| Thrill
Kills |
 Bryand
Williams Coffee ... He was jacking off at a rest stop so I grabbed him. Such a disgusting prevert! Now I'm going to make him pay for his preversion. Lop off his arms and fuck him with them ... and his legs ... his cock and balls, and before he can die, I'm gonna pour scaulding coffee up his disgusting prevert ass-hole!  |
Cookies for the Milkman You know how good milk goes with cookies. Well milkmen go good with milk too. Like my milkman was about to find out. He's gonna cook nice and slow ... that makes for the best meat, you know -- slow baking ... all the juices stay in. And cooking alive -- if it wasn't so much more tasty, it'd still be worth the time for the entertainment -- of the guy twisting and begging and all. Don't you just love fresh meat! Especially if it's still quivering! x |
He's an arrogant bastard too, which I don't mind. I rather enjoy his attitude. He likes me, though, I can tell. He never smiles, but he does acknowledge me with a subtle nod when I arrive on the floor. He's even spotted for me a couple of times, without my even asking. He stands at my head as I press a new, heavier weight, and I can smell his sweat and man-scent. I can almost see into his crotch. His thick dick is always at least half hard.
Some hot summer days he drives me mad with my darker desires for him as he trains bare-chested. He has a manly breadth of chest hair that is still completely dark but for the odd silver strand. His nipples are perfectly in proportion with his terrific size; large, worked erect and dark brown. I love to watch him flex his great slabs of bare pec meat, flare his lats, blast a quick biceps pose, all as he enjoys the pump between sets. Yes ... and then more muscle-building torture.
My dark desires for him might include sex, but they primarily involve my enjoying his manly death. I have it planned you see.
As he leaves the gym, I will follow him to a private spot of beach I've discovered he enjoys late at night. It is so very secluded. So wonderfully solitary. That is where I will meet him.
I will take him by surprise with chloroform. I will chain him up like a prized fighting dog before I bring him back to consciousness with a whiff of ammonia. He'll feel like puking, but I will immediately shove a stuffed leather gag into his mouth that will stop the vomit's flow so that it burns in his throat before he can choke it back down. His eyes will be wild with panic. His great chest will heave in quick gasps of fear. Then I will secure his head, locking it tightly under my right arm, and with my left hand I will cover his handsome face, pinching his nostrils between my thumb and fore-finger.
Precious breath or vicious death? I'll take my time.
I watch his expression of terror, and how his tanned complexion deepens, visible even in the half-light of the moon. The veins in his throat appear ready to burst, and looking down to his crotch I see his cock swell involuntarily.
I manage to free my left hand by switching to the right which only tightens the headlock around his neck. Now with the left hand, I raise an open vial to his pinched nostrils. I let him breathe, and his lungs greedily fill will the toxic vapors of amyl nitrate. Allowing only one deep breath of the powerful stuff, I pinch his nose once more.
His eyes glaze over, his huge muscular body flexes. I know the tinsel lights that seem to streak into his blurring vision. I can actually see the wild pumping of his excited heart thudding against the inner wall of his proud chest. I release my hold as I withdraw the leather gag and I cover his mouth with my own in a violent, all possessing kiss. He kisses me back. Passion and heat take over his body
But that's when I strike the death blow, simply and suddenly. My kiss still deep in his mouth, I drive a knife into his left pec. I step back for a moment. He looks down at the blade handle protruding from his thick chest with a mix of arousal and disbelief. I step up to him once more, but stoop to take his right nipple to my lips, my teeth, my tongue. I feel his cock, slick with pre-cum pressed hard to my abs. I bite down hard as I withdraw the knife and plunge it back in, the hilt thudding against the pain-flexed muscle. He blows his last load onto my stomach and it splashes down to my own crotch. Blood streaks his torso, his cock, down his legs.
He dies. That's when I unchain his buff body and prepare to fuck the bastard. Nice death.
Later, I also watched you cruise by the univeristy campus athletic facility. That was one huge mother-fucker you picked up there. His chest must have been, what, sixty-five inches? The kid was a powerlifting 'roided-out muscle freak. And I heard you ask him his age -- only nineteen. Fuck.
I was just out of sight and as quiet as a prowling cat following you both through the woods. I already knew the little lake you took him to. I've got a few conquests tucked away there, myself. I smiled when you pulled the gun on him and had him strip. Then you sat back and had him dig his own grave with his bare hands. Nice touch.
