headsman
Let me finish you off
- Joined
- Jun 19, 2011
- Messages
- 592
- Location
- West Hollywood
by Steve Geary
http://www.greasetank.com/fiction/x-mas.htm
'Twas days before Christmas, and all through the frat
a creature was creeping. His name? Matt the Rat.
att Sweeney's face was hardened with purpose as he strode through the fraternity's dark halls. He knew what he was looking
for; his security cameras had caught the entire ugly episode on tape. Ya know, it sure deflates a guy's Christmas spirit to lie in bed watching frat boys invade your farm, only to use a couple of saws to cut down one of your prime evergreens. Matt had watched glumly as the two pranksters caused the tree to topple. He'd sighed as they made off with his tree, giggling with glee as they tossed the shrub into their pick-up.
True, he could've confronted them right there on his property, but he was dressed only in boxer shorts, and these young men had strong arms. Matt quickly realized that by the time he'd be able to corner them with his rifle, the boys would be long gone. Well, it's not like he didn't know where they lived -- a fraternity in that small college just outside Pottersville.
See, Matt had always had an eye for beauty. He'd admired these hooligans from a distance for quite a while. They were blond twins, probably about twenty years old. He'd often seen them loitering on the street, cruising on their motor bikes and hanging at the local bar. Two days before stealing Matt's tree, the boys' truck was one of many that had filed up into the hills to view Matt's annual Christmas exhibit. Every Christmas season, Matt transformed his farm into one of Vermont's most elaborate holiday spectacles. He felt justified demanding admission. "Eight dollars," he'd said when they rolled down the window.
They'd made disgusting faces when they heard the fee. "Eight bucks?! What a rip!"
Matt's face clouded with anger. "How would you know? You haven't seen it yet!" he scowled. "It's got Santa, all his reindeer and elves, Frosty the Snowman, four model trains, a manger scene, a ferris wheel giving rides to all twelve disciples and so many goddamned Christmas lights it costs two thousand bucks a month just to light the fucker!"
"Okay, okay. Relax, dude," they'd said. While the boys slowly scraped together the admission with a combination of quarters, dimes, and nickels, Matt could feel his blood boiling. Damn, how he hated hearing mere kids tell him to calm down. If they hadn't been so cute, he would've pulled them through their car windows by the necks and clobbered them for keeping customers waiting. Had he imagined it, or did the boys have hungry looks in their eyes as they peered ahead at his exhibit?
Now, a couple of nights later, as he studied their dim, grainy images on his black-and-white monitor, it was apparent how ignoble their reasons for visiting his farm were. Goddamn it, why were the Christmas holidays never easy? So stressful.
Sleepy-eyed, Matt got out of bed and sighed as he forced his hard-on inside his camos. He'd been having a very hot dream, the bastards. Matt threw his old military gear over his strong, hairy chest, splashed some water on his face, grabbed his shotgun and ambled out to his van.
Images of Robert Mitchum patiently stalking the children in Night of the Hunter crossed his mind as he drove across town. "Leanin', leanin', leanin' on the everlasting arms," he sang softly to himself. When he stopped at their building, his rifle loaded and ready to fire, he matter-of-factly walked past the boys' pick-up truck, barely noticing the evergreen still resting inside it. He stared forward, determined -- no more Mr. Nice Guy.
After cutting the telephone lines, Matt jimmied open the front lock and sauntered inside. "Hey, what're you doing here?" some skinny, half-naked college kid gasped as he jumped out of a living room chair. Damn, this deep into the Christmas season, Matt had hoped everyone but his prey would've gone home to their mommies and daddies. He sighed; a man's gotta do what he's gotta do.
He drew his rifle, and with a loud explosion emptied both barrels directly into the nerd's face, instantly liquefying the young features into a gooey, crimson cavern the size of a softball. Sticky matter from deep inside the boy's shattered skull blasted all over the floor and walls. Arms flailed, and what remained of the body fell to the floor in violent jerks and spasms. The dead boy's thick life juices shot up from the huge facial crater like red liquid from a squirt gun, raining down heavily on the carpet and soiling it, the ever-growing crimson puddle rapidly spreading out and away from the quivering, unrecognizable corpse.
Matt felt his extra-large cock stiffen. Fascinated, he watched the glorious morbid spectacle before him and admired his work. The dark recesses of his mind pretended that this skinny fresh corpse was a huge boner, the sticky eruptions spewing out of the demolished face and head the hard-on's climax. As the nerd's heart gave out, the erupting crimson jizz dribbled off to a trickle, just as a cock would after the fourth or fifth shot. "Pleasant dreams, dickhead," Matt muttered, satisfied with a job well done.
His Gulf War experience was coming in handy. Matt the Rat, they'd called him during Desert Storm; finally he was getting to utilize his military training. He reloaded his rifle and marched up the stairs. If there were other culprits eager to get between him and his prey, he'd be ready for them.
One by one he kicked open bedroom doors, his rifle poised, his trigger finger ready to take out another pussyboy. All the rooms proved empty, but when he kicked in the door to the community bathroom, a dark-haired lad gawked at him in disbelief, quivering with fear from his seat on the toilet. His shorts and underwear were at his ankles, and one look at Matt in his military gear was all it took to inspire his bowels to instantly dump. "D-don't shoot!" the boy screamed as he brought his right arm up to shield his face.
Matt took in the vision of the boy's muscular armpit and the few tricklings of hair on his chest. He silently acknowledged that this kid had a hot physique and looked enticingly pathetic in such a vulnerable position. A shame to waste such a perfect specimen of youth.
"Let me help you take a whiz," Matt offered. He aimed his rifle at the young man's crotch and when he pulled the trigger, both rounds instantly blew the kid's pelvis to smithereens. With urine and blood spraying everywhere, the body jolted several inches off the potty, bloody chunks of cock, hair and nuts falling into the bowl. The boy yelled, his face in painful anguish as his body collapsed to the floor. Matt aimed and fired again, making the punk's perfect chest explode, red juice pouring from a second mortal wound, bubbling up and out of the cute mouth and nose as the young eyes faded to nothing.
A smudge of excrement still hung from the modest ass hairs inside the corpse's muscular butt. "Merry Christmas," Matt said dryly. "Last shit you'll ever take."
Matt left the messy bathroom and peered down the hall. Damn. That room had been the last one on the floor. Wait, was there a loft in the attic? He tried what he'd originally thought was a closet door and was happy to see it led to a stairwell. When he realized that from above he could hear a heavy rock beat, he smiled. His young friends must be having a party.
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Their loud sound system enveloping them in rhythm and the sweet smell of marijuana permeating the air, Rick Veller's blue eyes twinkled within an inch of his brother's handsome face. "You've got such a perfect body, Tim," he said dreamily.
Tim Veller snickered. "You just say that cuz I look like you."
"You're right," Rick grinned, making a fist and playfully pounding his brother's chest. His jabs resulted in a rich thudding sound. Nice, solid muscle. "I know perfection when I see it!"
Tim ran his fingers through his twin's blond hair, grinned invitingly and felt fulfilled as Rick's pink tongue plunged into his mouth, licking at his gums and flawless teeth. The moment was so blissful that neither boy realized their bedroom door had opened a crack.
Rick pulled back and smiled into his brother's eyes. "Face it, bro, we're a hot combination," he smiled. "Our faces, our bodies, everything exactly the same. Think how many people want us. Your cock and mine, same measurements. And when I screw you, I know exactly what my butt feels like when I get fucked."
"Your ass walls are velvety smooth," Tim nodded, his hands softly cupping his brother's bum, not letting go of it as he pulled his brother forward and scooted them both toward the top of their bed. His head now rested against the wall, facing the door. "Fuck my face, bro," he breathed. "I want you to open my head up like you've never done before."
Rick smiled, shrugging his shoulders sheepishly. "Even if I choke you? Make you pass out?"
"Anything you want, bro. Cut off my air. I want to french kiss your cock all the way to the root. Make me so light-headed my face turns blue!"
