Goodwin Prescott


It took over a month to create the concrete pond behind my house tucked in its wooded acreage far from the nearest neighbor. We started filling the pond while they saw to the last detail, installation of an electric hoisting crane with a pivotal arm to swing out over the water. I was amused that never once did the contractor ask what the purpose of the odd crane would be. I guess he figured I knew what I was doing.

Of course, he was quite right.

Once the pond was filled, I released the swarm of exotic fish I had smuggled in from Brazil and my facility was ready for its planned purpose. Like a kid with a new toy, I could hardly wait to put it to use.

It was expensive but I could afford it and it would be well worth it if I succeeded in upstaging Lance. I analogized my actions to Olympic host cities spending obscene amounts for the facilities for one big event, and as host for this year's party, I intended this to be the biggest and most exciting ever. It would be many years before I hosted it again under the rotation system of our macabre group of closet sadists.

We loved Halloween and as we indulged in our ghoulish fantasies at our annual "fright house" revels, a competition slowly emerged with each host seeking to improve on the decor and entertainment. Lance had finally taken us into a whole new dimension when he made the decision last year to put aside fantasy and go with reality, catching us off guard with his fascinating escalation of the competition.

I suppose it had been inevitable that eventually it would come to this...people just had to start dying...and once it began, there was no possibility of stopping it. Nor, truthfully, did any of us even want to. The thought was never even discussed. My guests would arrive in October expecting blood to be spilled again and I had no intention of disappointing them. In fact, I planned to upstage Lance even in the very decorations I would spring on the crowd to enjoy.


I'm not sure it was all that big of a surprise when Lance highlighted an already great party by conducting a mock trial of two utterly terrified pizza delivery boys he had kidnapped the day before and stashed in his basement. Heavily chained, the naked eighteener jocks just stood there dumb with shock and fright, praying that this was just a big joke, as they were accused of being warlocks. It was a great scene! Lance sat as a "judge" robed like a medieval monk at a candlelit table while various witnesses gave testimony about the evil spells the two had been casting on innocent people as they delivered their pizzas.

It was really pretty hilarious as a spoof of Bishop Torquemada and the Spanish Inquisition, except Lance was quite serious about the end result.

The two were convicted of witchcraft, naturally, and condemned to die at once "in the traditional, required fashion."

I'm not sure the pups had any idea what that entailed but they wet themselves when they saw the twin stakes set up in the woods when we arrived at Lance's execution site. We piled the wood about their feet and no one raised the slightest question about whether we were really going to burn them alive.

We all knew full well it was for real and were getting off on it big time!

Lance lit the fires and soon the stench of their roasting bodies filled the air along with the smoke and crackle of the leaping flames swirling about the writhing, gorgeously muscled bodies.


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Their screams were demented and lasted for a really remarkably long time before they finally died or at least lapsed into unconsciousness.

Naturally when the corpses were found there was a huge hue and cry and we were all a little sweaty for a bit, but we had been careful and left no incriminating evidence to link us to the killings. We got by with it and that just increased my determination to go much further this year. But this year, there will be no troublesome teenaged corpses to tip off the authorities that anything unusual has occurred.

I let the denizens in my pond adjust to their new home for a few days before I began to starve them to bring their appetites to a fevered lust. Then I went out to collect my first two guinea pigs to test the system.

I had discovered that two of the buff young hunks working as laborers for the contractor installing my pond were drifters from Alaska with no real family connections. Both Kevin and Billy were 20 and wonderful specimens of humanity, tall and ramrod straight and deliciously muscled, not to mention being cute and sexy as hell. Of course, their real attraction was that I judged them to have just about flawless skeletons.

I had made a point of getting the number of the fleabag hotel where they crashed and they happened to be in the lobby when I called. Talk about incredible good timing! Laid off at work, they had just checked out of the hotel and were about to hit the road again to some as yet undetermined destination. If I'd delayed ten minutes more I'd have missed them! Now when they disappeared everyone would buy that they had just moved on down the road. I told them I needed their help with some odd jobs, offered a good wage and suggested they stay at my house while working for me. They eagerly agreed and within the hour I had them and all their meager worldly belongings stashed in my guest room.

I fixed them a nice late breakfast and enjoyed talking to them as they ate. They were both really nice, polite clean-cut kids from useless families. Boyhood friends and jock teammates, after graduating from high school they just decided to hit the road for a while and "experience America." Neither had even called home in the two years they'd been drifting.

"Why bother," Billy shrugged. "No-one there gives a damn about what happens to us."

Mmm. How very convenient...just what I'd thought to be the case. I would have no qualms about culling boys from the human herd who would be missed, but if I could locate ones whose disappearance would go unnoticed, so much the better and safer.

