I helped Sam fulfill a fantasy he had lived with for a lifetime. I showed him how to kill a man. And to eat him.
I met Sam on a gore website. Don’t recall how we connected because I seldom interchange with anybody cause I’m not interested in verbal sex, and Sam was always shy, afraid of exposure. But somehow we began to exchange short notes which eventually became longer and more detailed.
I’m young, 25, and extremely good looking. Sam is old, 80, and looks it. But we “conversed”. I don’t want to have anything to do with guys over 35, but Sam intrigued me, so I kept the conversation going. Sam was fascinated with my online stories of blood and gore and cannibalism, so he continued our interchange.
Sam was born in Biloxi, growing up and coming of age in the Deep South. His fantasies began early, when he was five and lusted after his friend when they swam naked in the creek. Wanted to bite into George’s smooth skin. He loved western comic books, with red Indians in loin cloths and shirtless white cowboys. A story of a cowboy stripped naked and tarred and feathered. Or “The Last of the Mohicans” where a muscular Indian gets a knife between his ribs. The urges grew greater as he grew older, especially in the football locker room in high school. Often had to hide his erection as he mingled and showered with his naked teammates. But he didn’t know why he felt this way. You see, in Sam’s teen years, the 1950’s, there was little exposure to homosexuality and virtually no discussion. Often, Sam drove to a magazine store in a nearby town where he wouldn’t be recognized to buy copies of “The Young Physique” and “Physique Pictorial”, which he then had to hide in his bedroom so his mom didn’t find them. He didn’t know what “gay” was but knew these photos made him hard and made him cum. It wasn’t until he had graduated from LSU that he discovered gay bars and gay men.
You see, back in those days there was no internet, no Google, no social media. If you wondered about these strange sexual urges, there was no place to find out about them. Maybe you could figure it out, maybe not. But Sam figured it out and decided he could never be happy or fulfilled in Mississippi, and packed up and moved to Los Angeles.
It was his Heaven. Within a year, he had developed a great gym body and was a regular in the gay bars and bath houses, eventually finding the ones that catered to rough sex. It was kind of a vanilla rough sex, no severe beatings or disfigurement, but he was content. Sort of. At night, alone, he fantasized fucking up young men, with knives and sticks and fists. He lived a good gay BDSM life. In his fifties, Sam pulled back, not satisfied that he could no longer attract young men with his body alone. Now it often took dinners, drugs and cash to bring these guys home. So he dropped out. Gave up the bars and the cruising.
But the internet had come along in the meantime, and Sam found his jack off sites. The ones that specialized in gore, and killing, and death. He especially loved the videos of cartel deaths in Central and South America. Violent killings of men wearing few clothes in the hot weather. Men who were usually smooth and not hairy. Cruel killings. Violent killings. Lots of blood and suffering. His jack off sites.
We met on CDG. He was always complimenting and commenting on my Caleb stories. Sent me a PM commenting on some particular story and we developed a relationship. Not much at first, then more intimate and personal stuff. Mostly him unburdening himself, relating his sexual frustrations and his loneliness. He said he wished he had known someone like me when he was young. Someone to really talk through these fantasies. And so, after two years of messaging, I told him I, too, lived in L.A. and maybe we could meet for drinks. He was ecstatic.
We met at a gay coffee shop on Hollywood Boulevard. It was a hot day, so I wore shorts, combat boots, and a leather muscle vest. He was fully dressed in old man clothes. We talked for a couple hours, about our lives, the websites, my stories. And our fantasies. Finally, I said, “You’ve been staring at my chest all day. Would you like to touch it?” It flustered him but he said, “Yes.” So he reached over, touched my nipple, and then ran his hand over my pec. “Thanks. It’s been years.” “Why don’t you come by my place in the Valley for drinks this Saturday?” “That sounds great.”
And so, Old Sam drove out that weekend. We chatted over drinks in the living room as he assured me he was not there for anything but conversation. I said I agreed. He knew I didn’t get off on anyone near his age. Finally I said, “Bring your drink and come with me.”
You may be bored with all this about Sam’s life. But it was the prelude to the fulfillment of his dreams.
We went down the hall and through a heavy door. It was my playroom. Sam gasped when he walked in. There, hanging from the rafter, was a young man, a surfer type with long blonde hair.
