Goodwin Prescott 
Author's Note: Sadly, nothing set forth in the e-pages that follow exceeds the record of man's actual visitation of slavery, torture, mutilation and death upon his fellow man in the name of religion. All I have depicted and far worse has played out over the centuries since Christ and Mohammed, both good, well-meaning but self-proclaimed prophets, walked the earth. 
XxxxNor does one need to look into dim history ... the Inquisition, the crusades and the thirty years war ... for the most hideous of faith-based savagery. Northern Ireland, Yugoslavia, the middle east including Afghanistan and, of course ... 9-11 ... come to mind. 
XxxxCould a theocracy really take hold in America and would it behave with barbarity in the name of God? Hopefully the answer to the first question is ... no ... though who can say for sure. 
XxxxThe answer to the second question cannot be doubted ... Yes. Just pay attention to the diatribes of hatred and intolerance that spew from the likes of Jerry Falwell, eerily akin to the insanity of Osama. If this short novel serves to provoke some thought ... and concern ... among intelligent readers with a real appreciation of the values of freedom, including freedom of and from religion, it will have served its humble purpose. 
Somewhere in Nebraska, Easter 1867

The wagons edged to a halt, circled defensively. The disruptions of the recent Civil War had allowed broad swaths of the northern plains to be left with reduced defenses and Indian predations had sharply increased as a result. Even now, two years after the war's end, attacks by the Sioux, Comanche, Kiowa, Cheyenne and Pawnee were all too common.

Ironically, it had been attacks from their fellow whites that had driven the occupants of this particular train off into the wilds towards the west and their defenses were as much against their own kind as those with red skins. With homes and barns burned and family members shot down and lynched, it had finally become clear that The Congregation of The Flesh of The Lamb could not peacefully practice their rites so long as they were a part of the main body of society. In search of a safe haven, Revered Elder Jacob Kane had led his flock forth across the Mississippi, confident he was making the right decision. A total of 327 men, women and children rode horses, walked or joined their worldly goods in the long line of ox-yoked wagons lumbering over the rutted track that served as a trail.

Once beyond the headwaters of the Missouri and Platte Rivers, they would cut southwest below the Oregon country and west of Santa Fe to seek their desired solitude and at that point would be blazing a new trail themselves. That would be an arduous, dangerous undertaking, but for now they would have a much relished rest for two days. It was the blessed time of Easter, their highest holy celebration and amidst the perils of the trek they needed the blessings of the Lord God more than ever before. The Easter feast was the central tenet of their religion and their prayers and zeal in observing the sacred ritual this year would be particularly fervent.

At dawn the procedure began. Most of the women and children withdrew into the protective inner ring of the wagons and knelt in prayer, though a select group of the older, experienced ladies began to set hickory and oak fires in shallow pits with spits and grills of seasoned iron surmounting the beds of glowing coals being created. In the meantime, all of the men and older boys walked a short distance off behind a small knoll to perform their dramatic, all-important annual task. Without instruction, knowing what was expected, the forty-nine among them who were between eighteen and twenty-three years of age stepped into the middle of the circle formed by their elders.

The Revered Elder's voice was rising steadily with religious fervor, While a deacon followed carrying a beautifully carved wooden box, a small chest really, Kane stepped before the first of the candidates. He reached out and took the hand of the handsome, muscular farmboy who flinched slightly at the contact. As the youth kept his eyes tightly closed, the patriarch guided his fist into the maw of the box. The buff muscleboy took a small wooden ball into his hand, sealed it within the fist, and withdrew it. He kept it hidden as Kane stepped to the next man, He too chose a ball as did the next and the next until all forty-nine young males each clutched one in his hand.

After more prayers and exortations to God, Kane returned to stand before Joshua Hart and commanded him to open his eyes to see the glorious hand of God determine his fate. At the Revered Elder's crisp demand, he raised his right arm high and let the ball in his hand drop. A slight murmur rustled through the crowd and, though masking their reaction carefully with feigned disappointment, the boy's father and uncles felt a rush of relief. The ball that dropped was white in color.
White balls continued to drop until Kane stood before the sixteenth candidate, a brawny twenty-three year old bull named Trent Jessup, utterly magnificent in his perfection. As he stood with a straight, solemn face staring straight ahead, his left hand clenched by his hip, he too lifted his powerful right arm and slowly let the ball slide free from his fist. At the last second he let his eyes dart down to view the falling object.

It dropped into the sunlight and instantly there was a stir in the crowd. It was black! Trent Jessup had been chosen!

Both his father and father-in-law were deeply pained. Trent was a fine man and a good husband and father to his two small children. Still, it was God's will and who were they to resent or regret it? There was, in fact, a certain amount of honor to flow from Trent's choice and subtle privileges to be enjoyed by his family over the coming year. His wife Susan would have to be consoled, of course, and she would be permitted to display a woman's weakness in her natural grief at losing such a fine mate. After a brief, respectable period a suitable replacement would be found to share her bed and act as father to Trent's offspring.

The second man chosen by God that morning was Darby Lukins, a stocky, twenty year old hunk with wavy bright-blond hair and strong, manly features. He was single and all of the men felt relief. It was good that only one family was to be disrupted by this year's ritual. The dropping of the balls continued however until finally Kane stood before the forty-fifth man, Paulus Gilson. The twenty-two year old was also single but that was no longer of importance since he was in no risk. The bright red ball that dropped from his hand simply established his special role in the drama to be played out.

He was to be the smiting fist of the Lord. It was fallen to him to be the executioner, to draw forth the life from the chosen sacrificial victims and prepare their flesh for consumption. Accepting their roles without protest or acrimony, the three young men waited quietly until the assembled men had withdrawn and they were alone. The last to depart was the Revered Elder himself and he drew a colt 0.44 six-shooter from his holster and handed it butt first to Gilson.

Paulus was stunned at how nicely fate had played into his hands. He hated Darby Lukins with a fury that would have gotten him excommunicated from the sect and shunned into banishment if anyone had known. Lukins had captured the heart of the girl of Gilson's desires and they were shortly to be wed. It was wonderful enough that his detested rival was to die but to be the one to actually perform the killing was just too sweet a contemplation to believe. Then he'd have a free hand to first console and then woo Deborah, his status among the clan significantly elevated by God's having chosen him to act as his sacrificial agent.

Without instruction all three began to strip naked, the two to be killed and butchered for their meat, the third to avoid ruining his clothing with blood splatters and gore. While Trent and Darby dropped to their knees for final prayers, Paulus checked the pistol to be sure the chambers were filled and one properly aligned with the hammer, its thick cartridge ready to spew forth fire, smoke and a heavy lead slug. He cocked the six-shooter and waited, unable to prevent his cock from hardening into erection in anticipation of the killings.

He would have supposed his arousal would have irritated his sacrificial victims but to his surprise he saw that both of their big man-poles were also jutting forth in swiftly increasing hardness. Apparantly their danger and nakedness out here in the open on the trackless plain was having an erotic effect. Men are such strange creatures in their sexuality, he shook his head in amazement.

Trent abruptly stood and presented his front to his executioner. He reached out and took Paulus' hand in a firm grip,

Paulus nodded, smiled and thanked him for his words. A moment later Darby too performed the ritual of acceptance and foregiveness. It was all Paulus could do to make himself shake the blond stud's paw and thank him.

Both stepped back several paces and took breaths, closed their eyes and steeled themselves to accept the bullets, but Paulus was in no great hurry. He pulled a lace from a boot and used it to tightly bind Darby's wrists behind his back. It seemed an odd move as the victims were being utterly cooperative, facing death with courage and resolve, but Paulus was in charge and Darby offered no protest.

However when he started to bind Trent's hands too, the buff bull smiled and shook his head,

Trent complied and when he saw Paulus draw his hunting knife, he defined the intent, He winced as Paulus jabbed the tip of the blade into the underside of his tit to open a tiny perforation that instantly began leaking a steady stream of crimson. With a finger as a brush, Paulus used the fresh blood to daub a large ex on the left-center of Trent's chest after first feeling with his fingers to detect the precise location of the throbbing heart. He repeated the process with Darby, driving the blade's tip just a bit deeper into his nipple than necessary and even twisting it slightly to cause extra pain. He liked the way Darby cringed and his naked body flexed, a grimace screwing the handsome stud's face at the searing burn of the miniscule stab.

Neither victim's cock had softened at all. In fact both were now steely hard and oozing clear pearls of pre-cum from their slit lips. On impulse Paulus reached down and took Trent's big pole in his hand, holding it gently and letting it rest in his open palm.

Trent looked startled but eagerly nodded, He began to stroke the organ and caress and tease its flared crown. The super-stud, his macho face framed by a silky curtain of straight, dark-brown hair, was not at all unpleasant to masturbate and had Paulus thought it would not upset the man too much, he'd have even knelt and sucked the magnificent cock.

The unmarried men in the group were forbidden carnal access to females until marriage under penalty of castration followed by flogging to death. Accordingly they fairly regularly teamed up to discretely satisfy each other's hungers. But Trent was married and Paulus had no desire to shock him into yelling out some accusation or protest that might bring the elder running.
In short order, he produced a spurting orgasm that seemed to go on and on for a startling period of time. Jesus! This stud shoots one hell of a load, Paulus marveled.

Then, a sticky icicle of cum danging from the still stiffened rod, Trent again stepped back, closed his eyes, steeled his muscles and stood calmly waiting for Paulus to kill him.

As Paulus sighted down the barrel of the gun, drawing a bead on the crimson ex on the big hunk's broad, deep chest, he found himself admiring the guy.

He'd never seen him naked before and was impressed. He is one super-fine, big-hung, hard-muscled son-of-a-bitch.

And without the slightest hesitation or remorse, he calmly shot Jessup through the heart.

The roaring crack of the shot echoed loudly over the prairie, startling groundbirds into flight. The powerful bullet drilled into the chest, gouging a wide hole, and exploded out the back in a great spray of blood, flesh and bone. Jessup was hammered backwards and sent sprawling to lie like a broken mannikin, dead before he hit the ground.

Darby Lukins shuddered violently, shaken at the swift, almost casual killing of the other young bull. He was gulping hard as he now faced Paulus. At least it had not looked like Trent had suffered any and that was something to be appreciated.

Darby had actually had his cousin nurse him to climax just a couple of hours earlier, but he had a powerful libido and nodded, delighted at the unexpected kindness being extended, Paulus stroked the blond adonis until he was clearly so close to orgasm that it could be but a moment away. Gripped in delicious pleasure, Darby didn't realize that Paulus had his knife in hand.

Thus he was caught totally off-guard by the excruciating explosion of pain from between his thighs as Paulus castrated him, cutting off his low-dangling balls with a swift slash of the blade. A moment later, a new and even greater agony burst from his groin as his penis was amputated at its base.

Experiencing pain on a level he had never imagined possible, the emasculated bull could only stand there, paralyzed with shock, as a fountain of blood began spurting from his ruined crotch.

It felt as if he was being torn apart by a pack of wolves as the hurt radiated out from his groin through every fiber of his rugged young body. He slowly collapsed to his knees, his face a rictus of suffering, soft whining moans of utter disbelief erupting from his mouth.

Paulus was saying something but it was hard to concentrate on the words through the throbbing red haze that was fogging his brain. Something about Deborah. What...? Oh God!
The bastard was taunting him, telling him how he was going to soon be lying in her bed, poking his dick into her sweet, moist cunt, fucking her and making love to her. He had had no idea how much Paulus must hate him. He had thought their brief rivalry for the hand of the girl had been laid aside after she made her choice.

He forced himself to raise his head and focus his eyes. Paulus was standing over him a few feet away, aiming the colt down towards his chest.

To his shock he saw that the killer had either stroked his cock to eruption or it had reached orgasm spontaneously. A thick drool of cum was dangling from the lips of the softened rod like an icicle on an eave on a winter's morning.

Their eyes met for a brief moment. Then Paulus shot him but ignored the target painted on the chest. He put the bullet into his gut an inch below the belly button. By almost universal opinion, that was the second most agonizing place on a man's body in which to be shot.

Paulus had already used his knife on the single most nerve-rich, vulnerable place to attack a human male. Gut shooting his rival was now his best bet for infliction of really excruciating agony with the bullet.

He again took up his big hunting knife and knelt beside Darby's writhing form to began field dressing him, starting by skinning him alive, humming with pleasure as he worked.

The Lord sure works in mysterious ways, he thought and a grin edged over his lips as his flaying blade continued to give Darby Lukins a fine introduction to hell.

Broken Ridge, Tennessee, 2035

Klaus Vanrijen tried to maintain a strong, stoic calm but it was hard. His heart was throbbing almost violently in his chest as he waited his turn in the insane rites of the moaning, praying congregation.

He had been just three when his parents fled the horror of the massacres that followed the suppression of the white supremist uprising in his native South Africa in 2020. Now here he sat, an eighteen year old US citizen, poster-boy perfect in his athletic beauty, nothing more than an expendable slave owned by a group of maniacs.

It was all legal. The bizarre snake-handler sect of Broken Ridge, Tennessee had applied for and received an allotment of ten eighteener boys in the tithe. He had been "selected" by a catcher in the gym at his high school in rural New York. The urbane football jock had never even heard of the strange group that now owned him and appeared to be on the verge of killing his fuzzy blond ass!

The muscle-boy with his close-cropped fair hair was seated on a stool, his arms roped behind him, his ankles secured to metal posts sunk in the concrete floor of the Spartan sanctuary. A rope about his waist ran down beneath the stool and kept him seated. Between his brawny thighs a wicker basket jutted up to just below crotch level and, with rising terror, he had sensed movement from time to time within the basket.

He let his blue eyes return to the drama playing out just a few yards away. In different circumstances he'd have found what they were doing to Benjamin Bernstein quite interesting, amusing and even erotic. He certainly had no sympathy for the admittedly handsome, dark-haired boy bound somewhat similarly to himself.

He was, after all, a mere Jew and that meant Klaus regarded him as inferior and just as well dead. It appeared that would be the case at any time now and the tough Boer stud took minor satisfaction that at least he'd witness Ben's agonizing demise before his own.

For some reason they'd stripped Ben totally naked while leaving on Klaus' strapped muscle-shirt and even his sandals. Of course his loins had been bared. He had been somewhat embarrassed about that since there were women present in the packed church that Sunday evening. Even worse had been when they rubbed his pecker, as well as Ben's, with a pepper-laced cream that stung a lot but forced the cocks to full involuntary erection despite both boys' palpable fear.

While they were being kept together in a small room prior to being paraded out for the evening's festivities, Ben had attempted to talk to his companion but Klaus had cut him off in mid-sentence.

Ben had looked puzzled and hurt but had lapsed into silence after that.
The corner of a short table had been thrust between Ben's long, graceful legs and on it, just inches from the boy's huge, aroused manhood, a massive diamondback rattlesnake lay partially coiled, its awful head drawn back in a threatening pose, its buzzing tail issuing a deadly warning. It had been brought from a hemp sack and dumped on the table some minutes before.

Whether Ben was smart enough to stay utterly still or just was frozen with fear, he had, in fact not moved as the minutes ticked by and the snake sat there, prepared to strike at any moment.

The congregation, lead by the minister and his aldermen, were on their knees in fervent supplication to the Lord. As the Reverend Frank Sheely devoutly cried forth supplications, he was interrupted at each turn of phrase by staccato cries of

and, Many of those present were weeping with joy and a few were in the depths of transportation, writhing snakelike on the floor and foaming at the mouth, eyes rolled back and in a trance.

Klaus was almost nauseated at the wild scene. He had never seen such idiocy. His own family were good members of the Reformed Dutch Lutheran Church and the services were staid and pleasant, uplifting and calm. He would not have attended even those if he'd had any choice but failures in that regard usually got you reported and punished. Boys tithed there led very comfortable lives, treated with love and kindness, as they served the needs of the Church.

For heavens sake, he urged on the reptile. Bite the fucking Jew's damned crotch and get it over with.

He hoped that maybe if the first boy tested proved lacking and was struck repeatedly in his sinful man parts, the sect would be sated and forego a second round. He realized the way this mob was worked up to a maddened lather it wasn't likely but it was all the hope he had.

To his disgust and disappointment, the huge rattler suddenly seemed to lose interest in the man creature pinioned well within its striking range. It turned away and began to rapidly slither towards the far end of the table. A moment later it slid off and landed on the floor where a handler swiftly scooped it up and returned it to its sack.

A chorus of joyous shrieks celebrated the survival of the handsome Jewish boy who was promptly freed and given back his clothing. He was trembling now and looked dazed and disbelieving. He couldn't quite yet believe he would now be manumitted as a slave and returned to his family in Chicago.
Fine, Klaus tightened his backbone. If he can do it, I can. I won't flinch a muscle. A rattler will have a harder time striking straight upwards from the bottom of the damned basket anyway. For whatever reason they have chosen not to expose my dick quite as completely. They probably recognize that I have greater worth and want to heighten the chance that I'll be spared.

His smugness disappeared almost instantly as the cover of the basket was removed. The awful head that slowly, elegantly rose upwards directly between his parted thighs was unmistakable. This was no rattler. It was a very large king cobra he was facing! A high pitched squeal burst from his lips.

If his cock had not been in forced erection, he'd have pissed himself. As it was, as he stared down at the slowly waving head poised mere inches from his sweaty, naked genitals, he simply could not cope with the utter terror he experienced.

He screamed and writhed in panic, desperately attempting to buck over backwards away from the viper. Of course that only irritated the already angry cobra and it struck instantly with a terrific spitting hiss. The fangs knifed into the turgid cock. A second bite followed, then a third and a fourth as massive shots of venom were injected into the blond boy's dick, balls, groin and inner thighs.

No one made any movement to help him and only after the snake lost interest and abruptly pivoted its head to cast a baleful gaze over the congregation did they cover the basket again.

Klaus suffered horribly but not for very long. His racing heart spread the toxin to every part of him within minutes and soon his heart faltered, stopped, took up an irregular pulse for a few seconds more, then ceased altogether.

In the eyes of the congregation, the Lord had spoken. This blond boy had been impure and not worthy of life.

Shane McCardle's highlander heritage was amply displayed in his tall, straight, gorgeously muscled body and his strong features were a powerfully appealing mix of masculinity and boyish charm. His short-cropped jet-black hair contrasted with pale blue eyes that seemed to pierce anyone upon whom they fixed.

He was clearly an athlete in the prime of ripe, budding manhood and it was hard to believe that such a splendidly virile creature could be just eighteen. And he had just turned, one of the small crowd of late-agers who would undergo selection exposure that day. He never could understand that rare breed ... the so-called rabbits ... who ran. The chance of selection was, after all, just one in ten and even if selected it usually wasn't all that bad. Boys chosen to serve were respected and admired, their pictures printed in local papers by proud parents announcing the faith or denomination with which their sons would spend their lives, effectively, as church-owned slaves. Everyone agreed that most were generally well-treated.

Most ... but, definitely, not all.

He, like the others walking across campus, were well aware that sometimes unpleasant things ... sometimes really unpleasant things ... befell selectees, depending on who wound up owning them. That was just the luck of the draw he supposed, though he kept such thoughts to himself. Expressing the notion that luck played any role in one's life was enough to get you cited and either locked up, publicly flogged or even lodged in one of the dreaded "reeducation" camps operated by the trans-faith National Synod governing from Philadelphia.

Under the dogma of those who now ruled America, Luck would play no role in what would follow for Shane and his companions that crisp morning in El Paso. It would be simply part of a glorious preordained fate ...

... God's will.


The ultimate ascendency of the religious right and establishment of the theocracy had not been a carefully planned coup nor bloody internal revolution. It was an end result slowly forged in the crucible of terrorism and convulsions of a humanity seemingly gone mad.

The nation's dedication to human rights and freedom had simply been eroded steadily at an increasingly desperate pace as the horrible traumas of the early twenty-first century played out. The early architects such as John Ashcroft acted in good faith, really believing they knew best for the embattled nation, and Ashcroft's election as President by a huge majority in 2008 reflected that a startling number of his fellow citizens agreed with him.

More and more individual freedoms had been sacrificed in the name of national security as bombs, chemicals and plagues turned the nation into an embattled, reclusive and paranoid fortress. A jury trial for suspected enemies or their sympathizers was no longer important nor did it matter if it took torture to extract the confessions and information needed from them. Jailing suspects, even citizens, for long periods without charges was just ... well ... necessary. All sorts of draconian measures were enacted that would have been unthinkable just a few years before.

There were strong protests from civil libertarians and adverse rulings from some courts. But as the casualty count steadily mounted year after year across the nation, critics wisely muted their acrimony, judges were impeached, and excessive criticism of the government became viewed as "nonconstructive behavior" or even de facto treason. Tolerance of minority quirks and dissent was a luxury that was just too expensive in those challenging times.

A profound, fundamental change had occurred in American values and once that bridge was crossed there was no going back. The glorious experiment of the founding fathers that had blossomed so fully for two hundred years joined Communism on the scrapheap of history.

Gripped by wrenching fear and uncertainty, increasing hordes of citizens turned to religion for support and, hopefully, answers to questions for which there were no rational answers. Unable to understand why their world had been so violently inverted, seeking peace and meaning, they more and more accepted the concept that God was punishing the nation for having turned away from him. That almost pathetic clinging to mindless faith was reflected in the electoral process and the darlings of the religious right became increasingly powerful through the ballot box.

The fact that no single religious group had a monopoly made the transition seem less threatening. If Jews and Baptists, Catholics and even Satanists could establish a working truce for the good of the nation, where was there really any great risk?

When the still free news media expressed doubts about the wisdom of mixing religious dogma into politics it irritated those in power and, in the name of national security, the people accepted the curbs that made that free press suddenly not so free. The closing of some of the more "liberal" and "unpatriotic" media and the jailing of a few left-wing "atheist" columnists and publishers was just part of the price necessary for a "safer" America.

Abroad, three successive nuclear exchanges in eight years threw much of the world back into the dark ages. First India and Pakistan, then Iran and Israel, and finally China and Russia turned each other into radioactive rubble. The United States and NATO aided Russia in the Sino-Russian Armageddon of 2010 and, technically, the west "won." But it was a hollow victory leaving vast swaths of Eurasia virtually uninhabitable and famine and disease rampaged unchecked.

In the midst of the cataclysm the supply of AIDS assistance to Africa was abruptly cut off and a pandemic raged out of control. With nearly ninety percent of the population of sub-Saharan Africa infected, the rest of the world established what was, effectively, a quarantine and stood by as entire black nations were swiftly depopulated.

Miraculously the western hemisphere survived it all without a single mushroom cloud blossoming there until January 2016. Then one last spiteful act of radical Islamic terrorism completed America's ultra-religious rebirth, almost like an exclamation point. A low yield nuclear bomb went off in Washington, DC at precisely the moment the new President was being inaugurated.

The government was wiped out, the Secretary of Agriculture the sole survivor. He had been chosen by lot to be the traditional "absent" member of the cabinet to insure at least someone of authority avoided such a disaster. He was safe at Offutt Air Force Base in Nebraska and watching on television.

William Buchanan Carlson, a fundamentalist born-again Christian from Valdosta, Georgia, was promptly sworn in as President in a concrete bunker in the Midwest by a trembling minister hurriedly rushed in from Lincoln. He immediately fired a salvo of nuclear missiles at what remained of the arab world, acting as the sworded hand of the rampaging God whose agent he imagined himself to be. That satisfying vengeance accomplished, he declared martial law and sent the military forces into the streets to maintain zero-tolerance order.

He appointed a special two hundred man (no women) constitutional convention to reorganize the government while he ruled by decree, backed up by the military armament patrolling every corner of the nation. No one was chosen who was not a true believer in heaven and hell. There was a careful weighting of denominations and sects to preclude the rise to dominance of any given creed. There was even a small place at the table for Muslims and, perversely, even Satanists who, in their own way "believed" and that was sufficient.

One of the oddities of Carlson's personality was an urge to be fair to all American religious groups with a sincerely held doctrine, even if he personally found their beliefs to be repugnant. Ironically, the founder of the new American theocracy would brook no establishment of any formal "state" religion.

America's democracy might have been, in his view, a failure, but its religious tolerance appealed to him and he would preserve it at all costs. Of course, his view of that tolerance, i.e., freedom of religion was that it was quite literal. It was freedom of religion, not from religion. Americans should be able to worship as they saw fit, even if it was the devil, but worship they must.

It was, he felt, the denial of the existence of God and Satan that had brought America to its current state of chaotic disaster.

The convention assembled and promptly determined that it would not be necessary for the new Constitution they drafted to be ratified by the states. In a crucial test of where power now really lay, that decision was duly challenged by dissenters before the Supreme Court in the new national capital in Philadelphia. All of the old members of the court had perished in the blast and the new members appointed by Carlson promptly threw out the challenges to the new regime.

