Frazeeme
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- Dec 16, 2014
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Improvements thanks to the help of some friends.
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Chris Watts: Young Chris - Prisoner Chris - Stud Chris
THE ONLY MAN WHO WANTED CHRIS WATTS
nted Chris WattsBobby Lee’d been watching the news on TV about that murdered family in Colorado when a picture of the killer, 33 year old ex-husband/ex-father Chris Watts, flashed on the screen. He registered what a hot dude that was.
“He’d look great in the collection . . . I’ve got just the spot for him! Nobody, I mean nobody would miss him!”
A call to Corey started the ball rolling. Bobby, Robert Lee Jones a wealthy retired pro-wrestler, recently began his collection of famous and notorious boy toys. He’d used Corey before. Both understood that prison inmates and guards would have little interest in protecting a guy so vile as to murder his own family to run away with a mistress. After all, even criminals have standards. Corey warned that it would be hard to get to Chris before other prisoners raped him to shreds, but it might be done. It would expensive, since money needed to cross some palms to extract the handsome Chris.
“$15,000 is a lot, but you always deliver the goods in perfect condition. My answer is yes.”
Bobby turned off the phone and began planning Chris’s party. Corey never fails to deliver.
Having an interest in what lay ahead, the warden’s office assigned Chris to the laundry on orders of the warden himself. Although it’s a cliché, the laundry makes for a convenient place to disappear from prison. He got the early morning shift where he could work alone in safety with a guard watching from an enclosed booth. As arranged, when the guard took his coffee and piss break, Corey stepped out of the locker where he’d hidden and grabbed Chris from behind. Chris was strong, but Corey stronger and soon the hypodermic syringe loaded with powerful sedative drained into his jugular. Corey tossed the collapsed man wearing an orange jumpsuit into a laundry cart. He wheeled it into the waiting truck and headed off.
When they got to Bob’s warehouse, the cart was trundled onto the loading platform and driven to the waiting stack of tumbling mats. Bob and Corey lifted Chris onto the ‘bed’. Corey was proud of the pristine condition of Chris’s body. There were no bruises or cuts or any other damage. There had not been any prisoner abuse of Bobby’s boy.
Corey pulled apart the lips, “See, he’s still even got all those expensive teeth he flashed in his smiles.”
Corey took the balance owed in cash and drove off, giggling as he thought about Chris’ next adventure.
The unconscious man lolled his full 6 foot length on the bed. Spread eagle, the hairy muscular body almost filled the resting place. The dark brunette’s handsome face carried a short full beard and mustache with a furry dot below the lower lip. Opening the lower snaps of the one piece orange prison jumpsuit, with a quick peek Bobby saw he wore only a simple thin cotton bikini brief. It was still white and clean, showing an elongated pinkish bulge. He walked to the end of the pallet to view the feet. Chris wore prison issue white cotton socks over what looked to be size 12 feet. One of the slip-on sneakers had gone missing. He tossed the remaining one aside.
Bob pulled the socks off the insentient man. The feet were clean. The toenails needed a little grooming but were smooth enough for now. The pleasant surprise was finding the tiny sprinkle of dark hair on each toe. There was a mass of hair on top of the foot that disappeared under the cloth at the ankle that promised later pleasures. Dragging the body to the edge of the bed, he began to fondle the toes and rub the soles. Initially he sniffed and tasted them moving later to munch the hair atop the right foot. Licking down the top of the foot to the toes, he began to suck them one at a time. Tickling the tips with his tongue, he wet them thoroughly. The pads were stacked to below waist height so it was easy for him to pull his flaccid peter from the boxers and rub it between the toes. ‘Petey’ stiffened up fast, making Bob moan quietly. When he rubbed against the rough calloused soles it became even harder and began to drool. Holding back, Bobby indulged in the same pleasures with Chris’ left foot. When he had enough pre-cum, he smeared it between the toes and on both coarse soles.
As the cock rubbing continued, Chris began to stir. Bobby Lee quickly grabbed a thick pillow and jammed it over the face. Chris jerked about a bit and let out a faint “errgch”. When the body relaxed, the pillow came off.
Standing at the right side of the bed, Bob began to stroke the thinly furred arms. The short sleeves gave a glimpse of tattoo. Chris’ hands were lightly calloused, the result of little hard work in the man’s life. But, they were rasping enough to do the job. Drawing the right arm away from the body, Bob manipulated the hand to hold his own cock. After he wrapped the fingers around it, he used Chris to begin masturbation. With his familiar pattern of alternating fast and slow strokes, Bob began having serious fun controlling the unfamiliar hand. He speeded up the movements and started to do some real shagging. Showing no respect for Chris’ dignity, he moved to the left side and resumed indulging in surrogate masturbation.
Whether or not Chris liked, disliked, or even comprehended what was happening, he again began to regain consciousness. The fingers initiated pressure on the cock. As much as he enjoyed it, Bob had to stop to stifle him again. The pillow slammed firmly on the face. Chris squirmed and gave an “ummmrchuh”. After three minutes he checked to be sure there was a pulse. There was.