“Oh, my God, he’s gorgeous!”
“I thought you’d like him. We’ll have some fun with him.”
Sam ran his hands over the boy’s body. “Oh Jesus! So smooth and warm and sexy. He looks a bit drugged. Is he?”
“A little. So he won’t make too much noise.”
“We’re going to play with him? Rough him up? Is he a friend or a hustler?”
“Neither. I just saw him on the street this morning and thought he’d appeal to you.”
“He sure does.” Sam tweaked his tits and cupped his balls. “Nice. What does he like?”
“Dunno. His preferences don’t count. It’s whatever WE want.”
“Wait a minute. You don’t mean……”
“Yes. I mean we will treat him like the men in my stories. Whatever we want.”
“No! We can’t really fuck him up.”
“Why not. He’s here. He’s ours. And we both dream about doing guys like him.”
“But…….”
“No, Sam. This dude is going to die. Tonight. And we’re going to kill him. It’s what we both want.”
“Oh, Jeez. You’re not serious. I mean, we can’t. I can’t. He’s a real guy, not some fantasy guy in a story.”
“No, he’s our sex toy, our fantasy come true.”
“You’ve done this before?”
“How do you think I got the material for my stories? Right here. In this room.”
“I don’t believe you. We can’t really kill him.”
I walked over to the dude and sliced off his ear. “Yes we can. Yes we will. You can help or just watch or go home, but it’s gonna happen.” Sam sat down and said nothing. Gulped the rest of his drink. Stared at the naked man hanging by his wrists. Saying nothing. I let him be. Let him think about it all. This might be the most important moment in his entire life.
After ten minutes, Sam stood and walked over to the guy. Ran his hands over the body. Tweaked his tit again and then leaned down and bit it. The guy’s shoulder was covered with blood from his severed ear. Sam licked it. The blood on the shoulder. Just a dab. Then a longer lick. And a long slurp with his lips. He turned to me. “I do like it.” He stepped back and slapped the boy’s face. Then again. Sam’s age had robbed him of his strength, so the slaps would never hurt. But they released something in Sam. His restraint. The slaps were the culmination of a lifetime of fantasy. He had moved to reality. And he liked it. So he slapped the face over and over. Finally, he punched his nose. I could hear it break and then bleed heavily. Next a punch to the gut. The guy expelled air from his lungs and a stream of air, spit and blood hit Sam in the face.
“O.K. I want his cock.” “Wait a minute while I fix it for you.” I got a syringe and filled it from a bottle I kept on a shelf. “Liquid Viagra. Shoot it into the base of his cock….like this….and he’ll get hard in a minute. See?” A good eight inches, standing straight out. “Have at it.” Sam knelt, took the hard cock in his mouth, and began to chew. He continued to chew as blood from the nose dripped onto his head. Chew. Chew. Chew. Until the cock was raw and ripped and bloody. And still he chewed. I sat and watched. He chewed passionately, voraciously, viciously. As if he were making up for a lifetime of fantasy and frustration.
He must have chewed for fifteen minutes. When he pulled off, the dick was a mass of mush. He hadn’t ripped open the big vein, so it wasn’t bleeding heavily, but he had thoroughly ripped the skin and soft tissue. Eaten a good bit of it, too. He leaned back on his heels and stared at it. “Good. About time.”
I let Sam do anything he wanted. Mostly, he liked to bite and chew. A cannibal at heart. But the devil came out, too. He used a small hammer to break all the front teeth. And shoved a knife into pecs and thighs and calves. The muscley parts. But mostly, Sam sat in the chair and watched as I did my part. Finally, just after the guy died, he asked me to gut him. I did. His guts slid out and down to the floor. Sam picked up a glob and shoved it into his mouth and chewed. There was shit mixed in, but Sam gobbled that up, too. Yeah. A total cannibal. “If it’s part of a man, it’s edible. It’s all good. Tastes good. All of him”
Sam stayed the night. In the guest room. And drove home the next day, wearing some of my clean clothes. I asked if he’d like to return some day. “If you’ll have me.”
