting knives, arrows or gunshots. Most other times he lived a relative life of luxury, practicing local medicine at the small village that catered to the aristocrats who summered in those woods every year or conducting the random autopsies that seemed to happen relatively frequently near Batherly Manor. Always young men and always having died gruesome hunting accidents; there was no morgue or medical examiner for another hundred miles so Batherly allowed the procedures to be done in hunting lodge deep in his woods for free, as long as he could watch.
Once he answered the phone Savage went pale, Batherly fainted near the end of the conversation but not before he gave his exact GPS coordinates. Rushing out in his range rover Savage found his employer swimming in a pool of his own blood, so pale and worn that he feared he was already dead, but upon checking his pulse Savage found out that the burly man was indeed still alive. Helping him to his feet and into the opened flat surface of the Range Rover Savage drove Batherly to the infirmry in his Manor. Savage didn’t want to ask how the expert marksman had shot off one of his own testicles but he didn’t need to worry about why, Batherly nearly bled to death upon the forest floor, and the young doctor needed the money, so he never asked and filed his curiosities down deep in his memory.
When Batherly awoke several weeks later, he was deeply sore between his legs and he could barely move, the hunt had gone horribly wrong and he almost smiled thinking of the guile the young prey had to shoot off his predator’s ball. Then admiration turned to rage as Batherly felt blood rush to his privates, which caused him great pain; he pressed the morphine once more and drifted off into sleep. Dr. Savage, meanwhile was sitting downstairs in the library of the great Manor, dozing off several glasses of scotch, his wisps of blond hair delicately drooping down his forehead. After hours of emergency surgery to fix the wound between the rich man’s legs the young doctor was beat, but nothing could describe the horrors that Batherly told in his fits of drug induced sleep. Fantasies about gutting a young man open with such truthful honesty that it made the normally stoic doctor squeamish. Suddenly he sat up, he thought he heard a creaking noise coming from the foyer; Batherly could barely walk but he decided he needed to check on his patient, in case he moved too much and reopened his stitches. He walked like Frankenstein’s monster through the gilded hallways, the ice cubes in his scotch jingling and jangling. As he looked up the stairs that led to the master bedroom he never felt the delicate slicing of his carotid artery in his neck as a firm hand gripped his hair craned his neck up to the frescoed ceiling and silenced him forever. The young doctor’s eyes went wide as blood poured out his neck and onto his messy white shirt and he sank o his knees, seeing a vision of Apollo or St. Sebastian before him. The young man was tightly formed and wet from the evening rain, almost naked he wore blood stained speedos that clung to his ass and crotch and upon his gut he bore the tell tale markings of a self-stitched wound. The young man looked upon the doctor with a cool and collected rage and that was the last Dr. Savage saw before darkness took him.
4227 watched as the handsome haggard young man fell to the ground, his blood seeping out into a large puddle on the floor. After his fall into the raging river the current took him several miles down until he washed up on the river bed; battered and severely wounded he was able to crawl onto the bank. The knife had lodged itself so neatly into his gut that the bleeding was minimal and 4227 was able to treat his wounds; he made his way back to the manor and watched as the young doctor tended to Batherly. 4227’s blood filled with anger and rage at the death of his mentor and he didn’t care how injured he was he was going to cut off Batherly’s other ball and cock and stuff them in his mouth. Now the time had come, Batherly had almost recovered and 4227 knew the company would come looking for his body soon enough. He knew men like Batherly would have too much pride to admit to the Company that he had lost his prey’s body and so the Company usually waited a few weeks until they mounted a search for the young man that was lost. 4227 wanted them to find him in Batherly’s home a victor and…a free man.
He slowly climbed up the stairs careful not to have his footsteps heard; his reclaimed hunting knife firmly grasped in his hand, his cock hard from anticipation of revenge. He peered into Batherly’s room and found the hunter lying perfectly still in the bed; it wasn’t sporting to kill a man as he slept but 4227 didn’t care about that now, he just wanted to end it sweet and simply. He walked up to the heavily snoring man and smiled as he looked at the heavily bandaged crotch, on the bedside table he also saw a jar holding the recovered testicle swimming in mineral oil or formaldehyde. 4227 raised his arms aiming for the big man’s heart, he breathed in and whispered,
“This is for you Abe…”
Just then Batherly’s eyes popped open and a maniacal sneer played on his lips. His massive arms bolted up and caught the blade in mid descent.
“How touching…”
Batherly said in his gruff voice and grabbed 4227 by the throat, squeezing with all his might,
“AAAAAAAAAGHHKKK!!”