Dropping his jeans and boxers, Bob climbed on the pads. He spread his legs over the straight man’s head, facing the feet. He began with brushing his cock and balls through Chris’ hair, letting tickling build blissful anticipation. Turning the head from side to the side, he rubbed his cum-slicked dick behind and
into Chris’ ears. Sliding down the forehead he dicked the nose and golden-brown eyes . . . . the eyebrows were unexpectedly exciting. He bent down resting his elbows beside Chris’ chest. Now for a long desired thrill . . . . pushing the cock across the mustache and through the curly beard along the chin line. At last he plunged his tonsil tickler into the mouth. For a time his dick rolled the powerless tongue. Then it began to move on its own and Chris made choked, gagging sounds. Since his balls rested on either side of the nose, Bob considered lowering his belly to try smothering with his flesh.
But being prudent, they went on another pillow trip.
Relaxed, Chris was again indifferent to Bob’s sensual attentions. Opening all the snaps on the front of the jumpsuit, he revealed the torso’s frontal assets. The pecs were magnificently furred, with long curly dark brown hair. Half-dollar size was the only way he could describe the mellow-mahogany colored nipples. Below them, the hair shortened and spread out across the belly, disappearing around the sides.
“I’ve never seen that before,” noted Bobby.
Longer hair formed a line from chest to crotch.
Bob began by stroking and petting the chest hair, moving his hand down the stomach, smoothing the fur. He made a hairy whirlpool around the navel before licking and sticking his tongue into it. He teased himself by dragging his tongue down the magic trail to the elastic of the briefs and then stopping . . . .
“Abstinence makes the hard grow fonder, right Christopher?”
Retracing, he directed his tongue to those magnificent nipples. Sucking them, they got harder, and harder, and harder. He reached to the crotch to see if anything else was getting harder. It was. And, it felt big. But for the present, polishing his face with the chest pelt was more than satisfying. He breathed in the powerful man scent deeply as he ran his nose along the outline of the pecs.
Sensing a change in Chris’ breathing, Bobby prepared for the next round.
“You’ve had a ‘petite mort’ for each of the children you killed, now get ready for the ‘grande mort’ for the wife and mother.”
He gave Chris a few minutes under the pillow to insure his cooperation. Then he rolled the dude aside to prepare the bed. He put a 10 inch thick pad next to the waist and another below the hips, leaving a space about 6 inches wide. Lifting Chris onto the pads, he was laid face down. The jumpsuit was already opened, but the brief had to be pulled down so the fat circumcised cock and balls could hang freely between the pads. He pulled out a roll of duck tape and one of kitchen plastic wrap. A quick tape wrap secured the wrists. He slapped the face until the eyes opened. The plastic wrap created the usual bunching problem as it jerkily unrolled to surround the head. Eventually, Bob got a close, tight wrap. Liberal application of duck tape around the neck and forehead made an airtight seal.
“Now you bastard, agonize long and hard!”
Bob sat on the lower back like a saddle, facing the legs. He braced his massive arms against the thighs.
“Buck and squirm all you want! Your sufferin’s gonna make you into a first class sex toy.”
Chris kicked and reared a for a while. As the muscular body struggled, Bobby rode him like an unbroken stallion. But he couldn’t work himself off the pads. Once the contortions faded, Bob got off. He checked to see how the cock and balls were coming along. Leaving Chris for a good 20 minutes ‘to set’, he readied their next adventure.
Rolling Chris on his back he made sure he was dead before continuing his uninvited intimacy. Then he checked out the woody. It was perfect! Chris’ sabre dick was rearing upward and curved from base to glans. There had been plenty of room for it to extend freely between the pads. The erection, hard as it was, still let the dick rotate. The space was high enough to leave room for released piss and leaked semen to pool on the plastic beneath. Part of it was brown. It appeared that Chris hadn’t been able to shoot his load for a long time and the sperm at the top of the stream was beginning to decay. It was gratifying to know that he’d been painfully, sexually frustrated.
“I guarantee that after this your tubes will be fully cleaned out!”
Bobby set the pads aside. Now the body could be laid fully flat on its back for thorough examination. Even scantily clothed, undressing dead man still promised to be good fun. Bob lifted the torso to a sitting position to slip off the upper part of the jumpsuit. Chris obligingly provided some playful wiggling . . . . even playful nose rubbing. The process revealed the arm tattoos: on the left barbed wire wrapped around the bicep and some kind of mystical sun on the shoulder; the right was blurry and looked like a lion’s head. His back displayed a strange tangle of inked lines ending in arrow points.
“Bet you felt really butch when you got those!” mocked Bobby.
Dumping the upper body back on the mats made a satisfying squishy whoomph.
He lurched the cloth down Chris’ back to the bum. Then he lifted the hips on one side and then the other to release the orange suit. Finally he self-indulgently lifted both legs with one hand to wrench the pants to the ankles. With them down and the white brief already below the crotch, it was a pose he had to stop and photograph. It would’ve looked great on Chris’ social media …. there’d of been lots of internet clicks on that one. At last he slipped the pant legs over those big feet. A few sharp tugs removed the panties so they could be used to wipe up post mortem emissions.