Under the new Constitution a National Synod of fifty members, one from each state, replaced Congress as a legislative body. Public elections were abolished as an unnecessary and even dangerous anachronism. Faithless liberals had led America astray through an uncontrolled electoral system and that mistake would not be repeated. The President would henceforth appoint and remove the state governors who would, in turn, appoint governing councils in place of elected legislatures. These would choose the members of the National Synod to serve for life or until removed by a two-thirds majority of their fellow members (a likely result if a member's religious zeal became suspect).

The striking similarity to the Mormon Church's all powerful and often arbitrary Council of Elders was pointed out by a brave journalist during one of the rare press conferences by President Carlson. He smiled indulgently as he replied.

Of course, later that day "Jim's" credentials as a reporter were quietly revoked and he was taken into custody for an unspecified period of time for interrogation about his "unhelpful" attitude which the President had found "disturbing."

In a cozy closure of the circuit of power, the Synod would choose the President to serve

Thus it was no surprise that William Buchanan Carlson was appointed as "Inaugural President" to appoint the first round of governors who appointed the first state councils who appointed the first National Synod that promptly confirmed Carlson to continue as President, probably for life. Very tidy indeed.

Among the first acts passed by the Synod were measures making atheism and agnosticism a crime and establishing "reeducation" camps to "correct" the erroneous thinking of the nonbelievers. Another established the "tithe" of eighteener males with the double objective of assuring the religious groups a steady supply of manpower and reducing unemployment among the nation's excess population of young studs.

President Carlson had pause over that one. He agonized briefly with the thought that it robbed the chosen boys of their right to choose the faith to which they would adhere but then it dawned on him that they could still personally believe as they wished despite whatever group possessed their flesh and blood. Thus a good Christian boy, say a Baptist, could still quite properly be turned over to, say, a Satanist clan to serve their needs. Sprawled on a sacrificial altar he could still be a faithful Baptist even as his heart was cut out to feed to Beelzebub.

Satisfied, he signed the measure into law.

Hence the requirement that Shane McCardle bring his big, hunky body to Lecture Hall Three in the Religious Studies Building on the campus of West Texas Christian University (WTCU) formerly known as the University of Texas at El Paso (UTEP). Almost all colleges and universities had changed their names to reflect the new emphasis on religious indoctrination that was now such a major part of their mandated curriculum.

Of course, even to be admitted a prospective student had to have a church endorsement that he was a fitting candidate for higher education. Women were permitted to apply but very few of them received the required church endorsement. Their place was really in the home doing acceptable "women's work."


Shane glanced about as he entered the hall and spotted his buddy Aaron Holt among the roughly seventy nervous looking young men who had reported for culling. Aaron was just a gorgeously fit, well-built hunk but then there was not a youth in the room who was not a fine specimen.
Despite the other traumas of the century, health and genetics had progressed and almost everyone was now bred with predisposition for physical perfection and a very long life expectancy. The relatively few babies deemed inferior after birthing were quietly euthanized and since sex was now predetermined there was a nearly five to one ratio of boys over girls in the male-dominated society.

He wandered over and slipped a hand around the blond boy's side and gave a tickling squeeze to his ribs. Aaron's face lit up. Even without turning he recognized the very welcome touch of his friend.

He did turn and, without being too obvious, their eyes scanned each other's smooth-skinned, sculpted chests, corded bellies and strong, toned legs. They had been ordered to appear clad only in gym trunks and sandals so there was little about the muscular, athletic bodies in the room that was concealed. All kept their skins hairless save for the silky tufts in the armpits and the thick copses at the groin that lent a comforting sense of manliness.

Shane was well acquainted with the golden growth cushioning Aaron's male parts which were as big as Shane's, whose own endowment was far from average. Aaron, for his part, was just as intimately familiar with Shane's most private organs and how very effectively they functioned. They were lovers.

The dark haired Scottsboy eyed Aaron with concern, having detected a tell-tale tremble in the blond fox's side as he touched it,

Aaron glumly forced the smile to remain on his full lips, Shane was the dominant of the pair and Aaron was heavily codependent upon him. When they mated, it was always Aaron who was mounted though Shane always made sure his partner had a most satisfactory, orally-induced orgasm as well. Homosexual behavior, while officially illegal for anyone other than actual priests, ministers and other church officials, for whom almost any conduct was unrestricted, was fully tolerated as long as reasonable discretion was exercised.

The ruling officials understood, though declined to officially admit, that allowing the young men in the population to sate their hormonal urges upon each other was a pretty good way to reduce such social problems as rape, premarital copulation with females, extra-marital births and excess population. Further, with the radical, and beneficial, reduction of the female population that resulted from gender-choice in fertilization, it was probably even quite necessary. A large percentage of the males in 2035 would never find a mate of the opposite sex.

With a gulp, Aaron continued,

And Shane knew that was true. Like almost all young men these days, both were excellent jocks, but the two had also been highly acclaimed members of their church choir in high school. They had little doubt their beautiful tenor voices had been reported to NRAD, the National Religious Asset Database centered in Atlanta. They were very likely on someone's short list.

The way the tithe system worked, a projection each year was made nationally of the expected crop of eighteeners, rendering an anticipated hard number for the tithe. This year the figure was 512,000. That was then allotted according to membership proportion to all 1,267 groups whose application to receive boys had been approved. These ranged from the powerful American Baptist Federation with its nearly seventy million members to the Humberland Coven of Warlocks in Salem, Oregon with its seventeen adherents. The Baptist Federation was allotted 137,000 youths; The Oregon Warlocks would get ten because all groups, regardless of size, received at least that number of selection certificates.

The groups could then bag their allotted number, surrendering a certificate for each boy chosen. It was rather like hunting-permits for game. Most groups hired professional agents, popularly referred to as "catchers," to represent them at culling sessions such as that now occurring in El Paso. The activity really was centered at the high schools where most boys were still lodged when turning of age, but colleges were certainly not ignored nor the workplaces.

In a culling session, it depended on how many of the permits were in the hands of the catchers attending a given session as to how many boys in a group might be taken. Thus, nearly all youths at one school might be seized while very few, far less than ten percent, might go from another. It was not particularly fair though there was a requirement that organizations with larger allotments, such as the Baptists, must attempt to spread their take somewhat proportionally among the states.

That actually worked for the advantage of the freshman hunks in the lecture hall at WTCU that day. Few catchers invested valuable time at such limited-number gatherings, concentrating instead on the richer pickings at the big high schools where often hundreds of boys were in the monthly pool. Also, since the allotment went out each year in June and it was now the following March, those hitting eighteen later in the selection year, like these college boys, had a distinct advantage since the bulk of the selecting occurred in the summer and fall.

At first Shane and Aaron felt relief when they saw that there were actually only four catchers who had bothered to attend their session. This late in the selection year, it was unlikely even these were carrying very many certificates among them. Maybe ... just maybe ...

The university official running the session called things to order.

A rumor had started buzzing through the room that caught Shane's ears and made his spine tingle a bit in sudden, serious concern. A Satanist catcher was among the four on hand today!

That could be real bad news. Almost all of the Satanist groups, most of them very weird and dangerous sects, employed a single, joint agent who attended very few of the sessions and tended to take larger numbers where he did show up. Further it was common knowledge that the boys falling into those hands usually had it about the worst of any tithed slaves. They often wound up dying very unpleasant deaths.

There had been talk in the Synod about excluding these groups from the tithe, many outraged parents voicing criticism of servicing the demonic sects with their mainstream Christian sons. But no action had been taken yet and once again in this year's tithe a small number of boys would go to whatever ugly fate awaited them among the "kooks" as one recent editorial had labeled them.

There were a total of only sixty-seven such groups participating, none getting more than the minimum ten boy allotment. Thus just 670 young studs would go to the uses of the witches, warlocks, pagans and demon worshipers, but that was 670 too many in the view of many editorialists.

It was also noticed by the increasingly nervous boys at WTCU that among the catchers one appeared to be an actual religious figure, a rarity. He was a priest of some sort clad in a floor-length brown robe, his head shadowed within the hood. There was a very intense, almost predatory look in his eyes as they scanned the assembled eighteeners. Shane frowned.

Fuck, I'd hate to wind up in that dude's hands! Or worse, to have him take Aaron! If that threatened, and the opportunity arose, he'd certainly try to talk his lover into rabbiting.

They had signed a roll sheet when entering and now the conductor read off five names to see if any required attendees were there who had simply failed to sign in. There was one. The speaker repeated the other names again, looked around, then shrugged.

There was just an uncomfortable, strained silence. They all knew that once reported as rabbits to the National Office of Citizen Compliance (NOCC) the non-complying trio would be branded as outlaws and death warrants issued for them. Any police agency taking them into custody would be required to summarily execute them. There was no room for disobedient, rebellious young men in America. Every boy in the room could somewhat sympathize with the trio who'd likely panicked and fled, since they'd now be tracked down and destroyed, but they had made their own bed.
About then a handsome, stocky boy with a wavy mop of sandy-blond hair came racing into the room, panting, clad in cut-offs with the top button missed when he hastily threw them on upon awakening. He was even still barefooted.

He looked at the roomful of eyes gazing at him and shrugged sheepishly,

After Peter was directed to the sign-in table, the speaker continued, He paused to squint at his papers ... , There was a sudden buzzing murmur as the rumor was confirmed. The Satanist catcher was indeed on hand! Everyone gazed with curiosity at the handsome, dark-haired boy who moved forward, apparantly the Luther Davenport singled out. It seemed the rather normal-looking Satanist, clad in a conservative business suit and very well groomed, had come there expressly after him. That really fueled speculative study of the kid as he silently walked forward with a calm, inscrutable expression on his face. There was a collective sigh of relief and the jockish studs quickly doffed their already scanty clothing and padded naked to take their places along the walls.

Shane's heart had sunk as his and Aaron's names had been called for special review. That usually meant a group had sent a catcher for the express purpose of collecting a boy who for some reason was a priority for selection. He had apparantly guessed right that he and Aaron had been tithed before they ever entered the room.
Gamely they advanced with Christian Logan, a handsome blond bull with crew-cut hair, and darkly sensuous Angel Monteverde, a light-skinned, high-bred Hispanic with a tall, rock-hard body that just oozed hot sensuality to the eye. Both had been slated to also be choir members at WTCU but it appeared now that the Catholic Church had other plans for them as well as Aaron and Shane.

The catcher was friendly and courteous. He shook their hands and sorted out who was who.

The Hispanic kid blushed a bit but looked pleased. Behind him, Christian stood smiling at his friend's broad back. Shane and Aaron had to confess it was not exactly unexpected. Christian made it unanimous and drew a soft chuckle when he half petulantly added, The catcher gazed at the blond doll with approval, It was Christian's turn to blush a bit but look pleased. He flexed one arm and a baseball bulged in the biceps as the group admired him. Behind him, Angel now was grinning as he watched. The catcher continued to smile reassuringly, They were startled at the bluntness of the accusation. Neither knew how to respond and they stood there looking nonplused. Christian and Angel were eyeing them in sudden curiosity.

The catcher shook his head in dismay.

Shane almost sagged with relief. The true nightmare feared by both he and Aaron had been exactly that ... separation. The catcher patted Shane's brawny young shoulder, Christian gulped, They all broke into laughter that drew more than a few startled glances their way in the otherwise silent, up-tight room. They hastily suppressed their snickers and Angel gave a little cat's paw slug to Christian's biceps. The catcher laughed again, this time softly, Well okay, Shane was almost delighted. I guess this isn't really working out all that bad!

He even glanced at Angel's crotch. They had not been required to bare all and he was curious about whether the stud was really as big down there as Christian had avowed. Aaron spotted the look and gave a non-too gentle slap to Shane's rump.

Shane was actually quite pleased at the suggestion, Aaron just slapped the bubble ass again, a bit harder, but there was a grin on his cute face.
In another corner of the room, Luther Davenport glanced at Horst Gandrik with curiosity. He had been very puzzled that the Satanist catcher had called for him specifically. It made no sense. The man waved him into a seat and the boy lolled back, his big-hung crotch bulging out the pouch of his skimpy, raven-black gym trunks. A golden ram's head pendant dangled from a chain of black obsidian beads circling his muscular neck. Gandrik let his eyes travel over the really beautiful boy sitting before him. Quite an exquisite creature, he thought, though, as to be expected, you could see in the hard, eyes a cold maturity far above the tender years, Luther was startled. It had not occurred to him that he would be protected during the tithe nor that he even needed protection, Luther frowned, He glanced across the room at the odd-looking religious catcher clad in the rather ridiculous medieval cowl and found him gazing steadily at him with such a look of sheer malignance it made him shudder. He could get a good look now since the man had let the hood fall away from his nearly shaven skull. As their eyes met briefly the priest-like figure touched a silver cross dangling from his neck as if for protection.
Gandrik followed his gaze and smiled grimly, Gandrik snickered at the sarcasm. He liked this demonic, self-assured boy, liked him a lot. Gandrik shook his head. That made Luther grin wickedly in amusement, Luther sat up in interest. Oh I do like the sound of that word! Luther sucked in a sharp breath and his eyes widened. The thought of exercising blood rites upon the bodies of at least a representative pair of his tormentors was almost too sweet a contemplation to be real. He did not have to think long before eagerly agreeing to the offer. Gandrik nodded, A very dark look edged over Luther's handsome features, hatred almost palpable there, Across the room Brother Domenicus of the Church of Holy Purification was indeed absolutely furious. His need to hurt was fired to a boiling lust by the frustration of losing that demonic whelp. When the warlock brat in Texas had been snatched from their grasp three months before it had been viewed as just an unfortunate coincidence. This latest incident left no doubt that the Satanists were aware they were being stalked and were now protecting their own.

Such a shame, he gnashed his teeth as he watched Luther stroll from the room, Gandrik's arm affectionately around his shoulders. He was even quite a beautiful, muscular young thing. He'd have made such a truly lovely blaze!

He started to leave the hall himself, his mission failed. As he walked, tempted to kick over a chair or two, he idly studied the naked bodies of the boys being examined by the single other catcher still present. His recruitment interest seemed to lie in labor potential, common among the mainstream church groups, since the candidates were being asked to flex their muscles and show off their superb bodies.

It was a bit amusing to watch the jockish louts posturing like that, though pleasing to the eye. They were all quite attractive he had to admit. The effect of parading around naked and being examined like prize hogs at a fair was to induce erections in many of the powerfully sexed young studs ... eighteeners often run around in near perpetual hardness anyway. Domenicus paused at the door for a last savoring of the naughty little show.

As his eyes moved around, they paused on one particularly bullish young specimen. Oh my, now isn't he just gorgeous! Domenicus' own penis began to swell with blood beneath his loose robe.
The hunk, his dark hair cropped to a feathery buzz, had strong features, a wonderfully buffed, defined body and was almost stunningly equipped between his thighs. His huge cock was jutting up like steel rebar as he flexed for the idiot catcher studying him like a breeder bull.

The boy was obviously of a strong religious bent. Most of the candidates for the tithe wisely removed religious insignia such as crucifixes during a cull. Signaling particular devotion could enhance the odds of selection since churches obviously preferred devout slaves. There was less likelihood of trouble. But the boy being watched by Domenicus was almost defiant in the way he proudly wore a fundamentalist, plain wooden cross around his thick neck on a chain of black and white wooden beads.

Then he turned to display his backside to the catcher, the Baptist agent, and Domenicus tensed, stared and then almost gasped. It was faint but unmistakable. The silky skin was webbed with a very light network of lines all over the broad shoulders and deeply dimpled bubble ass. Some weeks before this big, husky boy had been very thoroughly whipped! The welts were almost fully healed and the marks would shortly fade away entirely, but he had definitely been put to the lash at some length.

Domenicus would know. He was a true expert in administration of scourgings. Fascinated he wandered back into the lecture hall and waited to see if his subject was selected. He was not and Domenicus approached him,

His deep ballsy voice was full of sincere respect, The priest let his fingertips lightly trace the faint weal lines criss-crossing the hard, ramrod straight back. Yes, definitely the lash. Domenicus knew the marks well from his lengthy experience in employing the favored tool of purification of a young man's errant, weak flesh. Jacob shuddered slightly at the touch and a soft sigh escaped his lips. Domenicus gasped in disbelief. A flagellant, eager to suffer for his savior but just as eager to punish others? This was rare indeed and his excitement was hard to contain. And a virgin to boot?

God must have guided my path this day. Perhaps the loss of the cursed warlock was just part of the plan. This must have been the real mission intended for me.

He tried to mask his mounting zeal, bordering on hysteria, Almost at once the super-buff youngster nodded, his face aglow, Domenicus, almost feverish, looked around and sought the most beautiful, perfect boy in the room. He found a tall, graceful adonis with short, curly dark hair and a proportionality to every muscle that was just haunting. He was standing respectfully still, arms thrust behind him, chest pressed out, belly corded before the eyes of the Baptist catcher. His big penis was also jutting up just as Jacob's. The soft, strangled cry from the boy and the way his body suddenly flexed told Domenicus he had driven him too far. His ecstasy was communicating into uncontrolled reaction and the priest hurriedly thrust out both arms to form a protective shield around the youth's hips with his robe. The orgasm quickly exploded forth and he let the thick dollops of cream splatter into the thick, soft wool to be absorbed.

Jacob's voice was almost a sob as he whispered urgently, mortified,

Domenicus touched the boy's lips with one gentle finger to hush him. Jacob's eyes flickered over towards the dark-haired demigod. A dreamy look came over his face and Domenicus feared for a moment his prize might swoon. Then the head just slowly nodded, His hand was trembling slightly as it caressed the luscious curve of one of Jacob's ass lobes. He didn't need to finish his thought. Jacob fully understood and nodded eagerly. The pup also followed, almost salivating, as Domenicus walked slowly to the dark haired jock who was just now looking relieved that the other catcher had passed him by. The kid eyed the intense-looking priest who asked the question and the crew-cut boy behind him and a shiver edged through him. He didn't at all like the way they were looking at him. It reminded him of hounds about to pounce on a cornered rabbit. Jacob was breathing in such excitement that his voice was almost a pant. Mark obeyed when the priest ordered him to display his form in all its corded perfection.
The other boy obviously liked what he saw, Perfect for what? Mark was nearly recoiling now in terror. What will they do to me? This can't be happening! His state of mind was not eased one bit as Jacob leaned close and whispered with intensity into his ear. Mark was too shaken to think to deny the accusation. He had indeed counted coup with a great many cunts over his short lifetime. As star quarterback and general top dog on his high school campus he had had his pick among the air-head bitches clamoring to get into his pants. He just dumbly nodded.
Then he abruptly winced and groaned as Jacob's fist closed tightly around his still turgid cock and squeezed it painfully, Behind him Domenicus was almost in ecstasy. Knowing he had recruited a true, utterly devoted soldier of the new Inquisition, one prepared to act without mercy or qualm to do God's cleansing work, was almost too joyous an event to cope with. If anything, Jacob's zealous fervor was greater than his own ... and that was actually just a bit frightening even to him.

While the little drama involving Jacob and Mark played out and they prepared to depart with Domenicus, the remaining candidates at WTCU were still being examined by John Gantry, catcher for The Baptist Federation as he culled through their ranks one by one. So far he had not made any selections.

The Baptists had already used up most of their huge pool of tithe certificates and he was being very picky these days. None present appealed to him enough to justify using one of the few he had left, though he had studied Mark very closely and came close. Seeing the maniacal-looking priest grab up the dark-haired fox had made him regret not taking him but it was too late. He felt sorry for the now terrified youngster as he stumbled from the room behind his new owner, another young lout eagerly hurrying him on with none too gentle shoves from behind. Apparently the priest had found himself a like-minded recruit.

Gantry shuddered in revulsion and hissed after them ... fanatics! The brunet teen was probably really in trouble. Too bad. In Baptist hands he'd have been well treated, though milked for the wonderful labor locked in his rugged young muscles. He was about to leave when his eyes caught something he had missed. There was a boy with velvety, short auburn hair that he had passed by but now found to be of sudden interest. He was cute enough and the body was really nice, but there was one feature that riveted the catcher's attention.
The kid sported a thick, long beauty of a cock and, like many of the other boys, this one had little control over his joystick and it was poking out like gun barrel before his hips. But that was not what the catcher was ogling.

Nice rod on that one, but wow! Look at his chest!

The boy had marked himself proudly to cry out his devotion to God. A beautifully worked blood-red tatoo of a cross ran over his left pec, the bottom end becoming tendrils that looped around the big, rubbery nipple with its eraser nib as if rooted to it. It was a thing of artistic beauty, one of the most eye-catching such tatoos the catcher had ever seen.

Reverend Jack Delaney up in Seattle would pay dearly to possess this boy because of that tatoo. The catcher was experienced enough with the Baptists to be able to insure a particular boy wound up in a particular site so long as it wasn't manipulated too often or obviously. He knew of Delaney's fixation with big-hung teen boys with religious tatoos and the sizable gratuity he'd ante up to get his hands on one this nice. He stepped forward and admired the lad's decorated chest up close.

The catcher smiled happily, almost counting the cash Delaney would give him for the privilege of baptizing this brat, Disappointed but at least relieved he had been chosen by the Baptist catcher, Brian obediently followed. At least he hadn't been nabbed by the damned Satanists! The Baptists would likely not abuse him too much.

About then the doors opened and a well-dressed man hurried in and approached the administrator supervising the selection session, thrusting out a hand as he came,

The school official nodded but didn't look pleased. It had been bad enough that the awful Satanist and that vicious priest had shown up but at least the representative of the secretive sect from Utah hadn't appeared, though registered. That had been a relief. Now, here he was and late to boot. He hated seeing the students from his university hauled off by the likes of the three extremist groups but the rules were the rules. Since Lowry had arrived before the students were excused they were, unfortunately, still fair game. If only the Baptist hadn't dawdled so long before choosing that one boy.

With a sigh, he shrugged,

I'm actually glad that Jacob went. He looked like real trouble and we're better off without his fanatic type running around campus. Ready? The administrator frowned. Ready for what? But he figured that maybe he really didn't want to know the answer.

After a quick, cursory inspection of the naked studs lining the walls, Lowry paused, ironically, before his fellow truant, Peter Davidson. He examined the husky, full-muscled youth closely, palpitating his pecs, thighs and springy six-pac abs. He had him turn and studied the broad, shoulders and sturdy back, though his real interest seemed to be in the fine bubbled ass lobes jutting out behind the lad.

Hmmm. Very nice, he mused. I like the texture of his meat, likely marbled with just the barest trace of fat to make it juicy and tender.

Peter frowned. Why would that matter? Still he knew he was required to be cooperative so he politely responded,
    "A hundred and eighty pounds, sir. And I'm really solid and cut. Would you like to see me flex?"
180 lbs = 82 kg
Lowry shook his head, seeming distracted in thought,  
70 lbs = 32 kg
  Let's see. Deduct sixty percent for waste. That works out to roughly seventy pounds of actual meat. That's just a bit less than our standard but considering his age not bad. He's a bit shorter than we usually choose.

He glanced around at the other animals available. A few were taller and more heavily muscled and would certainly field dress to better poundage, but there was something that appealed to him in Peter. He again ran a hand over the teen's firm gut and rubbed and probed.

I really like the feel of him. I just have a hunch this one's a walking filet mignon. What he lacks in bulk he'll make up for in taste.

"Yes," he nodded, making his decision. "Definitely. I'll take this one. He'll be quite ideal for our needs."

Needs? The school administrator frowned again and cringed. Poor Peter. I can only imagine what is in store for him in Jacobsdale. Lowry was feeling him out the way a housewife selects a pot roast in the meat section at the supermarket. Damn but I loath this entire tithe business.

But of course he kept those blasphemous, treasonous sentiments carefully masked. He valued his position at the university and had no desire to end up in a government re-education camp somewhere. He dutifully registered the selection certificate executed for Peter by the pleased looking Deacon and watched him lead his prize away, then turned to the relieved looking crowd of naked boys in the room and smiled.

"It's over guys. Get dressed and get out of here. Congratulations. You can get on with your lives now. Sorry it took so long."

Byron Beatty stood naked before his somewhat older lover Kent Lewis and stroked his steely, drooling penis. Kent, a twenty-three year old ex-marine was a god in the nineteen year-old's eyes and pleasing him was all that mattered much to the boy.
Kent enjoyed watching him masturbate so he always jerked off for a while to stoke the bullish young mechanic's lusts and after popping his load would be fucked up the ass with wild abandon as Kent got off. He was very close to orgasm and stood with his handsome, athletic body flexing, eyes closed, as he concentrated on the last few strokes of his pumping fist that would trigger his explosion.

Closer ... closer, my balls are starting to churn ... anytime now ...

At once the blond jock slammed his free hand down around the base of his cock and used both hands twisting in opposite directions to strangle and Indian burn the organ. At the same time he brutally jabbed a couple of the fingers of the lower hand into his nuts, compressing the orbs painfully.

It worked. The brutal treatment instantly dropped the pretty muscle-boy back from the brink of ejaculation, though the long, thick rod remained fully inflated and hard. Kent watched that action with pleasure. They were both mild pain freaks and seeing the pretty boy engage in such self-abuse was exciting.