The drug was in the orange juice and both were out like a light within ten minutes. I took my time as I stripped them naked and tightly bound their wrists behind their backs and their ankles together, enjoying the process. I'd seen them shirtless and been impressed by the smooth perfection of their upper bodies and was not disappointed by what lay below. I explored their flesh with my hands and even my tongue for a while until I worked myself up to a nice, heated lust for the killing to come. Billy was especially huge hung and I fondled his heavy, limp cock and rolled his goose-egg balls fluidly around within their sac fantasizing about what I might do with those.

I took all of their clothing and other belongings and disposed of them in the high-intensity gas incinerator I recently installed in the basement for that anticipated purpose. As a sort of symbolic gesture of their imminent disappearance from human society, I held back the licenses and ID's taken from their wallets until all else was fully ablaze, then tossed these cards into the searing flames and watched them quickly melt, blacken and evaporate into filmy ash.

Breathing hard with anticipated excitement, I returned to the prone, drugged boys and carted first curly bronze-haired Kevin and then darker buzz-cut Billy out to the concrete deck housing the hoist by the pond. They were husky lads but I'm a big, muscular fit guy of just 30 so I had no trouble hefting their limp forms in my arms. It was actually pretty erotic, carting a naked, utterly helpless young stud around like that knowing you have life and death power over him.

I fitted the harnesses around Billy's shoulders and knees and hefted him up a few feet over the deck, leaving Kevin lying nearby to watch how I dealt with his handsome buddy first. I sat down and enjoyed a cup of coffee and read the paper as I waited for the fairly short-duration sedative I had used on them to wear off. In about an hour they both started coming around, groggy and disoriented. It wasn't too long before they realized they were butt naked and completely restrained and I watched and listened with amusement as their initial disbelief turned to anger, then that gradually to gut wrenching fear as they realized this was no joke and that I apparently had no intention of freeing them. Then their threats and curses turned to whimpering pleas.

Enough. Time for the action. I arose and pulled the small hunting knife from its scabbard on my belt and walked over to Billy.

Alarm filled his fawn-like eyes as I took a firm grip on those huge gonads of his, drawing them up and out from his body, stretching the neck of his scrotum until it was thin and baby smooth.

"Wh...wh...what are you gonna do? Leggo my fuckin' balls! Don't do nothin' to them, mister, please. Oh fuck, please!"

I paused a moment to smile down into his horrified face.

"Nothing personal, Billy. Nor with you either, Kevin. I won't bother with why, but I need to use your skeletons. Unfortunately, to do that I've got to get rid of all that fine muscular flesh and all those nasty internal organs surrounding those splendid bones of yours. I've stocked the pond with over two hundred voracious South American red-bellied piranha and I'm going to dip you in the pond and let them dispose of the unwanted parts of you. I figure they’ll clean you up in a jiffy, especially since I haven't fed them for days."

"Noooo!" Billy wailed and Kevin began to actually sob in his near paralyzed fear.

"But even though the fish are hungry, they sometimes take a bit to work up to a feeding frenzy on a living creature of any size.

I've read, however, that blood attracts the entire school and creates the frenzy almost instantly. Let's see if that's true."

With a swift stroke of the knife between his parted thighs I castrated Billy and tossed his man orbs into the pond. Blood started spurting from his crotch as I swung him over the pool and the crimson shower trickled and splashed into the water below, eddying out in a dark cloud. Almost at once the first of the nearly foot long piranha appeared in the water below the screaming boy, darting around impatiently, seeking the source of the blood.


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I lowered his writhing form and the second his body touched the water the first razored jaws starting shearing off little flakes and pieces of his meat. I was enjoying his screams and didn't want him to drown and miss out on being eaten alive by the swarming fish, so I didn't immerse him completely until he finally lapsed into unconsciousness or death from blood loss and shock.

I checked occasionally and was impressed that less than an hour later I drew a stripped, gleaming-white complete skeleton from the water.

The system worked perfectly! The jaws of the piranha interlock like a bear trap with the upper teeth meshing perfectly into spaces between those of the lower jaw. It has the perfect biting apparatus to efficiently slice off chunks of meat.

I lovingly released Billy's bones from the harnesses and laid the skeleton out on the deck. Kevin was freaking out into hysterics at the sight of what was left of his pal and it was easy to fit him into the harnesses in turn. The fish were still ravenous, swarming in a fury below the hoist, boiling the water in their desire to feed further, so it wasn't necessary to castrate Kevin. I did it anyway just for the fun of nutting him. He wasn't nearly as big hung as Billy had been but it was still an enjoyable power trip.

Fifty minutes later I laid his wet, shimmering fresh skeleton out on the deck beside Billy's.

It was a damned good start on my Halloween preparations.