It was a beautiful but imperfect corpse. The calves and forearms were a bit thin for the heavily muscled thighs, torso, and biceps. His ankles were just plain skinny. The whole lacked balance. Nonetheless, all that combined with the 9 inch satyrs dick made for a very rewarding playmate. Chris lay there invitingly.
“You killed your pregnant wife and babies for what you thought was great sex, but now you’re gonna get great sex from a real man.”
Bobby climbed next to Chris. Turning the body on its side, he propped his hard dick into the hairy butt crack. He gathered lube by jamming his hand into the mouth and then mixed the spit with cum from the wetting cock. He wriggled his left arm under the waist, got a firm grip, and then shoved his dick in. Immediately, the corpse released what sounded like a combination of a grunt and a moan. Not wanting to be distracted, Bob shoved the dirtied panties into the mouth. Re-entering, he started his fuck. Slow at first, he gradually speeded up to rapid thrusting. As he did, Chris’ sword sprang all directions and the balls slammed against the thighs. All the while, the video camera set up earlier recorded the orgiastic convulsions as Bobby plowed into him.
The ride was even better than hoped. The excitement of having a defenseless brute in his arms gave him unlimited energy. The perfectly sculpted butt cheeks cushioned his pounding without resistance. Bob managed to wrangle the flailing pecker and hold that bouncing beauty as the fuck surged on .The combination of the waist rubbing his arm, the cock slamming his hand around, and the welcome of the loosening sphincter too quickly drove him to orgasm. As much as he wanted, he couldn’t hold back. Bob heaved so much when his wads blew that Chris was knocked out of his grasp and hurled to the floor. Even though the glory hole was now out of reach, his dick continued to pulse cum. Dazed, he wished he had the briefs to catch it all.
With usual understatement, Bobby thought, “Well, that was nice.”
Going to Chris’ shamelessly postured naked body, he yanked the briefs from the mouth, wiped himself and the mat clean, and shoved them back in. There was no need to let any cum go to waste, even though the bastard didn’t deserve it.
That ride gave Bob satisfaction for a long time . . . . the memory for years.
The next chore, if you could call anything so pleasurable a chore, was to clean up the deadun. After dragging him to a low shallow trough, he dumped the body inside. It was a special design with a wide flat rim, made for hygiene and play. It had a rack for digestible glycerin soaps (in different flavors – papaya was a favorite) and solvents to remove adhesives. Today it would be unflavored soap because he wanted lap up all the man stank he could.
Indifferent, Chris let Bobby turn his slack muscular meat face down into the water. Since the sphincter was stretched the shit hole needed to be plugged. Lacking a king size butt plug, an old turkey baster bulb served the purpose. Wetting the back, Bob realized that in his frenzy to screw Chris he’d completely missed an amazing hair feature. The hairs coming around the sides from the belly met over the coccyx in a large triangular mass. There was so much long dark hair that it could almost have formed a short tail. Twisting one together, he played with the tail thinking it appropriate that this devil should have one. He sudsed liberally, enjoying scrubbing the upper back hairs, the armpit bushes, and the butt canyon fur as much as the tail.
After rinsing the back, Bobby turned him face up. He puzzled over how a body with so much luxurious hair on the trunk could have such thinly scattered hairs on the arms and legs. Of course, that did nothing
to undermine the glee with which he ran his fingers through furry foam on the chest. Slippery and wet, it was more exhilarating than running his fingers though mink. Of course it was always fun to soap up arms and legs with their lively appendages. He lathered away blissfully until the skin on his fingers started to wrinkle. A thorough rinsing with the shower hose finished the job . . . almost.
He promised Christopher that he would finish cleaning out the seminal tubes. And Bob was ready to keep his word. Pulling Chris out of the tray over the sides made gratifying thuds as the muscled body lurched over the obstacles. He roughly toweled him, paying special attention the armpit, chest, and groin hair. He wanted it clean, dry, and springy. He placed the asphyxiation pillow under the small of the back to angle the crotch forward and down. Chris’ dick waggled in anticipation as Bob spread the legs and rested his chin on the balls.
Bob batted the stiffie around for a bit with his nose to get a close view of the milky fluid drooling from the slit. Then he ran his tongue up the vein that had pumped so much death throe blood into the dick. Though Chris felt nothing, Bob had a chill run along his spine. Almost faint with excitement, Bob gently slipped his lips around the glans. His mouth pulled it toward the feet so it pushed against the upper palate. It was still warm and the tiny sulcus spurs around the head were prickly against his tongue. The lubricating cum soothed any discomfort. Sucking the dick meant it rode back and forth against the roof of the mouth while tickling the tongue. It also meant that oozing cum fell to the back of the tongue to slide easily down the throat. He didn’t get the whole length of the dick but instead full sensation from the head.