He also knew that Byron was delighted at the prospect of getting head. The kid was very submissive and never, ever whined but he knew he liked assistance in popping the huge load he spewed every time he came. Kent was just too dominant to really like sucking dick and no one would ever fuck his hole ... he was just too manly. But he really cared about Byron and occasionally, when he thought about it, made himself sink to nursing on that big, juicy cock bobbing between the teener's brawny thighs.
Stabilized, eager to feel Kent's mouth around his love muscle, Byron stepped over to where the dark-haired hunk was sitting with his legs sprawled apart. He issued a soft sigh of pleasure as he briefly gazed upon his partner. After showering, Kent had temporarily donned a long terrycloth bathrobe of soft gray fleece. Watching Bryon masturbate, he had, of course, been slowly stroking himself and had let the robe slide away from his shoulders, though his arms remained in the sleeves. The effect of the slight covering was just a perfect, erotic touch ... something Kent was very good at creating.

Sex! Byron thought. He's just pure, incredible sex, a walking, talking penis. I am so fucking lucky to have him!

As Kent watched the boy approach he freed his own bobbing, corded organ from his fist and raised his arms in welcome. Byron stepped close, straddling the man's left thigh and leaned down to give him a very protracted wet kiss. Their exploring, worshiping hands moved over each other's naked flesh, each caress sending out an electric sensation. Their tongues entwined and fought a wild, prolonged duel.

I wonder what my parents would say if they could see us like this? Byron almost giggled at the amusing thought. My mother would vomit and my father ... well ... the good reverend would likely have such a fit he'd die of a heart attack. We are being so fucking daring, doing this right in my home, right in the rectory, though they won't be back from the Church supper for hours yet.

Byron had claimed an upset stomach and been excused from attending the weekly potluck his father sponsored for the members of his strict Pentecostal flock. Though homosexuality was generally condoned by many of the nation's religions these days, Pastor Elmer Beatty's was definitely not one of them and what his son was doing just then was the blackest of sins in the father's eyes.

And those eyes were just now filled with the disbelief of viewing that sin. Janet Beatty was slumped back against a wall, face averted from her son and this horrid man who was kissing him ... right on the mouth! She was on the verge of vomiting the generous portions just consumed at the potluck.

They had left the supper in the capable hands of Elder Martin and returned home to check on poor ailing Byron. The lovers hadn't heard them come in, quiet as mice, anxious not to wake their son if he had succeeded in falling asleep. Only now did they become aware they had company as all hell broke loose.

The reverend always carried a snub-nosed revolver in a holster in the small of his back beneath his loose, frock shirt ... never knew when a sinner would need apprehension ... and now he drew it, cocked it and pointed it at the pair of monstrous, fornicating sodomites.

Kent rose and started trying to apologize, grabbing the robe back around his naked form, his steely cock swiftly wilting. He moved as if to make a hurried exit but Beatty leveled the muzzle of the pistol directly at his crotch, The tone left no question the threat was serious and Kent wisely backed off and raised his hands to signal cooperation. Byron seemed absolutely frozen in fear, unable even to speak.

I'm gone! He thought. I'll be booted from the Church and my home and Kent will be fired and hounded out of town after dad gets through contacting his influential friends. I can only hope he'll take me with him wherever he goes.

Even as he stood there his father whipped out his own cell phone and dialed a three-digit emergency number. Byron frowned. Who the hell is the sanctimonious old bastard calling? The police? They wouldn't care what ...

A deep chill crept over the boy as a terrifying thought flashed through his mind. Surely not! His own dad wouldn't go that far ... no way! But it was yes, way. The call indeed was to the hotline of the National Office of Citizen Compliance. The NOCC operator answered at once.

Beatty's church was one of the few that boycotted the tithe, viewing it as evil because Catholics, Jews and heathen Muslims and Satanists were permitted to participate. Most of the sons of the congregation evaded the tithe and few were ever brought to account since healthy bribes were paid to the local authorities to blink at the violations. Both Kent and Byron had ignored the legal requirement of submitting to the selection process, Kent five years earlier, Byron just the previous year.

Now, to their utter horror, the good reverend reported them. Within minutes they were officially outlawed and, ordinarily, they'd then have had to be turned over to a police agency to face execution. But the helpful duty clerk at NOCC, appraised of the situation, was understanding and exercised his power to deputize the High Pentecostal Congregation of God's Will in Sanctity, West Virginia, to destroy the pair of malefactors.

Of course, not even Elmer Beatty was hard enough to actually kill his own son. Instead, after the grim-faced deacons of the Church arrived, he turned the two trembling outlaws over to them.

He cast an evil glance at Kent, almost licking his lips in anticipation of the delicious pleasure about to be experienced, Martin put a kindly hand on the troubled pastor's shoulder. He smiled venomously at Kent, just imaging the wonderful things he'd do to make the big stud scream. Oh this is going to be just wonderful! God has been bountiful in this bit of work!

About the same time, far to the west, Deputy Frank Nielsson of the Blackfoot County Sheriff's Office ended his radio call and grinned at his partner, Deputy Luke Gray, a rookie three years younger.

6' 3" = 1.875 m 
210 lbs = 95.5 kg
 The kid was gorgeous, baby-faced beneath his feathery auburn crew-cut, so he looked younger than his real twenty-one years, but built like a brick-wall, a young giant at six-three and two hundred ten pounds of rock-hard, sculpted muscle. He filled out his crisp uniform so completely that you could see the wonderful cords of his sinew outlined in the cloth and the bulge between his legs left little doubt that he was well-endowed.

Someday I'll have to seduce that young fucker. I bet he has a nice, tight virgin ass that just screams out to be broken in. I'll have to be careful. He is one big SOB and meaner than a junkyard dog too, despite that innocent face.

Frank chuckled at the rookie's mounting excitement, He then again looked anxious, suddenly afraid that because of the importance of one being a border runner they might all be ordered to headquarters for interrogation before they were executed, Luke had never killed before and had been salivating at the prospect. They'd stopped the four hunks for speeding just ten miles from one of the unguarded, unofficial crossing points of the Canadian border. As always they had run a warrants check and this time hit pay-dirt and he knew exactly how he wanted to dispose of one of the quartet.

He watched as his savvy seasoned partner peeled off his uniform shirt and followed suit. Before returning to where the prisoners awaited, he opened the utility case in the trunk of the patrol vehicle and pulled out the thick hemp rope he always kept there ... just in case. One end was formed into a perfectly tied hangman's noose.

Brock Carter was just sick as he watched the two grinning, sadistic deputies returning from their car. They had been sure enough that his group would show up as outlawed that they had already forced all four to strip naked and secured them. Shave-headed Craig Gannon had his wrists cuffed over his head to a hook dangling from a tree limb and Brock was similarly restrained. Sunny blond Jake Kincaid and boyish Billy Jones had their wrists cuffed behind their backs.

Brock, twenty-two, had picked up the three eighteener rabbits at the rendezvous site outside of El Paso and driven them north to join his band of atheist rebels operating out of British Columbia. Just ten minutes from safety! Ten friggen minutes after nearly twenty hours of driving! He blamed himself. He'd gotten so tired that he'd allowed Craig to drive while he napped briefly and the kid, nervous and anxious, had disobeyed his strict orders. Do not speed! Do nothing to attract the attention of the cops!

So here we are and now the killing begins.

Brock regretted his own coming execution but not nearly as much as he regretted the looming deaths of the three handsome teens who had decided they could not abide life in the American theocratic dictatorship. They had been entrusted to him and he had failed them. It made him sick and he almost welcomed death knowing the nothingness would at least erase his guilt feelings.
The deputies had stripped to the waist and the super-buff younger one was carrying a noose, twirling it like a toy from one hand, the trailing rope draped once over his broad shoulders and then dragging on the ground behind him. He was grinning in obvious relish of the task ahead. There was a mean look in the young eyes that made Brock shiver.

He knew the look of a natural killer when he saw it.

The older cop studied Brock with interest while his partner tossed the noose rope over a stout tree limb a short ways away. After a bit he spat on the ground by Brock's bare toes and sneered.

Brock kept his silence. Canada vigorously opposed both the US theocracy and the tithe and most of its border was now tightly controlled. Still there were many points for illegal crossings and a fair number of rabbits took refuge up there where they were routinely granted status as political refugees. The Cannucks also closed their eyes to more organized resistence including guerilla strikes by the organized atheist underground operating from their soil.

Brock actually had been involved in the recent raid on the camp, the biggest coup to date of the recently created American Atheist Army (AAA) that was beginning to really irk the enforcement agencies of the US regime. He had no intent, however, of admitting anything.

The brawny younger cop was ready and jabbed a finger at Brock.

The older one shook his head, Looking mildly sulky, Luke studied the three college freshmen, then nodded at Billy Jones with his luxuriant mop of silky brown hair. He laughed as he walked away and Luke unholstered his nine millimeter automatic, chambered a round and cocked the hammer before slipping off the safety. He approached Craig and aimed at the left side of the teen's bare chest from a foot away. He writhed in fear even as the cop squeezed off the shot. The crack echoed loudly and a red hole instantly appeared in the smooth skin of the pec just to the left of the sternum, right into the boy's heart. The prisoner made a gurgling cry and convulsed for a few seconds before going limp, the head lolling down and the legs collapsing. He dangled by his wrists as blood began dribbling from his mouth to splatter down over his chest.

Frank had returned and Luke grinned wolfishly,

He aimed at Jake Kincaid's chest but before he could fire the senior officer caught his wrist and with a malicious snicker forced the pistol down until the muzzle was aimed at the teen's groin just above his big-hung crotch, And he fired.
Jake's shriek as the slug drilled through his lower gut was high and demented, not at all human. He was thrown backwards by the impact and sprawled on his butt. The young cop shot him twice more below the belt, the second round sent directly into the genitals themselves before putting a final round into his heart to finish him off.

Shortly Billy Jones had been manhandled over to the waiting rope, struggling violently and bellowing in fear every inch. After seeing his buddies shot down moments before he knew full well he was about to die too but he had no intention of leaving the world without a fight. It availed him nothing as the two deputies were strong, particularly bullish Luke, and with ease they managed to get the noose snugged around his throat.
They hauled him up off his feet until he dangled about a foot off the ground and tied the loose end of the rope taut to a tree. Almost at once the teen began to strangle.

He returned his salivating gaze to Billy as the boy's naked body continued to writhe and buck in the air in a macabre little dance. His burning lungs heaved desperately to suck in air ... with little success ... just enough to prolong the inevitable. His legs kicked about, flexing powerfully, and his big genitals bounced all around between the splayed limbs. Spittal flew from his gagging lips like froth from a rabid dog.

Jesus he looks hot like that! Luke moaned, brutally abusing his steeled manhood through his pants. He wanted to pull out his meat and jerk off but was afraid that might be going too far and make Frank think he was a queer or kink of some kind.

Frank returned to his taunting of the last prisoner but was disappointed. It was as if the older hunk had lost interest and just stood there ignoring the efforts to provoke him. He was hoping the guy would give him a reason to beat him and maybe even swing the blunt end of the ax into his big-hung crotch a time or two to pacify him.

Instead Brock faced death with surprising calm and dignity, offering none of Billy's anguish or resistence. He followed Nielsson's instructions with such sullen cooperation that the officer realized this one must just want to get it over with. Probably feels responsible for losing these other three. Well, so be it.

Actually rushing to a welcome death was not at all what was going through Brock's churning mind, but he realized he might yet have to die if any of them were to live. Maybe not. The next few seconds were critical and they seemed to tick by with horrible slowness.

If only these bastards hadn't killed Craig and Jake with such haste! Well, that's done and I can't change it but at least, with the right timing, Billy can still be saved.

Fighting to control the impulse to move too quickly, he dropped to his knees as ordered, then eased his body down to place his head over the squarish hunk of deadwood that the deputy had found to use as a chopping block. He turned his head to get a look at Billy and was concerned at how quickly the boy's dancing form was quieting as it dangled on the end of that awful rope.

Come on! Come on! He tensed and waited. What are you waiting for, guys! Do it!

Above him, the cop hovered with the ax. Despite his posturing to Luke, he was really not at all seasoned in killing although the prospect deeply aroused him. He had often fantasized about decapitating another man just as Luke apparently got off on hanging or strangulation. Still, he had to get his nerve up now that the act was at hand. He licked his lips nervously.

He watched as Brock obeyed and studied the curving back of the elongated neck, trying to decide just where best the stroke should go. Almost mesmerized he touched the sharp edge of the blade to the selected spot and saw Brock shudder and flex at the contact. Slowly he drew it back up over his head with both hands, sucked in a breath, and prepared to bring the ax whistling down.

Luke! He'd almost forgotten.

He averted his eyes for a moment towards his partner's back.

But something was suddenly terribly wrong. Something slammed hard into his solar plexis just below his sternum. There was the most dreadful burning sensation spreading out with terrific speed and he was having trouble controlling his muscles. He couldn't know but a high powered injector dart had just buried itself into his upper belly and emptied its potent load. A second dart was whizzing in and in another split second would join its twin a few inches below in Frank's corded abs.

The ax dropped from the deputy's rubbery hands and clattered to the ground behind him even as he collapsed to his knees before toppling over onto his side. A bloody froth was beginning to bubble from his lips as Brock rose up and looked into his eyes, loathing in his features.

Brock's voice just trailed away in Frank's ears as inky nothingness settled over him and his brain shut down.

A few feet away Luke was in the last stages of dying as a few muscles tics twitched through his muscular frame. Three of the darts protruded from his chest and gut. The black-clad commando figures had already cut Billy down and were expertly administering CPR to restore his ragged breathing and tend to the nasty rope burn on his neck.


Three thousand miles away in West Virginia, Kent Lewis stood with his wrists bound up over his head to an overhead beam and his ankles tied to posts to either side, forcing his legs to remain widely-spread. He was naked. He was also screaming, the shrieks high-pitched and demented as Carl Martin finished carving the hideous cross on his flesh with the red-hot poker.

It ran from just above the edge of his pubic copse up over his corded, six-pac belly over his sternum to the small hollow just below his throat at the top of his chest. The side-bars ran across his chest from nipple to nipple and the big eraser-capped tits had been totally fried in the process.

The demon-eyed church elder, carrying out what he kept referring to as God's holy work, had taken his time in the torture, drawing it out at length to savor. The ex-marine had managed to keep a vestige of self-control for much of the time, moaning and gasping, flinching and writhing, face contorted to a rictus of suffering,. He had finally given in completely to the excruciating agony when the glowing metal touched upon his first nipple.

Then his screaming had begun.

Praise God! Elder Martin beamed with pleasure. I've broken this son of Satan.

In the meantime the son of his minister stood a short ways away in the basement of the abandoned moonshine warehouse where the condemned gay studs had been brought for what Martin had described as cleansing by the righteous fires of the Lord.

They're crazy! Absolute raving mad in their brainwashed religious fervor! The teenager had tried to believe it was just a ploy to scare the living crap out of them, then maybe run their asses out of town. But after Carl Martin started in on Kent with that awful heated iron rod and slowly branded the deep lines of the cross down the front of his handsome body, he had known it was hopeless. They're gonna kill us! We're gonna die here in this stinking old basement beneath Hank Lane's half-collapsed moonshine plant.

When Martin had finished crafting the cross on Kent's flesh, Byron had assumed it would be his turn to be tortured in some similar fashion. Instead, he watched with growing horror as the maniacal agent of his father's vengeance reheated the iron and turned not to him but back to his lover. He stood gazing, tears streaming down his boyish cheeks, as Kent's furry armpits were put to the poker until they were blackened, blistered messes. With smoke curling from the pits, the iron was brought down to hover between the prisoner's parted thighs, just below his dangling genitals.

Bryon now began to scream and buck violently against his own restraints.

Martin turned to gaze at the screaming youth with open glee. ...
Then with a chuckle of sheer delight, he brought the glowing iron straight up and began destroying the ex-marine's manhood. In short order the handsome genital package was reduced to a charred ruin, the groin blackened from where the thick pubic hair had burst into flame and burned briefly with a fury. The ruined stallion stood stock still, his muscles in vivid contraction beneath his tawny skin, a statue frozen in utter agony, seeming paralyzed by the sheer depth of his pain.

The elder stepped back to survey his work with high satisfaction, accepting the acclaim of the deacons who had come to witness the rites and assure the pair of sodomites did not escape their richly deserved punishment. His heart sang with this wonderful opportunity to emulate his idol ... the high lord of the Inquisition who's skilled interrogation of heretics in sixteenth century Spain had set new standards of savagery committed in the name of faith.

True, Tomas Torquemada had been a detested Catholic, but the principals were the same. The man had acted in the right way, he had just been deluded about doctrine. Years before Martin had read an account of the Spanish inquisitor's handling of the sons of several English protestant ministers who had been found among the crew of a wrecked trading ship on Spain's north coast.

One by one the boys had been burned alive in the great square before the cathedral in Burgos, punished for the sins of their fathers. Now Martin turned his baleful gaze on his own youthful prisoner and felt a chill run down his spine. He was following in the great footsteps of Torquemada.

Byron Beatty was a heretic. Now he must be burned!

7 ft = 2+ m
 All was in readiness for that great event. The boy was fettered by his wrists and ankles facing a stout wooden pole, one of the last mainstays holding up what was left of the ramshackle building. A low ring of dry logs and chunks of deadwood about seven feet in diameter had been laid around him and now that fuel was ignited. It began to burn, spreading in the circle swiftly until the ring was a crackling blaze of flickering, jumping flame.

Martin felt brilliant and well-learned. He had gleaned from his readings of Torquemada's techniques that direct play of flame on a subject killed way too fast. The very smoke would usually asphyxiate in short order. The ring now employed to dispatch Byron Beatty would kill him quite certainly as the heat in the center of the blaze eventually rise to a deadly level. But the boy's suffering would be protracted and hideous as he was literally baked alive.

As his naked body began to redden and then blister in the swirling heat vectors rising all around his twisting, writhing form, his screaming began. Byron wasn't sure he really believed in heaven or hell, but he knew one thing as his execution played out. He had found hell on earth!

Byron and Kent were still alive when the flames communicated to the ceiling above and the building itself began to burn. The deacons, lead by Elder Martin, retreated outside and knelt in prayer as the inferno developed. Shortly the screams of the two young men down in the basement could no longer be heard as the leaping flames roared into the night.

Martin raised his hands towards the heavens, tears of joy cascading from his eyes, A chorus of vehement AMENS rang out all around his kneeling form as the bright red glow of the crackling flames reflected off his face.

Mark Godfrey took his place in the confessional and when the latticed window slid open intoned the necessary words.

There was a sharp intake of breath and a pause. The priest sounded distinctly irate now. Godfrey was walking on very thin ice. There was another very long pause as the priest contemplated the situation.

Should I refer him to the Brother Servitors of The Angel of Death at their carefully secluded cloister within the walls of St. Thomas In The Rockies? I must first determine that he is completely serious and not of unsound mind, though his evil doubts do make it attractive to destroy him before he becomes a serious embarrassment to Mother Church.

Ah! The Brother Servitors are particularly prone to giving their aide to homosexuals, viewing it as a good thing if such men, desiring death, find it. The priest nodded. He could actually sympathize with that view. In fact, a great many people in America agreed vehemently but were too afraid to speak up and incur the sever penalties for admitting such opinions. There was even a growing secret admiration for the rebellious group of militant, exiled tithe-dodgers in Canada who were becoming a real thorn to the masters of America. I must, of course, try to dissuade him. I'll just, perhaps, try not to be particularly persuasive. A trip to the brothers in Colorado would likely be best for this boy.


Shane and Aaron arrived at the secluded monastery in the head of an isolated valley thirty miles north of Glenwood Springs at the very base of the craggy Rocky Mountains within a few hours of Angel and Christian. The quartet of youths enjoyed the opportunity to get to know each other better as a group, quickly bonding. All agreed that if they had had to be selected, service in good Catholic choirs was about the least onerous fate that could have befallen them.

Shane shortly became the first to find cause to seriously doubt that judgment.

They were advised there would be a delay of a week or so in what was termed their preparation due to the recent death of a key monk in the hierarchy. His replacement was apparently still being trained in whatever it was that was done with the candidates who had been tithed. In the meantime they were each assigned duties, he and Aaron to the gardens which proved pleasant. Thus he was not happy when after a few days he was reassigned to a heavily secured sanctuary within the grounds that he was told operated independently of the regular monastic order. Even apart from the mild irritation of daytime separation from his lover, he was at once intensely uneasy.

The furnishing was contrived a bit too obviously to attempt a comfortable aura, the walls painted in bright colors, even a strategic planter of handsome but artificial greenery placed here and there. The appearance of cheer was shallow and unsuccessful, the lack of outside windows and heavy, locked doors lending a jarring prison-like quality while the almost unpleasant antiseptic cleanliness suggested a hospital. He found his nose wrinkling in disquiet the moment he entered the building's inner wards.

The man to whom he was assigned wasn't even a priest or monk but a lay brother. Still, he was an exciting element in a work site that otherwise sent a chill down Shane's spine. He was without doubt the most absolutely perfect, exquisitely beautiful man he had ever seen and, though he was sober in his demeanor, he was not unfriendly. He eyed Shane with interest and extended a hand. The shake was strong and manly and the warmth of his palm sent a quiver of excitement surging through the boy's loins.

6 ft = 1.8+ m
 He stood well over six feet and every inch of his frame was sculpted from rock-hard muscle beneath a smooth, peach-tanned skin. The chest was broad and deep, the pecs curving lusciously forth to hover over the tapering, six-pac abs below. His defined, ripped arms were like oak limbs but, like the rest of him, were utterly harmonious, not over-done as with far too many cosmetic body-builders. This man's body was a utilitarian thing, not just an ego trip for show, and there was a near predatory, feline grace in his movements. Shane guessed him to be early to mid-twenties, though age was hard to tell with such good-looking, fit studs.

This guy could be dangerous, Shane tried not to salivate openly. But it's worth a little risk just to get a good look at something as hot as him!

Knight appeared to be sincerely cautioning, not threatening, though his next words were certainly ominous, The man wore nothing but a set of athletic shorts, hardly monastic garb, so Shane had no need to speculate about that wonderful body upon which his eyes, and lusts, were feeding. He did wear a black onyx cross around his throat but Shane suspected that was mostly for show, probably a requirement of someone in authority, and not from any genuine piety. There was a matching ebony cross emblazoned on the hip of the white shorts.

A sort of uniform, Shane guessed. That was proven quickly when Knight produced a set of identical shorts and cross and turned to offer them to Shane.

Is this a slaughterhouse? Shane puzzled. Maybe this is where they process livestock to provide meat for the monastery kitchens. Then why all the security and secrecy? But then he was chilled as it occurred to him that crosses give no comfort to condemned livestock ... just to ... HUMANS!

While he watched Shane quickly strip naked and then don the shorts and cross, Knight continued to speak, his own eyes none too subtle in the way they admired the eighteener's own superb physique, something the boy found encouraging and reassuring.

At least he seems to like me.

Fix? What the fuck? Shane didn't like the sound of that one bit! Knight chuckled. Shane was stunned at the stark bluntness of the assessment, though he had certainly known the legal reality of his having been tithed. Still he suddenly felt terribly weak and vulnerable. He also was desperately anxious about Aaron, his voice tense as he asked, Knight pursed his lips and gazed intently into Shane's face as he answered, seeking to divine his reaction to the shocking words now uttered. Shane made a choking noise, sure he'd misunderstood. Shane knew he should feel revolted and expected to have to mask such revulsion from his new overseer. Instead, he felt a strange curiosity and even a disturbing excitement about the prospect of participating in the activity described so bluntly by Jim Knight. Nor was that reaction lost on the man who looked at him with sudden interest. Blasphemous bastard, Shane thought, but not with much conviction. His own religious dedication was nearly nonexistent, as was Aaron's. He licked dry lips before finally replying. Now a slightly wolfish smile edged over Knight's strong features. To Shane's surprise, the thought of working in this macabre house of death was powerfully appealing and he quickly and sincerely replied, .
A vacuum-gust air-van, a cross between a helicopter and a ground vehicle, glided silently in at the docking bay late that afternoon just as Shane had finished becoming acquainted with the facility, touring the holding cells, clerical area, execution chambers and crematorium. Bodies were disposed of in-house. His tasks included maintenance of the clients until they were ready for killing, including their bathing, hygiene and feeding. Their cells were plain but comfortable and they were not abused or mistreated in any way as they awaited the fate they had ordained for themselves. Shane was also to operate the crematorium and, afterwards, grind the charred bones into a fine meal to be used as fertilizer for the monastery gardens. The air-van was auto-programmed and after the doors slid open to discharge five wide-eyed, nervous looking young men, it resealed itself and departed on the return leg to its origin. Shane watched and listened as Knight, smiling and pleasant, walked the new guests through their paperwork and briefing. One of the group looked to be in his early twenties, the rest still just teener boys like Shane. One of these, Tim Murchison, a soft-spoken youth with a southern accent drawled half-shyly that he'd "kinda" like to get it over with. He glanced at another teenager, a tall, willowy blond kid who was hot on the eyes, He glanced at his papers, The boy swallowed hard but then gamely nodded his golden mop of silken hair, Shane was actually impressed at Knight's professional, expert handling of the subjects. He had them eating out of his hand. He had expected the studs themselves to be all up tight and scared but they seemed surprisingly relaxed and accepting and he saw nothing that suggested any of the quartet would panic and rebel. That was a relief. Offing a dude with his complete cooperation was one thing ... even pretty damned erotic ... but doing it over a guy's objections was not something Shane was sure he could really handle.