The Oak Park Inn is one of those classy places that always have beautiful, athletic young studs on their staff which was why I had checked in there under false ID to shop for "Mr. August" for my skeleton collection. Billy and Kevin looked so lonely hanging there in the closet in the basement and I intended them to have company. Out of abundance of caution I was "shopping" quite a ways from home to spread the pattern of unexplained disappearances over a much wider geographic area. The Oak Park was nearly 300 miles from where I had snatched Billy and Kevin who would not likely be missed anyway.

I'm one of those people who respect posted rules. The Oak Park Inn had room reminders that guests were not to steal their towels, so I certainly didn't. But they hadn't said a damned word about not stealing any cute, crew-cut blond, blue-eyed muscle-boy teenagers with wonderful bone structure. Thus I had a clear conscience about l9 year old Chris-the-Soccer-jock as I packed him carefully away in the padded trunk of my car taking care he was well padded...didn't want any bones broken by accident.

After scoping out all of the young hunks staffing the inn, I had easily picked Chris as the best of the lot. I had special plans for him before lodging his gleaming skeleton in my closet and needed a boy with the kind of good looks and physical beauty he had in abundance.

He proved easy to take. After stalking him, photographing him for the photo collage I would later display, I had his work shifts down pat. I waited until he was on late night duty as the "runner," then called him and asked for fresh towels. When he entered my room and headed for the bathroom to put away the towels, I stepped behind him and slid the needle of a syringe into the small of his back and injected a powerful sedative before he could really react.

"Ow!" He gasped, dropped the towels, turned, clutched at his stinging back, looked at me in shock and said...

"What the fuck...?"

Then he dropped like a rock even as I stepped forward to catch him. I quickly stripped him naked, bound his wrists and ankles and gagged him. Boy had I guessed right! He was one beautiful, mammoth hung kid! A real poster boy all-American jock.

Using gloves I executed the rehearsed steps, going first to the service desk to leave "Chris's" note that he'd had a family emergency and had to leave. I stashed his clothing in his beat-up old truck and dumped it in a nearby wooded area where it would not likely be spotted anytime soon. I only needed a few hours lead time anyway. I had already moved the unconscious boy to my strategically parked car so I did a TV-quick check out, hit the road and by dawn my prize catch was safely lodged in my basement and beginning to come around.

Naturally he was outraged when he regained his senses, but I ignored his demands, threats, foul language about my parentage, cajoles, wheedles and puppy-dog pleas. I carefully weighed him and took all his body measurements and, through a few little slaps to his low-hanging nuts convinced him to shut his mouth other than to answer my questions. I carefully explored his life with him...his sports, his student performance, his love-life, his likes and dislikes (other than me) and so on.

"Now you can go back to whining if you want but you're just wasting your fucking breath, kid."

He accepted that and just sullenly watched as I set up the camera equipment to document his destruction.

I had taken shots of Kevin and Billy at the pool and would similarly display photos of the execution of the unnamed owner of each skeleton but Chris was gonna be my star. My guests would encounter his skeleton upon entering the party along with a photo collage of him at work and his bio from my interview, uniquely recreating the living persona behind the bones. Then they would share in his visit to the basement via full color blow-ups of each stage of his prolonged death under torture.

I photographed him in various hard-bondage positions as a prelude to his execution. When I was ready for the rougher play, I put him in a bent-over posture, wrists cuffed to a wall bar, ankles to floor points that kept his legs widely parted and forced a monster hard-rubber dildo up his asshole. His sphincter fought like a caged tiger but I overcame its resistance with brute force and proceeded with the invasion. Chris' reactions made it clear how much it hurt, but then I was quite sure his luscious butt was virgin. I finally had the dildo poking out at the perfect angle for a great photo.

There was just one problem. No blood!


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I had thought a dildo that size would have ruptured his hole but it proved more flexible than expected. That was easily remedied. I knelt by him, flipped open my pocketknife and slid the blade up the side of the dildo until the point was between it and the bottom curve of the widely stretched sphincter. He screamed at the hot, searing burn in his already agonized asshole when I sliced him, but I got my blood for the photo. I am such a fuckin' perfectionist.

I strung the moaning boy up by his wrists and told him to get his cock hard for me. His response, as expected, was uncooperative and obscene so I pressed an unsharpened pencil to the slit lips of his sex toy and forced it the length of the rod until just the metal banded eraser protruded. He writhed and cried at the new source of pain but it got him nice and steely hard. I knotted a thin cord around the neck of his sex package to insure he stayed erect throughout the rest of his ordeal.

It looked so cool with that dark crimson curling from his ass crevice that I decided to make his cock drip blood too. I worked the edge of my knife blade between the pencil and his cock-flesh and with a flick of my wrist deftly pared off the edge of the lip.

Picture perfect!