Huge. The kid's every move was a turn-on, he was so grotesquely muscled. And as he dug, he kept looking up at you, his mind playing out different fantasies of his own death at your hands, and he was incredibly aroused. Hard to believe his hard cock was in proportion with his incredible body. He kept stroking his dense pecs, occasionally tugging at his large erect nipples, and again, he'd look at you before scooping out more dirt in his calloused hands.
Once the crude trench was deep enough, you ordered him into the water. By now, the mountain of muscle had convinced himself that this was all just an elaborate scene; an amazing kink that turned him on as well. He relaxed once more in the macho delusion that he was indestructible.
He figured he'd wash of the grime of his grave-digging, you'd both fuck (he hoped you'd fuck him while holding the gun in his mouth), and that would be the end of the fantasy.
He saw you watching him and so he stood, waist deep in the water, and began posing for you. You stripped also. I love your manly body. You stripped and stood there staring at this preening over-muscled teen. You stroked your cock, your magnificent chest.
You regarded your prey with curious detachment. Then you raised the gun level to the huge bodybuilder in the lake just as he flexed down hard on his pecs. You fired six deafening shots into his deep chest.
You smiled then for the first time. The massive youth in the lake looked down at his destroyed pecs in an instant of shock before death took him and he fell backwards with a great splash.
I watched you fish his meaty carcass out of the water and heft it into the rough-hewn trench. You jerked off as you kicked dirt over the body and you came while pressing the empty gun barrel to own chest. I came too at that moment, imagining your death ... soon.
x
Coffee
Ever since I
caught him beatin' his meat in that Rest Stop and grabbed him I've been
wondering what I was going to do when the time came. He is gorgeous and ramming
his ass has been fun but I knew eventually he'd have to go, and it might as well
be tonight.
I go down to the basement and take a look at him. Black hair, blue eyes, a mustache, and of course I haven't bothered shaving him so he's got a weeks worth of beard. He's probably 19 or 20. A boy with a man's hard muscled body, beautifully defined with a light coating of hair. A big nest of it, dense and curly, at the root of a really nice thick cock, and a sac that looks like it's holding a couple of plums dangling between his big thighs.
His wrists are bound together and he's hanging from a hook in the ceiling by the ropes. His feet are several inches off the floor and the strain on his arms and shoulders must hurt like hell, but he's not going to have to worry about that any more.
He's only semi-conscious as I lift him down and carry him upstairs to the kitchen. I throw him across the table on his belly.
Man he does have a pretty ass -- white against the deep tan of his chest and back, rock solid, with a trail of hair from his crotch disappearing into that deep crevise between his cheeks.
I'd be willing to bet that stud hole was virgin territory the first time I plowed into it. Now it's a gaping maw. I am going to miss that hole. I spread his legs and tie his ankles to the table legs, and I ram it again.
He moans when my dick splits him open and I slam his ass hard. I reach under him and grab his cock. It's hard as steel and dripping already. I pull back on it until it's hanging off the side of the table, slip a loop of cord around his balls and jerk up on them hard.
His cock jumps and drools some more. I keep his big nuts pulled up tight against his ass, every time I ram into him it crushes them against that hard butt. I take them in my hand and jerk down hard and squeeze, he screams and his cock starts blasting cum as I empty my nuts up his clutching tunnel.
I pull out, cut the ropes on his ankles, pick him up and loop his hands over the meat hook in the ceiling. I figure he was jackin' his dick in public because he knew how hot he looked. He still looks just as hot.
I pick up a double edged fillet knife about nine inches long, take his still hard dick in my hand and shove the knife to the hilt in his piss slit. Gives a whole new meaning to the term doesn't it?
As he screams I pull it back out, turn it a little and shove it back in. His screams get high pitched and wild. The blood is pouring from his ruined manhood and running down his legs.
I roll the small table with the meat grinder over and position it in front of him. He screams again as I slice off his right nipple and drop it into the grinder.
He seems to pass out as I follow it with the left. I reposition the table and start to feed his cock in to the grinder with his tits. All of a sudden he's conscious again and screaming before I even flip the switch.
When I do turn it on his screams jump another couple of octaves and I have to grab his hips to hold him still so that he doesn't pull his dick out of the grinder. When it's ground as much of him as will reach, I shut it off and roll it away.
He's sobbing and moaning, his body jerking in the air. I take him down and throw him back across the table face up. I slice off the couple of inches of blood-gushing limp cock he's got left and toss it in the grinder.