Since Chris hadn’t shot a load for a long time, there had been a slow drooling of a lot of cum. Bob wanted it all. It was sweet and fresh because the old had been dumped earlier. But it was also sweet because this male prized it so much himself, putting it above everything else. Jerking the balls to loosen remaining sperm, Bob could almost feel the cum moving through the penis with his sucking. After about 15 minutes, the issue stopped. Bob pulled away and licked off the head before cleaning his own lips.
Bob had been a promise keeper. He’d extracted every drop of jism. The dead fucker had nothing left to fuck.
Immediately, he fixed a leather cock ring as tightly as possible below the turgid base to preserve the erection. Giving the groin a quick wash, he started wrapping the nude corpse. Those clean movers blankets came in handy again. He rolled Chris in them and tied him across the chest and ankles. All that was left was to call T for pick up.
**************************************************
FOR “T” AND HIS WORK SEE “WHATEVER HAPPENED TO ANDREW AND SHAWN PART II” ON CDG
**************************************************
T delivered the package right on schedule.
“Always enjoy working for you Bobby, you get the hottest men. Wish all my clients had your good taste.”
“T, you did a great job conserving that long satyrs dick without using the cock ring.”
This time Bob didn’t need T’s advice in dressing. He had all the clothing planned for Chris’ debut. Since he’d been so violently ultra-macho, he needed suitably extreme garb. It would be a pan-sexual look in black lace: a 2352 athletic shirt; a pair of Candyman briefs with scalloped waist and leg bands; black mesh mid-thigh hose. All that muscle and hair poking through the lace would be irresistible.
Humiliation for Chris meant hard on for Bobby!
Completely flexible, naked Chris was flopped beside his outfit. Carefully pulling on the top, Bob made sure the nipples were clearly visible and the chest hair puffed proudly through the openings in the lace. Without concealing sleeves, the arm tattoos were plainly visible. The inkwork on the back became mysterious behind the netting. The ‘tail’ over the coccyx even poked out a bit.
Deciding to let the hard satyrs dick so carefully preserved by T bang around freely till the last, he started to pull up the stockings. Holding the toes together helped slip them over the feet. Bob couldn’t but notice how nicely the foot hair sprang through the mesh. There was no problem sliding the stockings over the slender calves. But the muscular thighs stretched the netting to the limit. Struggling with the thighs had been so much fun that Bob pulled the stockings down and then back up again. Elastic bands held tightly on the thighs so no garter belt was needed. In the process, the hard dick slapping his face heightened the depravity.
Smiling with anticipation he began to wrestle the black panties to the crotch. Even before starting, it was obvious that big pecker wasn’t going to fit in those tiny briefs. The balls alone would fill that lace pouch. So the waist band was used to hold the engorged penis tightly against Chris’ belly, where it naturally inclined. Of course, the thick dark brown pubic bush spilled over the waist, obscuring much of brief. Unfortunately, the lacework was too confining, it wasn’t open enough to let much crotch hair puff through.
Bobby stood Chris on T’s custom stand and gave him a Charles Atlas muscle pose. It looked good, but the paradox wasn’t adequate. Deathly black was the right color but the lace made it too sweet. Basically, the overall effect wasn’t decadent enough for this straight guy. He needed to be stripped and redressed.
After dumping the cooperative corpse face down on the bed, it was readied for more appropriate attire. This time Bob went for a more personal story with the clothes.
He fished out the laundered orange prison jumpsuit. Considering how Chris might wear it best, he decided a half-dressed look would do the trick. One change from the original outfit needed to be the underpants. Something debauched was required. Rummaging his drawers, Bob pulled out a pair of maroon Conquistador boxer briefs he’d worn to a wild party. They showed some interesting stains that would add to a brazen look. Bob yanked them up to Chris’ crotch. They had a single stretch red panel to cover the groin and butt, but with no side seams. The space over the hips was closed with braid frogs, three on each side, that showed an area of erotic flesh seldom displayed. Bob closed the three on the left hip, but only the bottom one on the right. The briefs were fitted to the body with the crotch panel
hanging down. That way the sabre dick would permanently surge outward in full view. Chris’ nards nestled on the dropped red panel. This arrangement also agreeably revealed the lush pubic hair.
“Just the look of unconcerned shamelessness I want. Hold that blank stare, Chris.”
Bob dragged the orange pants up the legs to just above the knees. Then the jumpsuit’s short left sleeve was slid up the left forearm to hang at the elbow. The right was intended to dangle behind the back. White cotton socks and slip-on canvas sneakers completed the wardrobe. White, orange, and dark red set just the right discordant tone for this homicidal dude
Standing Chris on the pedestal, he set him in what thought was called ‘contrapposto’, a standing position with asymmetrically bent knees and hips angled accordingly. Then he raised the left arm bending it at the elbow; the right he allowed to hang down straight. Whatever it was called, the pose held the jumpsuit in the partially dressed effect Bob wanted . . . . an erotic mix of menace and vulnerability.
Set to the right of his headboard, Bobby now had a trophy stud brandishing a beautiful hard on within easy reach from his pillow. Chris looked down on him, proudly flourishing angel lust and vacantly smiling with those flashing teeth every morning.