Rick was happy to oblige as he enthusiastically straddled his brother's face. "You've got it, dude. I won't let you breathe til I shoot!" Leaning his hands against the wall for support, Rick aimed his cock into that familiar, boyish face and did a pelvic thrust, instantly burying his organ to the hilt, resting his sex hairs against his twin's full lips. When he pulled his dick back from the gummy throat, it was sticky with saliva. He began his familiar cock dance. As always, it was like fucking a virtual reality mirror, the closest he'd ever get to fucking his own mouth. Closing his eyes, every few moments or so he'd look down and monitor the progression of his brother's rapidly altering face color.
Tim inhaled Rick's intimate sexual aroma. Rick's pelvis was so slender, his cock so thick, in this position Rick seemed to be all dick. His mouth tightly wrapped around such hefty male machinery, the only sounds Tim could make were grunts. He jacked his own flawless cock as their bodies moved to the same beat as the music, and was gratified as he felt the surging, natural high that accompanies depleted oxygen. After almost two minutes without air, his moans grew more intense.
Suddenly, Tim's eyes caught their first glimpse of a strange figure creeping behind his brother from the bedroom shadows. What the hell was that?!
His blood pressure shot through the roof. Weakened from lack of air, he tried to remove his mouth from the pistoning cock. "I'm not done yet," Rick cried, putting his hands on either side of Tim's skull to make sure the bluish face stayed where it belonged.
Tim's legs started bucking at nothing. He tried to flail his arms and push Rick off him, but Rick's knees were pinning Tim's arms to the mattress. The cocksucker's throat gurgled more urgently, his eyes widening. His entire head was now a bright purple. "MMPHFFF!! MPFHGGGFFF!!!" he screamed.
Rick enjoyed seeing what his cock could do to Tim's face. Lack of air had caused pronounced veins to protrude all over it. The purplish skin and bloodshot eyes were making Tim's face quite ugly, but it was fun seeing his twin brother transformed into someone, or something, else. Tim was starting to look like a stranger caught somewhere between orgasm and death.
It aroused Rick to realize that if the roles were reversed, he would look exactly the same. As Rick's cock built up to a huge gusher, his fantasies took flight; he was alternately choking his brother, conquering a foe, even killing himself. "Fuck, you look so hot, you damn cock whore!" Rick gasped, his body in full arousal. His face became delirious. "Yeah! Gonna cum, bro! Swallow my jerk sauce!"
He was in ecstasy as he opened his eyes to witness the intense, alarmed expression on his brother's now virtually unrecognizable features. Only when his nuts kicked out their load was he jerked back to reality. Strong hands appeared out of nowhere, clunking both boys' skulls together and sending the youths reeling into instant deep sleep.
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Rick was the first to come to. That bump had inspired a migraine. All was dark around him. He sensed that he was in tight restraints, face-down, his head and shoulders somewhat higher than the rest of his still-naked body. Attempts to wrestle his tightly- bound ankles and wrists out of their confines caused thick chains to clang above him. There was no support beneath him; was he hanging in some mysterious, pitch-black limbo? His senses tried to pull it together.
From above, a door opened and a switch clicked on, flooding the room with bright light. Rick had to squint his eyes, but as they adjusted, he realized that directly before him, at exactly the same height and angle, his brother's face was facing his and similarly hovering in mid-air. Tim likewise had a nasty head bump. The rattling of chains and bright light aroused him from his forced slumber.
"Ho-ho-ho! Merry Christmas!" a booming voice called from above before starting down some stairs.
The twins stared incredulously as the stranger wearing a fake beard and Santa Claus hat clanged a Christmas bell, making his way to them. As their eyes focused, they realized that the only other apparel he had on was a red leather jockstrap. A slight belly, cultivated from one too many beers every night, hung slightly over the strap. "Who the hell are you?" they gasped.
"Think of me as one of Santa's helpers."
"Where are we?" Tim groaned.
"You're at the Sweeney farm, punk. Same place where you stole my goddamned Christmas tree."
Rick stared past the eyes and fake beard. "You're Mr. Sweeney!" he blurted.
"And you're Rick and Tim, the Veller boys," he said, removing the hat and beard. "I've always known about you two."
"What's the meaning of this?" cried Tim.
Matt turned to him. "I suppose I've always had a flair for the theatrical. That should be obvious from my Christmas exhibit." He walked over to his work table and pulled out a notebook. "Now, lessee. I've made a list, checked it twice. Seems you boys have been very naughty."
"You're no Santa Claus! You've ripped off all of Pottersville with your cheesy exhibit for years!" Tim yelled, seething with disgust. "Stupid disciples going around on a ferris wheel!"
Matt marched up to the boy and roughly grabbed his flaccid cock. "Nice cock, very impressive," he said, moving between the boys so they could better see him. "I'm guessing you've both got close to nine inches. Nice, but that sure can't beat -- twelve."
He undid the snap on his jockstrap, causing his sex organ to pop out of its confines. His young captives stared in horror, face-to-face with the longest, ugliest, coarsest fuck weapon they'd ever witnessed. It throbbed angrily, dark scraggly hairs all around it, the tip drooling with lascivious lust. This wasn't the type of cock nature would produce to make sweet, gentle love. No, this was a weapon created to plunge inside an orifice, batter the hell out of it and cause serious damage to its victim from the inside out. If somehow a vagina survived the onslaught intact enough to house and nurture a fetus, so be it, but for this cock, creating offspring was merely a potential by-product of violent sex.
Rick gulped. "What are you going to do with us?"
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head Soon gave them to know they had everything to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, grabbing Rick's ass. Yeah! Fuck up the young jerk!
As their host pulled Rick's legs wide, exposing the boy's fuck hole, Matt gazed at it only momentarily in silent appreciation. It was a beautiful hole, well worth messing up. He mounted the lad, then put Rick's neck into a strangle-hold, his face right next to the boy's so the brother could see the two of them together. When the mammoth, apple-shaped cockhead pressed hard into the anal opening, it pushed, pried, and forced the soft, warm entrance to break open.
Rick's attempts to keep his fuck passage clamped together were in vain. "Fight me, bitch," Matt half- laughed, half-seethed. "It'll only make it harder for ya!" Rick's eyes and mouth were astonished and wide open, his face pressed against his brother's. Tim stared helplessly at him, able to comfort only with his presence. When the monstrous sex organ broke through the sphincter, Rick screamed, his involuntary tears streaming down both twins' faces.
"Hell, yeah!" Matt grinned in frenzied rapture. "Now, take my cock, fagboy. One inch for each of the twelve days of Christmas!"
The determined cobra dug deeply into Rick's bowels, and he wailed like a cat, his face far stranger now than the one he was able to elicit earlier from his brother. His entrails had no choice but to adjust to the unwelcome invader. When Rick's sphincter finally felt Matt's scraggly bush crunch up into it, he thought he was going to throw up.
Matt started the ride. "Here's a holiday message for you assholes -- 'tis better to give than receive!" Matt laughed. Rick became a bucking broncho, meant to be tamed. In, out, left and right, up and down the angry fuck weapon pulverized Rick's guts, bruising them, making them bleed.
The forward thrusts caused the twins' heads to clank together. Rather than risk being knocked unconscious again, they managed to lock their heads between each other's elbows and hold them in place. As Matt gained momentum, their bodies started to move together like a human swing. Eventually, Rick's tender fuck hole was opened so wide that Matt could stand back, push Rick's body away from his and watch both twins sail through the air, only to come back again; just as Rick's hole would close up, it would impale itself yet again on Matt's battering ram. The only lube was the trickling of blood from deep within Rick's raw innards.
The young man felt totally humiliated, no longer a "stud". Not only was this happening to him with his brother present, but to make matters worse, his body was involuntarily reacting -- Matt's pounding at Rick's prostate had inspired a raging hard-on. A young cock has a mind of its own, and through his hot tears Rick was mad at his dick -- but even angrier at his brother when he realized that Tim had developed a boner, too. What gives? Was Tim somehow getting off on his brother's pain?!
By the time Matt got to the drummers drumming and lords a'leaping, all three men were sweating and drooling. Long ropes of baby glob shot out of Matt's cock. Dammit, Rick realized, Tim had cum, too. Without even touching himself. Bastard!