I had no pre-plans for those big tits, but seeing how much the trickling blood added to his photogenic appeal, I pinched and pulled at them until they were erect too. Then I used a pair of scissors to snip the tip of the eraser nib of each rosebud. That won some nice new squeals and little branching rivulets of blood to snake down his chest and over his washboard belly. Nice touch for the camera.

Then, with tremendous patience, I flayed Chris alive over the next hour with split bamboo canes soaked in brine. Each hard stroke raised a brutal welt and opened the skin. As the welts began to criss-cross, the skin just seemed to evaporate.

I started with his ass and back, worked the legs and moved to the front of his body, counting the strokes out of curiosity. He fainted after number 23 which was delivered directly over his bound, involuntarily erect genitals. They almost exploded under the savage impact. I revived him and finished off his crotch with several strokes, bamboo-castrating him. When he fainted again after stroke 37 I could not revive him but he was still alive when I lowered the bloody mess into the piranha tank.

While fishing out his cleaned skeleton, I noticed the splintered eraser end of the penis-pencil bobbing in the water. I retrieved it to add to his display, nearly losing a finger in the process as one of my pets darted upwards with mayhem in mind.


I had intended to just feed all the boys but my "star" to the piranha to kill them, which I thought would be entertaining enough, but I had enjoyed torturing the blond hunk so much that I couldn't resist indulging in more such pleasure. The next two guys I grabbed suffered at length in my basement before becoming fish food.

These two were so easy to take that it was hardly sporting. Timmy, l8, was a mop-haired blond, his buddy Rick, l9, a brunet doll with a spiky hair style. I found them in cut-offs and sandals plying skateboards in a dingy park in the urban cesspool that serves as our state capital. The cute youngsters were tall, straight-backed bulls who'd provide perfect skeletons for my closet and a wealth of fun getting there.

They'd spotted me watching and after a bit sauntered over to where I was sitting.

"What's happening, dude?" Timmy asked. "You seem to like watching us. You into skateboarding?"

I shook my head.

"No. I'm a photographer looking for fresh models for some of the male skin mags I shoot for."

"Wow," Rick's eyes flickered with interest, "Like naked sex shit, huh? Dudes jerkin' off and fuckin' each other up the ass?"

I nodded.

"Bet that pays pretty good, huh?" Timmy licked his lips.

"I give models a few hundred if they're good."

"You, uh, think you could use us?" Rick asked. "We both got real cute butts and huge dicks. They're for sale and we're willing to suck and fuck each other."

Back in the room they proved to have great bodies and performed as promised. I photographed their heated mating at length, then the idiots agreed to bondage photos for extra cash. They let me tie them up tightly and gag them and had the bad taste to actually looked startled and betrayed as I filled my syringe right before their eyes and knelt down to inject them. I guess, like most dare-devil young males, they thought they were bulletproof and that made them so deliciously vulnerable.

As I slid the needle into Tim's arm, I looked at them and shook my head in amazement.

"Didn't your mothers or teachers ever warn you guys about Mr. Stranger-Danger?"

Late that night in the basement back home, they stood perched on stools side by side, hands bound behind their backs, nooses snugged around their throats for the slow strangulation hangings to come. I had sucked their rods to raging erection, then corded off their organs so tightly they were already a nice deep reddish blue in color. Their faces reflected the pain from that, but they instantly forgot that discomfort when they saw me lay out ten gleaming ice-picks on the table before them. Boy did their eyes get big!

Party time!

I picked up one of the picks and studied Tim's belly. I found a place just on the right edge of his pubic hair line where his groin curved. I lovingly rubbed the spot and even kissed and licked it, liking the smooth texture of his skin on my tongue and savoring the musky boy aroma of his crotch. I pressed the steel point to the place selected. He cringed at the contact.

"Oh God, no, don't...YAAAAAAAAA!"

The handle looked neat protruding flush from his skin by his crotch. I slowly pressed a second pick all the way into his gut on the other side of his groin, then inserted two more to either side of his lower belly a little below his navel. He continued to make little shrieking squeals as each goring slowly proceeded, his powerfully contracted body seeming paralyzed with the mind-bending pain.

I fondled his swollen, discolored cock and kissed the flared head.

"Don't go way. I've got one more for you but first Rick must be feeling neglected."

As he watched me prepare to drive the first ice-pick into his groin, Rick softly pleaded.

"Don't do this to me, man, don't do this."

I think he was really just saying it for something to do because he surely realized he was wasting him breath saying it to me.

I pressed the point through his skin and watched the thick bead of blood well out around it, then slowly ran the prong through his hard muscles into his gut as he screamed out his lungs.

After I had inserted his four picks, the boys looked like arena bulls when the picadores were through decorating them for the toreador.