The two other youngsters, Grant Lucas and Toby Danworth, both fine hunks with hot, sexy bodies, a bit nervously pointed out that they were to die together.

He looked as if he expected disgust or revulsion in his executioner's eyes and was relieved when he did not, I'll just bet! Knight concealed his distaste. Hypocritical fucking priests, the lot of them! He realized, of course, in theory the pair would have already been counseled about their plans, but feeling a need to at least make a last effort, Knight smiled slightly, But they were adamant and assured him they simply were tired of existing in a world they detested, so he shrugged and gave up. Knight nodded, The last of the group, the older hunk, found Knight looking at him with curiosity, Mark Godfrey gazed right back, not one bit intimidated, very calm, Knight laughed, As he locked pretty-faced Judah in his cell, the boy gave Shane a brave little smile, Shane was mildly uncomfortable talking to the other boy, not quite sure what to say. Shane nodded. Shane felt devastated and on impulse reached out and hugged the stranger, Startled, after a second the boy returned the embrace and seemed to find solace in it, Shane found he had tears in his eyes as he walked away, his emotions terribly confused. He had no desire to harm a hair on Judah's fair head, but he also knew that he simply had to be put to death. It was for the best, but the feeling of strange elation he felt in knowing he would share the other boy's moment of death almost shamed him. Almost.

It actually was making him very hard between his thighs.

Back in the office Knight had finished satisfying himself about Mark Godfrey's desires. He was always concerned when a subject wanted to suffer, though he deeply enjoyed those particular killings. He felt a need to be sure the guy understood what he was letting himself in for. Mark had seemed quite determined.

Knight pursed his lips thoughtfully, then arose, He led Mark to where a small platform overlooked a recessed, windowless concrete chamber below, its walls blackened, a slight smoky stench in the air, Staring mesmerized into the firebox, the husky buck was silent for a short while before replying in a matter-of-fact tone, not looking up, His cock hardened in his shorts. Nothing excited him more than to live-burn a young hunk and it was rare he found one gutsy or stupid enough to subject himself to such an excruciating end. He had designed the live-incinerator himself and was quite proud of how well it worked. Mark looked up at the man and spoke without emotion, Knight nodded and looped a friendly arm around the other stud's broad shoulders, Shane was less than honest with Aaron and the other two choir boys that evening, telling them only that he'd been put to work in a clerical office when they asked about his transfer. He saw no need to upset them with the truth, nor did he say anything about his gnawing fear about what was really in store for he and his friends.

Christian reported he had been assigned to help the new monk who was to prepare them for choir service, Brother Heinrich,

Shane frowned and hid his rising concern. He tried to sound just idly curious, Shane's level of concern was rising in a hell of a hurry now. Shit! Shane cursed inwardly. Fuck, fuck, FUCK!

He still kept his silence trying to figure out how to deal with the situation and his suspicions. Aaron noticed he was distracted as they made love that night but he told him he was just tired.

And at dawn the next morning he helped Jim Knight hang Tim Murchison.

He had served the boy a breakfast of his desire and, following Knight's secret instruction, had administered a strong sedative in the orange juice. In a short while the kid was giddy and mildly disoriented, giggling slightly as Shane gently stripped his muscular body naked. He had to steady the other teen's broad shoulders as he walked him down the hall to the execution chamber awaiting him.

He watched as Jim almost tenderly eased a thick rubber plug up into the boy's puckered anus and inserted a slim soft-rubber block into the lips of the thick, veined penis and up out of sight in the piss-tube.

Shane was impressed. He found himself liking his temporary boss more and more. He decided that when the chance arose he would risk asking the guy some pretty pointed questions about his own future.

Tim cooperated completely as a blood-red felt bag displaying the squat black cross of the Brothers Servitor was drawn over his head. He stumbled slightly as they positioned him below a dangling, slack noose and slipped it around his neck and snugged it tight, letting several feet of rope sag loosely behind him. The actual chamber was about the size of an elevator in an office building, the outline of a trapdoor in the steel floor.

After getting his victim standing well-centered, Knight massaged the naked shoulders below the hooded head,

15 ft = 4.5 m
 Jim led his apprentice down a steep set of metal steps to the underside of the execution chamber, a concrete pit about fifteen feet deep. He pointed to a small wooden lever on one wall, Shane gulped. He had not imagined he'd actually participate in the killing, much less extract the life himself by his own hand. He nodded but stood for a short while getting up his nerve before wrapping one fist around the slim, polished wooden handle. He felt a deep surge of excitement as he realized that one little flex of his strong arm and Tim Murchison would simply cease to exist, destroyed by a quick, easy balling of Shane's biceps.

Still, he found himself hesitating and he became aware of Jim Knight's figure behind him as the adonis's arms moved gently around him, his body pressing hard and warm against his backside. He could smell the fresh, musky male aroma and nearly swooned in pleasure even before the wet tongue touched his ear. He felt the steely outline of the huge cock in its cloth prison as it pressed into the cleft of his own scantily clad buttocks.

Gasping for breath, his cock almost ripping free through his shorts, Shane instantly pulled the lever in a brief arc of just a few inches. The trap beneath Tim Murchison's big male feet opened silently and he plummeted down, gaining deadly speed by the inch in his free-fall. Shane thought he heard a brief little cry from within the hood on the head, a sort of kittenish whimper.
There was a muted thud as the rope played out and brought the falling body to a bone-jarring halt a foot above the floor, directly in front of Shane, so close he could reach out to touch the boy he had just executed. The sound of the neck breaking was loud and very distinct, like an empty pop can that's been stomped.

Tim's hard, naked body convulsed violently for a second or two, the legs feebly kicking, then he was still as he dangled there, slowly turning around as the rope spent the last of its energy to pivot to its most natural axis. The head was bent down at an unnatural angle.

Jim took Shane's hand and pressed the palm to the left side of the dangling boy's chest. It was very warm to the touch yet ... and very still.

Shane bit his lip in embarrassment. He hadn't even realized he'd sponged his pants as he watched Tim drop.

Knight walked him through the disposal of that first corpse, helping unstring it and laying it on a Gurney to wheel down the hall to the crematorium. They shifted the dead boy to the steel feeding deck of the furnace and rolled him into the maw before latching the heavy, hinged door. He had already explained the controls but now hovered close as Shane activated the device and sent roiling jets of high-intensity flame roaring into the burning chamber.

Shane tried to look through the small porthole in the door but could see just a solid wall of bright orange-blue flame undulating like a swirling living thing, Knight laughed at the bit of humor and slapped the cute, dimpled ass through its shorts, He leaned forward and gave a light little kiss to the ex-marine's lips before impishly advising, Knight shuddered, even as he laughed, That afternoon Shane watched as Knight eased pretty-faced Judah from life's traumas, glad that this time it was all his master's show. He was powerfully aroused by the idea of seeing Judah snuffed but would not have trusted himself to actually extract the life from the pretty boy.

This was a much more graphic, violent killing than the hanging of Tim Murchison, though, if anything, Judah died more instantaneously. After feeding him his last meal, with a nice dose of sedative in the drink, Shane stripped the boy and gently assisted him to the small, bare room where he was to be executed. The only fixture in the concrete chamber was a large block of wood jutting up from where its base was bolted to the floor, a wicker basket lying close against one side.

There was an indentation, a shallow trough really, across the center of the block and Shane instantly realized it was to accommodate a neck stretched out over the underlying wood. It was actually similar to a headsman's chopping block he had once seen in a museum and his balls churned powerfully within his scrotum in excitement.

Judah was to be beheaded! Oh my God! Shane almost swooned at the realization. Oh I GOTTA see this!

If further proof was needed, it lay in the sturdy, broad-headed axe leaning against the wall in one corner of the room. Though mildly addled by the drug, Judah too recognized what was to be done and actually giggled as he supported himself by cuddling close in Shane's arm as it circled his shoulders.

Shane gave the boy a little hug and ran his free hand all around the sturdy, smooth-skinned neck, trembling with the heady sensation of power that gave him. He imagined the razored edge of the axe passing right through where he had touched and almost creamed his shorts again. Before he even realized he was speaking, he betrayed his inner feelings. Horrified at the blunt words, he instantly regretted them, Sensing what was happening, Judah reached down and groped Shane's bulging manhood, almost sending the dark-haired choirboy into orbit. He moaned and writhed as the hand continued to massage his steely penis. Encouraged to further honesty by Judah's surprising zest and good natured acceptance of his situation, Shane eyed the other boy with interest, Judah planted a wet kiss on Shane's neck, then whispered conspiratorially, Deeply moved, Shane kissed the boy back and embraced him in a tight bear hug, Judah turned from Shane's embrace and obscenely parted his knees and thrust out his pelvis. Panting in lust, Shane seized a thick lock of the silky, bronze-blond hair and jerked it free. Then another and another until he had a nice, full tuft assembled. The mild pain caused Judah to become hard and on impulse Shane dropped before the boy and began servicing his cock with his mouth. In mere seconds he produced the orgasm and thick bursts of cream exploded into his sucking mouth to glide down his gulping throat.

He was holding the spent, trembling boy-hunk close in his arms when Jim Knight came in and smiled,

Judah hesitated, Knight looked startled, then intrigued, Judah knelt facing away from the block and slowly leaned back his head and shoulders until he could position his neck on the wood. The front of his throat curved in a luscious, vulnerable arch, the delicate structure starkly outlined in the smooth skin. The boy obeyed and his face tensed as he froze perfectly still to provide an ideal target.
Knight aligned the axe blade with the throat, then in one fluid, practiced movement brought it briskly up and then back down.


A bright spray of blood accompanied the thud of the axe slamming into the wood and the bronze-blond head dropped neatly into the basket, taken off cleanly.

Shane treated Judah's corpse with the utmost respect when he fed the remains into the crematorium. He hefted the severed head gently, placing it at the top of the boy's shoulders on the tray before he wheeled it on in and ignited the burners. He slipped the lock of hair taken from the teen's groin into a compartment of his wallet, a little treasure just for his knowledge.

That night he discovered to his alarm that both Christian and Angel were missing. Aaron explained that the monk called Heinrich had come and taken them away for "preparation." He resolved that the next day he would have a confrontation with Jim Knight to see what he could get the man to tell him.

No execution had been scheduled that next day but when he arrived at the facility he learned that Knight was going to put the boy lovers to death.

Shane nodded, thinking the plan to be very humane and sensible, Knight had handed him a silenced nine millimeter Glock pistol and took up another himself, Shane hefted the weapon in his hand, liking the balance and the weight, feeling a sense of power at being armed, As in ... Grant Lucas and Toby Danworth? The buffly athletic teenagers had been housed together, assigned by Knight to a special bedroom that was, secretly, an execution chamber. When they reached it, he showed Shane a small button that opened a one-way window affording a full view of the cell and its king-sized bed. They discovered that the two young bulls, whom they half expected to still be asleep, were very much awake and in the throes of love-making. Lucas was stretched out on his back, head cushioned in a pillow, legs widely parted with Grant's head bobbing eagerly over his crotch as the second hunk lay sprawled on his belly down between Lucas' splayed knees. The executioners watched the mating for a while, finding the scene deeply moving and beautiful.

Knowing what they were about to do made it all that much more erotic for Shane and he was again amazed and a little troubled at how deeply he got off on this killing business. Last night he had been making love to Aaron but in his mind he was replaying the beheading of Judah and the hanging of Tim Murchison. Aaron had even remarked with delight at how unusually intense his orgasm had been,

He had expected they would simply open the door to the room, step in and shoot the boys, but Knight instead took him up a narrow staircase just to one side of the cell and onto its ceiling which also had a one-way viewing portal. This one had several small gun-ports in it that slid silently open at the push of a button after they chambered rounds in the Glocks and slipped off the safety switches. Shane nodded eagerly, his cock now as steely as the rod filling Grant's nursing mouth below. They carefully eased the silenced muzzles of their pistols into firing slots and lined up the targets. Knight thrust out his free hand and raised one finger. Then a second. Then a third ... and they squeezed the triggers as one, twin muted spits echoing dully in the shooting chamber.

A red hole appeared instantly in Lucas' chest just off center to the right of the left nipple, a good, clean heart shot. The boy shuddered, expelled a sharp breath as if punched in the gut, and went limp. A similar crimson hole drilled into Grant's back just below his left shoulder blade and he convulsed violently, also wheezing out a loud grunting gasp, lifted his head and chest for a split second, then went limp and collapsed back down, his head pillowed on his lover's abdomen.

Lazy trickles of blood began to stream from the identical wounds and spider web over the chest and back, but the flow was weak, not powered by beating hearts, and would cease in a brief time. The two dead youths looked remarkably peaceful as they lay there as if asleep after deeply sating orgasms. Lucas's hands even rested still on Grant's shoulders down by his hips.

They watched the scene in silence for a while, savoring the exquisite beauty of this particular snuff, before descending back to the main floor. Knight gave Shane a little kiss and briefly hugged him before leaving him to do his chores with the bodies. Alone with the executed lovers, Shane rolled Grant off onto his back. Though he had no doubt they were in fact quite dead, the idea of putting another bullet into the corpses appealed to him and he realized Knight had left it to him exactly where to place the extra rounds. On impulse he lifted Lucas' big genitals and exposed his anus. He snugged the silencer muzzle right up against the puckered sphincter and fired.

The limp form jerked powerfully as the heavy slug ripped through the gut, belly and chest and likely even made it into the head through the neck and mouth. Liking the effect, he spread Grant's thighs, bared his ass-hole, and put a round up through it as well. The private acts of violence followed by the ritualistic incineration of the jockish corpses had him so aroused by the time the bones were ground to gritty meal that he desperately needed to relieve his intense horniness.

He started to just jerk off but then paused. Why waste this huge load? I bet Knight is just as worked up and maybe I'll learn more from him if I can get a bit more up tight and personal in our relationship.
Outside the office, he stripped off his shorts and stepped through the door just in his skimpy cotton briefs. The pouch was powerfully tented with his hardening cock and he coyly eased the elastic band down the edges of his hips using both thumbs, baring the top of his thick pubic copse that was also leaking out the piss-slit of the briefs. He stared at the man at the desk with his most seductive stance and look, well aware that when he was stalking he could be just devastatingly hard to resist.

Never once in his young life had he failed to get into a set of pants he targeted.

Jim Knight proved no exception.

The man glanced up, sensing a presence, and gasped, almost snapping the pen in his hand as his fingers contracted along with the rest of his body. His balls churned so hard that he thought they'd rip the sac apart and his cock, already half erect from the morning's execution, took in blood so fast that it caused a giddy sensation in his brain. With difficulty he found his voice.

Shane pursed his lips, shrugged, then nodded, Knight rose and stepped to the boy and took him in his arms, his own crotch bulging furiously, They coupled on the carpeted floor of the office like a pair of ravenous hounds, joining with that special, all-consuming fury and power that only two men can share, competing to outdo each other in the giving of pleasure. Their orgasms were not long delayed and were stunning in explosive strength.

Afterwards, they lay together, spent and dreamy until finally Knight ruffled the silky butched stubble on the boy's skull.

Brother Heinrich smiled benignly at the tall, dark-haired doll of a boy standing naked before him, his eyes mildly glazed by the strong, calming sedative just injected a short while before. He was excited at this practice run after assuming his new duties after the late nutter's untimely death. He had studied the instruction guidelines but theory and actual performance of a castration were very different things and he was mildly nervous.

Mother Church wanted undivided attention from her singing slaves and nutting them had the further desirable effect of stabilizing voices that otherwise would change as the eighteener boys matured. It was really nothing new. As far back as the sixteenth century directors of all-male choirs in European cathedrals as well as opera managers in Italy and Spain had learned the secret to creating and maintaining sweet alto voices, more beautiful and satisfying to the ear than any sound a woman could ever produce.

There were two very different methods of ridding the choirboys of their unwanted, unnecessary testicles. One was really very simple and safe but took several days to accomplish. It was the preferred method and Heinrich had already completed that process with the gorgeous blond boy named Christian. He was now blissfully asleep in a recovery chamber, deeply drugged as his body began to rid itself of his seeders.

The alternative was reserved for those rare occasions when a quicker result was needed to swiftly provide a replacement in some choir on an emergency basis. Since he would have to perform it occasionally, Heinrich needed practice in this process as well and had decided to use the Hispanic youth as a guinea pig upon whom to experiment. He felt high confidence that he could do it right but even with experts there was risk. About one out of twenty nutted in this more traumatic fashion died of shock, accidental blood loss or infection.

That was why he chose Angel for it. Hispanics were far less valued for the choirs than beautiful golden creatures like Christian. If he screwed up and destroyed Angel, no one would really care. He certainly wouldn't. He personally didn't like Hispanics very much and the thought of inflicting pain on this one was actually rather appealing to him. Angel was quite expendable when you came down to it.

So, lad, let's just see if Papa Heinrich can nut your pretty brown ass without losing you. If not, I'll learn from any mistakes so the next boy I test it on will be far more likely to survive.

He had already shaven the slave's crotch and now bound his wrists securely behind him before applying a rubber ligature to tightly seal off his scrotum where it connected to the neck of the sex package. The boy offered no resistence as he was led into the warm, bubbly tub, the water laced with a powerful antiseptic as well as a numbing skin-permeable anesthetic. Heinrich, clad in a rubberized protective suit entered beside his white rat and secured the big penis with a dangling cord to draw it up out of the way of the center of attention, those huge seeders.

Big hung mother! Heinrich studied the orbs filling the ample scrotum. He's a good one to experiment on. The bigger the nuts the more likelihood of a complication. This is a good test case. If I can do him okay, I can do any smaller-equipped tither given to me to prune like this.

When Angel heard the monk speaking, it was hard to make the words register in his fogged brain. He finally understood he was being told to spread his knees widely apart, lean back and slide his butt forward to the edge of the concrete bench on which he was sitting within the tub, thus fully exposing his crotch. He complied. Asked if he could feel much below his waist, he just groggily shook his head. The lower body had numbed down swiftly. There would still be substantial pain as the cutting occurred but it should be manageable.

Okay taco-breath. Let's nut your useless butt.

Heinrich took up the razor-edged scalpel and reached for Angel's balls. The boy gasped a moment later as a severe burning sensation radiated from between his parted thighs. It became a steady, dull ache that seemed to pulse with his heart as the monk slit the scrotum open down both sides, then drew the testicles forth through the incisions and snipped them free one after the other. Heinrich held the severed sex glands in his open palm to examine with great curiosity even as tiny dribbles of blood dripped from them to plunk into the surface of the water-filled nutting tub.

The empty, wrinkled sac was oozing small ribbons of crimson from the slits and the interior where the connectors had been cut. That would cease quickly since the ligature was preventing fresh blood from joining that trapped when the balls were strangled.

Heinrich began cutting again, this time snipping off the scrotal wreckage, leaving a flap of skin to sew closed over the wound. Before that was done and the ligature released, he needed to remove Angel from the tub to cauterize the severed internal connectors and the edge of the skin flap. He reached to guide the moaning youth from the water but then abruptly hesitated.

One of the tricky parts was this movement phase. With the balls gone, there was little holding the ligature in place and a major risk was the rubber gasket sliding off to release a flood of blood. Then things got dicey and a swift, emergency attack with a cauterizing iron was required, often producing fatal shock.

But how careful must I be? Heinrich frowned. How easy is it for that ligature to slide free? That's something useful for me to know, isn't it? This is just a learning experiment today anyway and the more I learn from my experience with this greaser kid the better I'll be when dealing with white boys who really matter.

On impulse he reached between Angel's thighs and lightly rolled his fingers over the little, tight gasket. To his shock it easily slipped free and out into the water almost at once. He was appalled as he watched the crimson billows suddenly erupt in a thick spreading cloud between the splayed legs of the numbed, sedated boy.

Okay! This will be messy! I have to get him out of that tub and start burning his crotch in one hell of a hurry. I only have ... how long?

He was startled to realize he had no idea just how long it took a husky, healthy young man to bleed to death through a castration wound. If it takes a fair while, I can behave more carefully and cauterize with less trauma, reducing the risk of fatal shock in future boys nutted in the tub. I really need to know how long it takes.

So he relaxed and made no effort whatever to remove Angel from the rapidly coloring water nor to stem the flow from his crotch. Instead he poured a cup of coffee and settled back to time how long it took for the Hispanic boy to die.


Christian sat on the edge of the examining table in the small infirmary and waited for Brother Heinrich to come in to finish his castration. The blond hunk had come to grips with the fact that he was being turned into a gelding to "tame him and preserve his voice" as the monk had advised him when letting him know his balls were to be destroyed.

Of course he had been terrified and devastated at first but quickly realized there was nothing he could do about it. Thus he had just cooperated as the man shaved his crotch, then used a forceps-like device to slip one of the tiny rubber bands over his nuts and pop it free to choke off the sperm-factories at the base of his cock. It hurt horribly but the boy was then heavily sedated and kept in a mindless haze for the next two days. By then the shriveled, blackened balls were dead and even trying to remove the strangling band would have been pointless.

Now, after a week, they were about to actually drop off and Heinrich intended to prod that process along by coaxing the dead tissue free. As he waited, Christian drew up one leg and turned the knee aside to stare down again at his crotch and the ruined balls all drawn up and wrinkled, looking like a lump of coal attached just under his cock.

He could cope with having been castrated, much as he hated it. What was gnawing at him like a cancer was Angel. He had assumed his lover had been similarly de-balled and was just in another recovery room. But as the days passed and there was no sign of him, he started becoming more and more strident in his inquiries. Now, as Heinrich entered the room, he started in again. Heinrich had finally had enough. Mother Mary! The monk shook his head. What a fuss over that greaser kid. You'd think he mattered!

He took up the rubber-jawed gripping tool with which he would gingerly pull and twist at the blackened, withered seeders to try to get them to separate from the body. They looked about ready.

With a sigh, tears still streaming down his cheeks as he thought about Angel, Christian glumly, obediently complied.

Shane sat naked on the bed next to Aaron, gently caressing his lover's flat belly while the stud luxuriated in the affection and purred like a contented kitten. Both cocks were jutting up in rigid arousal, slick with saliva. They had been sixty-nineing at length before pausing to catch their breath and to draw back from the brink of orgasm, liking to extend their love-making for as long as they could to savor the sweetness of the mating ritual.

He gave Aaron a quick sideways glance and drew in a breath. It was as good an opportunity as any to level with him.

Shane repositioned to sit shoulder to shoulder with the other boy and cuddled him close, shuddering with pleasure at the flood of warmth radiating into him and the fresh, musky male aroma filling his nostrils. Aaron was indeed alarmed. Shane could feel his muscles tense and quiver even as he drew back his face to stare wide-eyed at him. The day he had helped Knight shoot the teen lovers, he had been given the full truth about the preparation in store for choirboys coming to St. Thomas In The Rockies. Further he learned that Knight, though perfectly comfortable with snuffing suicidal volunteers, hated the tithe itself and was revolted at the involuntary castrations occuring in the monastery. He had no truck with the religious zealots in control of America and had close ties to the rebel militants operating from Canada. A thought hit Shane, Knight grinned, Knight cocked an eyebrow, Anguish was in the man's eyes now as he looked at Shane. Jason Knight had a lot of his brother in him. The hair was worn a bit longer and was very wavy, undoubtedly as Jim's would have been if he'd let it grow out and styled it. The eyes were the same odd shade of bluish-violet and the strong, squared jaw had the same powerfully macho effect on the handsome face. When Shane told the stud to strip naked for execution and the shirt came off, he was impressed with the gorgeous, buff build of the superb upper body.

No, Jason was nowhere near the match of Jim's sculpted perfection, but then few men on earth could have been. Also, big brother had a few extra years of development under his belt and Jason might well have gotten there eventually, but it was Shane's job to make damned sure that never happened. His cock pulsed in powerful arousal at the realization of his awesome power over this super-hunk ex-marine. The erotic anticipation of the coming kill almost made his knees tremble as he studied the magnificent snuff-toy before him.

No, muscle-boy, you've built that body up to the best it will ever be. Within the hour I'll be sliding it into an incinerator to turn into fertilizer!
There were two differences between the brother's torsos besides the state of development. Jason had had his nipples pierced with small gold rings and the letters "USMC" were neatly tattooed on the crest of his right shoulder.

Semper Fidelis, marine dude, they trained you to die well so let's make that a reality!

That little stab at wry humor and the pluckiness implicit in it melted much of Shane's hardness away. The guy was human enough and dealing pretty bravely with a real scary situation. He felt a twinge of deep sympathy and any plans for a really prolonged, excruciating kill were discarded.