//t26.pixhost.to/thumbs/242/91087621_conquistadorboxerbrief.jpg[/img][/url]
Conquistador Boxer Brief
Improvements thanks to the help of some friends.
Comments are more than welcome.
https://pixhost.to/gallery/n3yR1
Chris Watts: Young Chris - Prisoner Chris - Stud Chris
THE ONLY MAN WHO WANTED CHRIS WATTS
nted Chris WattsBobby Lee’d been watching the news on TV about that murdered family in Colorado when a picture of the killer, 33 year old ex-husband/ex-father Chris Watts, flashed on the screen. He registered what a hot dude that was.
“He’d look great in the collection . . . I’ve got just the spot for him! Nobody, I mean nobody would miss him!”
A call to Corey started the ball rolling. Bobby, Robert Lee Jones a wealthy retired pro-wrestler, recently began his collection of famous and notorious boy toys. He’d used Corey before. Both understood that prison inmates and guards would have little interest in protecting a guy so vile as to murder his own family to run away with a mistress. After all, even criminals have standards. Corey warned that it would be hard to get to Chris before other prisoners raped him to shreds, but it might be done. It would expensive, since money needed to cross some palms to extract the handsome Chris.
“$15,000 is a lot, but you always deliver the goods in perfect condition. My answer is yes.”
Bobby turned off the phone and began planning Chris’s party. Corey never fails to deliver.
Having an interest in what lay ahead, the warden’s office assigned Chris to the laundry on orders of the warden himself. Although it’s a cliché, the laundry makes for a convenient place to disappear from prison. He got the early morning shift where he could work alone in safety with a guard watching from an enclosed booth. As arranged, when the guard took his coffee and piss break, Corey stepped out of the locker where he’d hidden and grabbed Chris from behind. Chris was strong, but Corey stronger and soon the hypodermic syringe loaded with powerful sedative drained into his jugular. Corey tossed the collapsed man wearing an orange jumpsuit into a laundry cart. He wheeled it into the waiting truck and headed off.
When they got to Bob’s warehouse, the cart was trundled onto the loading platform and driven to the waiting stack of tumbling mats. Bob and Corey lifted Chris onto the ‘bed’. Corey was proud of the pristine condition of Chris’s body. There were no bruises or cuts or any other damage. There had not been any prisoner abuse of Bobby’s boy.
Corey pulled apart the lips, “See, he’s still even got all those expensive teeth he flashed in his smiles.”
Corey took the balance owed in cash and drove off, giggling as he thought about Chris’ next adventure.
The unconscious man lolled his full 6 foot length on the bed. Spread eagle, the hairy muscular body almost filled the resting place. The dark brunette’s handsome face carried a short full beard and mustache with a furry dot below the lower lip. Opening the lower snaps of the one piece orange prison jumpsuit, with a quick peek Bobby saw he wore only a simple thin cotton bikini brief. It was still white and clean, showing an elongated pinkish bulge. He walked to the end of the pallet to view the feet. Chris wore prison issue white cotton socks over what looked to be size 12 feet. One of the slip-on sneakers had gone missing. He tossed the remaining one aside.
Bob pulled the socks off the insentient man. The feet were clean. The toenails needed a little grooming but were smooth enough for now. The pleasant surprise was finding the tiny sprinkle of dark hair on each toe. There was a mass of hair on top of the foot that disappeared under the cloth at the ankle that promised later pleasures. Dragging the body to the edge of the bed, he began to fondle the toes and rub the soles. Initially he sniffed and tasted them moving later to munch the hair atop the right foot. Licking down the top of the foot to the toes, he began to suck them one at a time. Tickling the tips with his tongue, he wet them thoroughly. The pads were stacked to below waist height so it was easy for him to pull his flaccid peter from the boxers and rub it between the toes. ‘Petey’ stiffened up fast, making Bob moan quietly. When he rubbed against the rough calloused soles it became even harder and began to drool. Holding back, Bobby indulged in the same pleasures with Chris’ left foot. When he had enough pre-cum, he smeared it between the toes and on both coarse soles.
As the cock rubbing continued, Chris began to stir. Bobby Lee quickly grabbed a thick pillow and jammed it over the face. Chris jerked about a bit and let out a faint “errgch”. When the body relaxed, the pillow came off.
Standing at the right side of the bed, Bob began to stroke the thinly furred arms. The short sleeves gave a glimpse of tattoo. Chris’ hands were lightly calloused, the result of little hard work in the man’s life. But, they were rasping enough to do the job. Drawing the right arm away from the body, Bob manipulated the hand to hold his own cock. After he wrapped the fingers around it, he used Chris to begin masturbation. With his familiar pattern of alternating fast and slow strokes, Bob began having serious fun controlling the unfamiliar hand. He speeded up the movements and started to do some real shagging. Showing no respect for Chris’ dignity, he moved to the left side and resumed indulging in surrogate masturbation.
Whether or not Chris liked, disliked, or even comprehended what was happening, he again began to regain consciousness. The fingers initiated pressure on the cock. As much as he enjoyed it, Bob had to stop to stifle him again. The pillow slammed firmly on the face. Chris squirmed and gave an “ummmrchuh”. After three minutes he checked to be sure there was a pulse. There was.