With a loud suctioning noise, accompanied by a long, unearthly fart from Rick, Matt's cock slowly retracted from where it had deposited its reproductive juices. Rick could barely look at his bro, he was so mad and ashamed. Betrayed by a brother. He bit his lip. Words couldn't express his hurt, pain, or frustration.
"What're you going to do with us now?" he finally asked dejectedly.
Matt wiped the remainder of his seeping dick jizz into Rick's balls, using them as toilet paper. "Oh, that part's easy," Matt stated nonchalantly. "I'm going to kill you."
Tim and Rick gasped. "Kill us?!"
Matt shrugged his shoulders. "You punks killed my tree, years before I was ready to take an axe to it. You worked together, did it as a team. I believe in an eye for an eye. Yes, I'm going to destroy your bodies. Annihilate your brains. Send you to hell where you belong."
Tim looked at his brother. "Rick -- DO something!"
Rick shook his chains, perspiration starting to dampen the thick hairs in his exposed armpits. "What the hell can I do all strung up like this?!"
Matt grabbed Tim's testicles, then looked back at the brother. "Rick, it's game time. I'm thinking of an orchestral piece. Ballet companies perform it every Christmas. To spare yourself what I'm going to do to your brother, what is it?"
"Umm, the Nutcracker?"
"Right!"
"Goddamn it, bro!" Tim yelled. "Why the fuck did you answer him?"
Sharp fingernails pierced Tim's soft but generous cum sacks, puncturing the skin, squeezing the nuts. His eyes crossed from the pain and he screamed in a falsetto voice that would've made the Mormon Tabernacle Choir proud. Matt's nails cut right through the sack, pulverizing his balls. Raising his leg up, Matt then kicked Tim so hard in the balls his nuts flattened. "AWGGHH!"
There was a moment of silence as Matt stood back and smiled innocently at the pair. Revenge is sweet.
As Matt sipped on some egg nog, Tim looked accusingly at his brother, barely able to find the words. "Dammit, bro, this is all your fault. You wanted to steal the tree, and if you'd just fucking paid attention to me up in our room, we might've escaped!"
Matt laughed. "Tell you what, maybe I'll just kill one of you. Let's continue with our Christmas game, boys. The one of you with the least correct answers, I'm going to slice to hell with my chainsaw. Whoever wins merely gets painted some real pretty Christmas colors." He walked over to Rick. "OK, Tim, what was all the little kid with the whistley voice wanted for Christmas?"
"Don't answer him, bro!" Rick cried.
"His two front teeth?"
"FUCK!" Rick cried.
"Right!" Matt said victoriously, grabbing Rick by the hair and smashing his fist into the boy's mouth so hard his body flew high in the air. Rick screamed as he felt his teeth break away from the gums. He spit out one and accidentally swallowed the other. As the chains eventually swung him back to his original position, he was sure his entire back had been wrenched during the process.
Matt next picked up a propane torch. "Rick, your turn. While Jack Frost nips at your nose, what do you love to find roasting over an open fire?"
Rick licked at his bleeding mouth, empty holes where his front teeth used to be, then looked at his brother with growing anger and frustration. "Chestnuts!"
"DAMMIT!" Tim shouted.
Matt fired up the torch. "Right you are!"
Sweat poured from every one of the lad's pores as Matt brought the flame close to Tim's scrotum. Tim wrenched his body, writhing in his chains and sobbing "NOOOOOOO!" Matt had anticipated such an outburst, however, and was able to keep up with Tim's body movements.
The hairs on Tim's balls instantly crackled with sparks, burning away like a crinkling Christmas tree during a bonfire. Rick could smell his brother's burning flesh, and as Tim's nuts turned lobster red, the orbs inside them danced in a futile attempt to escape the flame. The scrotum grew in size, sizzling as it got bigger, looking like an angry, reddish fruit. Soon it was splitting straight down the middle. The forest of blond pubic hair above the cock was crinkling up in flames and smoke, and before long, the entire cock was flaming, changing in color, somewhat red, almost translucent as it swelled. The cock started to char from the heat. Finally, the pressure from within caused Tim's sex organ to literally explode -- semen, blood, and charred penile tissue falling away from Tim's pelvis like fireworks. Only a small, black nub of a cock, still sizzling and sparking from the heat, remained at his pelvis.
Matt looked back at Rick triumphantly. "Guess we can call him Tiny Tim now!" Tim's sickly eyes stared at nothing, his mouth drooling. Carefully, Matt cauterized the stub with flame. He didn't want Tim to die from blood loss -- at least not yet.
Matt patted Rick on the shoulder. "Well, you got two points, compared to your brother's one. So, you're our Christmas winner. What would you like in your stocking, then, the chainsaw or the paint? Your choice."
Rick shuddered. "The paint, of course."
"Fair enough." Matt adjusted the chains, maneuvering Rick's body to become more vertical. Soon it was in an upright position, his shackled arms still high in the air and his armpits exposed.
Matt pulled over a couple of heavy paint buckets, opened one and started mixing the contents. Grabbing a heavy brush, he started slathering heavy brown paint all over Rick's body from the neck down, humming "Oh Tannenbaum" as he worked. When he'd finished giving Rick's trunk a once-over, he opened the second bucket, containing a green paint, and started applying it. Every crack, every corner, every hidden crevice of Rick's physique got the benefit. Matt had to hand it to himself; Rick was looking beautiful.
Tim had been alternately watching this strange process and monitoring the waves of pain from his black cock stub. What was the purpose of these paint colors, he wondered, both hues having so little in common with a human being? He tried to put himself inside Matt's twisted mind. "Oh, no," he thought.
Sure enough, Matt soon left the basement and after several trips had returned with several armloads of evergreen branches. "While you boys were out," he said cheerfully, "I took that tree you stole from me and cut it up. Now we're going to make a new one," he snickered.
He eyed Rick. "Sorry, kid, guess I didn't mention what all went with your paint job." Taking a power drill, Matt aimed it directly into Rick's spine, expertly cutting through the entire bone and effectively paralyzing him. "YEOOOWWWWW!!!" Rick screamed, bawling his eyes out like a week-old baby.
With Rick no longer capable of voluntary movement, Matt was free to transfer Rick's shackled arms to a pole. Using a saw, Matt then carved through Rick's ankles, chopping off both feet. Then he guided Rick's leg stumps into a heavy pot, which was promptly filled to the rim with dirt.
Matt had whittled each tree branch to a very sharp point. "Let's see, where shall we start?" he mused. "Decisions, decisions." Matt opted for the right thigh muscle, using the same drill as before to create deep tunnels in Rick's hamstrings. Saliva dribbled freely from Rick's mouth, his eyes dilated. He was obviously in shock.
Matt worked quickly. Each time he pulled the drill out of Rick's leg muscle, there was a heavy flow of blood, but Matt made sure to stop up the leakage with a tree branch. Taking a smaller twig with only a few leaves at the end, he grabbed Rick's brown- painted cock, still perfectly intact. It took only a few seconds to push the thin branch all the way up Rick's urethra and into the lower intestine.
Then Matt took a larger branch, rough with bark, and slammed it up Rick's ass, instantly tearing further apart the boy's tender anal lining, already horribly bruised from its earlier fuck. "The angles are wrong, but we'll fix that with the other branches," Matt explained.
Now it was time to aim the power drill directly into the boy's navel. With no abdominal fat to speak of, only muscles separated Rick's intestines from the outside air, and Rick's flat belly was no match for such a powerful drill. The bit easily chewed through Rick's intestines, and after Matt yanked the tool out, a red fountain of visceral material shot out of Rick's belly button. As always, Matt plugged up the bleeding with another tree branch. Rick made similar holes throughout the boy's torso.
Now Matt grabbed a ladder and stood on it so he could properly tend to Rick's face and head. "Such a perfect face," Matt said. "Not a flaw, not a line or wrinkle. Who wouldn't want to look into those beautiful eyes and kiss that button nose?" Lovingly, he surrounded the cute nose with his mouth, his tongue licking just inside the nostrils. He could feel Rick, barely conscious, somehow manage a startled, sharp intake of breath. This turned Matt on, inspiring him to put his hands on either side of Rick's warm head, whereby his teeth slowly came down on the nose, gathering pressure until they actually cut through the cartilage. A godawful moan swelled up from Rick's throat as blood came to gush down his mouth and neck. This latest ordeal proved too much for Rick's body. It spasmed uncontrollably and he slipped forever into unconsciousness.