I'll still enjoy the hell out of offing you but we'll stop that strong heart real quick rather than dragging it out.

The lower body was just as nice as the upper and the manhood just about a match for what was lurking between big brother's thighs. To his surprise, the cock immediately started hardening as soon as it was freed and Shane suddenly understood the hunk's reluctance to doff his pants when first told to do so.

Jason managed a slightly abashed grin and nodded, Shane felt ashamed at the accusation but couldn't deny it, Shane dropped his shorts and briefs and kicked them off to join Jason in complete nudity, his cock rearing up like a stallion ready to mate. Jason gave the organ an appraising glance and nodded, Shane briefly thought about whether he could get by with fucking this gorgeous marine-boy stud and thought for just a second the bull had read his thoughts. Jason brought his fingers up to his chest and pressed them in and pretended to be dismayed, Standing there casually planning Jason's killing with him as if trying to decide where to go for dinner was incredibly erotic and Shane was enjoying it immensely. Moments later he and Jason were examining a creation of medieval Spanish executioners, the garotte. It was simple enough. The victim was positioned against a post and a strap or metal band around his neck screwed tight through a hole in the post to choke the life from him at whatever pace was desired. In short order the naked ex-marine was sitting on his butt, his shoulders snugged to the post, the leather strap circling his throat. A metal ring behind his neck held the band in a tight grip that would steadily tighten as a steel rod passing through the post was rotated by a hand crank on the other side of the beam.

Shane gave the crank a cautious twist to test things and was rewarded by a soft grunt from Jason as the strap bit into his neck and constricted his breathing just a bit. Encouraged, he twisted again. Jason's breathing became a wheeze and his deep chest heaved now as he had to fight to draw in every small bit of air, the rings in the nipples bouncing as the pecs rose and fell with such effort.

Another twist and he wont be able to breathe at all. This muscular young hunk, in superb shape and health, prime with virility, is mine now and I'm in total control. I alone determine if he lives or dies, breathes or doesn't. Fuck! What a trip!

He went around front to stand before the struggling ex-marine to get a good view of his face. Both cocks were sticking up in full erection, something that rang a chord in Shane's memory. He'd heard that strangling guys usually find it to be intensely erotic. He knelt down and took the hunk's penis in hand and began slowly stroking it. When he had it clearly near orgasm, he ceased the play and turned the crank and shut off the air altogether into the straining, burning lungs.

He watched Jason struggle now, his eyes bulging, face turning red, and then turned the crank back enough to again allow minimal, painful breathing. There was no need to be in a rush. He would kill the stud all right, but when he chose. Jason would die at Shane's pleasure and not before.

He again masturbated the younger Knight sibling but did not bring him to climax. Freeing the organ, he stood and leaned forward to rub his own drooling cock over Jason's face, jabbing the head at the boy's lips. Almost eagerly the mouth opened and let the steely man-pole slide in. He fucked Jason's face until he nearly popped, then pulled free and cranked the strap taut around the throat again to cease the flow of air.

After watching the suffering for a while, he again permitted breathing, and again face-fucked Jason, this time until he exploded and sent his creamy flood surging down the constricted, gagging throat. Spent and gasping for air himself, he sank down and engulfed Jason's cock in his own mouth and as he sucked and ran the swollen rod in and out of his lips, he reached up and was just able to get a hand on the deadly crank that controlled the bull's life.
He slammed it tightly close, straining to get the strap as tight as possible around the throat. As his air was shut off like a spigot, Jason reached spewing orgasm himself. Gism dripping from his lips, Shane collapsed over onto his butt and watched the other boy's death struggles play out. The strap was so tight that it had cut the skin slightly and little drools of blood trickled down the neck onto the roof of the chest.

Jason's face was a mask of suffering, saliva spurting from his gaping mouth, his body contorted and flexed, hands useless claws in the air to either side of his straining form. His cock was still hard despite having just fired his last load, an icicle of cum dangling from its slit lips.

It took another full minute before Jason suddenly went limp, dead or unconscious. Shane needed to be sure it was indeed death that had been accomplished so he picked up the silenced Glock pistol he had brought from the office, chambered a round, and aimed at the still, broad chest. He squeezed the trigger five times, watching as each round created a round hole and made the body jump like a puppet on strings. He fired a sixth bullet square between Jason's eyes.

I'm pretty sure, he chuckled, the dude's dead.

He trundled the corpse to the cremation chamber and manhandled it onto the feeder tray. Before pushing it into the chamber and igniting the gas burners, he unscrewed the catches on the nipple rings and pulled them free to keep. He had in mind to pierce both his own and Aaron's left tits and wear Jason's decorations as constant reminders of the debt they owed to his brother. He decided he would not be able to tell Aaron their true source, just that they had a tie to Jim Knight, their benefactor.

It seemed fitting and he shuddered in pleasure as he ran the cold golden rings against his hard, rubbery nipples and imagined how it would feel to have one nestled constantly through the left nib, or within his mouth as he sucked on Aaron's heart-side tit as they made love.

Jim Knight watched down into the concrete fire pit as Mark Godrefy stood naked in the center of the floor that sloped from all sides down to the flat spot where he was positioned. Without hesitation, the bull took up the big plastic container filled with high-test aviation gasoline and began to pour it over his body, letting it splash in waves onto his shoulders and chest to cascade down his front and back, taking care to especially drench his crotch as Knight had instructed.

The excess fuel that ran in rivulets from his glistening skin pooled around his feet so that they were immersed in a couple of inches of the flammable liquid.

The gasoline would begin to vaporize off the warm, smooth skin of the buff stud with surprising speed and Knight lost no time in ignition, wanting Mark to be at maximum flammability for the best results. He ignited the Sterno soaked sponge bound just back of the head of an arrow, knocked it into the bow and called down to his willing target.

They'd rehearsed it well. Godfrey leaned his upper body back, splayed his thighs and thrust up and out with his hips to give Knight an unhindered, free access to his fuel-soaked crotch, the sopped pubic thatch looking like a drowned rat clinging to his groin. He held perfectly still to provide the best target possible as Knight aimed and fired.

The steel barb knifed in just above the genitals and on through the lower gut and out the ass cleft just above the anus. Half the shaft drove through before the momentum ceased, the flaming sponge driven backwards on it, tightly pressed into the gasoline drenched manhood. Instantly there was a loud, concussive whump as tongues of fire exploded out and over the contracting, flexing body in all directions. Trendrils of orange-blue fury snaked up over the chest and back and drooled like greasy rivers down the legs until touching the pool around the feet.

When the pond exploded, the swirling rage of the inferno was so hot that Knight had to cringe back from the edge of the viewing platform above. The screams of the burning boy were shrill and demented but lasted just moments before they abruptly ceased.

Mark had wanted to suffer. He had, but not for long. He had wanted to assist in his own killing. He had. He had wanted to burn. He had done that too, but Knight had intentionally done it with maximum intensity to insure a fast death.

It was really not his intention to excessively punish the young men and boys he executed on behalf of the Brothers Servitor even when, as with Mark Godfrey, they bizarrely elected to suffer in the process. He'd grant such requests, but only to a certain degree.

About the time that the fire arrow pierced Godfrey's crotch and ignited his fuel-drenched flesh, hundreds of miles away Shane and Aaron were cuddled on the bed in the room they shared in the secret quarters of the sanctuary in Canada. The wavy-haired blond sat using the dark-haired Scotsman's form as a sort of chair as they kissed and teased each other towards increasingly urgent arousal.

The escape had gone without a hitch. Jamie had picked them up at the established point right on the second and, though they were all tense and frightened, they crossed the border ten hours later and were heartily welcomed among their new comrades in the underground resistence. They knew they would be expected to engage in active missions for the movement and there would be risk and possibly death ahead, but it was a price they were prepared to pay.

Jamie plied them with anxious questions about Jim and they could tell how much he wanted to see and lie with his lover and how much he feared for his safety. Listening to him, it became clear that Jim had modestly understated his heroic efforts in battling the tithe.

Now as he cuddled Aaron he thought again with gratitude about Brother Knight's courage and decency and thanked him mentally once more for having saved them. He had effectively given his intact lover to him as a precious gift and he would be forever grateful. He shared Jamie's concern. Jim's luck had to be running out. There were even rumors that a special task force from the feds had recently arrived in Colorado in response to an obvious rebel operation there.

He shuddered at what would be done to Jim if he were caught ... more likely when he was caught.

Shane reached around and cupped Aaron's big, juicy nuts in the palm of his hand and hefted them up, looking soberly into his lover's puppy-dog eyes,

A slow grin edged over Shane's mouth as his hand closed into a firm but not unpleasant grip around the ripe seeders, Three weeks later Jim Knight arrived at the compound and searched out the lovers, his own beloved Jamie beside him looking on the verge of tears of joy as he clung close to the man, They all broke into laughter.

Tony Cassini was the first out of the training room, hot from the intensive labor. His jacket was doffed to bare his exquisite upper body, the strap of his bulky pants looped over one shoulder, his hat balanced with one hand against his hip. Jason Drake was a few paces behind his good friend and fellow fireman, his hands still gloved and carting the thick pole of a ceiling probe over one brawny shoulder. He too was now bare-chested.

To suggest they were poster-boys for raw male perfection did not do the pair credit. They were almost god-like in their stunning, masculine beauty. Tony's Italian good looks and dark, curly hair were of movie-star quality and Jason's rugged, macho features below his short-buzzed blond crewcut made every cunt and cock in town salivate at the mere sight of him. At twenty-two, each was about as prime a specimen of male humanity as could be reasonably conjured in the most fertile, erotic imagination.

Of course, for four years now they had been on a forced diet of high protein and other muscle bulking foods along with near constant physical exercise to build up their bodies. If they were not at work in the fire department where they had been assigned, they were required to be working out in the gym or jogging. Small wonder they were so perfectly buffed out from head to toe.

They found a distinguished-looking, familiar older man waiting for them, the chief of the small, rural fire department standing beside him and looking glum. As they approached, the deacon stepped forward. They paused, a little startled at his presence, though it certainly was far from unexpected. Instinctively, Tony's good-natured, natural smile moved over his handsome face as the Church official extended a hand and beamed in sincere pleasure.

Adonises! Absolutely exquisite! The deacon thought as he studied those magnificent chests. My God! Just look at those pec roasts and those springy, corded, lean briskets! I can't even imagine how wonderfully they'll cook up!

He had to exert considerable effort not to openly salivate as he continued to admire the two men like prize hogs at a four-H auction. The feast was a symbolic sacred ritual ... a sacrifice to God's word ... and the people were not supposed to particularly savor the small token of man-flesh served up in a rite similar to communion. But many had indeed developed a taste for the unique, sweet flavor of the annual treat and the deacon was among them. He was able to use his office to garner a somewhat larger portion of the succulent belly meat each year for private consumption.

It was really a silly question and the deacon realized the hunk was just making conversation because he was a trace nervous, certainly understandable. The blond bull behind him was looking nervous too, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He nodded indulgently, Jacobsdale was a small, closed community in a remote section of rural, southern Utah. It was entirely owned by The Congregation of The Flesh of the Lamb, the site where Revered Elder Jacob Kane had settled his flock after their trek west in 1867. His sixth generation descendent, Levi, was the current Revered Elder of the Church.

Until the tithe, the secretive sect had continued the old lottery system each year, selecting the sacrificial victims from among their own eligible young men but with the tithe came the opportunity to avoid the pain and disruption the losses caused for the families. Using outsiders had proven a very popular modification to the ritual. Of course they had needed to pray to determine if it was okay with God to change the annual celebration, but the Revered Elder quite promptly announced that the Lord had visited him and assured him the new plan was just fine.

Wanting fully-matured meat animals for the annual feast, the Church put each group of tithers to work as well-treated slaves for the three to four years of maturing needed for the eighteener boys to develop into ripened men, ready for the slaughter. Tony and Jason had been assigned to the firehouse where they had been under the supervision of Chief Nelson. He had dutifully worked them hard both to obtain the valuable services of their labor and to develop their bodies.

He had tried not to become emotionally attached to the two but it had been hard not to fall prey to that. These were two very fine young men, obedient and respectful, who'd never given him a moment of trouble despite knowing what would eventually be done to them. Now he felt deep pangs of regret that he was losing them but he kept it to himself, maintaining a poker face as he shook their hands. He almost lost it as he felt a slight tremble in their big, strong palms, but he gulped and managed to control his voice.

Despite knowing this day would come, accepting it as their lot, Tony and Jason had managed to block it from their minds as they went through their daily routines. It was a very human, very sane response to their situation but now they were confronting the reality face-on and became somber as they stripped away their fire uniforms. Jason reached for his street clothes but Tony shook his head. Well, Tony thought, No mincing words on his part. That was sure blunt and right to the point!

There were three others already waiting in the Church van, as naked as the pair of firemen, looking suitably tense, but also cooperating completely. Some tithers, when their time arrived, panicked and had to be hauled to the killing bound and kicking, making a really unpleasant and unnecessary scene.

Two in the van were the others in Tony and Jason's tithe class from four years before and though they'd had little contact with them over the intervening years they knew them well enough. Each was a far different creature from the trim, boyish teens who'd arrived in Jacobsdale. Fine, sturdy, hard-muscled bodies in the full flower of vibrant manhood now sat poised in the vehicle. The third was a stranger, a cute boy with a thick mop of wavy brown hair, clearly a newly-tithed eighteener, though he had a superb body for one so young. He looked very frightened.

Wow, Tough break. Tony thought and felt sorry for Peter. At least we had four pretty nice years of life before it was our turn. Four years in which Jason and I became lovers and had one hell of a fine sex life.

On impulse, he reached out and put a reassuring hand on Peter's shoulder,

I just hope the smiter selected is a merciful sort. He thought. The butcher each year was still chosen by a lottery and the exact mode of killing was up to him. Some enjoyed the exercise just a bit more than others and in their hands death could be much more unpleasant.

The teen glanced at Tony and gave him a weak little smile for being nice to him, but he still looked just as terrified,

Greg Trombley answered, Danny Lukajian, the last of Tony and Jason's tithe class, nodded, He then turned to gaze glumly in silence out the window.

David Keith Leeds, "Deke" to his friends, stood waiting in the heavily soundproofed blockhouse that had been constructed years before as a slaughtering facility for the Easter ritual. It was sited in the back area of the main church compound, shielded by a stand of trees to lend privacy. Many of the residents were squeamish about the killing itself, just wanting the meat to be slipped onto their tongues during the services without any unpleasant sights or sounds from its preparation to disturb their tranquility.

He understood perfectly. It was like eating a hamburger. If most people saw the steps that produced the dead cow in their buns they would lose their appetite in a hurry. Not Deke. He was tremendously excited at having been selected to serve as God's hand this year, his name drawn from among the 265 men who had volunteered.

For one thing, the honor lent a special status in the community and from now on just about any of the unmarried girls in town would be eager to indulge his huge cock just to brag they'd been with him. The slutty bitches, raised in prim sanctimony like prize heifers, usually salivated anyway at the chance to spread their legs for a well-hung, good-looking boy-bull like Deke. Now they'd be standing in line!

Premarital sex was still forbidden but they no longer nutted and killed offenders, though the occasional boy dumb enough to get caught did still get a good whipping for his trouble. It was horribly embarrassing to be tied naked to a post before a jeering crowd and get your backside tanned fire-engine red, but that was a pretty rare occurrence. The boys and girls of Jacobsdale screwed like satyrs but were highly experienced in being discrete.

Until recently, most boys finding themselves at the whipping post had gotten there by being turned in by some pissed-off cunt. That exercise of female spite infuriated the male community, even the girls' fathers disapproving. It pretty well ended after vigilante groups of irritated friends of freshly whipped young bucks started ambushing ratting bitches and using unusually huge cucumbers as dildos.

But it wasn't just the enhancement of his already active sex life that had Deke trembling with excited anticipation as the Church van turned in through the gate of the facility. The nineteener garage mechanic was an avid hunter and had found he loved killing things. He'd taken deer, elk, javalina and all sorts of small game in his short life but had always wondered what it would be like to bag a man. Now he was going to find out and he could hardly wait. His monster dick hardened a bit more and pulsed painfully within his pants at the thought.

His job was just to do the slaughter. The cleaning and butchering would be handled by a team of experienced meat-cutters who were standing by in another part of the compound. The processed cuts of raw meat would then be slapped onto the waiting grills in a walled yard just to one side of the Church itself. Any of the congregation who wanted to witness the cooking and sniff the delicious aroma could be there, sipping drinks and enjoying snacks as they watched.

The services would start at dusk. Following lengthy prayers, the symbolic consumption of Christ's body, using the tithers as surrogate sacrifices, would complete the annual ritual observance. Of course they also would have a tiny sip of real blood, not symbolic wine. A number of the young men in the community would quite eagerly contribute a pint for the occasion.

Levi Kane and the lesser church elders were all gathered outside the blockhouse and Deke joined the five naked studs who exited the van as they knelt before the Revered Elder to receive his blessings. The leader, now over eighty, was wordy and Deke had to fight hard to conceal his impatience, stealing peeks at the assembled victims being delivered to his hands.

The boy was cute, one of the jockish sorts who had always irritated Deke in high school with their posturing. Deke was in fine shape, but had never cared much for team sports. Because of that, he had been subjected to scorn by the football studs and the thought of getting to kill one of that breed was sweet. As he knelt with the others before Levi Kane, Deke kept glancing at Peter from the corners of his eyes. After a bit, he decided he'd use his knife on the jock.

He turned his attention to the others and sucked in a breath. The two firemen stunned him. He had secretly scouted them after he was selected and had been impressed but now, seeing them naked, he actually trembled in excited anticipation.

My God! These are definitely the alpha males in the human herd! He recalled the thrill he had felt as he sighted through his rifle scope a year before at a magnificent bull elk, a true trophy animal, and slowly tightened his finger on the trigger. He was feeling the same way now as he surreptitiously admired Tony and Jason. Killing a pair of bulls like those two! Shit! Nothing will ever beat that for a great kick!

He was suddenly inspired, looking at the hunks. He had heard they were lovers and gay guys kinda disgusted him. Still, it would be hotly ironic and fitting to do their asses in tandem. He wondered if he could put them down with a single well-placed shot. Well fuck! There's a challenge! I bet I can do it! He had his short-stock thirty-aught-six rifle along and had intended to use it on at least a couple of the tithers. Now he knew exactly who'd be put in the sights of his much loved weapon.

He'd been informed that he'd be killing just four of these five. As the Revered Elder began explaining that to the tithers, he was suddenly fearful that either the jock boy or one of the matched trophy bucks would escape him. For Christ's sake! Don't any of you three ass-holes go volunteering on me!

The octogenarian paused as a coughing fit hit him, then wheezed on, Greg Trombley raised a hand, One by one Tony, Jason, Danny Lukajian and Peter shook Deke's hand and asked God to bless him and extended their forgiveness. Peter's words were less than enthusiastic and the handshake quick and weak, his eyes resentful when they caught Deke's.

Yes, Deke thought, eyeing Peter with irritation even as the elders departed and Greg left with the deacon. Definitely the knife for you, you jock shit!

Alone with the condemned quartet, Deke noticed that they were all just standing there watching him. It took a moment for it to dawn that they were waiting for guidance from him since he was, after all, in charge. He was not used to being a leader and found himself confused about just what to do next to get things moving. Almost gently Tony spoke.

After a moment of hesitation, Deke quickly stripped, though he fastened his web belt with its knife scabbard back around his naked hips and slung his rifle over his back, the strap across his chest. The instant his cock was freed it sprang up into furious arousal, bobbing before his gut. He reached down and touched his crotch with both hands, framing his turgid pole with his fingers for a moment to halt its silly swaying.

He glanced up and found Tony with a slight smile on his lips,

Bothered at having a known gay guy talk to him like that, Deke felt compelled to take charge of the scene. Drawing up his strength and resolve, he glanced at Peter and decided he'd off the jock punk first thing to establish his dominance. The guy looked like he just flat needed killing and Deke was just the guy who was willing to deliver God's will upon him. Peter expelled a tense breath, then complied and took the few steps across the tiled floor to stand before his executioner. He idly noticed that the floor sloped gradually from all directions to a large center drain and it occurred to him that the purpose was all too clear. The floor was of stain-proof, kiln-hardened ceramic tile and the gradient was designed for easy drainage of a particular liquid.

Blood. In fact, his blood!

His knees became slightly shaky at that point but when Deke ordered him to turn around, close his eyes and tilt his head sharply back, he numbly complied. He had no other choice really and by now was just wanting to get it over with and end the tormenting anticipation of pending death.

Deke unsheathed his knife and brought the gleaming, honed blade around to poise over the other boy's fully exposed throat. Then the unthinkable happened! He had never killed another man and he was caught up in the odd phenomenon of buck fever, unable to consummate the act. It was temporary and usually only struck a novice hunter once, but it was very real and almost paralytic in strength. He actually began to tremble and sweat as he stood there.
Seeing what was happening, Tony hesitated a moment, then stepped forward, knowing that standing there waiting was sheer torture for the tithed teenager. He pried the knife from Deke's trembling fingers. With his free hand he seized Peter's chin and shoved it abruptly back and with a swift, sure slash of the blade deftly slit the boy's throat.

Peter uttered a wet, gurgling noise and shuddered convulsively as blood began spurting wildly from the cut, cascading in a crimson flow down over his chest. He staggered backwards against a wall before his legs collapsed. He sank down until he was sprawled against the wall in a sitting posture as his life fluid continued to erupt from the gash across his neck and a pool of it started running out from beneath him across the tile flooring. His face was a mask of agonized shock but Tony knew it would last but seconds.

As he expected, in just a moment a final rattling cough brought a thick gout of blood from his gaping mouth and Peter slumped over and lay still.

Shocked deeply at his dismal failure, Deke stood trembling, staring at the corpse. Tony looped an arm around his shoulders to steady him,

The women's circle was assembled in the large fellowship hall of the Church and, just outside, the deacon paused to drape Greg's muscular body in a pure white robe with a cross embroidered in gold thread across the breast. He also slipped a thin gold chain around the thick neck and let its pendant cross lie over the crest of the broad, deep chest. Greg's own balls contracted powerfully and churned in their ample sac, The deacon nodded in approval, Sucking in a deep breath, Greg steeled himself, adopted a solemn face and opened the door. As he stepped into the huge hall, several dozen sets of eyes turned to stare at him, narrowing with contemplation. The silence was stony but he could swear some of the younger women were actually salivating as they studied him.

As he looked slowly around, his eyes lit upon a thick hemp noose dangling from a ceiling rafter directly above a small footstool. It didn't take a genius to figure out what they had decided to do with him. He walked slowly over to the rope and studied it, testing its strength and appraising the hangman's knot they had crafted. It was an excellent job. It would support his weight just fine and with his body pulling it down, the knot would tighten sharply around his neck and choke the life from him with excellent efficiency.

Even so, his neck was thick and strong and he would hang for them at some length before his heart gave out. It was a good choice for killing, a slow, methodical process of gradual strangulation that they could enjoy at length. Beneath his robe his cock hardened and rose into steely erection as he imagined what hanging was going to be like. He studied the stool. It was the perfect height for a man of his size. His feet would be just above the floor, tantalizingly close but just an inch or two too far to reach. That would be an additional torment and he was impressed. One or more of the cunts knew exactly what she was doing here.

He turned, his face still sober, macho in its beauty, and looked around, letting his gaze hit every face in the room. There were about fifty of them, ranging from twenties to ancient. He spotted the white haired crone ogling him with undisguised relish from her big chair at a table in the center of the room. That has to be Grannie Jackson. She looks mean enough to nut her own grandson as he slept.

He shuddered as their eyes met and he sensed the cold malevolence there. Still, something else passed between them ... a challenge perhaps? A hot erotic impulse also flickered out from his loins and his dick flinched in a deep contraction.

Okay you old bitch. I'll take on your game and give you a fantasy to relive every night for the rest of your life. The problem is, that dried up old cunt of yours can't give you any pleasure so there will be no relief. Just the maddening mental images to torment you with desire you can't fulfill.

He spoke for the first time,

His play on words was not lost and smiles began to break out here and there, then a few chuckles, and then laughter. Grannie Jackson cracked a toothless smile that had cobra-like qualities, Greg unfastened the cord at his waist and slowly let the folds of cotton slide open and off over his shoulders and down his arms, exposing his magnificent body and massive manhood. He knew his cock was his glory, particularly the great flared crown head. It was at its best just now, fully engorged with blood, a gorgeous piece of erectile art that was stunning in its perfection. Not that the twin goose-egg ovals dangling low and heavy in their ample scrotal sac were exactly unremarkable. Each seeder was starkly outlined in the bag, bulging it out with promise of intense virility.

Greg was every inch a man and there were stunned gasps all around as the gaping eyes drank in his exquisite beauty. Jaws dropped and a few women rose to lean forward to get a better view of the macho creature in their midst. Someone started to applaud and it caught on. The ovation became a thunder and all stood to express their pleasure with what he was presenting to them.