I spread his legs and tie them off. He's so far gone in pain he doesn't even realize what's happening until the meat mallet hits his big, fat, juicy left ball. His body arches up off the table as much as possible, supported by his head and heels. Muscles bulging and rippling, the veins popping out beneath his skin.
He's still screaming as the second blow lands. After a few more blows he hardly even twitches as I slice off what's left of his sex. I untie him, but he's too far gone in a world of pain to even realize he's free.
I roll him onto his stomach and strap him down tight. His body's spread eagled, wide leather bands around his biceps, forearms, calves and thighs.
The first few blows of the cleaver take off his hands and feet. He's bound so tightly to the table he can't even jerk. The next few blows sever his right arm at the elbow. I pick it up and slide his wrist stump into his ass until about a foot of the bloody dildo is buried inside him.
Then I go back and chop off the other arm. I take a break for a few minutes to fuck him with his arm before I pull it out, make a few more blows with the cleaver and replace it with one of his lower legs. Shoving the ankle into him until half of the calf is buried in his guts.
I use an electric knife to remove his upper arms, one muscle at a time, and then I saw through the tendons at his shoulders to free the bones.
One thing I've always liked about having a house a 150 years old is the big old fireplace in the kitchen. It was used for cooking when the house was built, and the opening is almost five feet wide and three feet deep.
I let him rest for a few minutes while I build up the fire, toss in a few useless body parts, and set an old fashioned coffee pot on the stove.
Then I reposition him. I strap him down by his thighs so that his upper body is hanging over the edge of the table, his head resting on the floor. I pull the leg out of him, shove his forearm back in and then force the other one in alongside it.
He seems to go into spasms as I ram both of them in and out, pushing them apart and stretching his already ravaged ass inhumanly wide.
I pull them out. His hole is raw and gaping. There's probably no need for the funnel I'm going to stick in it, but I might as well be neat. I take the pot off the stove and pour the boiling liquid slowly into his ass.
When he quits screaming and jerking I unstrap him. His chest is heavy weakly as I pick up what's left of that hot stud body and begin to feed him into the fire.
Brand Williams
I was ridin' fences when I caught him at it. He had his pants down around his thighs and his dick up a young stud's ass. When I got close enough I could see the stud was dead, really dead, his dick is missing and the front of his body covered in blood.
The other guy was so involved in ramming his dick up the dead guy's ass he didn't even hear me until I dropped a rope over him, just like in that old Phantom of the Opera silent. I pulled it tight around his throat and then used it to tie his hands behind him.
He's trying to give me all kinds of excuses while I'm cutting his clothes off. It's not until I tell him he's never going to need them again that he figures this is even worse than he thought.
Once I had him naked I throw him across the saddle in front of me and headed back to the barn for a couple of things I was going to need.
Then we headed out into the desert. I kept riding until it was almost dark -- I wanted to be sure we wouldn't be interrupted.
As we rode I ran my hands over his back and ass. Nice set of muscles ... I know I'm just doing what he deserves, but I'm definitely going to enjoy this.
I slide a couple of fingers into his ass -- he's nice and tight and his insides feel like a furnace. I shove 'em in his mouth and make him clean them off.
When I figure we've gone far enough I push him off the horse. He lands on his back and I notice his big dick is standing straight up. Oh, yeah, I am definitely going to enjoy this.
He starts trying to get up just to find my shotgun in his face.
I cut the rope on his hands and handed him the shovel I stopped for and told him to start digging a hole.
He starts stammering again, trying to convince me I'm making a mistake. He tells me he'll do anything I want. Man I already know that, I'm the one with the gun.
He really looked hot diggin that hole, the sweat drippin' off his naked body. That big dick of his was still high in the air.
When I told him it was deep enough I had him leave the shovel by the hole and gather up some wood to start a fire. Then I made him lie down on his belly and I tied his wrists behind his back.
I got the fire going and flipped him over on his back so I could look at him. His dick is semi soft laying up against his belly and his body is hot, hard and sweaty. I ran my hands over his chest and his dick starts to twitch.
He starts to say something and I tell him to shut up.
I took his balls in my hand and his cock went full hard. I rolled them around in my hand and started to squeeze. He let go a moan and started drooling dick juice. I can't believe it -- he's got to know what the hole is for and here he's dribbling his giz onto his belly.
