the Collector
Team Asphyxiation

Brad's day had finally come. He looked real happy and proud, escorted out of the locker room by two guards in dress uniforms. He smiled broadly, his blonde hair sparkling in the sunlight. He strode confidently on his long legs, head held high. His long cock swung in the rhythm of his walk. 

When he got to the form, he stood on the line that had been marked out for his 6'3" frame. The guards helped him sit at first, then lie back so that his neck crossed the line that marked where the front panel of the form would go.

Brad smiled broadly as he looked at us for the last time.

The guards picked up the steel front of the form, and slid it into place. The cutout fit over Brad's neck, and his head disappeared from sight. He looked real handsome installed in the form. 

I knew what he was thinking, because we had talked so much. He was wondering whether he would flinch, and turn his head aside as the asphyxiant was poured into the form. This was the greatest fear of any team member, that he would disgrace his district by turning away. I knew it was my big fear. There was no hope of actually getting away, bound as any of us would be in the form.

Brad's long legs were stretched out across the closely cropped grass. His smooth chest was bowed upward a little because of the tension of his wrists bound behind his narrow waist. His tight, symmetrical abdominal muscles rose and fell slowly with relaxed breathing.

He would be concentrating on his breathing. We were all taught that. It was a way to get beyond the terror you couldn't help feeling, knowing that this was it.

Brad was the pride of the team.

We had all been drafted to serve the district, and there was a lot of diversity in the group. There were a lot of really handsome guys, but most of us thought that Brad was the best looking. Not that anybody would admit it.

I had told him that I thought so. He had become a good buddy over the six months of our training. And I was used to seeing his strong, well chiseled body extending from the asphyxiation form during practice.

I am sure that everybody noticed how his shapely neck was complemented by the hard lines of the form. Brad had a really big Adam's apple, and the muscles on the side of his neck stood out sharply. It was like he had no fat. He worked really hard to keep his body trim. I mean, we didn't have much other serious work, but Brad was exceptional in his dedication to working out. I tried to keep up with him, but he was such a natural, with his prominent collar bones capping his smoothly rounded pecs.

Spectators came up close to Brad's form during the display period. Real ladies and gentlemen, well dressed and refined, strolled up close, and looked his body up and down slowly, commenting on this or that favorite feature.

"Oooh! I wonder if he rode bicycles," one matron said.

She had noticed Brad's extraordinary calves and muscular thighs. She had guessed right. He and I rode more than any other team members. But we also worked our upper bodies

"Do you believe that lump in this guy's throat?" one teenager asked another. "I wonder how he shaves around it."

The kid couldn't have known anything about shaving, I laughed to myself. I had seen Brad lift his jaw and stroke his long neck gently with the blade of his razor. The way he would stretch the skin with his long fingers was amazingly sexy to me. I wondered if these two peach-fuzz kids would practice 'the art' on one another, and think of Brad asphyxiating in his form here.

I watched his Adam's apple move slowly up and down in his throat, showing that he was sighing. He must have heard the kids talking and had his concentration disturbed by it some. He was doing real good so far.

That was one of the things they had us practice -- being locked in a form and having to listen to the comments of unseen observers through the open top of the form. The practice observers were sometimes other team members, and sometimes volunteers from the community.
 

We would try to think up the worst things to say to the guy practicing in the form, so that nothing that the public could say would be any worse. We'd say stuff like:

"Look at that ass hole's teeny-weenie weenie!"

Or,

"Think he'll kick like a gagged rabbit?"

Or maybe,

"Wonder what it feels like to drown in cement?"

The worse,

"I bet he can't even get it up for the reaper!"

That was just about the worse. Any comment that suggested that a guy couldn't get real hard and shoot a big load at the end. That's what made us all worry. So we had training to get beyond the taunts. So they wouldn't mean anything. So we could get through it and perform well -- the best -- for our district. But mainly for the team. I mean, we all went through a lot together.

So I knew Brad wouldn't be bothered by any of the comments from the public. He'd heard worse from us. But I knew he couldn't help but think of the judges -- how they would be scoring him. They had had so many sessions with the scoring coaches who were real experts. Tough old birds who had retired after long careers judging actual team asphyxiation.

The best coaches were just about the highest paid people in the district. Sure, the governor got more, and maybe some other district officials, but the coaches were the richest. They had to be. We needed great training. And they had to perform.

Scoring was tough. Everybody started with ten points. A perfect ten. The assumption was that any guy could produce a perfect asphyxiation. We all worked real hard toward that goal. There were motivational posters. There were videos. And all hit movies had some kind of scene in them with a perfect asphyxiation.

Of course everybody knew those were concocted. I mean you couldn't kill off all your video stars, after all. So it was just special effects and splicing and all. But they were still exciting and gave us all something to -- ah -- shoot for. 

A perfect ten. The guy wouldn't flinch when the asphyxiant loader rumbled up to his form, beeping with the back-up warning, yellow light flashing. You could see the yellow light flashing in the semi shade of the form. The form was three feet high, after all, and so it was shady inside.

Some guys flinched when they heard the noise of the brakes being applied. That was a sign of imperfection, and was worth a few tenths of a point off. The worst moment for me was when the chute of the loader appeared in your line of sight at the open top of the form. The narrow opening of the form almost made you concentrate on that chute.

That was what I had to work hardest to get over. That too, would have cost some points.

Everything that you could react negatively to, was worth points off. When the asphyxiator walked up to the side of the form, and you could finally see him. Or when he said,

"For the perfection of the district."

Or when he lifted the chain and jerked it back over his head. It was all so final -- every action. So you had to get rid of the fear, and see it all as routine.

One nice thing they would do for us was bring in civilians and run them through the drill. They'd struggle against the form, which was stupid, because the thing was made of matte steel. It wasn't going to let go of your neck no matter how much you jerked and struggled.