Dropping his jeans and boxers, Bob climbed on the pads. He spread his legs over the straight man’s head, facing the feet. He began with brushing his cock and balls through Chris’ hair, letting tickling build blissful anticipation. Turning the head from side to the side, he rubbed his cum-slicked dick behind and
into Chris’ ears. Sliding down the forehead he dicked the nose and golden-brown eyes . . . . the eyebrows were unexpectedly exciting. He bent down resting his elbows beside Chris’ chest. Now for a long desired thrill . . . . pushing the cock across the mustache and through the curly beard along the chin line. At last he plunged his tonsil tickler into the mouth. For a time his dick rolled the powerless tongue. Then it began to move on its own and Chris made choked, gagging sounds. Since his balls rested on either side of the nose, Bob considered lowering his belly to try smothering with his flesh.
But being prudent, they went on another pillow trip.
Relaxed, Chris was again indifferent to Bob’s sensual attentions. Opening all the snaps on the front of the jumpsuit, he revealed the torso’s frontal assets. The pecs were magnificently furred, with long curly dark brown hair. Half-dollar size was the only way he could describe the mellow-mahogany colored nipples. Below them, the hair shortened and spread out across the belly, disappearing around the sides.
“I’ve never seen that before,” noted Bobby.
Longer hair formed a line from chest to crotch.
Bob began by stroking and petting the chest hair, moving his hand down the stomach, smoothing the fur. He made a hairy whirlpool around the navel before licking and sticking his tongue into it. He teased himself by dragging his tongue down the magic trail to the elastic of the briefs and then stopping . . . .
“Abstinence makes the hard grow fonder, right Christopher?”
Retracing, he directed his tongue to those magnificent nipples. Sucking them, they got harder, and harder, and harder. He reached to the crotch to see if anything else was getting harder. It was. And, it felt big. But for the present, polishing his face with the chest pelt was more than satisfying. He breathed in the powerful man scent deeply as he ran his nose along the outline of the pecs.
Sensing a change in Chris’ breathing, Bobby prepared for the next round.
“You’ve had a ‘petite mort’ for each of the children you killed, now get ready for the ‘grande mort’ for the wife and mother.”
He gave Chris a few minutes under the pillow to insure his cooperation. Then he rolled the dude aside to prepare the bed. He put a 10 inch thick pad next to the waist and another below the hips, leaving a space about 6 inches wide. Lifting Chris onto the pads, he was laid face down. The jumpsuit was already opened, but the brief had to be pulled down so the fat circumcised cock and balls could hang freely between the pads. He pulled out a roll of duck tape and one of kitchen plastic wrap. A quick tape wrap secured the wrists. He slapped the face until the eyes opened. The plastic wrap created the usual bunching problem as it jerkily unrolled to surround the head. Eventually, Bob got a close, tight wrap. Liberal application of duck tape around the neck and forehead made an airtight seal.
“Now you bastard, agonize long and hard!”
Bob sat on the lower back like a saddle, facing the legs. He braced his massive arms against the thighs.
“Buck and squirm all you want! Your sufferin’s gonna make you into a first class sex toy.”
Chris kicked and reared a for a while. As the muscular body struggled, Bobby rode him like an unbroken stallion. But he couldn’t work himself off the pads. Once the contortions faded, Bob got off. He checked to see how the cock and balls were coming along. Leaving Chris for a good 20 minutes ‘to set’, he readied their next adventure.
Rolling Chris on his back he made sure he was dead before continuing his uninvited intimacy. Then he checked out the woody. It was perfect! Chris’ sabre dick was rearing upward and curved from base to glans. There had been plenty of room for it to extend freely between the pads. The erection, hard as it was, still let the dick rotate. The space was high enough to leave room for released piss and leaked semen to pool on the plastic beneath. Part of it was brown. It appeared that Chris hadn’t been able to shoot his load for a long time and the sperm at the top of the stream was beginning to decay. It was gratifying to know that he’d been painfully, sexually frustrated.
“I guarantee that after this your tubes will be fully cleaned out!”
Bobby set the pads aside. Now the body could be laid fully flat on its back for thorough examination. Even scantily clothed, undressing dead man still promised to be good fun. Bob lifted the torso to a sitting position to slip off the upper part of the jumpsuit. Chris obligingly provided some playful wiggling . . . . even playful nose rubbing. The process revealed the arm tattoos: on the left barbed wire wrapped around the bicep and some kind of mystical sun on the shoulder; the right was blurry and looked like a lion’s head. His back displayed a strange tangle of inked lines ending in arrow points.
“Bet you felt really butch when you got those!” mocked Bobby.
Dumping the upper body back on the mats made a satisfying squishy whoomph.
He lurched the cloth down Chris’ back to the bum. Then he lifted the hips on one side and then the other to release the orange suit. Finally he self-indulgently lifted both legs with one hand to wrench the pants to the ankles. With them down and the white brief already below the crotch, it was a pose he had to stop and photograph. It would’ve looked great on Chris’ social media …. there’d of been lots of internet clicks on that one. At last he slipped the pant legs over those big feet. A few sharp tugs removed the panties so they could be used to wipe up post mortem emissions.