I ran my hand up and down his cock, then grabbed it tight and twisted it as hard as I could. He screamed and his dick starts blowin' a load across his chest, some of it hitting him in the face. I wipe my hand through a bunch of it and make him lick it off.
Then I straddled his chest and told him I was going to give him a chance to get out of this if he's good enough. I told him to open his mouth and I shoved the head of my dick in -- that's about all of it he could manage, and I wasn't in a good position for forcing it down his throat, so I just left it there and started to jack off.
When I felt myself start to get close, I pulled out and blew my load in his face. He's telling me he would have swallowed it if I would let him go, so I put the head back in his mouth and let him drink a load of piss.
I stand up, figuring it's about time for him to get what he deserves, when I notice his dick is still rock hard. Damn! I can't believe it!
I get down between his legs and grab hold of it. It feels like a fuckin iron bar. I ask him if he's ever been fucked. He starts giving me a bunch of bull-shit again trying to talk me into letting him go. So I just spread his legs and rammed my dick up his ass.
I guess having almost a foot of cock slammed into your ass is a good reason to scream, but his dick never wavered. I really got into plowing that tight hole of his. I'm drove it into him brutally, pulling almost all the way out and ramming it back in.
I notice there's blood on my dick when it slides out of his ass and I started pounding in even harder. He's moaning and writhing underneath me. His stud body rising up to meet my thrusts.
I locked my hands around his neck and started squeezing as I pumped my load up his ass. He was gurgling and choking as he dumped his load on his belly. I could almost hear a wet sucking sound as I pulled out of his battered hole.
I stood up and looked down at him. His breathing is still ragged and his body is coated with sweat and cum, his and mine. I told him I was going to give him a chance,
"You look pretty hot, so I'm going to untie you and let you jack off for me. If you can get me hot enough, I'll let you live."
I rolled him over and cut the ropes. He stood up, the fire is picking up the sweat and cum covering his body and making his muscles gleam. He took his dick in both hands and started to work it. His chest was heaving and I started to run my hands over his body. I liked the feel of his muscles, especially knowing what's coming next.
I picked up a piece of wood out of the fire. It's about a foot around and it's burned in two, leaving a piece about two feet long with a point on one end where it was in the fire.
I walked over to him and told him I wanted to see his hot hole. He kept one hand on his big dick and turned around and spread his cheeks with his other one. His hole is gaping open, blood and cum running out and down his legs.
I stepped up to him, reached around with my left hand and cupped one of his big tits. With my right hand I rammed all but about six inches of the log up his ass. He screamed and fell to the ground, his arms trying to grab the log.
His cock seemed to have exploded, pumping wildly. He's writhing, his legs spread wide, his big nuts hanging over the end of the piece of wood.
I aim my boot at his balls and connect, crushing them and driving the rest of the log into his ass. His body jerks into the air and he screams again.
I can smell the stench of his insides burning and almost hear the sizzle. I pull my Bowie out, reach down and take his cock and ruined balls in my hand. The knife flashes in the firelight and they're in my hands, a gaping hole spurting blood between his legs.
His hands grab for where his sex used to be. I stand there watching him and wonder how long he could live like this, then I walk back to the horse and get the other thing I picked up at the barn.
I took a good swing and the axe cut through his muscular neck and his head rolled across the ground. Then I took my knife and sliced off those big pecs and threw them and his cock into a skillet.
That done I dumped the rest of his mangled corpse in the grave he dug and went to work on having dinner.
"Right on time," he said under his breath with a smile.
It was 4:30 in the afternoon, and you could set a clock by his milk delivery man -- young man, that is.
"Good thing, too," he continued, "I'm starting to get hungry."
Since he moved to this quite little town about a year ago, he had been keeping his eye on the maturing young man -- meaty young man. He was nice and plump, though not too fat. Over the past year, he had put some more weight, and if he waited any longer, he might not fit into his roasting pan.
As he approached the house, the young milkman pulled the last milk from his bag. Today was payday, so he rang the doorbell. He always liked the man that lived here -- he always tipped well ... and he often gave him some of the most delicious cookies he had ever tasted. Must be a great cook, he thought to himself.
Little did he know!
The door opened and the young milkman's smiling face greeted him.
"Is it that time of the week again?" he joked. "Well come on in and I'll see if I can find you some money."
He came into the pantry, and Mark made a quick look around outside to make sure no one else was with him. He closed the door and locked it.