And that rope around your wrists wasn't suddenly going to come loose. And no matter how much you kicked and clawed with your toes, nobody was going to take pity at the last moment and let you go. You were in, and you were in for good. It was a helpful reminder for us to see how badly rookies performed in the ritual.

They'd scream into their gags. It was like they were calling mommy, or God. But it didn't matter. The district had you now, and the stuff was going to come sliding down the chute making a mushy, gravelly sound. And it was going to do you in.

But these rookies bucked and writhed, some even looked liked they'd rip their own heads off, trying to get out of the form.

God, we'd laugh! But then we'd realize how good our training was. The coaches were doing a real great job with us -- for us.

But the worst fear was that you'd turn your head to the side as the asphyxiant first oozed down the chute. If you did everything else right -- kept cool through all the taunts and the percussive intrusions of the preparations for asphyxiation -- and then at the last minute, just as the thick, heavy slurry was about to hit you full in the face, you turned away, that was it.

Zero. Zip. Nada. Zilch. Null.

It wouldn't be just a single, biased judge from some third world back water who'd nail your ass then -- everybody would blank out your slate, no matter where they were from. Everybody would know.

You couldn't hide the bow on your young neck, throwing the Adam's apple over to the side -- it didn't matter which -- and bowing out the well exercised muscle on the side. It didn't matter.

Maybe the last thing you would hear, along with the cascade of concrete, was the gasps of your teammates as you fucked up the district's reputation, and blew the chances until next year.

All that hard work wasted in one second of fear. That was what the training was to avoid, and that is what we all worked so hard to avoid.

I knew Brad could do it.

But I was distracted from my confidence by one of the guests saying,

"It looks like this whole team is particularly well hung."

Well we were I guess.

The draft had been particularly 'kind' this year. And we were so proud of one another, that it was impossible for some of us not to get a little 'attentive' as Brad's muscular body lay exposed with his head hidden in the form.

His own substantial cock was filling out as he heard people's admiring comments. Many spectators knew that we were trained to respond this way, if it was at all possible.

And Brad was proud of his body, so his cock was flying pretty high already. Not fully erect, but in decent form. It throbbed gently with his relaxed pulse.

"Oh, my, how BIG he is," a prim looking woman exclaimed.

Then she looked over at the rest of us. She gasped. We were standing in a line, naked and posed in the military at ease posture, hands behind our backs, with cocks proudly displayed.

I must admit, I was as stiff as anybody. That was my roomie there in that form, after all. I was proud of him. I had helped him train, and to appreciate temporary asphyxiation.

That was one of the other things training did. Of course, there were guys and even women, I hear, that got off on being choked or strangler or hanged. But since the draft was the only fair way to select men for the interdistrict competitions, you couldn't count on getting only 'chokers' as they were called.

Maybe I had learned that I was a little bit of a choker. Or maybe that's just how good the training was. And I had helped Brad to develop an acceptance -- well really a pleasure -- in being asphyxiated. We would choke one another when we wanted to get off.

In fact, those were the rules. Any time you wanted to get your rocks off, they said that you had to choke yourself or have one of the coaches, guards, or other team members choke you while you did it.

And to make sure, they had cameras everywhere. There was no place you could get off on your own, or with another guy to jack off, or suck, or fuck, without the visual security squad monitoring you.

So you just got used to it. You'd be sitting watching a video or something, and start jacking off and your room mate would automatically walk over, and grab you around your neck and start squeezing, real hard, like he was really going to kill you or something.

At first that was weird, either to do it or to have it done to you. But they made us practice that in class too -- twenty guys naked at the lecture, and the instructor would order one of us to start pulling our pud, and then as the others watched, wide eyed, he'd call out another guy's name.

That guy might sit there stunned for a few seconds, but then he'd get up and you'd hear him walk over to your chair, and then you'd feel his strong hands wrap around your throat and he'd squeeze, and you would try to swallow, but you couldn't because his big hands kept your Adam's apple from moving up and down, and the blood would pound in your head and you'd feel everything getting all red and hard and the next thing, everybody was applauding, and you'd open your pounding eyes, and you could breathe again, and your chest and maybe your chin were wet and sticky. 

It was strange at first, but then you got used to it. Then you got to like it. And I was lucky that Brad was my roomie. He had such big hands, and muscular arms. I was going to miss him, even though my turn would probably come a few weeks later in the competition. But we had helped one another a lot.

The other team members even joked about it. The blues brothers they called us, because we seemed to enjoy turning one another's faces deep purple from asphyxiation. 

I did come to like it. And although I had choked every other man on the team, I liked doing Brad best. His circumcised cock was so long. And I loved the way his balls would draw up when he was getting ready to shoot off. He was going to be a great show. He even got so sometimes he would shoot off without touching himself when I even started choking him.

I looked over at his broad torso, his head hidden in the box that would soon fill with unbreathable, cold concrete.

We all knew what it felt like. That was part of the training. In the first 'cement seminars' they'd put you in the form, and put a blindfold over your eyes, and a broad gag in your mouth so you wouldn't swallow the stuff.

"No use wasting you too early," the coaches would say, like they didn't give a shit about us.-

And they would pour enough cement in over your head so that you got used to it. They wouldn't put in too much -- just enough so that you got used to the feel and temperature of it. But it was quite a shock at first.

One of the guys in our class, who washed out, unfortunately, had really liked the feel of the fatal mush. He would spurt several feet into the air when he felt the first drop of wet cement on his face.

We called him the Fountain of Rome. Yeah, it was a bad joke. His folks were real embarrassed by it. Something about his religion. But once we advanced to the eyes open training, Tony fucked up real bad.