, was all 4227 could scream before his windpipe was closed. Immediately his face turned bright red and his eyes bloodshot. The pair struggled, Marcus fighting to choke out the smaller prey, while 4227 struggled to stick the hovering knife into his opponent’s chest. They fought for what seemed like hours, yet in truth seconds ticked by as 4227 began to loose consciousness, his vision becoming blurred and eventually blacking out with the frantic knowledge that he would surely die. His grip loosened on the knife and it fell softly onto Batherly’s chest, not even making a slight scratch. Batherly threw the young man’s unconscious body onto the floor and shot up, his adrenaline racing and allowing him to forget the pain between his legs. He looked down at the barely breathing form on the floor and in his cool rage he stooped down and picked up the boy’s ankle.
HE then marched out into the hallway, dragging the limp barely naked form behind him; he dragged him down the stairs, past the crumpled body of Doctor Savage and down another flight of stairs to the trophy room in the basement. In the middle of the trophy room was a long flat table with a drain in the middle and straps completely surrounding the table on all sides. Usually the bodies on this table were dead and this place was usually used for macabre dissections and amputations, where Batherly collected his trophies. But now in his quiet rage he found clarity enough to enact his vengeance on the young pup who took half his manhood. With rough vigor he picked up the unconscious young man and dropped him onto the table, making sure to stretch his nubile form tightly onto the table. He ran his hands upon the smooth body, making sure to cup and enjoy the curves of the young man’s crotch, bulging out of the white, wet speedos. With the young man’s hunting knife he cu the silken fabric off and placed them on a table next to a bowl. Slapping the young man awake Batherly concocted an evil plan in his mind and he smiled completely ignoring his pain for the first time in weeks.
HangTime
Forum Resident
- Joined
- Jun 29, 2009
- Messages
- 954
- Location
- Central Florida
Excellent!!More, please.
spndx7hero
Forum Regular
- Joined
- Feb 6, 2009
- Messages
- 62
- Location
- Midwest
Hey all sorry haven't kept this up, I know it's long coulnt help myself wanted it go on and on and on. I wish I could reenact this at some time, maybe film it for my own enjoyment. JUst need to find a Batherly. Anyway, here is the Final Chapter, hope you enjoy
Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn
4227 moaned as he felt a sharp pain in his forehead that soon dulled and remained constant. The glare of the floodlights above him made him think he was laying out in the sun on some Mediterranean beach but soon reality struck him as clearly as a leather bound glove. Opening his eyes he was greeted with a grim scene, human body parts incased in silver, bronze and gold hovered over him, silent sentinels to his worst nightmare come to life. He tried to move his limbs but found that if he moved in any direction his shoulder or hip joints were bound to dislocate, that was how tightly he was stretched onto a metal slab. He lay there naked save for his white, dirty speedos, beneath his bare skin he felt the metal slab had slots, drainage for some surgery or an autopsy, that much he was certain. His wide eyes looked about him and he saw out of the periphery a shadowy figure, huge and menacing, the Lord Batherly talking to himself…no he was addressing 4227,
“You know kid your one mistake was trying to kill me…you should have run off I would have hunted you down yeah but at least I would have calmed down, but now I’m too FUCKING MAD!”
With the final words he slammed his fist into the young man’s tight abs sending all air out of him leaving the youth gasping and wrenching for air. Coughing the young man steeled himself for another fist which came with equal intensity. Steel-faced and unrelenting in courage the young man bore the brunt of this beating much to Batherly’s chagrin. Licking his lips the noble man ran his hand over the younger specimen and let his large palm rest over the boy’s quivering crotch,
“You know I fucked your mentor before I killed him…He was pathetic, thought I was gonna spare his life because I used his ass as a toy. Now he gives me head everynight. HAHAHAHA”
The laugh was cruel this time, not sporting or hysterical but absolutely cruel and menacing, sending a shiver of fear down 4227’s back.
“If you’re gonna fucking kill me then do it already…You sick fuck.”
His youthful voice still somewhere between a boy’s tenor and a man’s bass; shaking with fear as the man juggled his heavy sperm filled ball sack in between his leather bound fingers.
“Oh I will but I’ll make you suffer first…”
With that he grabbed a wet sponge and stuffed it into 4227’s mouth, the fluid tasted bitter and herbal, like some ancient medicine. Almost immediately he felt a slight numbing sensation in his spine and in his fingertips and toes. Batherly ran his fingers all along the contours of 4227’s body, squeezing his thighs as though he were a piece of meat. Twisting his nipples and slapping his haunches,
“It’s one of mankind’s first anesthetics, used to dull the pain of crucifixion in ancient Rome it allowed the condemned to suffer their punishment for longer periods of time so that they didn’t pass out from the torment…Pity we no longer use it.”