Matt pulled his mouth away, revealing a fresh, ugly red hole in the middle of Rick's face. Rick's mouth was wide open, frozen with pain, his perfect proboscis completely removed. Matt looked back at Tim triumphantly, his teeth red and dripping with Rick's life force as he crunched up the nose material and swallowed it. "Aren't you glad you didn't get the paint?" he grinned.
Next, Matt chewed through both ears. Tim assumed Rick wasn't feeling anything anymore, but when their host violently slammed a sharp fork into Rick's left eyeball, the body did some faint tremblings. Twisting the fork clockwise, Matt broke the eye away from its connecting cords and pried it out of the skull, making a loud pop! sound.
Moving over to Rick's right eye, Matt repeated the process. The second eyeball shot out of Rick's head with such force it spun through the air and ricocheted off the far wall. Blood was bubbling out of both sockets now, red ooze dripping down the body and mixing with the green and brown paint. "Such beautiful Christmas colors!" Matt observed. Gradually, all of the scalp, muscle and skin were pulled down past the jawbone, creating a loose apron around Rick's neck which Matt snipped away quite nicely.
Tim numbly stared at his brother's new look. The body's sleek physique was camouflaged with branches but generally intact, the muscular arms still raised high to the ceiling, armpit hairs all gummy with sticky green paint. Blood had mixed with almost all of the oily pigment. Who knew what the skin tone was like underneath that mess of blood, paint, and branches? Unfortunately, as far as Rick's face was concerned, the handsome features had been devastatingly reduced to a skull with a huge grin, staring forward aimlessly and no doubt upset over the loss of its two front teeth. The skull seemed to be looking through Tim and past him, a silent emptiness beyond the eerie grin and vacant eye sockets.
Matt continued drilling into the corpse, replacing each fresh hole with a new branch. Branches were thrust deep inside the eye sockets and mouth, as well as the nose and ear holes. When all the branches were embedded inside Rick, Matt lovingly pruned him, shaping the plant into a beautiful display.
As Matt put away his saw, he smiled at the remaining brother. "Pretty nifty, huh?"
Matt knew that once rigor mortis set in, he would carry the tree out to the yard, where it would quickly freeze into place. Only then would he hang ornaments, lights and tinsel, making the display quite the festive eye-catcher.
Tim had sorrowfully watched the entire ordeal. He knew he was a goner. He just wanted it all to end, but he had to know something first. He looked up sullenly at his tormentor. "Why would you do this, considering all the work you put into your Christmas display? Why would you make such an effort if you didn't feel the Christmas spirit?"
Matt laughed. "You think I care about Christmas? Kid, I don't give a damn about it. I'm a businessman, just like the rest of the world. An opportunist."
"What do you mean?"
"I do that display for the money, punk. I make tons of dough off that fucker! Pottersville and all the neighboring towns come to see it. Free enterprise! What do you think makes Christmas happen, asshole? Good will? Ha! Big business is what Christmas is all about. Wall Street keeps it alive. It's all about money and greed."
"But, don't you believe in its origins? Or at least the Golden Rule? You know, treat others as you would be treated?"
"Oh, that sounds really good coming from a hypocrite who just stole my Christmas tree," Matt replied sarcastically. "Listen, Tiny, there's nothing logical about Christmas."
Tim looked at him blankly. "Nothing?"
"Of course not! It's Christian mythology. Tell me, why is his birthday on December 25, for Christ's sake? Did that first year only last for a week, until January 1st, and what year was it, the year zero or the year one? Why isn't his birthday on January 1st? ! The date is totally arbitrary!"
"I guess I hadn't thought about it," Tim said.
"Of course you hadn't; you're one of many brainless sheep! Here's one for ya -- where's the logic behind 'God so loved the world he gave his only son'? He created an entire universe in merely a week; why couldn't he just whip up another 'son'? He's God, after all!" Tim had no ready answer. "And what can you say about a philosophy so hung up about sex that they have to make the kid's very mother a virgin?!"
"I suppose it is rather neurotic," Tim conceded.
"Of course it is. Listen, peabrain, the same thing that happened to Jesus happened to JFK and Martin Luther King. When we kill someone, they become bigger than life. Hey, maybe now your brother will become a saint!"
'Saint Rick'. It did have a nice ring to it, Tim decided.
Matt strode over to his chainsaw. "Can anybody in their right mind honestly swallow all the shit that comes with your religion? Adam and Eve? No such thing as evolution? A god who talks to us with a deep bass voice? It's all so primitive, so silly. C'mon, pal, what's your take on it? Can anybody tell me what Christmas is really all about?"
Tim had an epiphany. "Yes! I can!"
Matt cocked his head; he'd indulge the little fucker during his last minutes on earth. For this brief moment in time, Matt was all ears.
Tim took a deep breath. "You're right, it's all a sham, as make-believe as Santa's elves!" He looked Matt straight in the eye. "But we buy into it, anyway, or at least go through the motions! We have to! Cuz otherwise, every last one of us would wind up total psychos like you!"
Matt was stopped dead in his tracks. He felt as though he'd been hit by a ton of bricks. His mouth opened wide. "Holy shit, you're right!" he laughed. He had to sit down on his chainsaw, he was so taken aback. He was literally dumbfounded. "Hot damn! Of course! Finally -- a logical reason for Christmas! Someone said something that actually makes sense!"
Tim was impressed with himself that his words worked so well. "Uh, does this mean you're going to
let me live -- even though you burned off my dick?" He briefly imagined life without his cock. Not great, he figured, but maybe he could find a dick donor.
Matt considered the situation. He knew that what the lad had told him was downright profound, as important a speech as the one Linus gave Charlie Brown about the Magi. If Matt was ever to reclaim his soul, it was time for Scrooge to help Tiny Tim. If there was an ounce of humanity left in Matt, now was the moment to fly down Mount Crumpet and return all the presents to Whoville.
Matt stood, shot Tim a look and fired up his saw. "Fat chance, punk."
----------------------------------------
Mr. and Mrs. Veller hoped to run into their boys at Matt Sweeney's Christmas Eve spectacle. They hadn't heard from their sons in a couple days, but everybody who was anybody was expected to attend. After all, Matt had put up signs all over town promising an event "immensely theatrical," something nobody would soon forget. What would it be? A visit from Santa? Fireworks? Maybe, with luck, a mock crucifixion?
As a teaser, one of Matt's new displays sported some outrageous humor which left the crowd highly amused. Behind a sleigh, complete with Santa and all eight reindeer, he'd actually had the gall to create a very realistic pile of carnage. Large chunks of bloody red meat had been strewn across the white snow, along with a frilly red dress and a gray wig. The sign said:
"Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer"
Everyone laughed heartily over that one, especially Mr. and Mrs. Veller.
Shortly before midnight, unbeknownst to the crowd, Matt got inside his van, drove up into the mountains, and watched the festivities from a cliff directly over his farm. He knew the jig was up. Eventually, the forensic police would catch up with him, he assumed, if not for what he did to Tim and Rick, then most certainly for what happened to the boys back at the fraternity. Matt figured he had until the end of Christmas break; that's when the returning students would discover the bodies.
It was time to go out in a big way.
At precisely midnight, Matt pressed a remote control button. In rapid succession, explosions blew up his home, his barn, all his Christmas displays, the entire farm and virtually everybody on it. "FUCKKKKK!!" they all screamed as each new explosion sent broken body parts soaring miles into the air. It was total chaos.
Far above the spectacle, Matt shot everyone the finger and masturbated, his load spraying all over the carnage. He couldn't help but chuckle at his success; he'd virtually taken out an entire town.
Matt stuffed his cock back into his pants and returned to his van. He was still giggling as he turned the ignition key and took a final look at the raging inferno. By dawn, he'd be in Canada.
His chuckle quickly rose to a hearty, sinister laugh, and his belly started to shake, much like a bowlful of jelly.