The back door of the house led directly into the pantry. Beyond the pantry door was the kitchen, and a very nice one at that. There was an island in the middle where the cooktop was, and directly opposite the pantry door was an over-sized, stainless-steel double wall-oven, with nice big windows.
Mark walked into the kitchen and looked around,
"I must have left my wallet upstairs. Why don't you help yourself to a couple of cookies and I'll be right back down, okay?"
Great! He was hoping to get a treat today. Mark opened the cupboard to get the cookie jar.
"This is a new recipe that I tried today," he said with a warm smile. "I hope you like it."
He bent down to let the young man put his hand in the jar and get a couple of cookies. As he did, he noticed that his crotch was beginning to grow. As he approached the young milkman, he noticed the young milkman's eyes on the large outline in his shorts. The young milkman quickly and nervously moved his eyes elsewhere. He was just at that age when such things were starting to become interesting to him.
Knowing that he had made the young man uncomfortable, he smiled to himself. He was looking particularly husky today with his tight levy shorts, and a tight white tank top. It emphasized his rippled bulging muscles, and fully packed crotch!
"You're getting really buff and big, aren't you? You must weight, what, a good hundred eighty pounds by now?"
He thought his question was strange, but he was proud that he was bulking up.
"185 pounds, and growing all the time!" he exclaimed.
"Well, aren't you just a juicy plump thing!" Mark said.
He poked him in his slightly round belly.
"Um, what?" the young milkman croaked nervously, and popped a cookie into his mouth.
"How do they taste?" Mark changed the subject.
After thinking about it for a minute, the young milkman replied,
"Wow! That was really good! I don't think I've ever tasted ... anything...."
He stopped talking and started to blink his eyes hard. He was starting to see spots in from of him, and he began to sway back and forth.
"Are you okay?" Mark asked devilishly.
"I...don't feel ... so good...," he managed to say before everything went black.
Mark caught him as he collapsed.
"None too soon, either!"
Mark dragged him over to the island,
"My stomach is growling."
----------------------------------
When the young milkman awoke, everything seemed very cold. And there was something on him. Was he dreaming? As the fog lifted from his drugged mind, he could see that he was lying in a large container. As his vision cleared, he saw Mark standing over him with something in his hand.
"Wha ... what happened?" he slowly asked.
"I drugged you and you passed out," Mark replied, matter of factly.
As things became more clear to him, the young man could see that he was naked, and the container he was in seemed a lot like a giant roasting pan. Somewhat startled, he lurched, trying to get out of the pan. He found, however, that his hands and feet were tightly tied and he couldn't move at all.
Looking behind him, he saw all kinds of cut vegetables around and on top of him. And, Mark was grinding pepper and shaking it on him.
The young man's cock was hard -- someone had wrapped bailing wire around the base, trapping the blood, making it painfully hard. And his balls had been wrapped with string and were also becoming painful.
"What...What are you doing?!" he cried anxiously.
Mark stopped and looked at him,
"I'm preparing to cook you, young man. I was going to wait until you were a little older, but you've plenty beefy now, I just couldn't wait any longer. As it is, you're almost too big for that giant roaster, and it's my biggest one."
Shocked by what Mark had said, the young milkman just laid in the pan while he finished seasoning him. The boy struggled with his bindings, but they were much too tight.
"It's no use trying to escape." said Mark. "I've done this a hundred times before, and I know exactly what I'm doing. You might as well save your strength because you'll be in the oven in a couple of minutes."
The realization of it all starting to sink in. He looked over where his wall ovens were. He couldn't believe it, but the oven door looked just big enough for him to fit inside. He saw him looking at the oven and a big smile spread across his face.
"Yes, my ovens are pretty big, aren't they? I bet you want to see what it looks like from inside, don't you?"
The young man shook his head violently back and forth, No!
"Oh, come on now, sure you do."
Mark walked over to the oven and opened the door. He put his arm in and swayed it around.
"See? There's all kinds of room for you."
Mark laughed and walked back to the island, leaving the oven door wide open,
"It's time to start cooking, young man."
He slid the roaster onto a trolly, and rolled it over to the waiting oven. He put the pan on the oven rack, and slid him inside. The young man closed his eyes tight, expecting it to be very hot inside ... but he felt nothing. He slowly opened his eyes in surprise.
Mark chortled,
"No, it's not heated yet. I prefer to heat the oven while you're inside it. It takes much longer for you to pass out, and I like to watch as you start to feel the heat."
He patted his dinner on the head, mussing his hair,
"Are you ready?"