Suddenly he produced a long set of surgical scissors and cut the speedos from the young man’s shivering body that was doused in sweat. 4227 closed his eyes trying to meditate, concentrate on what his mentor taught him, how he should greet death, but it wasn’t working, he was shaking with fear and wanted nothing more than to piss himself from the prospect of dying, especially at the hands of this mad man. As though he read his mind Batherly leaned in to him, his lips gingerly pressed upon his ear and he said in a hoarse whisper,
“I want you to scream like your buddy did, like a stuck pig.”
Then Batherly pulled from some out of sight table a long strand of twine and moved out of sight to the lower half of 4227’s taught spread eagle body. Humming to himself he wrapped the twine tightly once, twice, thrice around the young man’s balls, cutting off the circulation and causing immensely sharp pain to burn right up the younger man’s spine. 4227 closed his eyes as he tried to will himself to faint, to pass out, anything to escape the inevitable pain but something in the anesthetic mixture prevented him from falling unconscious and doing what any normal person would do. There was no escape from this, the thought frightened him as he felt the first prick of the steel scalpel cut into his nubile flesh.
YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHHHHH!
His scream as primal, intoxicating and erotic at the same time, Batherly enjoyed it most because it was littered with the boyish sobs and whines of a younger man, his heart racing at his own gelding, unable to escape it even through sleep. Batherly relished how the twin testicles sagged upon the newly cut skin before plopping into a wet dark red mess on the steel slab the remnants of the ball sack beneath them and blood oozing out onto the table. The young man’s muscles tensed, his body going into shock and his breathing becoming quickened and labored, for a brief second Batherly thought he would be robbed of his vengeance by a sudden heart attack. But youth has its advantages and the young man’s heart did not fail from the shock, it recovered and the medicinal mixture kept him aware of every bit of his torture.
Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn
4227 moaned as he felt a sharp pain in his forehead that soon dulled and remained constant. The glare of the floodlights above him made him think he was laying out in the sun on some Mediterranean beach but soon reality struck him as clearly as a leather bound glove. Opening his eyes he was greeted with a grim scene, human body parts incased in silver, bronze and gold hovered over him, silent sentinels to his worst nightmare come to life. He tried to move his limbs but found that if he moved in any direction his shoulder or hip joints were bound to dislocate, that was how tightly he was stretched onto a metal slab. He lay there naked save for his white, dirty speedos, beneath his bare skin he felt the metal slab had slots, drainage for some surgery or an autopsy, that much he was certain. His wide eyes looked about him and he saw out of the periphery a shadowy figure, huge and menacing, the Lord Batherly talking to himself…no he was addressing 4227,
“You know kid your one mistake was trying to kill me…you should have run off I would have hunted you down yeah but at least I would have calmed down, but now I’m too FUCKING MAD!”
With the final words he slammed his fist into the young man’s tight abs sending all air out of him leaving the youth gasping and wrenching for air. Coughing the young man steeled himself for another fist which came with equal intensity. Steel-faced and unrelenting in courage the young man bore the brunt of this beating much to Batherly’s chagrin. Licking his lips the noble man ran his hand over the younger specimen and let his large palm rest over the boy’s quivering crotch,
“You know I fucked your mentor before I killed him…He was pathetic, thought I was gonna spare his life because I used his ass as a toy. Now he gives me head everynight. HAHAHAHA”
The laugh was cruel this time, not sporting or hysterical but absolutely cruel and menacing, sending a shiver of fear down 4227’s back.
“If you’re gonna fucking kill me then do it already…You sick fuck.”
His youthful voice still somewhere between a boy’s tenor and a man’s bass; shaking with fear as the man juggled his heavy sperm filled ball sack in between his leather bound fingers.
“Oh I will but I’ll make you suffer first…”
With that he grabbed a wet sponge and stuffed it into 4227’s mouth, the fluid tasted bitter and herbal, like some ancient medicine. Almost immediately he felt a slight numbing sensation in his spine and in his fingertips and toes. Batherly ran his fingers all along the contours of 4227’s body, squeezing his thighs as though he were a piece of meat. Twisting his nipples and slapping his haunches,
“It’s one of mankind’s first anesthetics, used to dull the pain of crucifixion in ancient Rome it allowed the condemned to suffer their punishment for longer periods of time so that they didn’t pass out from the torment…Pity we no longer use it.”