He came back the next month, and several more times. Mostly, he sat and watched me as I tortured the young men. He sat fully clothed, with his hand on his crotch. “I can’t get it up as easily these days”, he explained. “But I can cum soft. It’s still a pleasure.” Sam enjoyed cutting pieces of flesh from the guys, and eating it warm and raw. Liked blood, too. I’d drain a pint at the beginning of each session and he’d sip as he watched. He said he liked watching me, naked, carve up the victim. Said he’d recently gone back and re-read all my CDG stories. Loved all the ways men died. The torture. The pain. I recreated these for him. He loved how I broke bones. Dislocated joints. Hung them in contorted and painful positions. Watching the pain inflicted was as stimulating as the cutting. But, most of all, he got off on the cannibalism. Eating the boys while they were still alive and could watch in terror as he ate their flesh.
“I think my favorite story may be “Snuffing Fags”, he told me. “A gorgeous hunk, tortured for a month, and then snuffed. So hot! But it’s hard to pick a favorite. You are so imaginative and find so many different ways to kill. I can’t get enough of your stories. Do you ever imagine yourself as a victim of yourself?” “Sometimes. In real life, I don’t like pain, but in my mind I can imagine being my own victim. It’s something I can get off on. But I prefer to be the killer. I can kill again and again. If I were the victim, it’d be over in one night.” “Stay alive, Caleb. And write more stories.”
Each time Sam came to visit, the ending was the same. Gutting the boy. He never ate on the day of the killing, so he would be hungry. He had a voracious appetite for a young boy’s entrails. Everything, from the stomach to the shithole. Could never get enough. I learned to offer him eighteen-year-olds, because he liked them young. More fun to cut up, he said, and besides they tasted better than older dudes my age.
Sam and I got together once a month, on average. He still wore clothes the whole time but now brought a change of clothes. We’d done seven boys together and he still got off on the ritual. He’d always start by tormenting the guy and then cutting off small bits of flesh. He loved the look of horror on their faces as they watched him eating their flesh. Then the sheer terror as they saw what was happening to them. I had many mirrors positioned so the victim could watch himself—and us—as his body was torn apart. He also liked to watch me work on the boys. Liked to see me wearing nothing but combat boots. My naked body, glistening with sweat, becoming splattered with blood as the session went on. Said he had never known anyone as beautiful and sexy as me, and me torturing a boy was the height of sensuality. Which made me feel good because I have a huge streak of narcissism and love to exhibit my beauty. That’s why I have all the mirrors. So I can see myself as well as my victim. I love me. And so did Sam.
He came by again last week. I had a beauty for him. Exceptionally well-built. And big. About six-four and two hundred twenty-five pounds. Still, only eighteen. High school football player. “Lots of meat for you tonight, Sam.” We laughed. We stood in front of the kid, caressing and pinching, as he struggled in his chains. He had gorgeous nips. Round and pointed like Hershey Kisses, each topped with a little button that begged to be bitten off. Sam leaned in and bit the button off. He screamed and lurched. Then I bit into the other one. Hmmmmm. So good. The boy was beautiful. He struggled mightily but maybe for the first time in his life, his massive strength failed him. Tears of rage filled his eyes. Tears of fear ran down his cheeks. Poor boy.
As I fingered the boy’s ass, Sam went to the kitchen and brought back two beers. As usual, we sat in the chairs and observed the newest victim. Discussed what we might do this time. He was so big, so spectacular. “This will be a special night,” said Sam. “Yeah,” I said. “Let’s make it memorable.”
____________________________________________________________
I felt light-headed. My wrists hurt. Why? Christ! They were chained to a beam. What the fuck!! I was naked, spread eagled, immobile. Facing me, about six feet away, was the kid, in the same position. Each of us had fish hooks through our nipples and attached to each other by a cord, pulling them taut. Fuck! My mind was clearing. I was chained. But why? How? The kid said, “Your friend did it. I guess he drugged your beer, because you just keeled over in your chair. He dragged you over and hung you up like me. Didn’t seem easy for him. He’s so old. What’s going to happen to us?”
I didn’t answer. But I knew the answer.
Eventually, Sam came into the room. “Sorry, Caleb, but you shouldn’t be surprised. This is right out of your stories. It should have been so obvious.” “Motherfucker!” I shouted, but I knew my fate was sealed. No amount of protesting would change a thing. Sam was going to kill me…us. And it would be painful. Nothing I could do to stop it.