And so, he exclaimed, as he drove out of sight, "Merry Christmas to all! And to all, a good night."
http://www.greasetank.com/fiction/x-mas.htm
'Twas days before Christmas, and all through the frat
a creature was creeping. His name? Matt the Rat.
att Sweeney's face was hardened with purpose as he strode through the fraternity's dark halls. He knew what he was looking
for; his security cameras had caught the entire ugly episode on tape. Ya know, it sure deflates a guy's Christmas spirit to lie in bed watching frat boys invade your farm, only to use a couple of saws to cut down one of your prime evergreens. Matt had watched glumly as the two pranksters caused the tree to topple. He'd sighed as they made off with his tree, giggling with glee as they tossed the shrub into their pick-up.
True, he could've confronted them right there on his property, but he was dressed only in boxer shorts, and these young men had strong arms. Matt quickly realized that by the time he'd be able to corner them with his rifle, the boys would be long gone. Well, it's not like he didn't know where they lived -- a fraternity in that small college just outside Pottersville.
See, Matt had always had an eye for beauty. He'd admired these hooligans from a distance for quite a while. They were blond twins, probably about twenty years old. He'd often seen them loitering on the street, cruising on their motor bikes and hanging at the local bar. Two days before stealing Matt's tree, the boys' truck was one of many that had filed up into the hills to view Matt's annual Christmas exhibit. Every Christmas season, Matt transformed his farm into one of Vermont's most elaborate holiday spectacles. He felt justified demanding admission. "Eight dollars," he'd said when they rolled down the window.
They'd made disgusting faces when they heard the fee. "Eight bucks?! What a rip!"
Matt's face clouded with anger. "How would you know? You haven't seen it yet!" he scowled. "It's got Santa, all his reindeer and elves, Frosty the Snowman, four model trains, a manger scene, a ferris wheel giving rides to all twelve disciples and so many goddamned Christmas lights it costs two thousand bucks a month just to light the fucker!"
"Okay, okay. Relax, dude," they'd said. While the boys slowly scraped together the admission with a combination of quarters, dimes, and nickels, Matt could feel his blood boiling. Damn, how he hated hearing mere kids tell him to calm down. If they hadn't been so cute, he would've pulled them through their car windows by the necks and clobbered them for keeping customers waiting. Had he imagined it, or did the boys have hungry looks in their eyes as they peered ahead at his exhibit?
Now, a couple of nights later, as he studied their dim, grainy images on his black-and-white monitor, it was apparent how ignoble their reasons for visiting his farm were. Goddamn it, why were the Christmas holidays never easy? So stressful.
Sleepy-eyed, Matt got out of bed and sighed as he forced his hard-on inside his camos. He'd been having a very hot dream, the bastards. Matt threw his old military gear over his strong, hairy chest, splashed some water on his face, grabbed his shotgun and ambled out to his van.
Images of Robert Mitchum patiently stalking the children in Night of the Hunter crossed his mind as he drove across town. "Leanin', leanin', leanin' on the everlasting arms," he sang softly to himself. When he stopped at their building, his rifle loaded and ready to fire, he matter-of-factly walked past the boys' pick-up truck, barely noticing the evergreen still resting inside it. He stared forward, determined -- no more Mr. Nice Guy.
After cutting the telephone lines, Matt jimmied open the front lock and sauntered inside. "Hey, what're you doing here?" some skinny, half-naked college kid gasped as he jumped out of a living room chair. Damn, this deep into the Christmas season, Matt had hoped everyone but his prey would've gone home to their mommies and daddies. He sighed; a man's gotta do what he's gotta do.
He drew his rifle, and with a loud explosion emptied both barrels directly into the nerd's face, instantly liquefying the young features into a gooey, crimson cavern the size of a softball. Sticky matter from deep inside the boy's shattered skull blasted all over the floor and walls. Arms flailed, and what remained of the body fell to the floor in violent jerks and spasms. The dead boy's thick life juices shot up from the huge facial crater like red liquid from a squirt gun, raining down heavily on the carpet and soiling it, the ever-growing crimson puddle rapidly spreading out and away from the quivering, unrecognizable corpse.
Matt felt his extra-large cock stiffen. Fascinated, he watched the glorious morbid spectacle before him and admired his work. The dark recesses of his mind pretended that this skinny fresh corpse was a huge boner, the sticky eruptions spewing out of the demolished face and head the hard-on's climax. As the nerd's heart gave out, the erupting crimson jizz dribbled off to a trickle, just as a cock would after the fourth or fifth shot. "Pleasant dreams, dickhead," Matt muttered, satisfied with a job well done.
His Gulf War experience was coming in handy. Matt the Rat, they'd called him during Desert Storm; finally he was getting to utilize his military training. He reloaded his rifle and marched up the stairs. If there were other culprits eager to get between him and his prey, he'd be ready for them.
One by one he kicked open bedroom doors, his rifle poised, his trigger finger ready to take out another pussyboy. All the rooms proved empty, but when he kicked in the door to the community bathroom, a dark-haired lad gawked at him in disbelief, quivering with fear from his seat on the toilet. His shorts and underwear were at his ankles, and one look at Matt in his military gear was all it took to inspire his bowels to instantly dump. "D-don't shoot!" the boy screamed as he brought his right arm up to shield his face.
Matt took in the vision of the boy's muscular armpit and the few tricklings of hair on his chest. He silently acknowledged that this kid had a hot physique and looked enticingly pathetic in such a vulnerable position. A shame to waste such a perfect specimen of youth.
"Let me help you take a whiz," Matt offered. He aimed his rifle at the young man's crotch and when he pulled the trigger, both rounds instantly blew the kid's pelvis to smithereens. With urine and blood spraying everywhere, the body jolted several inches off the potty, bloody chunks of cock, hair and nuts falling into the bowl. The boy yelled, his face in painful anguish as his body collapsed to the floor. Matt aimed and fired again, making the punk's perfect chest explode, red juice pouring from a second mortal wound, bubbling up and out of the cute mouth and nose as the young eyes faded to nothing.
A smudge of excrement still hung from the modest ass hairs inside the corpse's muscular butt. "Merry Christmas," Matt said dryly. "Last shit you'll ever take."
Matt left the messy bathroom and peered down the hall. Damn. That room had been the last one on the floor. Wait, was there a loft in the attic? He tried what he'd originally thought was a closet door and was happy to see it led to a stairwell. When he realized that from above he could hear a heavy rock beat, he smiled. His young friends must be having a party.
----------------------------------------
Their loud sound system enveloping them in rhythm and the sweet smell of marijuana permeating the air, Rick Veller's blue eyes twinkled within an inch of his brother's handsome face. "You've got such a perfect body, Tim," he said dreamily.
Tim Veller snickered. "You just say that cuz I look like you."
"You're right," Rick grinned, making a fist and playfully pounding his brother's chest. His jabs resulted in a rich thudding sound. Nice, solid muscle. "I know perfection when I see it!"
Tim ran his fingers through his twin's blond hair, grinned invitingly and felt fulfilled as Rick's pink tongue plunged into his mouth, licking at his gums and flawless teeth. The moment was so blissful that neither boy realized their bedroom door had opened a crack.
Rick pulled back and smiled into his brother's eyes. "Face it, bro, we're a hot combination," he smiled. "Our faces, our bodies, everything exactly the same. Think how many people want us. Your cock and mine, same measurements. And when I screw you, I know exactly what my butt feels like when I get fucked."
"Your ass walls are velvety smooth," Tim nodded, his hands softly cupping his brother's bum, not letting go of it as he pulled his brother forward and scooted them both toward the top of their bed. His head now rested against the wall, facing the door. "Fuck my face, bro," he breathed. "I want you to open my head up like you've never done before."
Rick smiled, shrugging his shoulders sheepishly. "Even if I choke you? Make you pass out?"
"Anything you want, bro. Cut off my air. I want to french kiss your cock all the way to the root. Make me so light-headed my face turns blue!"