Eyes Open is done at first with the full size form and a plastic sheet over your face. That way you can see the chute come into view, and see the stuff sliding off the end, and becoming a bigger and bigger shadow as it pours down over your head.

It really scared me at first, but I got used to it. Whenever I did Eyes Open, I kept thinking of Brad choking me, and feeling his big, long dick in me. That's what got me through it.

Tony, I guess didn't have as good a roomie as I did. Or maybe he was just chicken. He was always turning his head away during Eyes Open training.

Sure, everybody turned his head the first couple of times they saw that load of stuff falling toward their face. But Tony never got over it.

So in spite of the fact that Tony was probably a champion shooter, the coaches had to make an example of him. So he ended up with his head chopped off and poked on a pole at the front door of the team barracks.

Lots of district kids came by and silently stared at his handsome but drying head, with the lips pulled back over his white teeth like he was grimacing. And those kids read the sign that explained why he'd been executed without honor, and they'd get all bug eyed and quiet. 

One thing about Eyes Open was how when they filled the form to the top, the weight of the asphyxiant was pretty heavy. That was part of what made it work. It was almost like being choked, even though there was no constriction around your neck.

You did feel the temperature difference between the cold concrete that oozed around your jaw and the warmth of the air and sun on your throat and the rest of your naked body.

They'd let you suffer for a while, but they would always trip the emergency latches on the form before you suffocated, and the back would fall open and the concrete would flow out, and the coaches faces would appear as they lifted the grey smeared plastic off your face.

You'd gasp something fierce, but you had to lie there a little while, while they smiled down at you. After all, the front and sides of the form were still in place, with your neck trapped in the arching hole in the front of the form.

They'd give guys who shot off real big in practice like that an extra reward. Maybe some longer visitation with your family at the camp, or a trip to a ball game, where we'd be introduced to the crowd. It was neat.

Of course, sometimes, they'd loose a guy during Eyes Open. They'd miscalculate and let him stay under too long, and they couldn't revive him. But that was rarer now. They had electronic pulse monitors that they'd use to make sure that they didn't wait too long.

My mind was shocked out of staring at Brad's trapped body, handsome and helpless, by the sound of the loader slowly backing up toward his form.

Beep! Beep!

And the yellow flashing light.

This was it.

The spectators leaned in closer. The cameras were recording from all angles, it seemed. The folks at home were getting a great view of this ceremony.

I hoped Brad remembered the things I had done to calm him in early practice sessions in the form.

I'd kneel next to his incapacitated body, and talk to him real gentle, and stroke the broad chest, and gently rub around the still exposed part of his neck, which was most of it because the strong sheet of strong steel was not real thick. It didn't need to be.

I'd rub his smooth skin, like I was giving him a massage. And I'd feel him relax. I'd watch the pulse slow down in his neck.

I loved watching his neck in the form. Don't get me wrong, Brad was a handsome guy, so it wasn't like you needed to put a paper bag over his head to enjoy looking at his body, but there was something exciting to me about seeing him this way. Like he was a present wrapped up just for me.

I asked him if he thought I looked good in the form too. He had said,

"Yeah, you look real good without your head, you ugly mug!"

Well, I got him for that. I choked him real good, and he enjoyed it. Just like he was beginning to enjoy his own termination ceremony.

The truck's brakes made a slow howl as it lumbered to a stop, yellow light flashing. Brad lay there calmly. His dick actually got stiffer. This boy was keeping his points so far. The other team maybe looked a little worried.


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x
The asphyxiator said in a sonorous voice, suitable to his portly frame,

"For the perfection of the District."

And he hoisted the chain in plain view over his head. And he pulled. The familiar gravelly slosh started. Brad was calm, and his dick grew even harder.

This was how they trained us! I was both proud and apprehensive -- would he carry through?

As the form filled, a little cement leaked out of the hole through which his neck protruded.

Amazingly, all Brad did was to stop breathing. The muscles of his abdomen spasmed, and his cock became as long and as hard as I'd ever seen it. Then his neck and chest began to turn dark, and blue fingers of blood vessels began to reach down his still chest. His legs began to twitch as the form filled with viscous asphyxiant. One leg jerked involuntarily up into the air.


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x
That was OK. The crowds and judges liked involuntary movements like that.

After a while, during which his chest was racked with rippling spasms and his toes and strong legs twitched, Brad's dick began to pulse, and then sent five huge wads of cum high into the air, arching over onto his smooth and quiet chest. The symmetry of his fatal fountain was perfect.

I smiled with relief, and looked down to enjoy the sight of my cock saluting my dead room mate. I hoped I would perform as well as he did -- for the perfection of the district.

But it was not time to relax yet. The huge truck pulled away from the form from which Brad's dead body protruded, cum dripping down the sides of his stone still chest.

The vehicle maneuvered to the form that held the head of our opponent for the day.

We all silently prayed that his score would be less than Brad's. It would be hard to beat Brad's score, but Sufford always produced good teams.

I held my breath as the truck screeched to a halt behind the next form.

I remembered when I was a kid, well a teenager really, coming out the to ceremonial grounds, and seeing all the concrete headstones -- they really were headstones, because a guy's skull was still embedded in it.

There was a hole where his neck had been, and you could reach in through that and feel the inside of the empty skull in the concrete. The skull could move a little, because of the small amount of space that had opened up when the skin rotted away.

The headstones were the history of the contest. A weather-proof picture of the guy who head was in each stone was displayed on the stone, and his score, and the score of his team was also on the stone.

This was where the District's heroes were. And Brad and I were going to join them. Brad was already a hero. I would be too.

drawing by Malex; story written to conform to drawing.