“Caleb, you fulfilled my fantasies. Everything that built up over the years. You erased the frustrations. You gave me peace and pleasure. From the moment I touched your chest in the coffee house, I knew. I just knew it would happen. I didn’t know how, but I knew. This boy over here, I’m calling him Cody. Remember Cody. From “Snuffing Fags”? He will suffer as Cody did. Oh, not in the exact same way. I’m too old to copy everything Travis did to him. But a lot of it. And you’ll watch. You’ll watch until he’s dead.” Hearing that, the boy screamed and struggled in his chains, until Sam ignited a fire starter stick and held the flame to his mouth. His screams settle into a fearful whimper. “After he dies, we’ll play, you and me. But meantime, just relax and watch for one last time.”
Sam released the kid’s wrists. He momentarily wavered on his spread eagled feet, and then fell backwards, landing on his back. The tit chains pulled tight. His weight pulled the hooks from mine, ripping my nips, splitting them, apart and open. He landed hard as blood began to seep from my nipples and run onto my belly. Sam leaned in and sucked my blood. “I’ve wanted your blood for months, Caleb. Now I’ve had a little taste. A foretaste of what’s to come.”
Sam turned to the boy, still sprawled awkwardly on his back, with his ankles chained off to the sides. He picked up a baseball bat and brought it down hard on both ankles and both wrists. Breaking them all. Sam struggled to roll the screaming boy off to the side, where he chained one ankle to a wall cleat. Then gave him a shot of something. “Morphine. I brought it to keep him calm for a while."
"But don’t worry, Caleb. I wouldn’t think of using it on you.” A chill ran through me.
“He won’t be fighting back, Caleb. I can do what I want whenever I want. You can hang here to watch. I’ll bring you food. He won’t need any. I’ll have enough teen flesh to satisfy my hunger. And maybe some older flesh, too. You’re going to live til he dies, but you’ll also be a snack tray for me. I'll be nibbling on you.”
Sam leaned down and began to chew on my left tit. Kept chewing and chewing. I screamed it hurt so much. I totally lost my macho composure. I screamed and cried in pain. When he stopped, I looked down. My tit was gone. There was only a flat bloody wound on my pec. And I was whimpering like a fairy. This was the beginning. The beginning of the end. My end. An agonizing end. Hideous pain that would last for weeks.
It could have been one of my best stories.
I met Sam on a gore website. Don’t recall how we connected because I seldom interchange with anybody cause I’m not interested in verbal sex, and Sam was always shy, afraid of exposure. But somehow we began to exchange short notes which eventually became longer and more detailed.
I’m young, 25, and extremely good looking. Sam is old, 80, and looks it. But we “conversed”. I don’t want to have anything to do with guys over 35, but Sam intrigued me, so I kept the conversation going. Sam was fascinated with my online stories of blood and gore and cannibalism, so he continued our interchange.
Sam was born in Biloxi, growing up and coming of age in the Deep South. His fantasies began early, when he was five and lusted after his friend when they swam naked in the creek. Wanted to bite into George’s smooth skin. He loved western comic books, with red Indians in loin cloths and shirtless white cowboys. A story of a cowboy stripped naked and tarred and feathered. Or “The Last of the Mohicans” where a muscular Indian gets a knife between his ribs. The urges grew greater as he grew older, especially in the football locker room in high school. Often had to hide his erection as he mingled and showered with his naked teammates. But he didn’t know why he felt this way. You see, in Sam’s teen years, the 1950’s, there was little exposure to homosexuality and virtually no discussion. Often, Sam drove to a magazine store in a nearby town where he wouldn’t be recognized to buy copies of “The Young Physique” and “Physique Pictorial”, which he then had to hide in his bedroom so his mom didn’t find them. He didn’t know what “gay” was but knew these photos made him hard and made him cum. It wasn’t until he had graduated from LSU that he discovered gay bars and gay men.
You see, back in those days there was no internet, no Google, no social media. If you wondered about these strange sexual urges, there was no place to find out about them. Maybe you could figure it out, maybe not. But Sam figured it out and decided he could never be happy or fulfilled in Mississippi, and packed up and moved to Los Angeles.
It was his Heaven. Within a year, he had developed a great gym body and was a regular in the gay bars and bath houses, eventually finding the ones that catered to rough sex. It was kind of a vanilla rough sex, no severe beatings or disfigurement, but he was content. Sort of. At night, alone, he fantasized fucking up young men, with knives and sticks and fists. He lived a good gay BDSM life. In his fifties, Sam pulled back, not satisfied that he could no longer attract young men with his body alone. Now it often took dinners, drugs and cash to bring these guys home. So he dropped out. Gave up the bars and the cruising.