It was a beautiful but imperfect corpse. The calves and forearms were a bit thin for the heavily muscled thighs, torso, and biceps. His ankles were just plain skinny. The whole lacked balance. Nonetheless, all that combined with the 9 inch satyrs dick made for a very rewarding playmate. Chris lay there invitingly.
“You killed your pregnant wife and babies for what you thought was great sex, but now you’re gonna get great sex from a real man.”
Bobby climbed next to Chris. Turning the body on its side, he propped his hard dick into the hairy butt crack. He gathered lube by jamming his hand into the mouth and then mixed the spit with cum from the wetting cock. He wriggled his left arm under the waist, got a firm grip, and then shoved his dick in. Immediately, the corpse released what sounded like a combination of a grunt and a moan. Not wanting to be distracted, Bob shoved the dirtied panties into the mouth. Re-entering, he started his fuck. Slow at first, he gradually speeded up to rapid thrusting. As he did, Chris’ sword sprang all directions and the balls slammed against the thighs. All the while, the video camera set up earlier recorded the orgiastic convulsions as Bobby plowed into him.
The ride was even better than hoped. The excitement of having a defenseless brute in his arms gave him unlimited energy. The perfectly sculpted butt cheeks cushioned his pounding without resistance. Bob managed to wrangle the flailing pecker and hold that bouncing beauty as the fuck surged on .The combination of the waist rubbing his arm, the cock slamming his hand around, and the welcome of the loosening sphincter too quickly drove him to orgasm. As much as he wanted, he couldn’t hold back. Bob heaved so much when his wads blew that Chris was knocked out of his grasp and hurled to the floor. Even though the glory hole was now out of reach, his dick continued to pulse cum. Dazed, he wished he had the briefs to catch it all.
With usual understatement, Bobby thought, “Well, that was nice.”
Going to Chris’ shamelessly postured naked body, he yanked the briefs from the mouth, wiped himself and the mat clean, and shoved them back in. There was no need to let any cum go to waste, even though the bastard didn’t deserve it.
That ride gave Bob satisfaction for a long time . . . . the memory for years.
The next chore, if you could call anything so pleasurable a chore, was to clean up the deadun. After dragging him to a low shallow trough, he dumped the body inside. It was a special design with a wide flat rim, made for hygiene and play. It had a rack for digestible glycerin soaps (in different flavors – papaya was a favorite) and solvents to remove adhesives. Today it would be unflavored soap because he wanted lap up all the man stank he could.
Indifferent, Chris let Bobby turn his slack muscular meat face down into the water. Since the sphincter was stretched the shit hole needed to be plugged. Lacking a king size butt plug, an old turkey baster bulb served the purpose. Wetting the back, Bob realized that in his frenzy to screw Chris he’d completely missed an amazing hair feature. The hairs coming around the sides from the belly met over the coccyx in a large triangular mass. There was so much long dark hair that it could almost have formed a short tail. Twisting one together, he played with the tail thinking it appropriate that this devil should have one. He sudsed liberally, enjoying scrubbing the upper back hairs, the armpit bushes, and the butt canyon fur as much as the tail.
After rinsing the back, Bobby turned him face up. He puzzled over how a body with so much luxurious hair on the trunk could have such thinly scattered hairs on the arms and legs. Of course, that did nothing
to undermine the glee with which he ran his fingers through furry foam on the chest. Slippery and wet, it was more exhilarating than running his fingers though mink. Of course it was always fun to soap up arms and legs with their lively appendages. He lathered away blissfully until the skin on his fingers started to wrinkle. A thorough rinsing with the shower hose finished the job . . . almost.
He promised Christopher that he would finish cleaning out the seminal tubes. And Bob was ready to keep his word. Pulling Chris out of the tray over the sides made gratifying thuds as the muscled body lurched over the obstacles. He roughly toweled him, paying special attention the armpit, chest, and groin hair. He wanted it clean, dry, and springy. He placed the asphyxiation pillow under the small of the back to angle the crotch forward and down. Chris’ dick waggled in anticipation as Bob spread the legs and rested his chin on the balls.
Bob batted the stiffie around for a bit with his nose to get a close view of the milky fluid drooling from the slit. Then he ran his tongue up the vein that had pumped so much death throe blood into the dick. Though Chris felt nothing, Bob had a chill run along his spine. Almost faint with excitement, Bob gently slipped his lips around the glans. His mouth pulled it toward the feet so it pushed against the upper palate. It was still warm and the tiny sulcus spurs around the head were prickly against his tongue. The lubricating cum soothed any discomfort. Sucking the dick meant it rode back and forth against the roof of the mouth while tickling the tongue. It also meant that oozing cum fell to the back of the tongue to slide easily down the throat. He didn’t get the whole length of the dick but instead full sensation from the head.