 

Tel Aviv: Three international governments claim to be completely baffled by the sudden disappearance of three terrorists who had been under close surveillance for the past several weeks.
xxxxA combined force of British, American and Israeli anti-terrorist commandos had located the three members of the ultra-secret Arab terrorist group, Zedh Taber, an ultra-extremist offshoot of the extremist Hama'as Palestinian Front. Zedh Taber is believed responsible for the downing of a TWA flight over the Atlantic in 1993.
xxxxThe name of the group was not known till recently and had simply been called "Revenge" because that word was found written on several walls in their quarters, according to authorities.
xxxxThe TWA airliner, had originally been reported lost due to an aircraft malfunction on a flight between London and New York. A total of 198 passengers and crew were lost in that incident. The aircraft would have had twice as many passengers had not a connecting flight from Tel Aviv been delayed.
xxxxIsraeli authorities later tipped off its British and American counterparts that the small splinter faction violently opposed to peace in the Middle East and critical of US and British efforts to bring it about, Zedh Taber, had put out word that it was responsible for the downing of the TWA flight.
xxxxA reconstruction of flight transmissions had given a possible location for the plane, and after an exhaustive search that included the new submersible robot sub that had previously been a secret of the CIA, pieces of the aircraft were found and photographed and a part of the fuselage was raised. It showed evidence of an explosion in the passenger compartment.
xxxxAccording to an unnamed source in the State Department, a joint intelligence group began working on the case and had located the three terrorists believed responsible for planting the bomb on the flight. A fourth terrorist had been on the plane with the explosive. It is believed he had gotten the bomb onto the plane by actually filling his body with high tech explosives in plastic bags.
xxxxThe joint group had surrounded the buildings that the three terrorists were using as a headquarters, and they were planning a strike to arrest them and
bring them to trial.
xxxxThe source reported that some difficulty had been encountered from local authorities who wanted the men held locally. It was believed that a large sum of money had been paid to see that either immunity or sanctuary was extended.
xxxxIn addition, the source suggested that both British and US authorities had not decided which country would take the lead in prosecuting the men if apprehended. Israeli authorities had also demanded to take the lead in prosecuting the men. A lack of evidence to get a clear-cut conviction was also cited as a problem.
xxxxWhile the strike team was waiting for the three countries to work out the diplomatic difficulties, they noticed that all movement in the compound had stopped. A special reconnaissance team went in and found the premises deserted.
xxxxNo trace of the three men was found at the compound, yet no traffic had been observed going in and out. The compound contained a large cache of weapons and explosives, a number of passports from third world countries with pictures of the men, and their personal effects were still there.
xxxxThe intelligence team reported that it had no trail to follow and that it would have to begin all over again. Sources in the Middle East report that no other terrorist organization admits to any knowledge of the whereabouts of the members of the group. "It is as if they were picked up and removed from the face of the earth," one well-placed source on Arab terrorism was quoted as saying.
xxxxSpeculation in the streets is that one or more agencies of one of the governments involved is responsible for the disappearance. Most speculation is that militants in the Israeli security forces abducted the three men while sympathizers were on watch, though this has already been denied by General Moshe Khal, of the Israeli Secret Police.
xxxxThere are Israelis who are pointing a finger at the Americans, saying that President Clinton would rather make peace with Syria than bring the men to justice. This theory is especially popular with Likud supporters and the orthodox and militant religisists. Moderates and secularists dismiss this speculation as not
    continued, A4
xxx
the Jolly Roger
x
Three naked, limp bodies hung by a horizontal pole attached to the ceiling of the tall stone and stucco chamber. There were no windows and only one door that was set into a steel casement. The door was of darkened and somewhat rusted metal. The appearance of the room was that of an old dungeon in some moorish castle secreted away in the hot sands of North Africa. It was.

The hot, dry air that blew over the thousands of square miles of empty sand gave way to cool night breezes that even had the smell of far off salt water from the ocean that had long ago deserted the hard, stone walls of the fortress. Yet the temperatures deep inside the tight-blocked stone walls, under the sand swept floor of the courtyard seldom changed except that close to the floor the air slowly moved in and out even in the closed quarters as the day changed.

The three darkened bodied men were suspended with their feet near enough the floor to feel it move. They were suspended with their feet just off the floor, attached to the thick bar. Their arms were outstretched and lashed at the bicepses and forearms. Their heads hung down from the heavy doses of drugs that had been administered during their abduction.

It would not have done to have had a scream or shout or moan as they were being subdued and carried out of their hideout through the tunnel below the floor where the stones in the cellar floor had been carefully removed from below. Only a very few of the oldest men in the city and a few well-placed persons even had knowledge of the old aqueduct system built in Roman times and long covered over by rebuilding and forgotten, and the stones had been replaced, showing no indication of the entrance or exit of the specialists.

The men had been drugged heavily through a well-placed gas canister -- it would not have done for there to have been any movement as they were being taken through the centuries old tunnels, brought to the surface in the silent, moonless night and taken to the deserted airstrip, and loaded aboard the small, black-painted, unlit aircraft that had lifted off with its cargo three naked men stuffed in three large duffel bags.

They now resembled three men on a cross in an empty room with their heads hung down, naked, Their nuts hanging low in their sacs, the drug having relaxed all tension in their bodies including the ducts that held them high or let them hang low.

Their dicks were also soft. And cut, like their Jewish enemies and their Christian lackeys -- but a rite each man remembered. because he was thirteen when it happened -- not an eight day old infant like the Jews and Americans It was a covenant with God they each willingly participated in as a newly adult young man -- not something forced on them by religious parents. That's what made them such fanatics -- each Muslim boy must choose to be circumcised, he must make the contract with God himself -- not have it made for him by someone else.