But the internet had come along in the meantime, and Sam found his jack off sites. The ones that specialized in gore, and killing, and death. He especially loved the videos of cartel deaths in Central and South America. Violent killings of men wearing few clothes in the hot weather. Men who were usually smooth and not hairy. Cruel killings. Violent killings. Lots of blood and suffering. His jack off sites.
We met on CDG. He was always complimenting and commenting on my Caleb stories. Sent me a PM commenting on some particular story and we developed a relationship. Not much at first, then more intimate and personal stuff. Mostly him unburdening himself, relating his sexual frustrations and his loneliness. He said he wished he had known someone like me when he was young. Someone to really talk through these fantasies. And so, after two years of messaging, I told him I, too, lived in L.A. and maybe we could meet for drinks. He was ecstatic.
We met at a gay coffee shop on Hollywood Boulevard. It was a hot day, so I wore shorts, combat boots, and a leather muscle vest. He was fully dressed in old man clothes. We talked for a couple hours, about our lives, the websites, my stories. And our fantasies. Finally, I said, “You’ve been staring at my chest all day. Would you like to touch it?” It flustered him but he said, “Yes.” So he reached over, touched my nipple, and then ran his hand over my pec. “Thanks. It’s been years.” “Why don’t you come by my place in the Valley for drinks this Saturday?” “That sounds great.”
And so, Old Sam drove out that weekend. We chatted over drinks in the living room as he assured me he was not there for anything but conversation. I said I agreed. He knew I didn’t get off on anyone near his age. Finally I said, “Bring your drink and come with me.”
You may be bored with all this about Sam’s life. But it was the prelude to the fulfillment of his dreams.
We went down the hall and through a heavy door. It was my playroom. Sam gasped when he walked in. There, hanging from the rafter, was a young man, a surfer type with long blonde hair.
“Oh, my God, he’s gorgeous!”
“I thought you’d like him. We’ll have some fun with him.”
Sam ran his hands over the boy’s body. “Oh Jesus! So smooth and warm and sexy. He looks a bit drugged. Is he?”
“A little. So he won’t make too much noise.”
“We’re going to play with him? Rough him up? Is he a friend or a hustler?”
“Neither. I just saw him on the street this morning and thought he’d appeal to you.”
“He sure does.” Sam tweaked his tits and cupped his balls. “Nice. What does he like?”
“Dunno. His preferences don’t count. It’s whatever WE want.”
“Wait a minute. You don’t mean……”
“Yes. I mean we will treat him like the men in my stories. Whatever we want.”
“No! We can’t really fuck him up.”
“Why not. He’s here. He’s ours. And we both dream about doing guys like him.”
“But…….”
“No, Sam. This dude is going to die. Tonight. And we’re going to kill him. It’s what we both want.”
“Oh, Jeez. You’re not serious. I mean, we can’t. I can’t. He’s a real guy, not some fantasy guy in a story.”
“No, he’s our sex toy, our fantasy come true.”
“You’ve done this before?”
“How do you think I got the material for my stories? Right here. In this room.”
“I don’t believe you. We can’t really kill him.”
I walked over to the dude and sliced off his ear. “Yes we can. Yes we will. You can help or just watch or go home, but it’s gonna happen.” Sam sat down and said nothing. Gulped the rest of his drink. Stared at the naked man hanging by his wrists. Saying nothing. I let him be. Let him think about it all. This might be the most important moment in his entire life.
After ten minutes, Sam stood and walked over to the guy. Ran his hands over the body. Tweaked his tit again and then leaned down and bit it. The guy’s shoulder was covered with blood from his severed ear. Sam licked it. The blood on the shoulder. Just a dab. Then a longer lick. And a long slurp with his lips. He turned to me. “I do like it.” He stepped back and slapped the boy’s face. Then again. Sam’s age had robbed him of his strength, so the slaps would never hurt. But they released something in Sam. His restraint. The slaps were the culmination of a lifetime of fantasy. He had moved to reality. And he liked it. So he slapped the face over and over. Finally, he punched his nose. I could hear it break and then bleed heavily. Next a punch to the gut. The guy expelled air from his lungs and a stream of air, spit and blood hit Sam in the face.