Fuck! Greg's chest swelled with pride. I like this! I could get used to being worshiped this way. Of course he was well aware this was to be a one-time performance.

He walked over to stand directly before Grannie Jackson and could almost read her wicked mind as her eyes riveted not so much on his glorious cock but on those low-slung nuts. The deacon was right. The sow's into castration. She wants my balls so bad she can taste them.

He casually leaned down and picked up the small butter knife lying on her plate next to a half-eaten scone. There was a cup of tea there too and he picked it up and with intentional arrogance took a long, slow sip before setting it down. Realizing he was challenging her, she narrowed her eyes and her lips pursed in peevish displeasure. The room grew silent and he became aware this woman was not used to being provoked and certainly not by a mere man.

Damn! If I'd been her poor grandson I'd have just lain there and bled to death to get free of her!

He tested the edge of the knife with his thumb and found that it was dull but capable of cutting if a lot of patience was exercised,

He hefted his nuts, fisting them and pulling them forth for a good, full view, The gasps around the room were intense and shocked. He wasn't sure if it was because he had cursed or because he had clearly suggested that he expected to be castrated while still alive. He had a hunch very little of the reaction was to the cuss word.

Grannie Jackson lost her controlled demeanor and gasped. Spittle drooled from her lips and she brought up a claw-like hand and let the fingers touch his ripe male orbs. He tensed, sensing she might lose control and sink her long, sharp nails into the seeders like a raptor using its talons, but she withdrew the hand after a moment. Panting with excitement, she looked around triumphantly.

She returned her baleful glare to Greg, Of course, not one lady moved an inch. Without further ceremony, Greg walked to the stool, stepped up on it, slipped the noose around his neck, snugged it taut, then kicked the stool away and let himself drop to hang from the rafter.

As he began to strangle, his chest heaving to draw air into his burning lungs, he began to kick wildly about and dance in the air for his audience. One hand worked his manhood and in just moments he succeeded in loosing a long, spurting torrent of creamy gism as his cock pulsed and flexed with furious abandon.

He heard cries and moans from many in the crowd and knew a lot of husbands in Jacobsdale would be dealing with very hot, insistent wives that night. As their men were laboring over them, the cunts would be thinking of what they had witnessed during their afternoon tea. He wondered idly if the old witch would even make an effort to masturbate herself as she relived the ...


His constricted throat was capable now of only swinelike grunts and gurgles but he writhed in agony and cried out as best he could as a clawed hand seized his balls and the butter knife began sawing against the front of the sac. With a fury, the hag gouged and tore at the bag with the dull blade, slowly abrading it until a gash was forced on through. It hurt far worse than Greg had imagined and took longer than he'd expected.

He felt it as one of his balls was pulled out into daylight and the dull knife began chopping through the connectors to remove it from him. There! It came free. Now she was working on its twin as the castration proceeded at a snail's pace. When the second nut was gone, she sawed off the empty sac before she began the slow, arduous task of hacking through the penis at its base.
Torrents of blood were cascading from his ruined crotch by the time Grannie Jackson was done between his thighs. By then he was in deep shock and losing consciousness from his slow, steady strangulation. After a while he went limp and just dangled by his neck. When his heart faltered and then ceased, the blood gushing from the great wound in his crotch eased to a trickle.

The women stared at Greg's corpse in silence for a long time, digesting what they had seen. Finally one woman said softly.

Every woman there enthusiastically agreed. Then they gathered all around Greg's mortal remains and knelt to pray for his soul.

Back at the blockhouse, Tony and Jason stood as lovers would as they watched Deke position Danny Lukajian for killing. Jason was cuddled close against Tony's back, their bodies merged, his chin resting on the Italian hunk's shoulder. His arms were thrust under Tony's to the front where their hands were joined.
Their faces were straight and sober but there was riveted interest in their eyes as they watched. They certainly agreed that the killing device created by the high school shop class was, if anything, wildly innovative. The brats had put their minds to work and nasty, savage little minds they were. What was about to be visited upon Danny was utterly sadistic. The question was ... would it work?

Tony had mixed feelings about it. I kinda hope it does what it's supposed to do. It will be neat to see the dude killed like that. On the other hand, the thought of the teen bastards who created that getting their backs and asses whipped bloody is pretty appealing too, even though I won't live to see it. They deserve it for being so damned mean.

In his ear, Jason whispered,

Tony shrugged, Jason thought a moment, then nodded, And Tony felt his lover's dick as it hardened and pressed urgently against his butt. That caused his own to engorge with blood and begin to rise.He had to admit that there were definitely erotic overtones in the fact that super-buff Danny was about to be fucked up his tight young ass-hole.

With a spear!

Jason adjusted his stance long enough to position his cockhead up against Tony's puckered sphincter and pressed it on in until he was buried to the balls. Tony shuddered for a moment at the familiar deep, burning sting of the entry but then his prostate drove away anything but pleasurable sensation. His own cock twitched in a powerful spasm and a thick bead of clear pre-cum oozed from the lips and glistened like a pearl.

Glancing up, satisfied that he had Danny perfectly aligned for his execution, Deke saw what was happening and a slight smile edged over his features. Ordinarily seeing two dudes together like that, one with his dick up the other's ass canal, would have utterly disgusted him. But he liked Tony a lot and was deeply grateful to him for helping out with Peter when he had frozen. That drove away his usual revulsion and he nodded slightly in approval.

I'm gonna kill their asses in just a little while so why shouldn't they have some last pleasure.

Further, since his own dick was still like an iron rod, it was somehow pleasing that these other guys present were now hard too. He briefly studied Tony's huge endowment and mentally measured it, comparing it to his own. Not much difference he decided. He is one big mother-fucker.

Suddenly the thought of trophy-killing such a magnificent stud was just overwhelming in its erotic strength and he had to fight hard not to shoot his wad just at the concept. Having utter power over such men as Tony and Jason, epitomized by the ability to casually destroy them, was heady stuff and Deke was certain of one thing. At least as to them, I sure as hell ain't gonna freeze up!

He returned his attention to the task at hand. Danny was poised on his hands and knees like an obedient dog. He had his knees in the twin circles painted on the tiling which parted his thighs perfectly to splay his ass crack and fully expose his anus. Behind him stood a low, welded-metal frame holding a powerful compressed steel spring secured by a lock attached to a hand lever. When the lever was activated, the spring would explode forward with explosive force.

The front of the spring ended in a metal cup and a three foot section of pipe that had been halved into a channeling sleeve to support the wooden shaft of a five-foot long projectile. The base of the shaft was securely lodged in the cup so that when the spring activated, it would propel the spear forward with tremendous energy.

Effectively, the shop class had devised a giant cross-bow. They had lovingly forged and shaped the cast-iron head of the monstrous arrow, a nine-inch barb ending in a needle-sharp point. Running back from the tip were four curving, razored cutting edges. In tests, when fired, the huge dart had shot through four inches of plywood like it was butter.
The very tip of the iron head was now lodged just barely within the rubbery pucker of Danny's ass-hole, the shaft of the spear level with the floor and the line of his back. The bull twisted his shoulders to turn his head, his eyes tightly closed and an anguished look on his handsome face. He was a real looker with ebony hair cropped into a tight mass of tiny curls, his skin like creamy white velvet, his muscles hard and ripped beneath the silky hide. He was the mix of a dark Armenian father and a fair English mother and the mating had produced a cub of exquisite beauty.

He gave the stud a hard slap on his dimpled ass, leaving a bright hand-print in the fair skin, A black cross was painted on the opposite wall of the death chamber at eye level for a kneeling man and Danny turned and straightened his spine to line his head directly with the aiming mark. Deke sighted along his spine and nodded in satisfaction, Panting with excitement, Deke rose from his squatting stance and gripped the handle of the triggering lever. Here we go! Let's see what this contraption will do! He shoved it forward to unlock the spring.
There was a loud bang as the spring shot forward and the mounting shuddered. If it was not bolted to the floor it would have been shoved back but instead it held steady so all the massive power of the recoiling spring was communicated into the spear. There was a soft, mushy sound, almost a splash, as the projectile shot into Danny. The hunk was slammed forward but the spear knifed into him faster than his momentum so it impaled him in a nice, straight line, disappearing almost entirely up into his body.

He sprawled forward face down, legs akimbo, a foot or so of the wooden shaft jutting from his ass-hole, blood leaking forth to swiftly pool on the floor beneath his hips. The spear was entirely sheathed within his body so the point had to be at least in his throat if not up into the bottom of his brain.

He was obviously dead, killed virtually instantly. A few last tics rippled through him but it was just the final involuntary loosening of the bunched muscles. The high school boys who had designed the device would not face whipping. Their creation had performed with letter perfect precision.

The awesome violence of Danny's execution had triggered Jason to orgasm and he had pumped a copious supply of seed-rich cream up inside Tony's clutching gut. That had, in turn, triggered the Italian hunk's loins and he had fired dollops of his own gism far out before his writhing hips. Gasping, spent, sated ... they almost eagerly followed Deke's instructions as he now prepared to kill them.

He explained his planned attempt to fire a single rifle round through them in tandem and they cooperatively hugged close, chest to chest. It suddenly occurred to Deke that in that stance, their hearts were on opposite sides, not in a line.

But the lovers preferred to die front to front in a last embrace and Tony had Jason twist his right shoulder out and pivot his torso enough to bring his left pec to Tony's and position their hearts close together. Deke studied the new posture and then nodded. He pressed a hand against Tony's broad back and probed with his fingers until he found the pulse of the heart and studied the precise spot to enter it from behind. He stepped back a few feet and unslung his rifle. There was a distinct metallic clack as he chambered a round and clicked off the safety. He raised the weapon and sighted carefully down the barrel, centering on that identified vital spot on Tony's back, just below the left shoulder-blade to one side of the ramrod straight spine.

He drew a breath and held it, letting his finger tighten slowly, steadily on the trigger to ease off the shot, not jerk it. There was no hesitation this time and he thrilled to the heady sensation that flooded through him as the moment of the kill arrived. The rifle bucked in his grip as the loud crack of the shot echoed like thunder in the confined space. He saw a vaporized mist of blood explode instantly from the red hole drilled in the bull's back, exactly where aimed.

The big body shuddered as the round perforated it, exploding the heart and ripping from the chest. The bullet then knifed into Jason's left pec and shredded his heart as well before exploding from his back in a great spray of blood, tissue and bone.

Either of them alone would have been slammed over by the impact of the slug but Jason's steeled form supported Tony as he was hit and, a mini-second later, Tony's swaying grip held Jason steady as he was pierced. For just a split second, the lovers, already effectively dead, stood wobbling on their feet, held up by their rigid muscles. Then the knees collapsed and they dropped heavily to the floor and lay perfectly still.

Though the heavily censored news media attempted to suppress coverage of it, a few days prior to Easter, a startling event occurred on the steps of the capitol building in Philadelphia. A group of male college students, all admired and respected athletes and leaders from campuses across the nation, arrived to attend a national conference. Fifty-two of them, wearing white choir robes and carrying plastic-capped buckets of "holy water" from their various states, trooped to the capitol and the police allowed them to assemble for what was labeled as a prayer vigil in honor of President William Buchanan Carlson, now in his nineteenth year in office.

Instead they whipped out crudely drawn banners calling for the abolition of the tithe and began chanting anti-theocratic slogans,

and rang out just a short distance from the Liberty Bell. Caught off guard. the few police on hand decided to wait for reinforcements to break up the demonstration.

All of the young men would, of course, face lengthy incarceration in religious corrective camps and the police would not be gentle in breaking up their brief insurrection. But as the burly ranks of riot-geared officers who quickly arrived began to advance on the chanting mob of jockish boys, clubs at the ready, the students dropped their robes to reveal their totally naked bodies. They then poured the buckets of high octane jet fuel over themselves even as their leader stepped forward, still drenching himself with one hand, a torch burning in the other. He bellowed familiar words in the suddenly shocked silence of the national square ...

His name was Kirby Karmaksson and he was a familiar household face. Probably the best diver produced in decades in America, he was expected to win multiple gold in the next Olympic games. Just months before, the President himself had lauded the twenty year old as "America's poster boy, a model for all of our youth to emulate." His father was Keith Karmaksson, Governor of the State of Minnesota.

His conversion to rebel had begun a year before when he learned that when he had faced his turn at the tithe, special strings were pulled to guarantee he was not selected. His best friend was selected by a cultish group in South Carolina who whipped him to death during a frenzied religious ceremony. Now he repeated his cry, an ode to Patrick Henry, and dropped his torch into the flood of gasoline cascading down the steps of the capitol.

In a furious explosion of searing flame, all fifty two students were engulfed and martyred, their screams and writhing forms clearly audible and visible on the clandestine videos made of their self-sacrifice. Tens of thousands of copies, made that night in Canada, were circling the nation within days, stunning and infuriating millions of citizens who each secretly loathed their government but had been too cowed to take action. They felt shamed at the courage of those brave kids who took their lives to protest the loss of America's freedoms.

Among those viewing one of the tapes over and over was Admiral John Roseland, Chairman of The Joint Chiefs of Staff. Each time he watched, his eyes riveted on one of the boys in the background behind Kirby Karmaksson and they filled with tears. It was his youngest son Rick.

In the meantime, business as usual continued among the Churches, religious orders and sects possessing tithed men across the nation. Most were treated at least moderately well, but others were in quite a different situation. A few were, in fact, in the private hands of religious figures who had no legitimate right to possess them individually at all.

One of these was a Catholic Bishop in San Antonio who was salivating as he studied the prizes presented to him by a priest from one of his churches. He knew the priest, aware of his secret hungers, was simply currying favor, but then which priest did not? In this particular priest's case he happened to have succeeded very well in that endeavor for the Bishop was immensely grateful for his wonderful gift.

It had been a long time since he had indulged his sexual fetish for the simple reason that his fantasies involved the systematic destruction of two young males in tandem. But not just any two males. They needed to be brothers. But not just brothers. Sating of his lusts required the torture snuffing of identical twins.

The venal priest had bribed a Catholic catcher to convert two of the Church's certificates for private purposes and to find a set of handsome, well-built twins. Jacob and Judah Drake, mixed Hawaiian and Anglo eighteeners, had been found in Honolulu and tithed without hesitation. Their exquisite, hard-muscled bodies, big hung crotches and smooth, fawn-brown skins complimented their cute but macho features and curly black hair.

With good luck, they even turned out to be devout, obedient Catholics, appropriate for their deliciously biblical names. Faced with the awesome stature of a Bishop, the pair would blindly do whatever the powerful churchman required of them, and Father DeMarco knew he'd found the perfect gift to win the advancement he coveted within the diocese. They were gorgeous and would serve the Bishop's needs to a tee. He had given the catcher a generous tip for a job well done.

Though mildly uncomfortable, the brothers instantly stripped upon the Bishop's order. Raised to accept the omnipotent authority of their church leaders, their obligation was to never question the priests, much less a Bishop ... just to obey in all things. They stood naked and perfectly still before the man as he examined their bodies at length, trembling a little as his admiring fingers explored their forms, but not protesting even when he cupped their genitals in his hands and began playing with them.

They were actually rather used to being touched like that by priests. They had been molested frequently in the Church in Hawaii and now just dutifully let their penises harden and rise into erection as the Bishop so obviously desired. He eventually removed his own robes and they were surprised that he was in really good shape, a muscular man and younger than they had expected, perhaps in his mid-thirties at most.

Bishop Jaime Arriaga was on a meteoric ride on his way up through the normally stodgy ranks of the Church, already the youngest Bishop in the world at thirty-six. Many expected him to be a Cardinal before he was fifty and even the papacy was not beyond his grasp. That was why Father DeMarco was so anxious to please him and become his personal secretary, an event now guaranteed.

His excellent gift stood to either side of the Bishop as he draped his arms around each of the brothers in an affectionate little embrace and looked in delight from one identical face and body to the other. His voice was soft and gentle as he whispered conspiratorially,

Judah cringed and started to turn away to hide his shock. Jacob reached out and quickly caught his arm and give him a sharp warning with his eyes. Remember we're slaves now! Be careful not to offend this powerful man!
They had had oral sex with other boys among their jock friends in high school but had never engaged in sodomy, much less even thought of such a coupling with each other. Still, this was no mere priest demanding it but a powerful prince of the Church, a man whose words were law to them. Thus, despite Judah's obvious reluctance, the thought of actually disobeying him never entered their minds. That would have been unthinkable and would have endangered their mortal souls.

Breathing hard, actually surprised at how much more steely his cock had become at the Bishop's order, Jacob watched as his twin reclined on the floor on his back, raised his knees to roll up his hips and then splayed his legs obscenely apart. That completely exposed and opened his ass crack and revealed the tight, virgin pucker of his ass-hole. Judah looked up and managed a weak little smile.

Jacob knelt and guided his turgid, drooling rod to the orifice and rubbed the head against it for a few moments both to lubricate the sphincter with his pre-cum and to get up his nerve. He knew the ass-ring would resist so when he suddenly thrust, he put all of his strength behind it. He caught Judah off guard and the organ forced its way in much more easily than either brother had expected. His momentum buried Jacob to the balls and both he and Judah cried out and convulsed.

Judah squealed and writhed at the sudden burning pain of the impalement on his brother's big cock. Jacob groaned and flexed because Judah's gut muscles had clamped closed around his buried pole like a vise and threatened to crush it. But after a few moments, both boys relaxed. The pain ebbed from Judah and was replaced by an unexpected warm glow of pleasure radiating from his belly. Jacob found he loved the sensation of having his cock up inside a warm, throbbing live body and that it was Judah's made it all the more exciting.

Slowly at first, the one brother began his fuck thrusts into his clone, his enthusiasm and vigor increasing by the second as his lusts heated to a fever.

His orgasm, when it came, was awesome as his muscular body corded and a look of ecstatic agony contorted his face. His whimpering little cry of relief was graphic and the watching Bishop almost swooned with pleasure. It had been all he could do to refrain from popping his own load as he stood relishing the sight of the twins coupling. Moments later his eyes drank in the intoxicating view of Judah taking his turn, mounting Jacob from behind in the classic doggy posture.

After forcing his entry, Judah paused to let his brother discovered the wonderful effects of prostate manipulation he had just himself experienced while being reamed by Jacob's big dick. After his twin relaxed, he began to pump his hips, driving his rod in and out of the tightly clutching ass canal, his momentum slowly, steadily increasing. Soon he was bouncing Jacob around like a rag doll as he desperately sought his release.

With a choked cry he drove in to his nuts and froze as the first great contraction raced though his manhood. Then he began firing the thick dollops of his cream. He was grateful to the Bishop now for having introduced them to this new level of pleasure with each other. He'd had no idea that fucking another guy would be so incredibly hot and that it was Jacob made it all that more exciting. We really were missing out by not experimenting this far before!

As the spent, panting teens uncoupled and regained their senses, they found the Bishop poised on a bench, leaning back, gazing at them with dreamy, expectant eyes. His own huge cock was jutting up like steel and from their experiences with the priests they knew very well what was now expected.

They went to him, parted his knees widely and dropped between them. Their mouths descended to his turgid maleness and they began licking and sucking as a team. In very short order they accomplished their task and the Bishop enjoyed the best orgasm he'd had since the last time he'd entertained a set of identical brothers.

The blond ex-surfers from California, a pair of nineteen year olds, had gotten religion and entered a monastery at Carmel as novices. Visiting to address the brotherhood, he had convinced the luscious twins that they badly needed to have their bodies purged of sin through suffering. Taking them to a deserted beach he enjoyed a protracted session and eventually had them almost senseless with pain. They had offered little real resistence as he then slowly drowned one in the surf and then dragged the brother into the water to repeat the act.

Before that there had been the twin sons of a Texas farmer taken in the tithe and serving as slaves on a church-owned farm near Abilene. Discovering them in a deserted barn while on an inspection visit to the farm, he used a rope as a whip until they were too weakened to resist, then forced them to the loft and tied ropes around their necks. Dropping them off the edge of the loft to dance as they slowly strangled, he descended to stand below them to employ a pitchfork to make their dying minutes a true hell.

A pair of identical brothers, football jocks, tithed up in Oklahoma on a church ranch had lasted a remarkably long time under torture and he had castrated them before eventually burning them alive.

Thus Jacob and Judah Kanneoli were just the latest in a long line of victims of Jaime Arriaga's private Inquisition. He escorted them to a small windowless chamber equipped with a pair of mattresses and toilet facilities and locked them in, leaving them naked for the much more brutal play he had in mind for their next session. He found his own bed and fell into a sweet sleep, one very happy, sated man.

He'd have been less serene had he known that one of his staff members, his cook, had made a phone call the moment he realized the twins had been delivered into the Bishop's deadly grasp.

Back in Philadelphia, Admiral Rosewood knew he needed to go home and break the terrible news to his wife about their son's fiery suicide, a task he was not relishing. The tragedy was that father and son both secretly held identical views about the tithe and the entire theocracy but had never trusted each other enough to discuss it. As it happened he had his own plans for action in that regard and his son's chosen martyrdom only strengthened his resolve.

Before he could leave his office, the four-stars who headed the army and air force came rushing in, their faces stricken. They didn't have to say anything for him to realize how much of his pain they shared. The army chief of staff, General Brooks, shook his head,

Rosewood took their hands and his eyes told of his gratitude, but then his face hardened, And both generals nodded. Moments later the marine corp commandant joined them and he too agreed there was a need to act sooner than they had planned, .
Brian Lawson cringed and his face contorted into a grimace. A gasping little cry of pain burst from his pursed lips and he writhed on his bare feet. He had good cause. The inch-long steel barb of a dart had just pierced his cock about halfway between the base and the head. It hurt horribly, the burning sensation like a hot coal.

The handsome, auburn-haired teen with the tatoo of a cross embracing his left nipple stood naked in the musty basement of a church in the suburbs of Seattle. The plaster on the wall to his rear had cracked away to reveal a swath of the underlying brick. Once tithed by the Baptist selector in El Paso, the buff stud had been quickly transported to Washington State and surrendered to the possession of Jack Delaney, pastor of the First Unreformed Baptist Church. In turn the minister slipped the helpful catcher an envelope stuffed with some of the cash he siphoned regularly from the collection plates each Sunday.

Brian figured he would just be serving as a slave for the small Baptist congregation but Reverend Delaney had far different plans for the boy ... and for that wonderful tatoo.

For a day or two the minister had just laid hands on Brian's hard, athletic body, but not for administration of a blessing. Though Brian found the man repulsive he had played along with the sex, realizing he was not in a position to resist. He knew what happened to tithers who rebelled. Being used as a sex toy was bad but he figured things could be far worse.

And he was learning tonight how true that was.

Brought to the basement he had dutifully stripped and Delaney had little trouble coaxing the boy's huge cock into hardness. Then he had handed the studly youth a damp towel upon which was emblazoned a set of concentric rings like a target. Gulping at this new form of play, Brian followed instructions to hold the cloth over his loins and position his cock so that it was molded against the towel directly beneath the bull's-eye.

He hadn't. The first shot had been direct on, piercing the organ through the cloth and pinning the material to the tender flesh. It hurt even more than Brian had expected and he'd yelped like a stomped puppy. As he stood there trying to cope with the pain, a ring of dark crimson began to form in the dampened towel around the protruding dart.

Giving the boy a chance to recover his self-control, enjoying the erotic sight of the darted young jock, Delaney finally instructed him to smooth out the towel where it had rumpled with his pain-induced contortions,

Brian, with a shudder and soft whimper of distress, complied and stood there with his eyes closed, holding perfectly still, his thighs parted and loins thrust forward into the towel to provide the best target his could. Delaney raised another dart, took aim and let fly. He was indeed very good. This time the steel point knifed into the right nut and this time Brian screamed.

Across the country, in a secluded glade in a forested tract belonging to St. James' Catholic Church in Highland, New York, another tither stood naked, roped around his waist and by his crossed ankles to the craggy trunk of a long-dead tree. His arms were tied behind him to complete his bondage. He was about to experience sharp steel barbs in his flesh as well but these were of a much more potent, much deadlier form.

His eyes were locked on a cute, well-built teenaged boy who was aiming at him with an arrow drawn back in the bow in his hands. He was waiting for permission to fire from Monsignor Thomas Frazier, rector of St. James, as the prelate stood to one side, studying Christopher Bel Monte's diminutive, bound body with undisguised delight.

Four important signs perceived by the Monsignor in recent days had led directly to this scene. In the Churchman's unbalanced mind the combination reeked too strongly of divine guidance to be coincidence and he had felt compelled to act. With Easter coming up, even the timing of the revelation of a holy mission for him seemed ripe with significance. He had passed much of the day in prayer, becoming more convinced with each hour that he was interpreting God's will quite correctly.

A week before while walking through the forest on a overcast day, he was startled when a slight part in the clouds sent a bright ray of sunshine down to suddenly illuminate the dead tree. It lasted but seconds but was graphic and left him wondering if there was significance to the event intended just for his eyes. It pleased him immensely to think so.