The door made a sudden snap and clatter and then a creak as the old hinges moved one on the other. A lone figure in his twenties with shiny, wavy hair pushed a stainless cart into the room. On top lay a number of hypodermic needles and vials of liquids. The high tech appearance made an affront on the middle ages appearance of the room with its three suspended figures. A rack or an iron maiden would have been more in keeping with the setting.

The man was dressed in camouflage fatigues. He had a passive expression, neither smiling or frowning. He was a man with a task who positioned the cart to the side of the three hanging men. He deliberately picked up a syringe and drew back a full dose of the clear substance and walked to the rear of the men. He carried his bottle with him.

He held up the syringe and squeezed a bit of liquid out the needle and then pointed it at the left ass cheek of the first man in line. He shoved it in and pressed the plunger down slowly and steadily, emptying it completely. He then pulled it back sharply -- with no movement from his first patient.

Without changing syringes, he filled it a second time from the glass container and emptied it into the ass of the middle man. He then did the same with the third. As he walked back to his cart, the first man made a low moan. The drug was beginning to take effect and to counter the earlier sedative. Consciousness was returning to the men as the clouds of the narcotic were lifted by this new injection.

Their heads all shook from side to side as each began to clear his eyes and look around. They were confused. They had last looked at the room that had hidden them so well for so many months, and now this empty room just did not register in their minds.

They began mumbling first to themselves and then to each other. The fatigue-clad soldier paid no attention to them. They began testing their bodies and their limbs only to find that their arms were immobile and that their bodies hung useless below them. Their shoulders became aware of intense pain from the many hours, days, how long(?) they had been hanging here in this position.

The uniformed soldier picked up a pan from the second shelf of the cart and motioned toward the door. A dark haired, dark eyed young soldier of no more than eighteen entered the door with an empty arms box. He set it down before the middle man who looked no older than the second soldier and then stood next to the first man in fatigues. He took the pan and filled it with water from a large pitcher as the first man picked up a straight razor. They turned and walked to the hanging men.

The first soldier took a rag from the pan held by the second soldier and wetted the skin on the chest of the middle terrorist. He then took the razor and made a swipe down the middle of the chest taking all the hair off to the skin. He continued taking swatch after swatch of the thick, tight-curled hair from his chest until it was smooth and slightly pink even in spite of his dark complexion. He then began on the arms and arm pits, his beard and hair, and then his legs and crotch. The pair then went behind the man and repeated the process including the crack of his ass. The two found little resistance since the body of the hanging middle man still did not fully respond after the long hours of drugged relaxation.

The other men were watching this process and knew that they were to be included. They felt the humiliation of having to watch a naked man. The many years of Moslem training had made them ashamed of seeing a naked man, and seeing one so very naked and devoid of all bodily covering including hair made them hang their heads. They were aware that their humiliation was to follow.

The shame of the experience was enough to keep the trio subdued for the moment. The stiffness of their bodies would not permit any real effort to resist. But their bondage also kept them from any opportunity for escape. The two fatigue-clad men finished with their task and left the three Arabs to look at each other from their down-turned eyes.

Time worked slowly against the three. Seconds stretched to minutes as their bodies sagged from their shoulders. As feelings came back to their limbs as the drugs were slowly countered by the injections, they began trying to move their legs and torsos, testing the tightness of the bonds on their arms. They moved their hands and tried to move their wrists and forearms, but they were tightly secured, Only the shoulders could move, and painfully.

The younger man walked back through the door with a hose. Obviously the medieval castle had some of the amenities of the twentieth century other than electricity. The hose had a long, thick, rubber nozzle and adjustable trigger He squeezed the trigger on the jet and aimed the sharp stream at the three bound men, washing them down, cleaning off any hair stuck to the skin, cleaning the dirt and grime and sweat from the long months in hiding, waking them totally with the cold stream, making them feel even more naked and exposed and ashamed.

But their shame at the loss of personal dignity and privacy was only beginning. The young soldier in a mechanical fashion stepped behind the bound and suspended men and inserted the rubber nozzle up the ass of the man on the right. He had a hard and cruel look of hate and disgust that masked his fear. He appeared to be the oldest of the three, in his thirties.

He jerked upward and moved his legs as his tight sphincter was violated for the first time in his life. A slower stream of water than had been used to wash their bodies now poured into his torn ass-hole. His body tightened as the cramps began in his lower colon from the pressure of the water, but as he tried to raise his body, the inner sphincter opened up and the water surged inward relieving the cramping. His belly began to distend with the mass of water bloating his gut.

When the pressure grew so great that even the thick rubber hose could not hold back the flow, the young soldier released the trigger and pulled the rubber plug out quickly. Just as quickly, the bowel voided itself and gushed forth a filthy mass of days old matter that sprayed backward across the floor in a stream. The gush stopped as the lower bowel emptied, but the nineteen year old did not immediately go back to work. He reached around to the front of the naked, skinned man and kneaded his gut, working the water in the upper colon downward. Another gush of water was expelled, not as quickly as the first, and the last of it ran down the suspended prisoner's legs from his shaved ass crack.

The process was repeated, but this time the sphincter, the outer and inner, gave little resistance. The process was done again and again until the water flushed clear and there was no physical resistance to the rape of the rubber hose nozzle. The degradation was complete. The other men tried to look away to honor the violation, but their closeness made it impossible to not all share the shame of the first man cleaned.

The soldier moved to the second, middle, man and repeated the process. He seemed to have a bit less trouble inserting the tube in the rectum of the middle terrorist, and there was just the slight hint of a thickening of the cock on the fear-struck, young man. Many Arab boys had been introduced into pubescent sex by older men who would never have allowed themselves to be exposed in public but often taught young men the joys of male to male sex with the young man acting as his woman. Some would come to eagerly accept the attention even as their modesty was violated. The young man in the middle could not have been more than eighteen, and the long years of training in desert terrorist camps since the age of twelve without women had likely given need to a willing young participant in the tent of the older tutors at night. His ass gave no resistance to the rubber nozzle.