Rick was happy to oblige as he enthusiastically straddled his brother's face. "You've got it, dude. I won't let you breathe til I shoot!" Leaning his hands against the wall for support, Rick aimed his cock into that familiar, boyish face and did a pelvic thrust, instantly burying his organ to the hilt, resting his sex hairs against his twin's full lips. When he pulled his dick back from the gummy throat, it was sticky with saliva. He began his familiar cock dance. As always, it was like fucking a virtual reality mirror, the closest he'd ever get to fucking his own mouth. Closing his eyes, every few moments or so he'd look down and monitor the progression of his brother's rapidly altering face color.
Tim inhaled Rick's intimate sexual aroma. Rick's pelvis was so slender, his cock so thick, in this position Rick seemed to be all dick. His mouth tightly wrapped around such hefty male machinery, the only sounds Tim could make were grunts. He jacked his own flawless cock as their bodies moved to the same beat as the music, and was gratified as he felt the surging, natural high that accompanies depleted oxygen. After almost two minutes without air, his moans grew more intense.
Suddenly, Tim's eyes caught their first glimpse of a strange figure creeping behind his brother from the bedroom shadows. What the hell was that?!
His blood pressure shot through the roof. Weakened from lack of air, he tried to remove his mouth from the pistoning cock. "I'm not done yet," Rick cried, putting his hands on either side of Tim's skull to make sure the bluish face stayed where it belonged.
Tim's legs started bucking at nothing. He tried to flail his arms and push Rick off him, but Rick's knees were pinning Tim's arms to the mattress. The cocksucker's throat gurgled more urgently, his eyes widening. His entire head was now a bright purple. "MMPHFFF!! MPFHGGGFFF!!!" he screamed.
Rick enjoyed seeing what his cock could do to Tim's face. Lack of air had caused pronounced veins to protrude all over it. The purplish skin and bloodshot eyes were making Tim's face quite ugly, but it was fun seeing his twin brother transformed into someone, or something, else. Tim was starting to look like a stranger caught somewhere between orgasm and death.
It aroused Rick to realize that if the roles were reversed, he would look exactly the same. As Rick's cock built up to a huge gusher, his fantasies took flight; he was alternately choking his brother, conquering a foe, even killing himself. "Fuck, you look so hot, you damn cock whore!" Rick gasped, his body in full arousal. His face became delirious. "Yeah! Gonna cum, bro! Swallow my jerk sauce!"
He was in ecstasy as he opened his eyes to witness the intense, alarmed expression on his brother's now virtually unrecognizable features. Only when his nuts kicked out their load was he jerked back to reality. Strong hands appeared out of nowhere, clunking both boys' skulls together and sending the youths reeling into instant deep sleep.
----------------------------------------
Rick was the first to come to. That bump had inspired a migraine. All was dark around him. He sensed that he was in tight restraints, face-down, his head and shoulders somewhat higher than the rest of his still-naked body. Attempts to wrestle his tightly- bound ankles and wrists out of their confines caused thick chains to clang above him. There was no support beneath him; was he hanging in some mysterious, pitch-black limbo? His senses tried to pull it together.
From above, a door opened and a switch clicked on, flooding the room with bright light. Rick had to squint his eyes, but as they adjusted, he realized that directly before him, at exactly the same height and angle, his brother's face was facing his and similarly hovering in mid-air. Tim likewise had a nasty head bump. The rattling of chains and bright light aroused him from his forced slumber.
"Ho-ho-ho! Merry Christmas!" a booming voice called from above before starting down some stairs.
The twins stared incredulously as the stranger wearing a fake beard and Santa Claus hat clanged a Christmas bell, making his way to them. As their eyes focused, they realized that the only other apparel he had on was a red leather jockstrap. A slight belly, cultivated from one too many beers every night, hung slightly over the strap. "Who the hell are you?" they gasped.
"Think of me as one of Santa's helpers."
"Where are we?" Tim groaned.
"You're at the Sweeney farm, punk. Same place where you stole my goddamned Christmas tree."
Rick stared past the eyes and fake beard. "You're Mr. Sweeney!" he blurted.
"And you're Rick and Tim, the Veller boys," he said, removing the hat and beard. "I've always known about you two."
"What's the meaning of this?" cried Tim.
Matt turned to him. "I suppose I've always had a flair for the theatrical. That should be obvious from my Christmas exhibit." He walked over to his work table and pulled out a notebook. "Now, lessee. I've made a list, checked it twice. Seems you boys have been very naughty."
"You're no Santa Claus! You've ripped off all of Pottersville with your cheesy exhibit for years!" Tim yelled, seething with disgust. "Stupid disciples going around on a ferris wheel!"
Matt marched up to the boy and roughly grabbed his flaccid cock. "Nice cock, very impressive," he said, moving between the boys so they could better see him. "I'm guessing you've both got close to nine inches. Nice, but that sure can't beat -- twelve."
He undid the snap on his jockstrap, causing his sex organ to pop out of its confines. His young captives stared in horror, face-to-face with the longest, ugliest, coarsest fuck weapon they'd ever witnessed. It throbbed angrily, dark scraggly hairs all around it, the tip drooling with lascivious lust. This wasn't the type of cock nature would produce to make sweet, gentle love. No, this was a weapon created to plunge inside an orifice, batter the hell out of it and cause serious damage to its victim from the inside out. If somehow a vagina survived the onslaught intact enough to house and nurture a fetus, so be it, but for this cock, creating offspring was merely a potential by-product of violent sex.
Rick gulped. "What are you going to do with us?"
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head Soon gave them to know they had everything to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, grabbing Rick's ass. Yeah! Fuck up the young jerk!
As their host pulled Rick's legs wide, exposing the boy's fuck hole, Matt gazed at it only momentarily in silent appreciation. It was a beautiful hole, well worth messing up. He mounted the lad, then put Rick's neck into a strangle-hold, his face right next to the boy's so the brother could see the two of them together. When the mammoth, apple-shaped cockhead pressed hard into the anal opening, it pushed, pried, and forced the soft, warm entrance to break open.
Rick's attempts to keep his fuck passage clamped together were in vain. "Fight me, bitch," Matt half- laughed, half-seethed. "It'll only make it harder for ya!" Rick's eyes and mouth were astonished and wide open, his face pressed against his brother's. Tim stared helplessly at him, able to comfort only with his presence. When the monstrous sex organ broke through the sphincter, Rick screamed, his involuntary tears streaming down both twins' faces.
"Hell, yeah!" Matt grinned in frenzied rapture. "Now, take my cock, fagboy. One inch for each of the twelve days of Christmas!"
The determined cobra dug deeply into Rick's bowels, and he wailed like a cat, his face far stranger now than the one he was able to elicit earlier from his brother. His entrails had no choice but to adjust to the unwelcome invader. When Rick's sphincter finally felt Matt's scraggly bush crunch up into it, he thought he was going to throw up.
Matt started the ride. "Here's a holiday message for you assholes -- 'tis better to give than receive!" Matt laughed. Rick became a bucking broncho, meant to be tamed. In, out, left and right, up and down the angry fuck weapon pulverized Rick's guts, bruising them, making them bleed.
The forward thrusts caused the twins' heads to clank together. Rather than risk being knocked unconscious again, they managed to lock their heads between each other's elbows and hold them in place. As Matt gained momentum, their bodies started to move together like a human swing. Eventually, Rick's tender fuck hole was opened so wide that Matt could stand back, push Rick's body away from his and watch both twins sail through the air, only to come back again; just as Rick's hole would close up, it would impale itself yet again on Matt's battering ram. The only lube was the trickling of blood from deep within Rick's raw innards.
The young man felt totally humiliated, no longer a "stud". Not only was this happening to him with his brother present, but to make matters worse, his body was involuntarily reacting -- Matt's pounding at Rick's prostate had inspired a raging hard-on. A young cock has a mind of its own, and through his hot tears Rick was mad at his dick -- but even angrier at his brother when he realized that Tim had developed a boner, too. What gives? Was Tim somehow getting off on his brother's pain?!
By the time Matt got to the drummers drumming and lords a'leaping, all three men were sweating and drooling. Long ropes of baby glob shot out of Matt's cock. Dammit, Rick realized, Tim had cum, too. Without even touching himself. Bastard!