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I kicked away their stools and they dropped until their squirming toes were a few inches from the floor, the ropes taut around their necks. They started gagging and dancing as the slow strangulation began. I took up Tim's last ice-pick and approached the hanging boy.

I pressed the point into the little pool of his belly button and then drove it in to the hilt. After watching the thrashing new agony this produced, I performed the same act with Rick, feeling rather like the matador putting the sword into the hump of the bull, although I guess that quickly dispatches the bull. My young animals clung to life for a remarkably long time after I belly-picked them. Rick died first after more than a half hour on his rope and Tim made it nearly five minutes longer.

Then I carried their bodies out to the piranha.


I wanted one more skeleton and that belonged to a 20 year old sailor named Pete Larkin, a stocky, buff thug I spotted in a waterfront bar in the port city I'd selected as my next hunting zone. I'd watched him for awhile debating whether he was what I wanted. He was shorter than usual but looked like he'd have a good, strong set of bones inside.

Why the fuck not, I decided, he's cute and will be fun to kill.

He was pretty high as he staggered out and I casually followed not at all expecting the neat bonus the evening was about to produce. It's the unexpected twists that often makes life so much fun. Lounging on a street corner just outside the bar was a blond boy so pretty that he even put the late Chris to shame. Bare-chested with tight pants, bronze rings in earlobes and nipples, he was clearly a hustler. Pete spotted him and just had to roust him.

"Hey, fag, give me one reason I shouldn't kick your cock-sucking ass! Maybe I'll rip out those fuckin' sissy rings. No man wears that kinda jewelry!"

The boy wisely tried to beat a retreat but the drunk sailor grabbed him and shoved him roughly to the ground. He was about to stomp him with his steel-toed boots when I kicked him square in the balls. With a guttural moan, he collapsed and clutched himself.

The street was deserted and the shaken blond boy watched as I brought out the needle and injected Pete while he was still addled from the kick to his jewels. I hefted the now doped sailor as if helping a drunk buddy and started hauling him to my nearby car wondering if there was any real chance of snatching the kid as well. Knowing his occupation and how the guy had attacked him, I wasn't worried about him saying anything to the police about what he'd seen. The car was rented in an assumed name so even the plate number meant nothing and he was probably long gone by now anyway. Too bad, he was one cute pup.

Suddenly he was beside me, helping support his assailant and get him in the car. Our eyes met and I studied him for a few seconds, then shrugged. Some things are just meant to be.

"What the fuck, kid. Go ahead and hop in the car."

He did and while we drove he told me he was Jeremy, confirmed he was l8 and that he was indeed a hustler.

"Got no choice," he said. "I've been on the street two years and a guy's gotta live somehow."

NOT necessarily, I thought.

"What are you gonna do with that fuckin' bastard in the back seat. Something real nasty I hope."

"I'm gonna torture him and kill him," I replied watching Jeremy's reactions carefully. We were now in a real dark, deserted area and I had a pistol in my pocket in case he panicked on me. With the help of that trusty 0.25 Baretta I figured I could take him easily enough.

It wasn't necessary. His blue eyes widened and he looked hard to be sure I was serious, then shrugged and grinned.

"I guess that's 'nasty' enough to suit me. Any chance I can watch you do him? Ain’t never seen a dude offed before and it sounds like fun."

"If you like," I told him, "You can help me do it."

"Way cool! Why do you want him dead? Surely not just cause he rousted my fuzzy blond ass?"

I explained about the party and the skeletons I had already acquired. He digested that with interest, then showed a lot of smarts.

"I guess, having been told your little secrets, I'm probably dead meat aren't I?"

"Not necessarily," I shrugged. "If I become convinced you're 'safe' and the rest of my group agrees, we may let you live. You'd end up as a sort of kept house-boy slave but it beats the shit outa the alternative."

"Yeah," he nodded, "It does. It probably wouldn't be that bad anyway since I like suckin' cock and having my butt-hole plugged. You may not believe me yet but I'd never say anything. I won't give you any trouble."

He proved helpful and together we had Pete lodged in the basement within minutes after we got home. Jeremy contemptuously ripped away the disoriented sailor's clothing and helped me tie thick bamboo canes to his elbows behind his back and behind his bent knees. I thought it an ironic touch that these were the same canes I had used to whip Chris. With his wrists bound behind him too, he was utterly helpless and locked in a kneeling posture with his thighs widely spread. It would take a bit for the sedative to wear off and I took my interesting new aide upstairs to feed.

He'd had a rough life, abandoned by his old man as a baby and raised in slums by an alky mom who OD'd on drugs when he was l6. I liked him and decided to honestly intercede with the others in my group to let me keep him. After he ate, we went down and found Pete back with us and being a lot better mannered than before.