He dismissed the thought but the next day in the Church library a book suddenly toppled from a shelf and landed at his feet. It was a biography of the lives of the saints and it fell open to a depiction of the martyrdom of St. Sebastian, the Roman officer turned Christian who had been executed by being tied to a tree and shot repeatedly with arrows. What made Frazier stare in rapt shock at the drawing was that the tree to which the saint was bound was remarkably like that in the forest.

He had had some difficulty sleeping after that, trying to determine the meaning of the odd happenings. Two days later, filling in for one of his priests who was ill, he heard the confession of Jordan Tiller, a high school student and voluntary acolyte in the Church, a most intensely devout youth. The eighteener was also an avid hunter and had become particularly expert with the bow.

Frazier just sighed, Jordan realized his strange dream was likely provoked by his frequent viewing of the depiction of St. Sebastian in the book in the Church library, the archery connection fascinating to him. It was he who had carelessly shelved the volume, leaving it precariously poised. His frequent turning to the one page had worked a natural crease into the binding so that when it fell it automatically opened to that drawing.

He had intended to confess his fascination with the violent drawing but the Monsignor had became so agitated that he never got around to telling the man about any of that. Alarmed by the extreme reaction of his confessor, Jordan sat bolt up and asked in fear,

There was a very long pause before Frazier finally hissed back in a strange, tense whisper, The boy was now also confused and as he went home he realized he had forgotten to confess to the Monsignor that when he had the strange dreams, he always woke up with his penis hardened and often had even ejaculated. He also had not confessed that looking at the picture of St. Sebastian being martyred always made his naughty penis get very hard even though he was wide awake.

But he was greatly relieved to know he was not committing sins. The thought that he might even be destined by God to recreate a scene such as the killing of St. Sebastian was heady stuff, exciting him a great deal to imagine what that would be like. He imagined firing a razor-tipped hunting arrow into the body of another man as a live target and closed his eyes and shuddered in pleasure at the concept.

Then, the very next day, Christopher Bel Monte arrived at St. James. It was a puzzle since the parish had no need for another tither, this one a twenty-two year who had been inexplicably ordered to depart his four year old assignment in New York City and report to St. James. When Frazier called his Bishop he too was at a loss but later called back to report the results of his inquiry. An error had occurred in the reshuffle of excess assets.

The Bishop frowned at the situation, The wrong choice of words entirely.

The Bishop, a good, decent man, had no idea of the seeds germinating in the mind of Monsignor Frazier and the unintended meaning that would be tortured from his phrasing. Even as he hung up, Frazier knew as a certainty what must be done. God had sent Bel Monte to him as the final step in creating his intended event. For whatever reason, God wanted Christopher Bel Bonte to be martyred in the same manner as St. Sebastian. He had even provided the archer Frazier was to employ.

The Bishop's words were obviously chosen for him by our blessed Lord! The Monsignor smiled in bliss, finally understanding and relieved at the end to all the confusion. He said "free his soul," not "free him" or "free his body." He meant "free his soul to fly up to heaven by separating it from its mortal form."

Author note: As a boy I was impressed by an incident related by an uncle of mine. As a soldier in WWII he was ordered by an officer to take two captured, inconvenient German troops, one a teenaged boy, out into the woods and "do what needs to be done." He fully understood the order implicit in the words. He marched the pair off a ways, unshouldered his rifle and fired two rounds into the ground, then released the very frightened young men. I always really respected that uncle. 
 The Bishop had also said that was intended to reward Bel Monte. Certainly. The young man was blameless, an innocent lamb whom God, for whatever purpose, wished to have sacrificed. Of course he would go to heaven to sit in glory in the presence of the Lord! What more of a reward could any man desire?"

The Bishop must have known exactly what he was saying, realizing Frazier would get his clear meaning. Bel Monte was to be killed.

With mounting excitement he immediately summoned Jordan Tiller and with little effort convinced the boy of the bloody task the Lord had set before him. The youth had to cross his legs hurriedly to mask his swiftly hardening dick. It never occurred to them to ask Christopher's opinion about their interpretation of the signs attributed to God's design for him. It just didn't seem relevant.

Conditioned from four years of servitude with the Catholics, he offered no protest or resistence when they took him into the forest and had him strip naked. He just assumed the Monsignor and the boy intended to employ him in some sort of sexual tryst, a common thing at St. Anthony's. He had even come to rather enjoy the erotic uses put to him there.
He did feel distaste and a little alarm when they bound him to the tree. Part of some kinky bondage scene? I hope they don't whip me again! That had happened once at St. Anthony's and been extremely painful. Still, it was easier to just go along with things. After all, he was now church property, nothing more, nothing less.

He was very small in stature, barely five foot five, but intensely buff and sculpted, perfectly proportioned. Overall he presented an extremely handsome, virile image. As he stood there waiting to see what happened next, he had no idea that a Roman officer who had taken the name Sebastian had also been a small but beautifully formed young man. The chance resemblance Christopher bore to St. Sebastian as depicted in the drawing had not been lost on either Frazier or Tiller.

It was not until the teenager strung his bow, fitted the first arrow and took aim at him that it dawned on Christopher what was about to occur. Before he could utter a yelp of terrified protest or plea for mercy, the Monsignor nodded and the arrow flew. It knifed into the center of the right thigh and pierced completely through until just the fletching at the end of the shaft protruded from the entry point.

It hurt horribly, the bolt breaking the bone inside the limb as it passed. Blood began dribbling steadily from the wound even as Christopher's bellow of agony echoed in the forest.

They had carefully counted the number of arrows depicted jutting from St. Sebastian in the drawing in the Book of Saints and where they were placed. There had been eight and he was still alive. Jordan Tiller sighed with pleasure as he fed another arrow into his bow. It was going to be a good trick to put eight shots into the pinioned martyr without killing him but he was quite sure he could accomplish the task. After all, he had God's hand guiding him.


Judah gasped, staring at the awful tool of punishment clutched in his hand, He couldn't even utter the dreadful word. Better, he thought grimly, to die than have your nuts cut off. Shit! I wonder if he'd chop our dicks off too! He turned and leaned over a wooden pew to present his dimpled ass lobes and back and waited for the first stroke of the whip.

Judah, almost in tears, raised his arm and brought the whip down with a soft swooshing splat over his brother's bare back. It was not a convincing effort. Though it smarted it was mild and raised only a faint, pinkish pattern of welts.

He took the whip from the boy's trembling hand and brought a stroke whistling down over the broad young back with such force that Jacob was staggered. The whapping bang of the impact was stark and made Judah jump. Jacob cried out in his suffering and a furious set of deep, inflamed weals appeared in the fair skin. The man returned the whip to Judah. His voice was calm but full of deadly threat, With no choice, Judah raised the whip and this time put his full strength into the downward stroke of the wicked tails. For what seemed an eternity, he stood there and repeatedly lashed his brother, turning his back, ass and legs into a mass of furious marks, some drooling blood where the skin was slashed. Jacob was sprawling forward over the pew by now, one knee cocked up onto the seat, needing the support as the pain rippled through him with throbbing fury.

Not until Jacob finally dropped in a dead faint did the Bishop halt the scourging. Ignoring the unconscious brother, his lust fueled to a raging fury, the Church leader guided Judah to a table and ordered him to lean over it on his belly, his legs widely parted. He also ordered him to reach back and pull his butt lobes apart to fully expose his puckered anus. He plugged in an electric vibrator and brought the tip of the long plastic tube to the tight sphincter, smiling at the way the boy flinched at the contact.

Slowly, steadily he forced the rod up into the ass canal and then began to run it in and out, fucking the hole as if with a dildo. The tube was slim so it was not really that uncomfortable. Still, Judah was tense and trembling, wondering what it would be like when the vibrator was activated, not having the slightest notion of how it would feel to have his innards assaulted with the device. He'd gotten a brief glimpse of it when the Bishop produced it and noticed the switch running along a graduated series of numerical settings.

On the lower settings, he surmised, it probably won't be too bad. But I bet it'll be a bitch if ... when ... he sets it on high!

What he couldn't know was that it was no longer a vibrator at all lodged within his ass canal. An electrician had accommodated the request of one of the Bishop's aides to covert the tool into an electro-shock wand. He had been almost nauseated at the implications when he was told to make the highest setting deliver such a powerful burst of juice that it would actually electrocute a subject. Still he had followed his orders and created a very deadly weapon.

I wonder, the craftsman had shaken his head in disgust, What the Bishop would say if he was aware of his underling's wild-ass taste in toys!

The Bishop had, of course, been quite pleased with the modification to the wand and now adjusted the selector switch to the number two setting, the max being five. When he pressed the pulse button, every muscle in Judah's buff body contracted into sheets and cords of steel, the involuntary cramping agonizing in and of itself. He was shaken like a dog as the flowing current gripped him. It felt as if his gut had been stuffed with red hot coals, the pain so intense that he couldn't even cry out.

The Bishop fed the current into the boy's ass-hole for fully ten seconds, then switched it off and stepped back to get a better overall view of his victim. Judah collapsed forward flat on his chest on the table and seemed frozen in suffering, his face contorted, panting like a spent dog. The tube of the shocker slid out of his hole until just the tip remained in place.

It was his first use of the device and Arriaga knew he should exercise patience. But it had been so long since he had had a set of twins to destroy that he just could not wait to experience the thrill of the first of the killings. He was as excited as a kid at Christmas to find out what happened when the full jolt was delivered. He had never seen a man electrocuted and his lusting need and curiosity got the better of his patience.

He inserted the tube back all the way into the teen's ass-hole and clicked the selector to the deadly five position. He poised his thumb on the discharge button and sucked in a tense breath, ready to act.

In Seattle, the Reverend Jack Delaney was also ready to act. He had let Brian recuperate from the excruciating agony of having six darts embedded to the hilt into his genital package the night before. He had intended to torture the young buck at greater length and then enjoy the ultimate thrill with him all in one sitting, but the erotic power of using the teen's crotch as a dartboard had overpowered his restraint. He had prematurely ejaculated, dulling the edge from his lust, and he had decided to put off the final act until the next day so he could more fully enjoy it.

Now all was in readiness and he studied the handsome tattooed hunk as he sat naked and dazed in the water-filled tile and concrete font the minister had created in his basement play den.

He was, after all, a Baptist.

A sturdy nylon rope ran up out of a tightly sealed gasket in the bottom edge of the basin and it's free end had been securely knotted around Brian's wrists back behind his head. The boy assumed it was just a form of bondage to permit free use of his body for some further torment, but a nagging fear had begun as he sat immersed in the water up to his lower chest. He remembered reading somewhere that neuterings were sometimes done in a tub of water! He had not understood the reasons, nor had he really cared to understand, but now he was very much on edge. I bet the bastard plans to nut me!

He'd have probably resisted climbing into the pool and allowing himself to be restrained, but he was mindful of the terrible things rumored to be done to rebellious tithers. He was also a believer in God though not overly devout and all of his short life he had been brainwashed to believe that his role, if selected in the tithe, was to be obedient in all things, exercising no independence in thought or action. To do otherwise, he had been taught, imperiled your soul.

Thus, despite his loathing of this awful minister, he belonged to him and owed him his cooperation. So, reluctantly, he had done what he was told. He was also strangely listless and sluggish and wasn't sure he could have really resisted much even if he had chosen to do so. He was actually having a very hard time staying awake and even being as alarmed as he knew he should be at the prospect of castration.

It hadn't sunk in that he had been administered a strong sedative in the food provided by his owner. Delaney had taken to doping his victims for the final stages of their processing. One of the first boys he had collected had given him a real fight and he had just barely succeeded in overpowering the youth. He wanted no replays of that unpleasantry. The kid had kneed him in the groin and he'd been in pain for days afterward.

As it happened, there was no basis for Brian's fear that he was about to be castrated. That was not at all what was in store for him.

The minister knelt and touched the tatoo on Brian's breast with loving adoration. It was one of the more graphic, unusual renderings of a cross he had seen yet. He loved the clever way the big, ripe nipple had been incorporated in the scroll-work at the base, the lovely pink-brown tit with its fine eraser nib standing out starkly in the blood-red ink of the surrounding design. In a very short while he would skin the bull's chest to take possession of the tatoo, removing the nipple with it of course.

First there was one minor annoyance to be dealt with. The boy was still very much alive and, though that was inconvenient, it was very easily remedied. The same problem had been cured quite successfully more than a dozen times before in this very basin. All he had to do was to rise, take the end of the rope in his hands where it ran out of another gasket on the outer wall of the font, and pull very firmly and steadily on it.

Two basic rules of nature would then come into play to remedy the nuisance of Brian's continued breathing.

Not that drowning was an easy death. In fact, it was most unpleasant judging from the looks on the faces of the young men who had previously undergone Jack Delaney's special baptism. That just made it all the more exciting and satisfying for him. He would, in fact, masturbate as he stared down into Brian's face down in the font. He was already naked and as he stood to take hold of the rope, his cock finished hardening into full, pulsing erection.

As it had fourteen times before, the system worked flawlessly. Brian struggled in mounting terror as he felt himself being forced backwards and his head touched the water. In just moments his writhing upper body was drawn beneath the surface and he was desperately holding his breath, trickles of air bubbling to the surface from the edges of his tightly pursed lips.
He could hold out no longer and had to exhale. Of course, instantly water rushed in and began flooding his lungs. The sensation was awful, the pain extreme. Fortunately, it didn't last long before the darkness swept over him and he went limp and relaxed to just lie almost peacefully beneath the surface.

After a while, Brian started becoming aware of his surroundings. He was mildly surprised and pleased to discover there really was a heaven. At least he hoped that was where he was. The pain from the gagging convulsions as he retched water from inside his chest made him suddenly worry that he had instead descended to hell. It didn't seem fair! He had tried so hard for his brief eighteen years to be moral and decent, so why ...

Strong arms were enfolding him and he had difficulty getting his drugged eyes to focus to learn if they belonged to a devil or an angel. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. A ballsy voice pierced his confusion,

It didn't sound at all like a supernatural entity nor what either Lucifer or St. Peter might say in greeting, so Brian forced his eyes open and found a grinning, very human, very masculine face gazing down into his.

He glanced around, trying to understand what was happening and his eyes caught a shocking sight. The Reverend Jack Delaney lay on the floor a few feet away, a look of mixed disbelief, rage and acute agony in the grotesque mask that was his face. His eyes were open in a fixed, unseeing stare. Several small darts jutted from his chest, the injector type, not the vicious brutes used by the minister on Brian the day before. Foam continued to drool from his open mouth.

Brock Carter and a rebel hit team had slipped down from their Canadian base as soon as their agent confirmed Delaney had a tither on hand ... a probable victim judging from the tatoo on his chest. The reports of the man's horrible activity had only recently reached their ears and they had not wanted to believe it. Now it was clear the rumors were all too accurate and he was relieved that they had indeed targeted a monster, catching him in the very act of drowning the boy in the font.

He stood as Brian continued to fairly quickly recover from his near drowning, the expert CPR having done its trick. He wondered if the kid would be willing to be recruited. If not, surely he would at least be willing to seek refugee status up in Canada. He glanced at Delaney's corpse and spat on it.

Hypocritical beast! He sneered in contempt. Hiding in the guise of sanctimonious piety and condemning the minor faults of others while working evil of the rankest kind.

He'd have regarded the minister as a tool of Satan if he had believed in Satan ... which he most assuredly did not. Nor God either. It was all just human foible at work. There was good and there was evil in human interaction and he was aware that some would even see his killing of this fiend as an evil act. He shrugged. That was just a judgment to be made by men according to how they viewed things and he didn't care much how others might regard what he had just done. He was just very glad he had done it.

He didn't bother to complete the thought as he continued to stare, wanting to cry at the inhumanity evidenced in the case. There were fourteen beautifully framed trophies. In each glass covered mounting lay perfectly preserved patches of human skin, each containing a well-crafted tatoo with a religious motif. Each had a small brass plate with a name and date. There was a fifteenth one in the base of the trophy case, as yet empty, but the brass plate was already there.
Filled with rage, Brock seized the unfilled frame and sent it hurling against a wall where it exploded into a spray of broken glass and shattered wood.

In San Antonio, another group of American rebels operating out of Mexico slipped into the Bishop's palace through a door opened by the prelate's cook. Their agent had been watching the targeted churchman for some time, waiting for his next predation. His burning of the brothers in Oklahoma some months previously had been reported to the underground opposition by an outraged manager at the ranch.

Inside the leader was furious at the delays that had prevented their plan from full fruition. They had intended to catch the influential Bishop in flagrante torturing the teenaged brothers and haul him to Mexico for a video-taped trial to graphically demonstrate the evils within the tithe system. They'd hoped to circulate thousands of underground videos of the proceedings across America.

He went into the den where the twins had been suffering and glanced at the sprawled, naked corpse on the floor, a look of startled surprise on the dead features. A single round hole was in the forehead and the leader grinned. At least his man had been an excellent shot with the silenced pistol. He wondered what the bastard Bishop had thought as he turned, hearing his name called out, and found his cook standing there aiming the weapon at his head.

During his visit to El Paso, Domenicus had been provided a large, comfortable guest house on the grounds of the estate of a wealthy lay supporter of The Church of Holy Purification. The inquisitor was so furiously aroused that he lost no time at all in stripping his two companions naked and hauling them to the small chapel of the intensely devout lay brother. There he collapsed to his knees and prayed fervently for guidance.

Naturally, God spoke to him and told him that he should proceed to sate his needs as part of a divine plan to punish the two sinners. Standing, then turning, he let his robe drop from his body. Watching, Jacob Quinsley, the neophyte inquisitor, gasped in awe. The tall priest was just spectacular! His body was wonderfully sculpted and defined, hard as granite and smoothly svelte.

His penis was already swollen and standing in full erection and it was mammoth, close to a foot in length and thick as well. The head was a work of art, deliciously flared, and the horse balls below completed the utterly intimidating image of a creature transcending mere humanity. This was a demi-god and Jacob just spontaneously dropped to his knees in respect and homage.

The man, be he demon or demi-god, was equally impressive to the hapless Mark Jaynes. With the chapel cross towering above the shaven head of the priest and the glowing colors of light through the stained glass windows playing on his naked flesh, he was mesmerizing. Mark too dropped trembling to his knees.

Perhaps God's hand really is involved in this. Perhaps it is my destiny in his great plan to suffer and die on a cross as did his son, just as Jacob said they plan to do. Mark had never been strongly devout but he did believe sincerely in God and that he had a soul. He began to sweat as he knelt there, recalling all the thoughtless things he had done in his brief life that he knew were probably sins. He had always expected to have a long lifetime in which to atone and save his soul, but now felt genuine fear that hell was to be his lot. He had been, he had to admit, just as Jacob accused, an evil fornicator of women.

Tears filled his eyes but then he also had a sudden flash of inspiration. There was clearly a road to salvation still. He had been placed in the hands of Domenicus and Jacob as a test! Had not Jacob even assured that his soul, freed from his crucified body, would fly to heaven? He opened his eyes and looked with new vision upon the god-like priest towering over him atop the steps of the altar.

The transfixed look on the dark-haired boy's handsome features was not lost on Domenicus and he knew conversion when he saw it. Amazing! In answer to my prayer just now the Lord decided to send me an additional sign. He struck this sinner with remorse and the true light of belief. The Lord is paving the way for Jacob's entry into his service here on earth, providing a lamb to go passively to sacrifice just as Christ! How utterly perfect God's plan always is when you open your eyes to it!

He descended the steps and sat on the edge of a small wooden bench, leaning against the wall with his shoulders and splaying his long legs widely apart, his turgid maleness fully exposed. He dropped his piercing gaze upon the kneeling boys and raised his hands towards them, a dreamy look on his face.

Both students crawled across the chapel floor to cuddle between the parted knees of their master. His hands gently caressed their heads and pressed their faces into his crotch. Both tongues and mouths began to worship, licking, nuzzling, sucking. One was working his cock, the other his balls and he was almost transfixed with the utter ecstasy of the sensations flooding his body and mind.

After just a short while he cried out softly and convulsed. He filled whichever mouth was sucking his cock with the thick blasts of his cream, almost choking the boy with the volume of his ejaculation. He glanced down as he began to enter the warm afterglow of the orgasm and saw it was Jacob who had acted as the receptacle of his blessed seed.

Waiting for him to instruct them further, each trembling boy clung lovingly to one of his thighs, hugging it and kissing the smooth velvet skin overlying the corded slabs of muscle. Finally, he rose and donned his robe. Both teenagers were fully hardened between their thighs and he took each spear in a hand and used the erections as leashes to guide them to his quarters.

There he contemplated the pair. Jacob, a hopeful look in his eyes, gulped and whispered in a tense voice,

The boys looked puzzled, The priest motioned towards the bed, Trembling and uncertain, the boy inquisitor and the lamb he would soon slaughter obeyed and mounted the bed, their knees sinking into the soft covers as they knelt face to face.

In the meantime, across town in another part of El Paso, Horst Gandrik had presented his credentials to the conductor of the scheduled selection session at Rio Grande High School. The assistant principal ... a Satanist agent ... had taken the duty on himself, expecting Gandrik, Luther Davenport with him. He gave Luther a warm hug and a kiss on the neck.

The school official grinned, The assistant principal nodded. Gandrik cocked an eyebrow, The man spread his arms and looked helpless and aghast, Erik and his football teammate and best pal Drew were shocked to their sneakers when they saw Luther Davenport, backed up by a catcher, facing them with a very wicked grin. Erik gulped hard, The vice principal shrugged, Both crew-cut muscle-hunks were clearly beginning to understand their dilemma. They also knew they could do nothing to preclude their capture by Luther and his companion. Gandrik grinned and held up two certificates. Defeated, the pair glumly complied. The law was the law and they accepted that their minister fathers had been outfoxed. They slowly, resentfully doffed their strap tee shirts, sneakers, gym trunks and boxers and stood naked before their small audience. Ordered to flex to show off their hot physiques, they again obeyed, locking their hands behind their heads and hardening their corded slabs and belts of rugged, cut musculature.
Gandrik was impressed. These two will be absolutely perfect grist for a black mass, a fine test of Luther's ability to preside over high rites. That they are sons of ministers makes their sacrifice that much more wonderfully fitting! Satan should be truly delighted.

Both naked youths were also big-hung. Though viking blond Erik Ecklund was able to control his loins, standing nude and flexing aroused dark-haired Drew Carson and his cock rose swiftly into erection, much to his seeming embarrassment.

The next five minutes rushed by and then Gandrik and Luther lead their naked acquisitions from the school and drove off with them, their hands securely bound behind them, their ankles hobbled and their mouths gagged.

It was nearly an hour later, puzzled that their sons had not come home yet, that the ministers tried phoning the school. Alarmed that the phone would not even ring, they rushed down with their catcher and stood in absolute shock as the apologetic assistant principal told them what had happened. Seeing their car squealing into the lot, he had used a piece of onion to induce tears and presented a perfect picture of contrite grief by the time they burst through the doors.

Jacob and Mark faced each other on the bed, a bit ill at ease and unsure exactly what to do. Neither had ever had sexual contact with another male until they had jointly serviced Domenicus a short while before. Still, that experience had opened new horizons for them and both were horny as hell from it. There had also begun a sort of bonding from their association in the act. Mark's conversion too had made possible a relationship that was certainly bizarre but no longer confrontational.

Thus when Jacob slowly extended a hand and let his fingers run over Mark's bulging bicepses the dark-haired doll shuddered in clear pleasure at the touch and let his hands, in turn, begin exploring Jacob. Shortly, he leaned forward, placed his palms on Mark's shoulders to each side and brought his lips to his.

Startled, Mark drew back for a moment, then slowly returned forward and tentatively grazed Jacob's lips with his own. He got up his nerve and joined in a firm, brief kiss, then surrendered and hungrily let his mouth interlock with Jacob's in a long, wet exchange, tongues twining together. Both were amazed at how exciting it was to kiss another "dude," something they had never seriously even considered doing before.

Domenicus watched the mating unfold until the two were hungrily stimulating each other in full fever, hands and mouths in wide-open play. Only then, powerfully re-aroused himself and as naked again as they, he separated them. Perplexed but eager to please and prepared to fully cooperate in all matters with either the inquisitor or his deputy, Mark followed the instructions that followed. He turned away from the priest and planted his big feet widely apart. He then leaned over at the waist, reached back and pulled his butt cheeks apart to completely expose his tightly puckered, very virgin ass-hole.

He gasped and cried out in pain, writhing on his feet, as the tip of a very thick wooden dildo was suddenly shoved home. His protesting sphincter was pressed more widely open than nature ever intended and eight inches of thick, rounded wood was forced up inside his ass canal. The stretching of the orifice shocked the boy and he bent at the knees and leaned down, fighting the temptation to scream.

Gradually he acclimated and the terrible pain eased away. There was even some degree of unexpected pleasure as his prostate was impacted. Domenicus slowly ran the plug in and out of the teenager's rectum several times before pressing it all the way in and leaving it.