When all three men had been cleaned out thoroughly, their lower halves were again washed off with the hose and the streams of slimy ass-matter were washed from their legs and shaved asses. When they were cleaned and wet-skinned naked, the soldier washed down the floor and cleaned it of any of the ass juices or hair residue remaining so that the white-washed floor was bright again. The stream stopped and the water drained through the hole in the slanted floor below them.

The first man then returned, this time he pushed another cart before him. This one looked more like an electrician's work bench. It was covered with coiled wires attached to small metal cylinders, many with sharp ends on them. On the center of the cart was an intricate control panel with what must have been several hundred switches.

The two men worked without any sound. They seemed to have rehearsed this exercise many times. The three men began asking questions, shouting curses, demanding answers, but the two gave no indication of hearing anything they said.

The young man took hold of the ankle of the first suspended terrorist as the second brought over some smaller wired capsules. He held the foot secure as the second attached a small metal-jacketed cylinder to the underside of the big toe and secured it with a strip of waterproof adhesive tape. A wire ran out from under the toe, and he left it hang in its coil.

He took a second cylinder and attached it to the top side of the next toe in line and then to the bottom of the middle toe and so on down the line. The man tried to resist, but he could get no hold, and the weight of the young man pulling down on his foot only made his shoulders ache terribly as more weight was added to that of his already hanging body.

When the first foot was finished, the team then did the same to the second foot until there were ten metal tubes and wires attached to his feet. The team then stood on the long crate and attached the same sized cylinders to each of his fingers as they were spread out from the Arab's hands attached to the bar. When twenty cylinders and wires were attached, the pair went back to the cart and picked up a group of cylinders that were extremely sharp on one end, shaped like tips of practice arrows and about as thick.

They carried the coils back to the suspended man who was now shouting even more strongly at them, yet they were oblivious to his protests. They continued their work with no emotion. They had a job to do.

The young man again held the left foot of the man and held it between his legs to make it immobile. The man's jerking and twitching should have given his burgeoning manhood an erection as it moved against his scrotum and thick cock, but his mind was too much on his work as the second man held the back of the foot with one hand and positioned the point of the capsule in the fleshy part of the Achilles tendon between the tendon and the bone. The leg jerked against the boy's crotch as the flesh was torn and spread apart by the metal container.

The man screamed as the flesh on the other side of the ankle was shoved out and stretched until the tip of the point appeared on the other side and split the skin open. The capsule was now entering and exiting behind the tendon. They repeated it on the other leg.

The look of hate was beginning to replace the look of shame on the three Arab's faces, yet the look of helplessness and fear was in the dark brown eyes of the muscular young men hanging naked from the thick pipe-beam.

Another sharpened metal cylinder was brought over to the man. It began in a point, but it was shaped with a fatter ball at the back where the wire was connected. The older man walked behind the terrorist and positioned the point at the soft area behind the bend in the leg. The point was shoved in as one man stood in front bracing the leg against the shove forward. The point painfully entered as the terrorist screamed, and the skin spread wide to allow the balled part of the tube to enter. When he was finished, only the wire protruded through the skin. He did the same with the second leg.

A long, thin cylinder between two and three inches long was produced, and was positioned to the side of the leg just behind the knee cap. It was shoved in slowly and deliberately, first the left leg and then the right. The hanging man tried to kick the younger soldier as he let go, but the pain now in his legs from the tubes inserted in his tendons and knee joints made any movement excruciating.

Long thin cylinders were brought out and inserted in his thighs, two in front and two at the back. The cylinders went completely into the muscle and only the wires emerged from the flesh. The muscles were separated from the bones with the tubes both in front and back, and each leg was made to match.

The two soldier-technicians then stood on the box again. They took a long, wired cylinder and positioned it at the wrist just below the rope bond. It looked like a spike with a striped wire emerging where the head should be. A hard shove, and it entered into the wrist and began tearing at the muscle and bone and tendon and flesh. More pressure and it emerged with a sudden release from the back of the wrist like an overlong nail pounded through a board.

There was little bleeding with those that protruded from the skin since the tube served to block the issuance of blood from the torn capillaries and veins. From those that were inserted completely in the skin, there was a trickle of thickening blood that ran down past the wire or ran down the wire emerging from the torn flesh, yet there was no stream so steady as to endanger the man from loss of blood. The men knew how to miss arteries. They were most professional in their job.

They never said a word as they worked in tandem, each knowing what the other was going to do next and what they needed to do to assist. They both wore a passive expression which made it even more frightening for the three hanging terrorists. If these men hated them, they could understand. These men did not seem to care.

The elbows were skewered just as thoroughly as the hamstrings had been done, but much more painfully. The arms were totally immobile and no body movement for resistance was possible. It was just the point and the shove and the scream. There was no need to even hold the elbow, no need for the reassuring hand of the young man, just the sudden, searing pain without warning.

The first terrorist was now in total agony. He had wires dangling from tubes and protruding from his flesh on his arms and legs. He tried to keep himself as motionless and as silent as possible to protect his wired body from pain beyond any he had ever felt. The other two terrorists were not as still or as quiet. They jerked and tried their bonds which only moved the metal bar and swayed the body of the first. He screamed at them finally as their motions brought on waves of nausea. They overcame their fear and were silent and still.

Next the older soldier picked up a long, slender, spiked tube. He pulled the tit from the right breast outward sharply and jammed the point of the spike behind the outstretched nipple. It went in about a fourth of an inch, and he then began to press firmly downward. The resistance of the chest muscles on the well-developed chest made entrance of the tube difficult. The soldier began twisting it right then left in order to rip some of the muscle tissue aside and let the point dig deep into the area behind the tit. The flesh on the inside of the tit began to stretch outward as the sharp tip found the other side of the stretched out nipple. Another push and twist and the tip came out. He released the tit and let the shaft of the tube lay back to the rib as a half inch of the tube extended out on each side and the wire hung coiled to the man's side.