I had Jeremy use his sucking talents to get our captive hot and aroused between his thighs. It took a while, but no young stud is immune to a warm, wet mouth and electric tongue working his cock. As soon as he was all steeled up and drooling pre-cum, I tied off his cock and balls tightly to retain the erection and start making him hurt. Then I showed Jeremy what was in the small box I produced.

"Swabbie-breath here was so uptight about your body piercings," I snickered, "I thought we'd give him a few of his own."

The way the boy's eyes lit up I saw he fully agreed. He pulled out one of the thick steel hatpins by its rounded head and examined it, grinning at the big-eyed prisoner.

"Where should I put it?"

"Anywhere you like, Jeremy. Knock yourself out."

I wasn't the slightest bit surprised when the boy went after that great flared cock-head. I sure would have. Pete squealed nicely and bucked against his bonds as the pin was slowly skewered through his crown at an angle. Jeremy used a second pin to go through the head at the opposing angle to viciously cross-stitch the super-tender gumdrop piece of sex flesh. Four more pins were used to cross-stitch the yelping, writhing sailor's big nipples. His earlobes got it next. Finally, a pin was slowly thrust almost fully through each of the big gonads outlined in the strangling scrotal sac.

My blond pet was practically salivating as he tortured the young stud, getting his fingers bloody and literally licking them clean. He inserted one last pin, piercing the septum between Pete's nostrils, something I knew must have stung like a is so sensitive there. He looked up to me with a lusting little grin.

"Let's kill his sorry ass now. I wanta see the fucker die."

I used a plastic bag to accomplish that highly desirable goal. Simple but very effective. I slipped it over Pete's head and tied a thin rubberized cord around his neck to hold the edge closed. Within two minutes the sailor was in difficulty, his chest heaving and straining as he fought for the few last dregs of air in the bag. Then his face discolored, turning bluish and his eyes bugged. His mouth became a fish-like "o" and he sucked the plastic in, compressing it around his face. He was trembling all over and every muscle was etched beneath his skin.

It was a dramatic and entertaining death and lasted long enough that I suspected a tiny leak was letting in a small bit of air. That was actually great. It wasn't enough to save him but it sure prolonged his agonizing asphyxiation.

As I took the pictures of the dying hunk I looked up and saw Jeremy watching with clear delight and slowly masturbating himself. He was even throwing Pete a classic contemptuous finger gesture. I swung the camera up and captured that moment on film.


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After Pete finally was dead, we carted his body to the pond and Jeremy watched as the skeleton was revealed by the ravenous piranha.

"Shit," he said in awe. "Never saw anything like that before. Any chance I could get you to promise that if you do decide to kill me, I won't go in there? I...I just don't like the idea of my body being eaten by fuckin' fish."

I nodded.

"I promise."

Part two -- "The Party"

As October wore away, I came to know every fiber of the highly experienced sex machine called Jeremy, his skills perfected from commercial relationships with hundreds of men. The things he did with his mouth and tongue defy description. His rectum was so perfectly trained that he could take entry of the biggest cock as naturally and smoothly as any cunt. Then he'd undulate his corded abs to milk the organ holstered within him with little more required of its owner.

Although he had a hard, cruel side, rather natural from having to grow up so prematurely, there was still some of the gentle naivete of the child lurking within him and the combination was fascinating and erotic. The cuddly living teddy-bear in my bed could swiftly turn into a brutal little savage straight out of Lord of the Flies. I had seen that in his avid pleasure in torturing and killing the sailor and it surfaced again in the casual ease with which he condemned more young men to torment and death to please me.

I returned from shopping for the party, now just 48 hours away, my thoughts on a final excursion for victims for the party itself. To avoid housing prisoners longer than necessary, I'd held off but it was time to get it done. After he became an accomplice in Pete's murder, I trusted Jeremy and had not restrained him when I left and he'd honored that freedom though he could have fled. He helped me cart the groceries in and then stood there with a self-pleased, chicken-shit grin.

"Got a surprise for you," he purred and held up four very handsome, conservative ties.

"Where the hell did those come from?" I really was totally caught off guard.

I followed him to the basement and stood there speechless as he proudly displayed four gorgeous, muscular naked hunks tightly restrained and sleeping soundly in the holding cells. The incinerator was still radiating heat from recent use.

"I burned all their clothes except their ties. I thought it would be neat to put these on some of the skeletons in the closet as little decorations.

A neat idea indeed.

The intimidating band of "missionaries" had shown up at my door wanting to thump their bibles and save some souls. Usually travelling in pairs, two of these were "new" conscripts getting a primer from the others who were about to finish up their "tour of duty" for their proselytizing church. Typical of such brainwashed young fanatics, these four were tall, handsome specimens, meticulously groomed, clad in suits, recently graduated high school jocks doing their thing for the possessive church into which they had been born. Sweet-faced Jeremy had eagerly taken them in, assuring how much his "uncle" needed "saving" and asking them to await my return.