Suddenly he produced a long set of surgical scissors and cut the speedos from the young man’s shivering body that was doused in sweat. 4227 closed his eyes trying to meditate, concentrate on what his mentor taught him, how he should greet death, but it wasn’t working, he was shaking with fear and wanted nothing more than to piss himself from the prospect of dying, especially at the hands of this mad man. As though he read his mind Batherly leaned in to him, his lips gingerly pressed upon his ear and he said in a hoarse whisper,
“I want you to scream like your buddy did, like a stuck pig.”
Then Batherly pulled from some out of sight table a long strand of twine and moved out of sight to the lower half of 4227’s taught spread eagle body. Humming to himself he wrapped the twine tightly once, twice, thrice around the young man’s balls, cutting off the circulation and causing immensely sharp pain to burn right up the younger man’s spine. 4227 closed his eyes as he tried to will himself to faint, to pass out, anything to escape the inevitable pain but something in the anesthetic mixture prevented him from falling unconscious and doing what any normal person would do. There was no escape from this, the thought frightened him as he felt the first prick of the steel scalpel cut into his nubile flesh.
YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHHHHH!
His scream as primal, intoxicating and erotic at the same time, Batherly enjoyed it most because it was littered with the boyish sobs and whines of a younger man, his heart racing at his own gelding, unable to escape it even through sleep. Batherly relished how the twin testicles sagged upon the newly cut skin before plopping into a wet dark red mess on the steel slab the remnants of the ball sack beneath them and blood oozing out onto the table. The young man’s muscles tensed, his body going into shock and his breathing becoming quickened and labored, for a brief second Batherly thought he would be robbed of his vengeance by a sudden heart attack. But youth has its advantages and the young man’s heart did not fail from the shock, it recovered and the medicinal mixture kept him aware of every bit of his torture.
spndx7hero
Forum Regular
- Joined
- Feb 6, 2009
- Messages
- 62
- Location
- Midwest
4227 felt wet soaking tears streak down the side of his face and heat rising to his nose, now he didn’t care if he sounded like a child he wanted to be free, wanted nothing more than to be sent back to the Company, where they would at least flog him for being a failed specimen, anything but this. 4227’s eyes went wide as he saw his own testicles lifted from between his legs, held up in leather clad gloves and placed in a stainless steel bowl, the kind chefs use to beat eggs. Then Batherly took up a steel iron that glistened red hot and placed it between the young man’s legs singeing the wound shut, preventing him from dying of blood loss
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO please….stop…just kill me…please…don’t do this AAAAAAAAAAGHHHHH!!!
4227 shouted, begging and wimpering as the hot iron left its mark on his scared skin. Batherly smiled and moved to the young man’s face.
“You cost me a ball so I take two…but that doesn’t make us even…prey.”
Then Batherly threw the red hot iron away and 4227 could hear it sizzle on the cold stone floor. Beathing quickly and in sharp bursts the boy could not contain his tears, wanting nothing more than to die as Batherly busied himself preparing something on the table nearby. He began talking, slow and methodical.
“You know I take one piece of a prey’s body, a trophy to add to my collection. Until you no one has ever hurt me like you…I wonder what I will keep, your ass…mmm yes that looks quite perfect. Or maybe your pathetic boyish face, stuck in a scream. Oh I know…hehe I know exactly what I’ll do.”
Batherly then reappeared holding a small silver daggar, the kind used to spear cheese. He leaned in and caressed 4227’s face,
“Now I know this is going to be painful…Heck you might not even die right away but that’s ust more fun for me hehe”
Delicately he pressed the sharpened blade right under 4227’s sternum and the young boy moaned in ecstatic pain as the sharp edge cut into his smooth white skin. The pain was small at first, like a discomfort and the pain from the gelding still throbbed between his legs, distracting him. Batherly made a small v-shaped incision roughly four inches wide and licked the small bit of blood that trickled down the boy’s heaving chest. Then laughing he thrust one, then two, then three fingers into the hole he made, 4227 shivered as his chest cavity was slowly being raped and the hand of the large Batherly was making its way slowly into his chest. Batherly moved so slowly the body didn’t have enough shock to knock the boy out or kill him. But 4227’s heart beat faster and faster, he heard it in his ears, like a frantic drum it frightened him as he tried to close his eyes, look anywhere but at his chest where Batherly’s hand was now knuckle deep into his chest. 4227’s fists clenched, his abs tightened and he opened his mouth in a silent scream as Batherly reached into his victim and slowly wrapped his fingers around the young man’s beating heart. Batherly closed his eyes and relished how quickly the muscle vibrated with fear; careful not to pull it out too quickly he guided the blood muscle out the way his hand came. 4227 breathed and gasped as his mind tried to comprehend the manner of his slow agonizing death. Words couldn’t describe the pain because no one had ever lived to feel their own heart pulled from their chest.