“O.K. I want his cock.” “Wait a minute while I fix it for you.” I got a syringe and filled it from a bottle I kept on a shelf. “Liquid Viagra. Shoot it into the base of his cock….like this….and he’ll get hard in a minute. See?” A good eight inches, standing straight out. “Have at it.” Sam knelt, took the hard cock in his mouth, and began to chew. He continued to chew as blood from the nose dripped onto his head. Chew. Chew. Chew. Until the cock was raw and ripped and bloody. And still he chewed. I sat and watched. He chewed passionately, voraciously, viciously. As if he were making up for a lifetime of fantasy and frustration.
He must have chewed for fifteen minutes. When he pulled off, the dick was a mass of mush. He hadn’t ripped open the big vein, so it wasn’t bleeding heavily, but he had thoroughly ripped the skin and soft tissue. Eaten a good bit of it, too. He leaned back on his heels and stared at it. “Good. About time.”
I let Sam do anything he wanted. Mostly, he liked to bite and chew. A cannibal at heart. But the devil came out, too. He used a small hammer to break all the front teeth. And shoved a knife into pecs and thighs and calves. The muscley parts. But mostly, Sam sat in the chair and watched as I did my part. Finally, just after the guy died, he asked me to gut him. I did. His guts slid out and down to the floor. Sam picked up a glob and shoved it into his mouth and chewed. There was shit mixed in, but Sam gobbled that up, too. Yeah. A total cannibal. “If it’s part of a man, it’s edible. It’s all good. Tastes good. All of him”
Sam stayed the night. In the guest room. And drove home the next day, wearing some of my clean clothes. I asked if he’d like to return some day. “If you’ll have me.”
He came back the next month, and several more times. Mostly, he sat and watched me as I tortured the young men. He sat fully clothed, with his hand on his crotch. “I can’t get it up as easily these days”, he explained. “But I can cum soft. It’s still a pleasure.” Sam enjoyed cutting pieces of flesh from the guys, and eating it warm and raw. Liked blood, too. I’d drain a pint at the beginning of each session and he’d sip as he watched. He said he liked watching me, naked, carve up the victim. Said he’d recently gone back and re-read all my CDG stories. Loved all the ways men died. The torture. The pain. I recreated these for him. He loved how I broke bones. Dislocated joints. Hung them in contorted and painful positions. Watching the pain inflicted was as stimulating as the cutting. But, most of all, he got off on the cannibalism. Eating the boys while they were still alive and could watch in terror as he ate their flesh.
“I think my favorite story may be “Snuffing Fags”, he told me. “A gorgeous hunk, tortured for a month, and then snuffed. So hot! But it’s hard to pick a favorite. You are so imaginative and find so many different ways to kill. I can’t get enough of your stories. Do you ever imagine yourself as a victim of yourself?” “Sometimes. In real life, I don’t like pain, but in my mind I can imagine being my own victim. It’s something I can get off on. But I prefer to be the killer. I can kill again and again. If I were the victim, it’d be over in one night.” “Stay alive, Caleb. And write more stories.”
Each time Sam came to visit, the ending was the same. Gutting the boy. He never ate on the day of the killing, so he would be hungry. He had a voracious appetite for a young boy’s entrails. Everything, from the stomach to the shithole. Could never get enough. I learned to offer him eighteen-year-olds, because he liked them young. More fun to cut up, he said, and besides they tasted better than older dudes my age.
Sam and I got together once a month, on average. He still wore clothes the whole time but now brought a change of clothes. We’d done seven boys together and he still got off on the ritual. He’d always start by tormenting the guy and then cutting off small bits of flesh. He loved the look of horror on their faces as they watched him eating their flesh. Then the sheer terror as they saw what was happening to them. I had many mirrors positioned so the victim could watch himself—and us—as his body was torn apart. He also liked to watch me work on the boys. Liked to see me wearing nothing but combat boots. My naked body, glistening with sweat, becoming splattered with blood as the session went on. Said he had never known anyone as beautiful and sexy as me, and me torturing a boy was the height of sensuality. Which made me feel good because I have a huge streak of narcissism and love to exhibit my beauty. That’s why I have all the mirrors. So I can see myself as well as my victim. I love me. And so did Sam.