Of course, he hadn't lied. If there is a devil, he is alive and well in my environs!

He knew where I kept my witch's brew of drugs and the seven-ups he served the four contained an additive. He had then been a busy boy, stripping and binding his guests, lugging them to their cells, and burning their clothes. The bicycles upon which they arrived were hidden safely away and later I'd reduce them to scrap metal to toss in a landfill. The snatch had taken cool nerves and big brass balls and I was deeply grateful.

"They said good Christians suffer and sacrifice for their faith and I decided to give them the chance to do it up right," the

nasty little satyr grinned.

Halloween was a busy day as we turned the house into a horror scene calculated to knock the socks off my guests...though most wouldn't be wearing socks or for that matter much clothing at all beneath their costumes. Chris's display turned out to be spectacular in the entryway and the skeletons appearing at unexpected turns were perfect, especially those with the ties saved from our missionary buddies. The food and drink was out, the candles and carved pumpkins ablaze and I donned my costume -- that of a medieval priest or bishop following Lance's lead from last year. I imagined that costume would become the traditional garb for the host.

"I wish I got to wear a costume," Jeremy half pouted.

"We've talked about that. You know what we doing with you."

"Yeah, I know. I don't like it'll be uncomfortable and cramping in that position all night. I'd hoped to just attend the party and have fun with the rest of you, but I promised to do what you say and I won't go back on that."


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"There's my good boy," I smiled and drew the silky skinned, nubile flesh into my embrace. He was naked and after I released him he knelt down to again admire my working replica of a French guillotine, taking the halyard in hand and drawing the heavy, razor-edged iron blade to the top and locking it in place.

When released, it whispered down its greased skids to thud harshly into its base. Jeremy shuddered.

"That is such an incredibly deadly machine. It is such a bizarre trip to have your head beneath it, even knowing the locks are in place to stop the blade."

We'd experimented with that the day before. I had even butt-fucked him while his head was locked in the stock and just as I was ready to cum he had jerked the halyard to send the blade whooshing down to a shuddering halt inches above his smooth young neck. What an orgasm that had produced! I glanced at my watch and put a gentle arm around his shoulders.

"Time to get you positioned."

"I'm glad you decided to trust me and spare me," he smiled. "You won't regret it. I'll be the best house-boy any man ever possessed."

There were still the missionaries to be positioned and after that was accomplished Jeremy cooperated, scrunching onto his knees as I secured him in his place and locked him down. All was in readiness.

Lance arrived a couple of hours in advance, the delegated "agent" of the group to see that I carried out their directive. When I showed him around I could see the shocked envy in his face as he realized he'd been flat blown out of the water in the hosting competition, but he was good natured about it. Although, for security reasons, the group only got together the one night a year anymore, we were all long-time friends or at least acquaintances and got along well.

"Fuck, Scott," he shook his head in awe. "What'd you do, take out a whole soccer team for this party!"

When he saw the blond doll locked into the guillotine he gasped.

"Shit. So this is the much discussed Jeremy? He's incredible. I can see why you'd want to keep him, but surely you can understand the fears the rest of us have. You shouldn't have let him know so damned much! We might as well get it done."

The boy squirmed in terror as he realized Lance and I were removing the protective blocks and Lance took up the lanyard.

"Nooo!" He screamed. "You can't do this you miserable bastards! You'll rot in hell!"

"Raises a pretty good stink when he's crossed, doesn't he?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "He's got a mean streak like I said. I'm disappointed though, as I thought he'd die with a bit more class."

Lance pulled the rope and the blade came down to end the boy's protests abruptly. His pretty head came off neat as a pin and plopped into the waiting basket. Although we left the beheaded corpse by the bloody guillotine as an addition to the decorations,


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I amputated his sex package and nipples and drained them and the head of blood to mount on the wooden spindles I prepared once the group decreed Jeremy must die. I set them up in a loving display on a pedestal table in an alcove with a color blow-up of that wonderful picture of Jeremy jerking his meat and throwing Sailor Pete the finger. A simple sign beneath said:
b. March 3, l98l
d. October 3l, l999

Then the guests began to arrive and I received the accolades I had worked so hard to obtain...and that was just based on the perfection of the decorations! There was so much more to come! Once they were all there, sated on food and half-bombed on booze, I began the entertainment.

We "did" one of the missionaries every hour. The first was introduced to my version of "bobbing for apples." He was hung upside down by his ankles and slowly dipped into a big Plexiglas vat of water. Before he was immersed, I tossed a dozen big red Macintosh apples into the vat and told him that if he succeeded in getting a bite out of one of them we wouldn't let him drown. I wondered if the idiot believed that meant he'd be released? Surely he wasn't that naive! If he had succeeded, he'd have just gone alive to the piranha in a little midnight swim.