The end of the dildo jutting from Mark's ass crack was in the shape of a crudely carved cross.
The priest turned his attention to Jacob, Jacob did as ordered and studied all three of the whips he found lodged in the case. He tried to envision how each would mark him and which would likely produce the greatest pain. He decided the worst looked to be a vicious cat of nine tails with short straps of braided leather ending in harsh knots.

He was excited. This will work so much better than the home-made whip my brother and I used on each other!

He delivered it to Domenicus who looked pleased at the selection. He ordered Jacob to turn and ran admiring, affectionate hands over the boy's smooth shoulders, back and buttocks, relishing the throbbing warmth he found flooding into his palms. He slowly ran the tails of the whip all over the skin and rubbed them in the tender ass crack, producing deep shudders of excitement in the boy.

He leaned forward and kissed the right ear, nibbled briefly at the lobe, then whispered,

Jacob's hard cock was throbbing painfully in its steely erection as he awaited the first bite of the leather on his hide. With a shudder of deep pleasure, the priest stepped back and studied the boy's rear, trying to decide where to apply the first stroke, the whip lying relaxed and deceptively docile in the fist by his side.

As in almost all decisions, Domenicus looked for a sign from God to guide him. At that moment, Jacob flexed his upper body in a shiver of excited anticipation. The muscles in his shoulders and upper back corded spectacularly.

Yes, Lord, the priest smiled. Thank you. I shall start there as you command.

The initial strokes across the roof of the broad back were really just kisses, barely enough to leave a reddened pattern of criss-crossing lines in the creamy skin. But as he progressed, and his lusts deepened, each stroke intensified and shortly began leaving livid, deep welts with each visit. The whapping reports of the impacts also intensified as the severity increased and soon were like muffled gunshots.

After a while, Jacob added little grunting gasps to the ritualistic sounds of the whipping as his self control weakened. Eventually deep, soulful moans greeted each new stroke as the punishment progressed further and the pain became excruciating..

Watching from his bent-over posture, Mark marveled at how wonderfully stoic and brave Jacob was as the slow, brutal beating was administered. I'd be screaming my lungs out by now but he's just standing there taking it. It also excited Mark to see Jacob whipped and he was tempted to touch his rock-hard penis but was afraid to. I don't want to shoot until he's fucking me. I'll handle it better if I'm still good and horny as he pops my cherry.

He expected it would hurt a great deal as his butt was deflowered, but he was surprised the prospect really did not frighten him. In fact, he was startled when he realized just how much he was looking forward to it.

Finally Jacob collapsed to his knees, too drained of energy to stand, then fell face-down to writhe on the floor on his belly, fighting to cope with the agony raging in his back, ass and thighs. The skin was now a mass of weals and raw bruised ridges. Domenicus ceased the torment then and just gazed down upon the moaning young stud, pleased at how beautifully he had submitted to the savage scourging. It was the worst the priest had ever administered to a man intended to survive.

Laying the whip aside, he turned his attention again to Mark, his drooling, steely cock clearly in a state that demanded immediate relief. He hesitated though, realizing somewhat reluctantly that he really did owe it to his deputy to grant reward for his sterling performance under the lash. He enlisted Mark's assistance in carting the nearly helpless whipped stud to the bed and watched as the dark-haired youth lovingly, gently applied a soothing, cooling balm to the brutal patterns of swollen welts.

Only when Jacob was resting in improved comfort did the priest have Mark again bend at the waist. None too gently he again drove the dildo in and out at some length, watching the muscular body cringe and writhe with each pumping cycle. Finally he jerked it all the way out and cast it aside, his need far too great for further foreplay.
Without ceremony he replaced the dildo with his own man-rod and, if anything, stretched the tormented ass-hole even wider. Mark squealed like a piglet and bucked wildly at first as the man impaled him right up to the balls with his monster dick. The resistence heightened the priest's delight at the play and he began to fuck with savage force. He had tremendous staying power when he wished and he carried out the intercourse at great length before he finally froze, his face contorted, and began filling the boy's gut with his mammoth flow of gism.

By then Mark had shot his own wad and an icicle of cum was drooling from his softening penis down below his cock-stuffed belly.

Domenicus staggered, spent, towards his own bedroom, but paused at the door.

Mark stumbled to the bed and reclined close beside the suffering hunk. He was amazed at how much he had thrilled to the earlier love-making they had shared and now even the musky male aroma of the brawny young body was exciting to him. He was well aware that he was next to a natural predator, not unlike a tawny young tiger. There was even a feline grace about Jacob as he lay so still and deceptively passive but the sense of danger did not deter Mark. It actually just piqued his excitement that much more. The crewcut head nodded, Jacob turned his face to gaze into mark's for a long moment before nodding, Mark too was silent for a while in contemplation. Then slowly the dark head shook from side to side, He started to lower his tired head again but Mark caught it gently with one hand and drew it to lie on his shoulder and upper chest. One of Jacob's arms came up to lie over Mark's upper body, the hand resting on the side of the other boy's thick, strong neck. They drifted into slumber. Jacob was turned onto one hip beside Mark and as sleep came to him he became vaguely aware that Mark's free hand had crept down to lightly cup his big, soft genitals as if to protect them.

It was a very nice sensation and he murmured softly in pleasure, a smile on his lips as peaceful oblivion crept over him. Soon his breath was a rhythmic purr that lulled Mark to sleep as well..

In the softness of the dawn, Mark awoke to discover that Jacob's manhood was hotly swollen with blood, rearing up in rigid erection even as he continued to slumber. His own morning wood was no less urgent in its demands to find release. He had experienced his first erection after puberty one morning as he awoke and at first had been shocked and even frightened by the phenomenon. Since then not a morning had dawned that he did not awaken rock hard between his thighs.

He had come to regard the wonderful effect of starting each day hotly aroused as one of God's nicest gifts to a man. But this was the first time he had awakened next to another male as equally in heat and it was an altogether new, thrilling experience. He studied Jacob's penis in detail as it jutted from the ebony thatch at his groin and marveled at its beauty and perfection.

He had held it in his hand during the warm-up tryst orchestrated by Domenicus and had found it a delightful sensation. He was now eager to learn how the organ would taste in his mouth.

But, fearful of offending the other stud, for the longest time he just lay there admiring Jacob's relaxed form, viewing him as nearly angelic, his features reflecting that sweet innocence that any young man, however virile and macho, exhibits in sleep. He had assumed his own hardness would eventually subside but it just became more insistent and finally Mark threw caution to the wind.

He carefully extracted himself from Jacob's light embrace and brought his mouth to one of the big, ripe nipples thrusting from the crests of the pec swells. When he began to lick the eraser nib, it instantly hardened and enlarged and he drew it within his lips and began to nurse. With a soft groan Jacob flexed beneath him, cat-like, then again relaxed. A hand came up to ruffle Mark's dark mane and the other reached between his legs to stroke and caress.

Domenicus discovered them in the midst of their morning mating and a pleased smile flickered over his normally harsh, sober features. Mark was on his belly and Jacob had just entered his freshly trained anus, holding in place briefly to let the boy acclimate to the presence of the big organ within his gut. Mounted like that, legs splayed, Jacob's own virgin butt was thrust out behind him and the invitation was clearly a hint from God.

Never one to ignore the Lord's dictates, furiously aroused himself, the priest silently went to them and forced his massive pole to overcome the valiant efforts of the boy's sphincter to resist the invasion. He let Jacob's prostate work its relaxing magic for a brief while until he felt the stud begin thrusting into Mark. He then began driving in and out of Jacob and they mated with wild abandon, reaching orgasm as one, Mark squirting his juices into the bedding beneath his loins as he felt Jacob explode inside him.

After showering, they dressed and prepared to depart back towards Domenicus' base in Colorado. Just before entering the car, Jacob caught Mark's arm and brought his head close in a conspiratorial whisper,

Mark was stunned. It had never occurred to him that there was the remotest chance that he'd ever be allowed to fuck the young inquisitor and he nearly swooned at the thought. He knew one thing for sure. This day he would let nothing happen to irritate Jacob with him and cause him to change his mind!

In Aztec, New Mexico, God delivered up a suitable victim to his inquisitors. A gas station attendant made a foolish attempt to short-change Domenicus. He was a husky half-Hispanic with short, curly brown hair, likely in his early twenties. The name tag sewn on his shirt said he was Ramon Jimenez. In short order Ramon found himself facing a bizarre weapon, a doubled-mounted miniature cross bow charged with two stocky, razor-tipped bolts and ready for action.

Trembling, the terrified pump jockey let himself be herded into the service bay by the priest-like older man with the wild eyes backed up by the two eager looking teenagers. Ordered to strip, he removed his shirt and Domenicus was pleased at the superb upper body bared. It was always more satisfying to deal with a strong, healthy young sinner. As the hunk started removing his shoes and socks the priest handed the crossbow to Jacob and, for just a moment, both were distracted.

The barefooted captive made his move, bolting at a dead run for the side door of the garage. Mark was in his way but was unarmed and would be simply bowled over by the bigger, more muscular boy-bull, fleeing for his life.

NO! Mark's brain churned. He can't be allowed to get away! He'll rob Jacob of his testing and could cause trouble for Domenicus and Jacob if he gets to the authorities. God-decreed or not, the killing of the attendant would still be against the law, even in the America of 2035. Desperately he looked around and, more in reflex than design, he grabbed up a long screw-driver and drove forward to meet the onrushing man.

They collided and Mark was slammed backwards to sprawl on his back, the attendant falling over him and then rolling to the side to end up on his back as well. As Mark rose, prepared to fight, he realized his weapon was no longer in his fist. Where...?

His eyes widened. When they crashed together, the tip of the screw-driver had knifed into Ramon's chest to the center on the left and his momentum had driven it in to the handle. The young stud struggled to sit up, his face contorted in pain. Blood was trickling from the wound and spider-webbing over his belly and suddenly little spurts of crimson began to spray from around the embedded tool.

There was little question that the point was in Ramon's heart and death on its way. In just moments, he shuddered convulsively and then collapsed back to lie limp, his eyes no longer seeing. Domenicus examined the dead boy while Jacob helped Mark to his feet. On impulse, he even kissed the other boy and was startled at how much he was coming to like Mark. Even, possibly ... love him? He cringed at the thought. Crucifying a guy he loved would be really tough. Could he do it? Perhaps he better start backing off from Mark and treating him at arm's length. But then it dawned on him with a rush. It was all part of God's great plan!

He means for us to become lovers during Mark's brief time left in this world. That way it will be painful for me when he goes to the cross! I will suffer terribly as well. What a wonderful test of my dedication. He wants to see if I will sacrifice my lover to him, or will be weak and falter. Well, I will not fail. Sending Mark's soul to him for eternity should be a cause for joy to me anyway.

Excited at having understood, he kissed Mark again, this time with even more zest and emotion.

About then, a tall, lanky Anglo boy of perhaps nineteen came bounding into the station, calling out Ramon's name,

He skidded to a halt, his eyes widening like saucers as he saw Ramon's corpse sprawled on the floor of the service bay. Then he saw the three men, two standing before him, one suddenly behind, blocking his retreat. The crew-cut teen before him had a damned cross-bow and was aiming it square at his chest. He slowly raised his arms and gulped, But when he took a step to his rear, Mark shoved him forcefully forward and Domenicus caught him by the shoulders and held him tight. The priest's right knee drove up like a hammer and nailed the slim, lithe boy square between the legs, right in the balls. He would have been raised up in the air by the sheer force of the blow had Domenicus not been holding his arms steady, hands clutching his bicepses.

The kid's chatter ceased as a deep groan burst from his lips along with a spray of spittal as his lungs exhaled violently. His pupils rolled back in his eyes in shock and he sagged down. When the priest released him he collapsed and lay clutching his crotch with both hands, frozen in pain. The inquisitor shook his head in amazement. He had been lamenting in his mind the loss of a fine opportunity to test Jacob's killing strength and suddenly this fornicating spawn of the devil was thrust into their hands.

The Lord doth provide, he smiled in delight. The Lord surely doth provide!

The newcomer, Nick Rogers, had been a track miler and a basketball center in high school and was still in wonderful condition. He was vaguely aware as his captors quickly stripped him naked, literally ripping away his red silk briefs to finish making him naked. They were impressed with his lean, graceful body, not unlike a sleek racing hound. He was boyishly cute too beneath a thick mop of unruly dark-brown locks.

The sinful organs dangling between his thighs were handsomely formed, obviously well employed according to his boasting as he arrived to regale the late Ramon with details of his latest phallic conquest. Of course, just now his balls felt like small rodents were busily feasting on them with sharp little teeth. He worried about whether they might be ruptured, not quite realizing that his priorities in worrying were really screwed up.

He cried out and flexed powerfully as they forced him to rise, walked him to a wall and let him lean against it for support. He was really not even aware that Jacob was taking aim at him with the crossbow until the pop of the catgut string snapping forward echoed sharply in the bay. There was a swift hiss in the air and a dull thud as the metal head of the bolt knifed into Nick's gut just within his pubic hair line above the base of his cock, slightly off to the left.
His butt was slammed against the wall and his body contracted wildly. The searing pain that exploded out from his groin was beyond anything the jockish boy had ever imagined. He slowly slid down the wall until he was kneeling, the feathered end of the arrow protruding from the thick copse of hair cushioning his manhood. Blood began dripping steadily from all around his genitals to pool on the floor between his knees.

His mouth was open in a silent scream, his eyes staring out in shocked disbelief.

After enjoying the sinner's agonized suffering for perhaps a minute, Jacob raised the bow again to discharge the second arrow. Nick was still kneeling, supporting himself against the wall with one hand. That raised the upper arm just enough to expose the furry armpit, Stepping close, Jacob positioned the point of the bolt until it was almost kissing the silky plumage in the pit and then fired.

Nick shuddered convulsively and uttered a single gasping cry. Ripping horizontally across the inside of his chest the high powered dart shredded his heart and lungs before exploding out his opposite shoulder and into the wall behind him.

He collapsed forward face down, dead before he completed the fall.

After a moment, Domenicus nodded,

It was the Friday before Easter and Luther, Gandrik and the assembled warlocks of the Humberland Coven were all kneeling in silent devotionals, each seeking to conjure the dark force and gain the attention of the fallen angel they worshiped.

It was approaching midnight and the torches ringing the site cast flickering light over the macabre gathering, the robed, hooded figures appearing spectral, their shadows menacing. They were in a long abandoned stone quarry deep in the forests of central Oregon on land owned by a sympathizer and their privacy was absolute. The black mass would not be interrupted.

A vast pentagram had been marked out with luminescent sand and its lines glowed eerily in the firelight. In the central circle amid the points there were two altars arrayed some feet apart. One was, in reality, a shallow pit filled with a bier of pinewood, dry with age and rich in highly flammable pitch. Atop it lay dark-haired Drew Carson, prone on his belly. He was naked and his wrists bound to his front.

That he was about to be sacrificed through immolation would have been obvious to the most naive observer, but the handsome eighteener jock was strangely relaxed, a neutral expression on his face. A closer look would have revealed that his eyes were not really in focus and he was off in his own dreamy little world.

Erik Ecklund was sitting quietly on the edge of the second altar. He was as yet unbound and just waited impassively for whatever was to follow. He was aware that Drew was lying on a pile of wood. When his buddy had been positioned on what was even to Erik's blitzed mind a pyre, he had giggled, giddy enough that almost anything would amuse him. Drew had to think about that, forcing his thoughts to churn into speech, Both ministers' sons were thoroughly doped. The powder that had been blown into their faces to be inhaled was an ancient herbal concoction used by the Aztecs to induce their victims to march cooperatively, even eagerly, to the sacrificial altars atop their pyramids. It produced a long-lasting state of high euphoria and blissful hallucination accompanied by intense suggestibility. Dragging living offerings kicking and screaming to their fate detracted from the ceremonial solemnity desired by the Aztec priests.

Erik was perched on a massive, rectangular slab of beautiful rose quartz, it's glassy surface reflecting the torch light. He was very calm and relaxed, enjoying the cool night breeze playing over his naked body.

It was, in fact, the presence of that perfect, beautiful altar that had first drawn the coven to choose the quarry as their site for high ritual. The great block had been carefully, painstakingly hewn from nature but then, for no apparent reason, abandoned in a flat clearing in the bottom of the pit. The fact that there was a stand of truly magnificent old-growth pines and hemlocks surrounding the man-made gash in the earth was another positive sign of the extreme suitability of the location. A sacred grove to boot!

One by one the robed figures stood and began to form a circle around the edge of the pentagram. A soft, rhythmic chant in a forgotten tongue began to lilt in the night air, slowly increasing in strength and tempo until it became a pulse, not unlike the beating of a heart.

A figure moved forward from the group and let the cowl masking his features drop. Then the robe itself slid gracefully from Luther's body. He was clad just in a black satin loin cloth, the golden ram's head pendant on its chain of obsidian beads girding his neck.

Calmly he approached Erik and soothingly, gently, ran his hands over the naked body. Already in a state of drugged bliss, the contact was almost hypnotic and the boy was easily guided to lie prone over the quartz slab. He offered no resistence to the final preparations for his sacrifice. He let his wrists be bound and drawn over his head and down to an eye bolt drilled in the base of the stone altar. Similarly his legs were drawn to the sides so that the knees reached the edge and the calves dropped over, the ankles secured to further eye bolts.

The way the blond head and brawny shoulders were left dangling over the end of the slab encouraged the boy to lean back, curving his spine and thrusting his broad chest out, perfect and vulnerable to receive the knife.

Luther produced the dagger, it's ebony hilt capped by a golden skull, the triangular blade of carbon steel honed to surgical sharpness. He lovingly stroked Erik's penis to erection and then brought the blade to the head to make a quick, shallow slash over the lips. The pinioned boy gasped and flexed at the burning sting but the pain was mild enough that it could not seriously penetrate his euphoric haze.

Luther used the bleeding cock as an inkpot, his fingers the brush, to draw the required six sixes, Satan's three doubled for increased power, on the naked body of the primary offering. One went onto the high inside of each splayed thigh, one on the flat gut at the pubic hair line, one ringed the belly button and the other two the nipples. The digits formed an alluring, chilling, natural pattern to the eye.

He completed his ritualistic artwork by painting an inverted cross directly over the boy's heart. Each application of a satanic numeral was accompanied by his incantation of ancient spells to summon the devil to this happy occasion.

Watching, pleased at the utter perfection with which the neophyte warlock was presiding over the mass, Gandrik suddenly caught his breath. Luther was deviating from the standard procedure, but knew exactly what he was doing! He had leaned over the blond boy's crotch and taken his cock in his mouth. He was sucking, drinking blood from the organ!

Gandrik was stricken with awe at how knowledgeable this new addition to the coven really was. It was fascinating enough to discover that he knew the mass and its complicated chants and incantations by heart. That had come out when Gandrik had offered to give the boy instruction that turned out to be unnecessary. Now it developed he was even familiar with variations in the commonly accepted ritual.

The drinking of penile blood was a step practiced primarily by the oldest Scandinavian covens, mainly in Denmark. It had never caught on in America but its inclusion tonight was impressive coming from a supposed novice. Gandrik had little doubt it would henceforth become part of the established ritual in recognition of Luther's excellence. He had no doubt this intimidating boy was going to eventually be the ruling warlock in the coven and at a very young age.
After a bit, blood streaking his lips, Luther freed the penis and let it soften to lie between the parted thighs of his victim on the altar, a small pool of crimson beginning to pool on the stone below the crotch. He laid the knife close by the hunk as he lay there calmly awaiting the final act, his face serene, eyes closed.

He turned his attention at last to Drew and took a torch from where it awaited on a metal stand. He leaned down and, uttering a prolonged string of powerful incantations, ignited the wood beneath the brunet stud at the required four sites, north, south, east and west. As the crackling, popping flames hungrily began chewing their way up towards his prone form, the youth lay passive, as yet unaffected by them.

That didn't last long. Though his drugged euphoria served to reduce his susceptibility to pain, even the first burns inflicted by the rising flames as they poured up in waves around him broke through to make themselves very much felt. He began to cry out and shortly his cries became screams. As his skin first blistered, then blackened, he thrashed wildly around atop the blazing pyre.

He could likely have leapt from the inferno in the first moments as the flames surged around him, despite his bound wrists, but the drug dulled both his reactions and judgments. The choking swirls of smoke then blinded him and further disoriented his senses and the brief time envelope for escape was gone. As his injuries and shock deepened by the second, he could only collapse and lie there helpless as he continued to burn and scream out his lungs.

The nearly hysterical chants of the warlocks and the roar of the fire drowned his shrieks and at some point they ceased anyway as the smoke and gases asphyxiated him.

In the meantime, Luther had returned to stand over Erik as he lay stretched over the quartz altar. As pillars of dark smoke billowed behind him, the stench of Drew's burning body pungent on the air, he began the final invocation of ancient supplications. His rising religious transportation strengthened its hold over him with near maniacal force and he began writhing and twisting as if possessed. He uttered his black prayers with increasing urgency, his voice almost an animal howl, hands outstretched over the sacrificial boy below.

At the very height of his self-induced state of zealot ecstasy, he seized up the knife and without the slightest hesitation, with unerring accuracy, plunged it into Erik's breast and slashed open the chest cavity. He thrust in a hand and ripped out the heart and held it high above him, still pulsing and spewing blood. With a piercing, unearthly scream, he then flung the organ into the burning pit.

At once, the spirit that, real or imagined, had been conjured to take control of him fled and the boy collapsed into a swoon, utterly spent, unable to even speak. If his unprecedented, stunning precedence over the black rites, including the demonic channeling through his own body, was an act, it was convincing. No warlock present had ever witnessed its like and the Humberland Coven would never be the same. A new leader had clearly arrived, seemingly Satan himself in the guise of an eighteen year old boy.

Jacob Quinsley and Brother Domenicus were kneeling in prayer as they had been for some time, a contingent of adherents of the Inquisitional sect arrayed behind them in a similar stance. Above them on a low rise, the Rocky Mountains towering as a backdrop, Marcus Jaynes' contorted form was nailed to a tall, stout wooden cross. He was still alive but surely could not last much longer.

It had been over six hours since his crucifixion was carried out.

The naked muscle-boy had been required to drag the cross up the hill earlier in the day and been whipped with every step. His back, now out of view, was a raw mass of bleeding welts. His head had been shaved and a crown of woven briar vines forced over his brow, blood continuing to trickle from the deep wounds where the thorns gored his forehead and scalp.

He had cooperated, seemingly in a state of religious fervor, almost entranced, as he was positioned on the cross and the iron spikes driven through his wrists and crossed feet. He had cried out in pain with the nailing and moaned as he was hefted up and the base of the cross embedded in the ground to hold it upright. Even then, his acknowledgment of his suffering was so mild that it was stunning.

Many of the sect members assumed he had been drugged but in truth the state of martyr-like control Mark exercised was self-induced religious mania. He had developed a fixation on the necessity of his crucifixion and went to it with near joy, casting himself in the surrogate role of Jesus Christ in a most realistic passion play.

Jacob had driven the spikes home through the limbs and into the wood as aides held the victim steady. Jacob too had lanced Mark's left side, just below the rib cage, after he was raised up on his cross. He had driven the spearhead deep up into the body, hoping to hasten the death and end Mark's suffering a bit sooner. Somehow though the boy's will to live was strong enough that he seemed to just last and last as he hung nailed to his rood.

Jacob raised his eyes to again gaze up at the top of the hill. The sight of the crucified jock was every bit as exciting and moving as he had expected, possibly even more so. It was a sight he would never be able to erase from his mind's eye.

As it happened, the sacrificial deaths of Erik Ecklund, Drew Carson and Mark Jaynes were the last of tithers. Less than three weeks later the military coup lead by the joint chiefs of staff swept the theocracy from power. As with many dictators, William Buchanan Carlson had become over-confident and lax, assured of his popularity and omnipotence by his lackeys so often that he came to believe it.

He was very shocked when the marines stormed his palace, overpowered his fanatic but ill-trained police guards and arrested him. He was shot later that same day. Most of the members of the ruling Synod suffered the same fate. All over the country, the people rose up in support of the rebellion and a savage backlash occurred against the former government and the religious establishment in general of all faiths and denominations.

Churches and similar buildings burned from coast to coast and thousands of offending religious extremists and their leaders died in the streets as the armies of tithed slaves were freed and wreaked a terrible revenge. Membership in most of the few surviving institutions dropped like a rock overnight.

In some isolated sites, the effects of the change were less dramatic. In Jacobsdale, Utah, half of the seventeen freed tithers working among the population opted to remain as converts, willing to take their chances in the annual draw that was reinstituted among all of the young men in the community. Quietly, discretely, the Easter feast would continue.

The Humberland Coven of warlocks quietly went underground. Warlocks, used to centuries of suppression and persecution had excellent survival skills. Domenicus and Jacob fled to Canada seeking status as political refugees, ironically passing carloads of former atheist exiles returning home.

And West Texas Christian University again became The University of Texas at El Paso.

America's nineteen year flirtation with religious rule had ended. Only time would tell exactly what form of government would now replace it.