He laughed at the boy's fear crinkled face, at his trembling lower lip. Closing the oven door, Mark waved goodbye to the poor young man inside. With a wicked grin, he then turn on the oven heat -- to a low 250 degrees -- just enough to make it really hot without burning. He turned the heat source selector to "bake" and sat down to watch the oven heat.
Inside the oven, the young man could see Mark's reaching for the oven controls. Then he heard a low hum, and began to feel warm air from below him. He felt the roaster starting to get warm. It was a very dry heat, not at all uncomfortable -- at least not yet. He couldn't believe Mark was really going to cook him in his oven. He still thought he might be playing a joke on him ... until the pan started to get uncomfortably hot.
He started to scream,
"The joke's gone far enough! It's starting to get hot in here!"
Mark didn't respond. The young man could see a glow coming from below as the oven started getting even hotter. He looked out the window the best he could -- through the heat stained glass. He could see Mark watching him through the oven window.
"Are you getting warm inside my oven, young man?" Mark asked with a sly grin. "I imagine that it must be getting very hot by now."
Yes, the oven was very hot and still getting hotter! The boy was sweating more than he'd ever sweated, but it just sizzled and evaporated as it dripped onto the bottom of the hot metal roaster.
"Mark, please let me out of the oven!" he pleaded. "It's really getting hot in here now!"
"Let you out?!?" Mark sniggered, incredulously. "I'm sorry, but you'll have to stay in the hot oven for several more hours before I let you out. A hundred eighty five pounds takes a long time to roast, you know."
While the young meaty man began to cook in his oven, the phone rang.
"Hello?" he answered the phone. "Oh hi, Greg. Yes, I just put dinner in the oven."
He walked over to the oven and looked in. He continued,
"Well why don't you come over and watch? You'll have to be quick though, I don't know how much longer he'll last."
He walked back to hang the phone up then stepped back and returned his attention to the beefy young bull baking in his oven,
"How's the heat, young man? Not too hot, I hope. I have some friends coming over who want to watch as you bake. That big cock sure looks like it's going to be tasty."
Mark opened the oven door and the boy was relieved to feel the cool air rush in. Mark put his hand in the oven to check the temperature.
"Hmmm, that doesn't feel too hot at all. I think you'll be with us for a while yet."
He pulled the tray out and bent down and kissed the young milkman on the forehead. He wrapped his hand around the young man's rock hard cock-dog and massaged it while smiling to himself. Mark felt the boy's big, loose, hot nuts, rubbing them, then smacking them hard several dozen times!
The young man struggled and screamed! Mark just chortled and shut the oven door again. The young man was left in the heat and pain once again.
Ten minutes later, from inside the oven, the young man heard the muffled sound of a doorbell. Through the smeary dark oven window and his heat-dried bleary eyes, the young man saw Mark get up and go out. And a few moments later, he saw several other men rush into the kitchen from the pantry, rushing like excited little boys over to the oven to look in.
"Oh, he does smell delicious!" the young man heard one of them exclaim.
They all gently shoved each other out of the way to get a good look through the oven window to watch. One put his hand on the oven door,
"My, that's pretty warm. He must be just cookin' in there!"
They all laughed and then asked Mark how long until dinner would be served,
"Well, why don't we ask him?" He said.
Mark opened the oven door,
"How are you baking, young man? Is the heat hot enough for you?"
Everyone laughed at the question, at the young man as he just stared back at them, his face begging for a reprieve he knew wouldn't come. As the men laughed, the boy managed to choke out,
"Mark, please, stop cooking me. You're oven is baking me!"
"Yes, I know you're baking my beefy young man -- we can all smell your meat cooking. You smell absolutely delicious, boy. You should be proud!"
Mark ladled something over the boy -- hot liquid. He was basting the young man so the skind didn't crackle too much. Then he patted the boy on the head, jerking his hand back because it was so hot,
"Sorry, boy ... we're very hungry I and don't have any more time to play with you."
Mark turned around and grabbed something then turned around and shoved an apple in the boy's mouth.
"It's time to really start cooking, young man. I hope you enjoyed the slow oven. I know I did."
Mark closed the oven door and turned the heat up to 400 degrees.
Inside the oven, the poor young man felt the oven get hotter and hotter. The intense heat was too much for him and he soon lost consciousness.
After several hours, the men finally had their feast of roast young human bull. It was very tasty. But, as Mark said after dinner,
"The preparation is the most fun."