When 4227 at long last worked up the courage to look at his fate he saw Batherly’s leather bound hand coaxing his still beating heart out of the four inch incision in his skin. Blood oozed out of his chest and he could feel it pool in his back where the drain slits were. 4227 looked astonished and a gape at his own heart beating in front of his eyes. His head became light and he could feel himself blacking out, praising god for this but Batherly pulled on the heart waking him up.
“You aren’t going to sleep…not yet.”
Then with violent force he pried open 4227’s lips and stuffed his own balls into his mouth, pressing the bloody leather glove firmly against his victim’s mouth.
MMMMMMGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHH!!!!!!
4227 tried to scream as tears filled his eyes and he tried not to bite down or swallow his own balls. Batherly laughed, looked one last time at the boys face, a mixture of fear, anger, rage and pitiful humiliation. Then with a wink of his eye he pulled on the heart and ripped it from the arteries and veins that kept it connected to the young man’s chest.
NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNHGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
The boy shouted into the glove as the brief pain forced him to bite down on his tender rubbery testicles and their bloody pulp seeped into the back of his throat. The last thing 4227 felt was his body convulsing in twitches and violent seizures and the almost sweet taste of his own manhood oozing down his throat, as the sound of Batherly’s cruel maniacal laugh filled his ears. Then there was darkness.
One Year Later…
Batherly stood overlooking his land, verdant, evergreen it was wild and kept at the same time. He took in the deep musk of his surroundings as the cute delivery boy drove his truck down the lane the dirt from the gravel road kicking up. The burning summer sun made him sweat but he retreated into the cool of his loading dock. There stood seven man-sized crates made of wood and in each slept the perfect specimen of a young man, ready to be hunted with his buddies. This had cost him a fortune but he wanted a blood bath, he wanted to hang these beauties from their feet until they filled his bathtub with their blood. He would have to wait another 24 hours but that didn’t matter…he could keep himself busy.
Once he injected the reanimation drug into his seven victims he stepped off to the recesses of his lavish mansion and rubbed his eager growing cock underneath his tight hunting pants. HE descended those familiar steps and pressed the special keypad that opened the thick metal door. He walked into his macabre hunting trophy room, filled with the body parts of countless young men who died by his hand and there in the center was his prized possession. On his knees was a perfectly detailed, silver encased body of a young man, roughly 24 years old; back arched up as his head looked painfully up to the ceiling his face fixed in a scream of pain or joy as his arms were taught by his side, fingers clenched in agony. The mouth was filled with a thick whitish silicone substance, used as a fuckable toy. The young man statue had no balls but his long almost erect dick hung between his legs and Batherly felt a small tinge of joy to see it. A small hole between the ribs was evident in the young man’s chest and was covered by smooth clean glass. In the cavity where the young man’s beating heart would have been two pairs of dirty, blood-stained speedos resided; one was white and had a 4227 written on it the other was black with the faded name of a forgotten prey. Batherly’s cock jumped and he smiled…the fun was about to begin again.
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO please….stop…just kill me…please…don’t do this AAAAAAAAAAGHHHHH!!!
4227 shouted, begging and wimpering as the hot iron left its mark on his scared skin. Batherly smiled and moved to the young man’s face.
“You cost me a ball so I take two…but that doesn’t make us even…prey.”
Then Batherly threw the red hot iron away and 4227 could hear it sizzle on the cold stone floor. Beathing quickly and in sharp bursts the boy could not contain his tears, wanting nothing more than to die as Batherly busied himself preparing something on the table nearby. He began talking, slow and methodical.
“You know I take one piece of a prey’s body, a trophy to add to my collection. Until you no one has ever hurt me like you…I wonder what I will keep, your ass…mmm yes that looks quite perfect. Or maybe your pathetic boyish face, stuck in a scream. Oh I know…hehe I know exactly what I’ll do.”