He repeated the process on the other nipple as the man screamed his protest and attempted to jerk his chest away causing waves of pain from his skewered limbs.

The young man handed him another long, thin tube. This time he pulled at the hard muscled belly of the suspended prisoner. The gut was sucked inward from the suspension, but he took the wired spike and jammed it in and through the skin sideways right above the pubic bone and out the other side as the tit had been done. More of these long-thin spikes were used to make a rosette of six spikes in a circle from the lower rib cage where there three of the tubes inserted through the flesh and two on each side and the one at the pubis. It now hurt to breathe or suck in his breath at all.

The pair walked behind the hanging man and took two more spikes, much thicker and longer and inserted the first in the dimpled area of the ass cheek from the side of the body toward the center. It was like being jabbed with a syringe the size of a finger. It was shoved inward until it completely disappeared with only the wire left dangling. The flow of blood was a bit greater with the larger sized tube, but it also began to coagulate and make a thick flow by the time it reached halfway down the back of the thigh. A second spike was paired to that one on the other side.

A third spike was handed to the man as he pulled the ass cheek apart and exposed the inside of the ass crack. The point was placed at the lower point of the tailbone and jammed and twisted into the ass flesh. The muscle was toughened from the hard exercise of the terrorist life, but it gave way as the needle pointed spike was forced in with the weight of the soldier behind it. Soon only the wire emerged into the ass crack. Another spike skewered the other cheek from the crack inward.

The soldier took a rounded metal ball about a half inch in diameter and placed it in his palm with the wire heading down his wrist. He spread the ass apart again, and began to shove first one finger and then a second into the cleaned out hole. The heavy hose enema had loosened the ass enough that it took not nearly as much work to finally get the palm into the crevice. With a hard shove upward that actually took the weight off the painful shoulders, the man was shoved upward so that his torso's weight was suspended on the opened hand. The loosened ass-lips could not hold up the weight and with a stretch and a tear of the sphincter, the body settled on the hand, sinking to the wrist.

The man felt his fingers inside the moaning man and could feel the vibrations of his pained breathing and whimpering vocal chords. He felt the small knot at the base of the bladder from the inside and worked the metal ball up to his fingers so that he could leave it pressed against the prostate. He slowly began pulling his hand out, careful to not pull the wire and misplace the ball. The hand popped free and the ass gaped open with pouting lips and bleeding from one fissure. It slowly closed.

The two men moved in front of the man. The young one gave the other a small silver ball about two-thirds the size of the last. The ball had a short wire attached to it that ran though a clear latex tube about a foot long. The young man picked up the limp, dangling dick of the terrorist and held it out and ran his finger round the flare of the head. Fear kept this normally enjoyable motion from becoming erotic. The second man took hold of the head and positioned the plastic tube and ball at the piss-slit and began to shove it inward like a catheter. The body was so pain racked now that this motion only seemed worthy of just a slight drawing up of the legs into a beginning fetal position. But the pain that motion produced was more than he could stand, and his legs quickly dropped back down.

The tube continued to press inward until it hit the tight muscle of the bladder. A shove against the resistance seated the wired ball inside the bladder. The man stepped back a moment to let the yellow liquid that had accumulated in the bladder to drain around the metal capsule and through the tubing. The enemas had put enough water into the body to make voiding the cramped bladder necessary. Until now, the man had not even realized he needed to piss.

The tube was pulled back out without the ball, leaving only the wire running all the way into the liquid chamber. Immediately another latex tube was produced with a long, slender tube protruding from the end. The wire was a different color. It was shoved into the urethra and seated at the base of the cock where it began its trip upward into the bladder. The rubber tube was pulled out as the man held the metal chamber still. It remained in the piss tube. Another tube about three-quarters of an inch long was produced and inserted into the urethra and placed just inside the piss-slit so that it was surrounded by the soft and tender dick head. Now three different colored wires emerged from the piss-slit, and the metal tubes kept it just slightly elevated from its previous position.

A long rod about a quarter of an inch in diameter was handed to the man. The younger man then put his fingers around the fear shrunken nut-sac. He stretched it downward, stretching the tubes that held the nuts close to the body in a protective state. He then separated them and held the right nut exposed from the circle with his thumb and forefinger and around the scrotum just below the nut. The now naked skin showed pink, and the dark veins showed through the skin of the scrotum.

The second man took the long spike and pressed the point to the side of the nut and shoved it inward. The pain was like a searing sword to the man who screamed louder now than he had with any of the other torments. But the nut was soft tissue and the point disappeared into the spongy mass and then reappeared as a blunt rise on the other side of the nut. A hard shove and it was through. There was no bleeding or swelling since the shaft of the tube sealed up the torn veins inside, but the ache extended way up into the skewered gut.

A second shaft was produced and the same process was repeated on the left nut. It was equally as painful even though the nut was about a third less in size. Dropping the nuts and the wires produced new waves of pain in the suspended terrorist.

The two men now stepped back on the box. They had a roll of thick adhesive tape and tore off two strips and stuck them to the shoulder of the man. The young man now held up a small round ball with a wire, smaller than those used in the bladder. The second soldier placed it inside the ear canal and took a piece of clay that was handed to him and filled the ear canal with it. He did the same with the other ear. The hanging man was now effectively deaf.

Two more very small wired balls were produced and placed next to the eye sockets. As each was placed the man jerked a piece of tape free from the shoulder and taped down the wired ball so that the person could still see, but his eyesight was severely restricted. Next balls about the same size were introduced into the nose just inside the nasal passage and clawed in.