With a loud suctioning noise, accompanied by a long, unearthly fart from Rick, Matt's cock slowly retracted from where it had deposited its reproductive juices. Rick could barely look at his bro, he was so mad and ashamed. Betrayed by a brother. He bit his lip. Words couldn't express his hurt, pain, or frustration.
"What're you going to do with us now?" he finally asked dejectedly.
Matt wiped the remainder of his seeping dick jizz into Rick's balls, using them as toilet paper. "Oh, that part's easy," Matt stated nonchalantly. "I'm going to kill you."
Tim and Rick gasped. "Kill us?!"
Matt shrugged his shoulders. "You punks killed my tree, years before I was ready to take an axe to it. You worked together, did it as a team. I believe in an eye for an eye. Yes, I'm going to destroy your bodies. Annihilate your brains. Send you to hell where you belong."
Tim looked at his brother. "Rick -- DO something!"
Rick shook his chains, perspiration starting to dampen the thick hairs in his exposed armpits. "What the hell can I do all strung up like this?!"
Matt grabbed Tim's testicles, then looked back at the brother. "Rick, it's game time. I'm thinking of an orchestral piece. Ballet companies perform it every Christmas. To spare yourself what I'm going to do to your brother, what is it?"
"Umm, the Nutcracker?"
"Right!"
"Goddamn it, bro!" Tim yelled. "Why the fuck did you answer him?"
Sharp fingernails pierced Tim's soft but generous cum sacks, puncturing the skin, squeezing the nuts. His eyes crossed from the pain and he screamed in a falsetto voice that would've made the Mormon Tabernacle Choir proud. Matt's nails cut right through the sack, pulverizing his balls. Raising his leg up, Matt then kicked Tim so hard in the balls his nuts flattened. "AWGGHH!"
There was a moment of silence as Matt stood back and smiled innocently at the pair. Revenge is sweet.
As Matt sipped on some egg nog, Tim looked accusingly at his brother, barely able to find the words. "Dammit, bro, this is all your fault. You wanted to steal the tree, and if you'd just fucking paid attention to me up in our room, we might've escaped!"
Matt laughed. "Tell you what, maybe I'll just kill one of you. Let's continue with our Christmas game, boys. The one of you with the least correct answers, I'm going to slice to hell with my chainsaw. Whoever wins merely gets painted some real pretty Christmas colors." He walked over to Rick. "OK, Tim, what was all the little kid with the whistley voice wanted for Christmas?"
"Don't answer him, bro!" Rick cried.
"His two front teeth?"
"FUCK!" Rick cried.
"Right!" Matt said victoriously, grabbing Rick by the hair and smashing his fist into the boy's mouth so hard his body flew high in the air. Rick screamed as he felt his teeth break away from the gums. He spit out one and accidentally swallowed the other. As the chains eventually swung him back to his original position, he was sure his entire back had been wrenched during the process.
Matt next picked up a propane torch. "Rick, your turn. While Jack Frost nips at your nose, what do you love to find roasting over an open fire?"
Rick licked at his bleeding mouth, empty holes where his front teeth used to be, then looked at his brother with growing anger and frustration. "Chestnuts!"
"DAMMIT!" Tim shouted.
Matt fired up the torch. "Right you are!"
Sweat poured from every one of the lad's pores as Matt brought the flame close to Tim's scrotum. Tim wrenched his body, writhing in his chains and sobbing "NOOOOOOO!" Matt had anticipated such an outburst, however, and was able to keep up with Tim's body movements.
The hairs on Tim's balls instantly crackled with sparks, burning away like a crinkling Christmas tree during a bonfire. Rick could smell his brother's burning flesh, and as Tim's nuts turned lobster red, the orbs inside them danced in a futile attempt to escape the flame. The scrotum grew in size, sizzling as it got bigger, looking like an angry, reddish fruit. Soon it was splitting straight down the middle. The forest of blond pubic hair above the cock was crinkling up in flames and smoke, and before long, the entire cock was flaming, changing in color, somewhat red, almost translucent as it swelled. The cock started to char from the heat. Finally, the pressure from within caused Tim's sex organ to literally explode -- semen, blood, and charred penile tissue falling away from Tim's pelvis like fireworks. Only a small, black nub of a cock, still sizzling and sparking from the heat, remained at his pelvis.
Matt looked back at Rick triumphantly. "Guess we can call him Tiny Tim now!" Tim's sickly eyes stared at nothing, his mouth drooling. Carefully, Matt cauterized the stub with flame. He didn't want Tim to die from blood loss -- at least not yet.
Matt patted Rick on the shoulder. "Well, you got two points, compared to your brother's one. So, you're our Christmas winner. What would you like in your stocking, then, the chainsaw or the paint? Your choice."
Rick shuddered. "The paint, of course."
"Fair enough." Matt adjusted the chains, maneuvering Rick's body to become more vertical. Soon it was in an upright position, his shackled arms still high in the air and his armpits exposed.
Matt pulled over a couple of heavy paint buckets, opened one and started mixing the contents. Grabbing a heavy brush, he started slathering heavy brown paint all over Rick's body from the neck down, humming "Oh Tannenbaum" as he worked. When he'd finished giving Rick's trunk a once-over, he opened the second bucket, containing a green paint, and started applying it. Every crack, every corner, every hidden crevice of Rick's physique got the benefit. Matt had to hand it to himself; Rick was looking beautiful.
Tim had been alternately watching this strange process and monitoring the waves of pain from his black cock stub. What was the purpose of these paint colors, he wondered, both hues having so little in common with a human being? He tried to put himself inside Matt's twisted mind. "Oh, no," he thought.
Sure enough, Matt soon left the basement and after several trips had returned with several armloads of evergreen branches. "While you boys were out," he said cheerfully, "I took that tree you stole from me and cut it up. Now we're going to make a new one," he snickered.
He eyed Rick. "Sorry, kid, guess I didn't mention what all went with your paint job." Taking a power drill, Matt aimed it directly into Rick's spine, expertly cutting through the entire bone and effectively paralyzing him. "YEOOOWWWWW!!!" Rick screamed, bawling his eyes out like a week-old baby.
With Rick no longer capable of voluntary movement, Matt was free to transfer Rick's shackled arms to a pole. Using a saw, Matt then carved through Rick's ankles, chopping off both feet. Then he guided Rick's leg stumps into a heavy pot, which was promptly filled to the rim with dirt.
Matt had whittled each tree branch to a very sharp point. "Let's see, where shall we start?" he mused. "Decisions, decisions." Matt opted for the right thigh muscle, using the same drill as before to create deep tunnels in Rick's hamstrings. Saliva dribbled freely from Rick's mouth, his eyes dilated. He was obviously in shock.
Matt worked quickly. Each time he pulled the drill out of Rick's leg muscle, there was a heavy flow of blood, but Matt made sure to stop up the leakage with a tree branch. Taking a smaller twig with only a few leaves at the end, he grabbed Rick's brown- painted cock, still perfectly intact. It took only a few seconds to push the thin branch all the way up Rick's urethra and into the lower intestine.
Then Matt took a larger branch, rough with bark, and slammed it up Rick's ass, instantly tearing further apart the boy's tender anal lining, already horribly bruised from its earlier fuck. "The angles are wrong, but we'll fix that with the other branches," Matt explained.
Now it was time to aim the power drill directly into the boy's navel. With no abdominal fat to speak of, only muscles separated Rick's intestines from the outside air, and Rick's flat belly was no match for such a powerful drill. The bit easily chewed through Rick's intestines, and after Matt yanked the tool out, a red fountain of visceral material shot out of Rick's belly button. As always, Matt plugged up the bleeding with another tree branch. Rick made similar holes throughout the boy's torso.
Now Matt grabbed a ladder and stood on it so he could properly tend to Rick's face and head. "Such a perfect face," Matt said. "Not a flaw, not a line or wrinkle. Who wouldn't want to look into those beautiful eyes and kiss that button nose?" Lovingly, he surrounded the cute nose with his mouth, his tongue licking just inside the nostrils. He could feel Rick, barely conscious, somehow manage a startled, sharp intake of breath. This turned Matt on, inspiring him to put his hands on either side of Rick's warm head, whereby his teeth slowly came down on the nose, gathering pressure until they actually cut through the cartilage. A godawful moan swelled up from Rick's throat as blood came to gush down his mouth and neck. This latest ordeal proved too much for Rick's body. It spasmed uncontrollably and he slipped forever into unconsciousness.