Batherly then reappeared holding a small silver daggar, the kind used to spear cheese. He leaned in and caressed 4227’s face,
“Now I know this is going to be painful…Heck you might not even die right away but that’s ust more fun for me hehe”
Delicately he pressed the sharpened blade right under 4227’s sternum and the young boy moaned in ecstatic pain as the sharp edge cut into his smooth white skin. The pain was small at first, like a discomfort and the pain from the gelding still throbbed between his legs, distracting him. Batherly made a small v-shaped incision roughly four inches wide and licked the small bit of blood that trickled down the boy’s heaving chest. Then laughing he thrust one, then two, then three fingers into the hole he made, 4227 shivered as his chest cavity was slowly being raped and the hand of the large Batherly was making its way slowly into his chest. Batherly moved so slowly the body didn’t have enough shock to knock the boy out or kill him. But 4227’s heart beat faster and faster, he heard it in his ears, like a frantic drum it frightened him as he tried to close his eyes, look anywhere but at his chest where Batherly’s hand was now knuckle deep into his chest. 4227’s fists clenched, his abs tightened and he opened his mouth in a silent scream as Batherly reached into his victim and slowly wrapped his fingers around the young man’s beating heart. Batherly closed his eyes and relished how quickly the muscle vibrated with fear; careful not to pull it out too quickly he guided the blood muscle out the way his hand came. 4227 breathed and gasped as his mind tried to comprehend the manner of his slow agonizing death. Words couldn’t describe the pain because no one had ever lived to feel their own heart pulled from their chest.
When 4227 at long last worked up the courage to look at his fate he saw Batherly’s leather bound hand coaxing his still beating heart out of the four inch incision in his skin. Blood oozed out of his chest and he could feel it pool in his back where the drain slits were. 4227 looked astonished and a gape at his own heart beating in front of his eyes. His head became light and he could feel himself blacking out, praising god for this but Batherly pulled on the heart waking him up.
“You aren’t going to sleep…not yet.”
Then with violent force he pried open 4227’s lips and stuffed his own balls into his mouth, pressing the bloody leather glove firmly against his victim’s mouth.
MMMMMMGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHH!!!!!!
4227 tried to scream as tears filled his eyes and he tried not to bite down or swallow his own balls. Batherly laughed, looked one last time at the boys face, a mixture of fear, anger, rage and pitiful humiliation. Then with a wink of his eye he pulled on the heart and ripped it from the arteries and veins that kept it connected to the young man’s chest.
NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNHGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
The boy shouted into the glove as the brief pain forced him to bite down on his tender rubbery testicles and their bloody pulp seeped into the back of his throat. The last thing 4227 felt was his body convulsing in twitches and violent seizures and the almost sweet taste of his own manhood oozing down his throat, as the sound of Batherly’s cruel maniacal laugh filled his ears. Then there was darkness.
One Year Later…
Batherly stood overlooking his land, verdant, evergreen it was wild and kept at the same time. He took in the deep musk of his surroundings as the cute delivery boy drove his truck down the lane the dirt from the gravel road kicking up. The burning summer sun made him sweat but he retreated into the cool of his loading dock. There stood seven man-sized crates made of wood and in each slept the perfect specimen of a young man, ready to be hunted with his buddies. This had cost him a fortune but he wanted a blood bath, he wanted to hang these beauties from their feet until they filled his bathtub with their blood. He would have to wait another 24 hours but that didn’t matter…he could keep himself busy.
Once he injected the reanimation drug into his seven victims he stepped off to the recesses of his lavish mansion and rubbed his eager growing cock underneath his tight hunting pants. HE descended those familiar steps and pressed the special keypad that opened the thick metal door. He walked into his macabre hunting trophy room, filled with the body parts of countless young men who died by his hand and there in the center was his prized possession. On his knees was a perfectly detailed, silver encased body of a young man, roughly 24 years old; back arched up as his head looked painfully up to the ceiling his face fixed in a scream of pain or joy as his arms were taught by his side, fingers clenched in agony. The mouth was filled with a thick whitish silicone substance, used as a fuckable toy. The young man statue had no balls but his long almost erect dick hung between his legs and Batherly felt a small tinge of joy to see it. A small hole between the ribs was evident in the young man’s chest and was covered by smooth clean glass. In the cavity where the young man’s beating heart would have been two pairs of dirty, blood-stained speedos resided; one was white and had a 4227 written on it the other was black with the faded name of a forgotten prey. Batherly’s cock jumped and he smiled…the fun was about to begin again.
HangTime
Forum Resident
- Joined
- Jun 29, 2009
- Messages
- 954
- Location
- Central Florida
Very HOT! Love your stories.