Since Chris hadn’t shot a load for a long time, there had been a slow drooling of a lot of cum. Bob wanted it all. It was sweet and fresh because the old had been dumped earlier. But it was also sweet because this male prized it so much himself, putting it above everything else. Jerking the balls to loosen remaining sperm, Bob could almost feel the cum moving through the penis with his sucking. After about 15 minutes, the issue stopped. Bob pulled away and licked off the head before cleaning his own lips.
Bob had been a promise keeper. He’d extracted every drop of jism. The dead fucker had nothing left to fuck.
Immediately, he fixed a leather cock ring as tightly as possible below the turgid base to preserve the erection. Giving the groin a quick wash, he started wrapping the nude corpse. Those clean movers blankets came in handy again. He rolled Chris in them and tied him across the chest and ankles. All that was left was to call T for pick up.
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FOR “T” AND HIS WORK SEE “WHATEVER HAPPENED TO ANDREW AND SHAWN PART II” ON CDG
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T delivered the package right on schedule.
“Always enjoy working for you Bobby, you get the hottest men. Wish all my clients had your good taste.”
“T, you did a great job conserving that long satyrs dick without using the cock ring.”
This time Bob didn’t need T’s advice in dressing. He had all the clothing planned for Chris’ debut. Since he’d been so violently ultra-macho, he needed suitably extreme garb. It would be a pan-sexual look in black lace: a 2352 athletic shirt; a pair of Candyman briefs with scalloped waist and leg bands; black mesh mid-thigh hose. All that muscle and hair poking through the lace would be irresistible.
Humiliation for Chris meant hard on for Bobby!
Completely flexible, naked Chris was flopped beside his outfit. Carefully pulling on the top, Bob made sure the nipples were clearly visible and the chest hair puffed proudly through the openings in the lace. Without concealing sleeves, the arm tattoos were plainly visible. The inkwork on the back became mysterious behind the netting. The ‘tail’ over the coccyx even poked out a bit.
Deciding to let the hard satyrs dick so carefully preserved by T bang around freely till the last, he started to pull up the stockings. Holding the toes together helped slip them over the feet. Bob couldn’t but notice how nicely the foot hair sprang through the mesh. There was no problem sliding the stockings over the slender calves. But the muscular thighs stretched the netting to the limit. Struggling with the thighs had been so much fun that Bob pulled the stockings down and then back up again. Elastic bands held tightly on the thighs so no garter belt was needed. In the process, the hard dick slapping his face heightened the depravity.
Smiling with anticipation he began to wrestle the black panties to the crotch. Even before starting, it was obvious that big pecker wasn’t going to fit in those tiny briefs. The balls alone would fill that lace pouch. So the waist band was used to hold the engorged penis tightly against Chris’ belly, where it naturally inclined. Of course, the thick dark brown pubic bush spilled over the waist, obscuring much of brief. Unfortunately, the lacework was too confining, it wasn’t open enough to let much crotch hair puff through.
Bobby stood Chris on T’s custom stand and gave him a Charles Atlas muscle pose. It looked good, but the paradox wasn’t adequate. Deathly black was the right color but the lace made it too sweet. Basically, the overall effect wasn’t decadent enough for this straight guy. He needed to be stripped and redressed.
After dumping the cooperative corpse face down on the bed, it was readied for more appropriate attire. This time Bob went for a more personal story with the clothes.
He fished out the laundered orange prison jumpsuit. Considering how Chris might wear it best, he decided a half-dressed look would do the trick. One change from the original outfit needed to be the underpants. Something debauched was required. Rummaging his drawers, Bob pulled out a pair of maroon Conquistador boxer briefs he’d worn to a wild party. They showed some interesting stains that would add to a brazen look. Bob yanked them up to Chris’ crotch. They had a single stretch red panel to cover the groin and butt, but with no side seams. The space over the hips was closed with braid frogs, three on each side, that showed an area of erotic flesh seldom displayed. Bob closed the three on the left hip, but only the bottom one on the right. The briefs were fitted to the body with the crotch panel
hanging down. That way the sabre dick would permanently surge outward in full view. Chris’ nards nestled on the dropped red panel. This arrangement also agreeably revealed the lush pubic hair.
“Just the look of unconcerned shamelessness I want. Hold that blank stare, Chris.”
Bob dragged the orange pants up the legs to just above the knees. Then the jumpsuit’s short left sleeve was slid up the left forearm to hang at the elbow. The right was intended to dangle behind the back. White cotton socks and slip-on canvas sneakers completed the wardrobe. White, orange, and dark red set just the right discordant tone for this homicidal dude
Standing Chris on the pedestal, he set him in what thought was called ‘contrapposto’, a standing position with asymmetrically bent knees and hips angled accordingly. Then he raised the left arm bending it at the elbow; the right he allowed to hang down straight. Whatever it was called, the pose held the jumpsuit in the partially dressed effect Bob wanted . . . . an erotic mix of menace and vulnerability.
Set to the right of his headboard, Bobby now had a trophy stud brandishing a beautiful hard on within easy reach from his pillow. Chris looked down on him, proudly flourishing angel lust and vacantly smiling with those flashing teeth every morning.
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Conquistador Boxer Brief