Matt pulled his mouth away, revealing a fresh, ugly red hole in the middle of Rick's face. Rick's mouth was wide open, frozen with pain, his perfect proboscis completely removed. Matt looked back at Tim triumphantly, his teeth red and dripping with Rick's life force as he crunched up the nose material and swallowed it. "Aren't you glad you didn't get the paint?" he grinned.
Next, Matt chewed through both ears. Tim assumed Rick wasn't feeling anything anymore, but when their host violently slammed a sharp fork into Rick's left eyeball, the body did some faint tremblings. Twisting the fork clockwise, Matt broke the eye away from its connecting cords and pried it out of the skull, making a loud pop! sound.
Moving over to Rick's right eye, Matt repeated the process. The second eyeball shot out of Rick's head with such force it spun through the air and ricocheted off the far wall. Blood was bubbling out of both sockets now, red ooze dripping down the body and mixing with the green and brown paint. "Such beautiful Christmas colors!" Matt observed. Gradually, all of the scalp, muscle and skin were pulled down past the jawbone, creating a loose apron around Rick's neck which Matt snipped away quite nicely.
Tim numbly stared at his brother's new look. The body's sleek physique was camouflaged with branches but generally intact, the muscular arms still raised high to the ceiling, armpit hairs all gummy with sticky green paint. Blood had mixed with almost all of the oily pigment. Who knew what the skin tone was like underneath that mess of blood, paint, and branches? Unfortunately, as far as Rick's face was concerned, the handsome features had been devastatingly reduced to a skull with a huge grin, staring forward aimlessly and no doubt upset over the loss of its two front teeth. The skull seemed to be looking through Tim and past him, a silent emptiness beyond the eerie grin and vacant eye sockets.
Matt continued drilling into the corpse, replacing each fresh hole with a new branch. Branches were thrust deep inside the eye sockets and mouth, as well as the nose and ear holes. When all the branches were embedded inside Rick, Matt lovingly pruned him, shaping the plant into a beautiful display.
As Matt put away his saw, he smiled at the remaining brother. "Pretty nifty, huh?"
Matt knew that once rigor mortis set in, he would carry the tree out to the yard, where it would quickly freeze into place. Only then would he hang ornaments, lights and tinsel, making the display quite the festive eye-catcher.
Tim had sorrowfully watched the entire ordeal. He knew he was a goner. He just wanted it all to end, but he had to know something first. He looked up sullenly at his tormentor. "Why would you do this, considering all the work you put into your Christmas display? Why would you make such an effort if you didn't feel the Christmas spirit?"
Matt laughed. "You think I care about Christmas? Kid, I don't give a damn about it. I'm a businessman, just like the rest of the world. An opportunist."
"What do you mean?"
"I do that display for the money, punk. I make tons of dough off that fucker! Pottersville and all the neighboring towns come to see it. Free enterprise! What do you think makes Christmas happen, asshole? Good will? Ha! Big business is what Christmas is all about. Wall Street keeps it alive. It's all about money and greed."
"But, don't you believe in its origins? Or at least the Golden Rule? You know, treat others as you would be treated?"
"Oh, that sounds really good coming from a hypocrite who just stole my Christmas tree," Matt replied sarcastically. "Listen, Tiny, there's nothing logical about Christmas."
Tim looked at him blankly. "Nothing?"
"Of course not! It's Christian mythology. Tell me, why is his birthday on December 25, for Christ's sake? Did that first year only last for a week, until January 1st, and what year was it, the year zero or the year one? Why isn't his birthday on January 1st? ! The date is totally arbitrary!"
"I guess I hadn't thought about it," Tim said.
"Of course you hadn't; you're one of many brainless sheep! Here's one for ya -- where's the logic behind 'God so loved the world he gave his only son'? He created an entire universe in merely a week; why couldn't he just whip up another 'son'? He's God, after all!" Tim had no ready answer. "And what can you say about a philosophy so hung up about sex that they have to make the kid's very mother a virgin?!"
"I suppose it is rather neurotic," Tim conceded.
"Of course it is. Listen, peabrain, the same thing that happened to Jesus happened to JFK and Martin Luther King. When we kill someone, they become bigger than life. Hey, maybe now your brother will become a saint!"
'Saint Rick'. It did have a nice ring to it, Tim decided.
Matt strode over to his chainsaw. "Can anybody in their right mind honestly swallow all the shit that comes with your religion? Adam and Eve? No such thing as evolution? A god who talks to us with a deep bass voice? It's all so primitive, so silly. C'mon, pal, what's your take on it? Can anybody tell me what Christmas is really all about?"
Tim had an epiphany. "Yes! I can!"
Matt cocked his head; he'd indulge the little fucker during his last minutes on earth. For this brief moment in time, Matt was all ears.
Tim took a deep breath. "You're right, it's all a sham, as make-believe as Santa's elves!" He looked Matt straight in the eye. "But we buy into it, anyway, or at least go through the motions! We have to! Cuz otherwise, every last one of us would wind up total psychos like you!"
Matt was stopped dead in his tracks. He felt as though he'd been hit by a ton of bricks. His mouth opened wide. "Holy shit, you're right!" he laughed. He had to sit down on his chainsaw, he was so taken aback. He was literally dumbfounded. "Hot damn! Of course! Finally -- a logical reason for Christmas! Someone said something that actually makes sense!"
Tim was impressed with himself that his words worked so well. "Uh, does this mean you're going to
let me live -- even though you burned off my dick?" He briefly imagined life without his cock. Not great, he figured, but maybe he could find a dick donor.
Matt considered the situation. He knew that what the lad had told him was downright profound, as important a speech as the one Linus gave Charlie Brown about the Magi. If Matt was ever to reclaim his soul, it was time for Scrooge to help Tiny Tim. If there was an ounce of humanity left in Matt, now was the moment to fly down Mount Crumpet and return all the presents to Whoville.
Matt stood, shot Tim a look and fired up his saw. "Fat chance, punk."
----------------------------------------
Mr. and Mrs. Veller hoped to run into their boys at Matt Sweeney's Christmas Eve spectacle. They hadn't heard from their sons in a couple days, but everybody who was anybody was expected to attend. After all, Matt had put up signs all over town promising an event "immensely theatrical," something nobody would soon forget. What would it be? A visit from Santa? Fireworks? Maybe, with luck, a mock crucifixion?
As a teaser, one of Matt's new displays sported some outrageous humor which left the crowd highly amused. Behind a sleigh, complete with Santa and all eight reindeer, he'd actually had the gall to create a very realistic pile of carnage. Large chunks of bloody red meat had been strewn across the white snow, along with a frilly red dress and a gray wig. The sign said:
"Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer"
Everyone laughed heartily over that one, especially Mr. and Mrs. Veller.
Shortly before midnight, unbeknownst to the crowd, Matt got inside his van, drove up into the mountains, and watched the festivities from a cliff directly over his farm. He knew the jig was up. Eventually, the forensic police would catch up with him, he assumed, if not for what he did to Tim and Rick, then most certainly for what happened to the boys back at the fraternity. Matt figured he had until the end of Christmas break; that's when the returning students would discover the bodies.
It was time to go out in a big way.
At precisely midnight, Matt pressed a remote control button. In rapid succession, explosions blew up his home, his barn, all his Christmas displays, the entire farm and virtually everybody on it. "FUCKKKKK!!" they all screamed as each new explosion sent broken body parts soaring miles into the air. It was total chaos.
Far above the spectacle, Matt shot everyone the finger and masturbated, his load spraying all over the carnage. He couldn't help but chuckle at his success; he'd virtually taken out an entire town.
Matt stuffed his cock back into his pants and returned to his van. He was still giggling as he turned the ignition key and took a final look at the raging inferno. By dawn, he'd be in Canada.
His chuckle quickly rose to a hearty, sinister laugh, and his belly started to shake, much like a bowlful of jelly.
And so, he exclaimed, as he drove out of sight, "Merry Christmas to all! And to all, a good night."