He came by again last week. I had a beauty for him. Exceptionally well-built. And big. About six-four and two hundred twenty-five pounds. Still, only eighteen. High school football player. “Lots of meat for you tonight, Sam.” We laughed. We stood in front of the kid, caressing and pinching, as he struggled in his chains. He had gorgeous nips. Round and pointed like Hershey Kisses, each topped with a little button that begged to be bitten off. Sam leaned in and bit the button off. He screamed and lurched. Then I bit into the other one. Hmmmmm. So good. The boy was beautiful. He struggled mightily but maybe for the first time in his life, his massive strength failed him. Tears of rage filled his eyes. Tears of fear ran down his cheeks. Poor boy.
As I fingered the boy’s ass, Sam went to the kitchen and brought back two beers. As usual, we sat in the chairs and observed the newest victim. Discussed what we might do this time. He was so big, so spectacular. “This will be a special night,” said Sam. “Yeah,” I said. “Let’s make it memorable.”
____________________________________________________________
I felt light-headed. My wrists hurt. Why? Christ! They were chained to a beam. What the fuck!! I was naked, spread eagled, immobile. Facing me, about six feet away, was the kid, in the same position. Each of us had fish hooks through our nipples and attached to each other by a cord, pulling them taut. Fuck! My mind was clearing. I was chained. But why? How? The kid said, “Your friend did it. I guess he drugged your beer, because you just keeled over in your chair. He dragged you over and hung you up like me. Didn’t seem easy for him. He’s so old. What’s going to happen to us?”
I didn’t answer. But I knew the answer.
Eventually, Sam came into the room. “Sorry, Caleb, but you shouldn’t be surprised. This is right out of your stories. It should have been so obvious.” “Motherfucker!” I shouted, but I knew my fate was sealed. No amount of protesting would change a thing. Sam was going to kill me…us. And it would be painful. Nothing I could do to stop it.
“Caleb, you fulfilled my fantasies. Everything that built up over the years. You erased the frustrations. You gave me peace and pleasure. From the moment I touched your chest in the coffee house, I knew. I just knew it would happen. I didn’t know how, but I knew. This boy over here, I’m calling him Cody. Remember Cody. From “Snuffing Fags”? He will suffer as Cody did. Oh, not in the exact same way. I’m too old to copy everything Travis did to him. But a lot of it. And you’ll watch. You’ll watch until he’s dead.” Hearing that, the boy screamed and struggled in his chains, until Sam ignited a fire starter stick and held the flame to his mouth. His screams settle into a fearful whimper. “After he dies, we’ll play, you and me. But meantime, just relax and watch for one last time.”
Sam released the kid’s wrists. He momentarily wavered on his spread eagled feet, and then fell backwards, landing on his back. The tit chains pulled tight. His weight pulled the hooks from mine, ripping my nips, splitting them, apart and open. He landed hard as blood began to seep from my nipples and run onto my belly. Sam leaned in and sucked my blood. “I’ve wanted your blood for months, Caleb. Now I’ve had a little taste. A foretaste of what’s to come.”
Sam turned to the boy, still sprawled awkwardly on his back, with his ankles chained off to the sides. He picked up a baseball bat and brought it down hard on both ankles and both wrists. Breaking them all. Sam struggled to roll the screaming boy off to the side, where he chained one ankle to a wall cleat. Then gave him a shot of something. “Morphine. I brought it to keep him calm for a while."
"But don’t worry, Caleb. I wouldn’t think of using it on you.” A chill ran through me.
“He won’t be fighting back, Caleb. I can do what I want whenever I want. You can hang here to watch. I’ll bring you food. He won’t need any. I’ll have enough teen flesh to satisfy my hunger. And maybe some older flesh, too. You’re going to live til he dies, but you’ll also be a snack tray for me. I'll be nibbling on you.”
Sam leaned down and began to chew on my left tit. Kept chewing and chewing. I screamed it hurt so much. I totally lost my macho composure. I screamed and cried in pain. When he stopped, I looked down. My tit was gone. There was only a flat bloody wound on my pec. And I was whimpering like a fairy. This was the beginning. The beginning of the end. My end. An agonizing end. Hideous pain that would last for weeks.
It could have been one of my best stories.
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