It was a toot watching his desperate struggles as he raced with time thrashing around trying to get his teeth into one of the smooth-skinned apples. It didn't work and as he gradually lost his air and took in water he went into the convulsive throes of drowning. It didn't seem fair to deny him another chance so we hauled the choking, sputtering kid out and let him recover, then sent him down again. We did it three times, then, sensing boredom setting in with the crowd, I left him down.

The next missionary brat was accused of being a vampire.

"His friends all agree he sucks." I assured my tittering guests who were admiring the splendid nude jock tightly strapped upside down on a thick slab of wood suspended from the rafters at one end of the long dining room by a stout iron chain.

For this show, I had enlisted the services of one of our group who had won a silver medal in the Olympics for archery. His accuracy with the bow was legendary. While he positioned at the far end of the hall-like room, I reminded the excited audience that you kill a vampire by putting a wooden stake through his heart. A wooden arrow should do the same trick.

When the bowman was ready, we started the target swinging back and forth like one of those irritating wooden beams over a hole in a miniature golf course. He took aim and fired his first bolt. It slammed into the wood just to one side of the boy's hips.

"Shit," someone said, "He missed!"

"No," he was told, "Jay was just testing things. That arrow went exactly where he wanted it."


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And that was true. There were no more "misses." Arrows knifed home through each of the "vampire's" powerful bicepses and into the fleshy center of each thigh. With truly incredible shooting, the archer targeted each of the huge balls clearly outlined in the scrotal sac sagging down over the lower gut to either side of the horse cock. These were dead-on hits too. Blood was splattering everywhere as the target continued its pendulum movements.

He finally ended it with a shaft straight into the bullseye painted on the boy's left pec, splitting the big, rubbery nipple.

He got a well deserved ovation.

Lance has to have taken some solace from my shameless copy-cat trial of the missionary "warlock." I like to think I made a

better "Torquemada" in presiding over the farce trial, but who knows. There was a conviction of course and I then improved on Lance's show by the innovative way in which the cute boy witch was burned.

He was bound in a sitting position to a post, his knees splayed by a wooden pole tied between them, genitals tightly bound by a thin, oil-soaked hemp cord. His nipples were smeared with pine pitch and a small wood fire was laid beneath his widely-parted thighs.

First the tits were ignited and as they burned fiercely, the prisoner screamed his lungs out. When the fire beneath his butt was touched off, it wasn't long before the bound, flammable genitals exploded into flame and his suffering became truly graphic, so much better and more slowly worked than last year's fairly standard stake burnings.


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The end result was eventually the same but my process lasted much longer, provided a better view for the audience, and inflicted far greater agony on the victim.

All great things end and finally it was over. The missionary corpses were fed to the piranha, the skeletons salvaged to add to the collection for next year's party except for the archer's victim whose arm and thigh bones had been shattered by arrows. His and headless Jeremy's skeletons would be ground up into bone meal and used as fertilizer for my rose bushes. The guests drifted out, giving me enthusiastic praise for the best party ever. There was just the monumental mess to clean up and I wanted some help.

I let Jeremy out of the cramped cubby-hole cupboard in the dining room where I had hidden him and rubbed circulation back into his stiff, numb limbs.

"I take it we got by with it?"

"You're still alive, so I guess we did," I laughed and hugged him.

Well come on. A boy as neat as that, capable of giving such pleasure and deserving a break in a painful don't just slaughter his young ass even if someone else says you gotta.

I had told Jeremy of the group's vote to kill him and my decision to defy it and at first he was just going to "escape." But that would have set off a very determined manhunt by the group and they certainly would have suspected my complicity. He and I would have had no peace of mind. The moment I saw how one of the missionaries was a dead-ringer for Jeremy, the solution was evident. They wanted a dead we'd give them one.

He eyed the head of his stunt double in the little shrine.

"Alas, poor Jeremy, I knew him well..."

"Fuck!" I gasped, stunned. "You know Shakespeare?"

He grinned impishly. "I got lots of talents you probably aren't aware of."


The party in 2000 was to be in Atlanta and in early October I got a real start. Reading the paper one morning, an article caught my eye.
Atlanta: Authorities remain perplexed at the strange disappearance this week of thirteen members of the Point Morrison College basketball team. Their abandoned van was located in Morley Lake but no trace has been found of the young men. The body of their coach, 54 year old Ted Brawley, was found by divers in the shallow lake and he had been shot. A terrorist attack is suspected but no demands for the release of the missing athletes has been received.

Well shit, I thought. I just bet that at the Halloween party I was going to meet these young jocks...and my ass was sure as hell gonna get trumped in the competition for best party. Thirteen fucking studs at once! I'd only offed ten. Damn was I pissed!