A wooden stick with two metal cylinders on each end was handed to the older soldier. His fingers shoved into the lips of the bound man and pressed his lower jaw down. The stick was placed at the back of the jaw and jammed into the crevice at the back of the jaw hinge. A latex thong was attached to each side and around the head. The mouth was forced open and the tongue forced below the wooden shaft. Saliva ran unimpeded down the jaw and dripped onto the blood-streaked chest.

The box was then situated in front of the middle man. His thickening cock indicated that this painful experience he was about to undergo would not be altogether unwelcome. The two soldiers seemed not to notice or care. They had a job to do, and there was no emotion connected to it.

Three men hung from a metal bar running across the room. Each had matching wires and metal spikes. Each was streaked with coagulating blood and some of the wounds were bleeding steadily. The young middle man was also bleeding from his nuts. His jerking as they were placing the spikes had caused the soldier to lose hold of his testicle and blood had run from the hole. The spike had been reinserted but not all the open veins had been sealed by the jamming shaft. The nut-sac had swollen to about the size of a softball from the trapped blood still oozing out inside the protective coverings. It was obvious that any movements of the body caused him even greater pain.

The balls in the urethra of his dick had been reset after he ejaculated while his second nut was being skewered. The erupting jizz had soiled both uniforms, but there seemed to be no malice. It was just a job, and they were professionals. This was not the worst that they had seen or done or been a part of. They reset the metal balls to their original positions and went to the third man and finished with him.

The cart with the machine with the switches was now wheeled to the far side of the room, behind a white, block wall. The wires from the suspended men were uncoiled one at a time and connected to the control box. The shorter wires hanging from the cock were attached to longer wires that led to the machine.

When all the wires were attached, the two men left the room leaving the three hanging prisoners to question their fates with spittle drooling from their mouths as they hung their heads in pain and shame. The middle terrorist, the nineteen year old, the youngest of the three, still had a half erection even in spite of his swollen balls.

Time seemed to pass slowly for the hanging men. They could not talk with their mouths gagged with the wood and metal held in place, but their looks to each other communicated great pain and fear. They knew that they might well die in the name of freedom for their people and for the hate of the oppressors and their supporters, but they always thought death would come with a swift blow of a piece of hot metal in their head or chest or the instant white-hot blast of an explosive in a car or room.

They had never thought of being shamed before each other, of having their bodies shaved naked of their hair, of having their most private of functions violated with rubber hoses, of having pieces of metal surgically implanted under their flesh, of having their manhood touched and toyed with and emasculated. They had never believed that their quest for honor could bring so much humiliation. At least it was in the sanctuary of a lonely stone room with only limited lurkers to witness their degradation. They had never noticed the bank of cameras set into the ceiling all about them, each with a small red light glowing.

The two soldiers re-entered the room and took their places at the control panel. The older man took a key from his shirt pocket and fit it into the panel and gave a turn. The banks of switches were now matched with small green lights.

With no warning, the first switch was flipped upward and the green light turned to red. That was matched by the sudden jerk of two of the men, the one in the middle and the one on the left. Their ears, even through the clay plugs were assaulted by a loud snap. It was more a snap than a real explosion, like a child's play cap being hit on the sidewalk with a sharp instrument.

The third man, the one on the right, jerked taut from the sudden shock of his big toe disintegrating from the detonation of the metal blasting cap taped to it. His head hung down as he saw a red fog blast upward toward his face and cover the front of his body as fragments of flesh and bone spewed upward to bathe him. A wave of fire began in his foot and raced up his leg to his spine and snapped to his brain where it registered in ungodly fire and heat. But before he could transmit the message to his vocal chords and they had time to react by first relaxing and forcing air into the lungs and then back up and out over the taut chords to shape a scream, the next toe evaporated in another pop and flash, this time shooting downward toward the floor away from the charge planted on top of it.

The scream now began as air was expelled from the lungs, and it nearly covered the sound of the third pop as the next toe was ripped from its place and sent shooting upward. the screaming was most audible through the clay plugs of his fellows hanging next to him. Both urinated down their legs from the knowledge of what would be their fate when the first man was finished.

Toe after toe disintegrated, torn from its socket of bone and marrow or simply had the flesh ripped from it leaving the bone fragments hanging from the stub or blood.

The soldiers knew that they needed to work quickly before the loss of blood in the body would lower the pressure to the point where the mind would fog, and they would be performing their work on limp, dead meat. But they also knew that while the loss of blood brought on a fogging, the mind could easily live for at least five minutes receiving stimuli from the brain stem as long as it was attached, and it would be. Even in death they would feel the pain.

The fingers were the next to suffer from the innocent sounding pops of the specially prepared blasting caps. First the thumb on one hand and then the thumb on the other. The scream was now a two way kind of sound. The air going in and the air going out of the lungs seemed to vibrate the taut chords making it almost continuous.

As the fingers were individually blown to pieces, the blood spray and the pieces of bone and marrow and flesh splattered to the man next to him, the one in the middle. The younger soldier watched as the dick rebounded now and was stiffening at an angle on the middle one, nineteen years old -- his own age,. His part in this group's activities may well have been one of more moral support, or rather immoral support, than one of planning the fiery deaths of hundreds of tourists and families and children and parents. These were hard men who enjoyed hard play to take their minds off their inability to see their families for years. They needed diversions that were equally hard and willing to let them have their way, no matter what their taste was. But, regardless, he was a part of it, and providing diversion helped the cause, and the cause was ending.

The hand now held a bloodied stump of no fingers or just stubs of bone. The blood ran down to the wrist and dripped to the floor. Just as the first streams of blood reached the bonds at the wrist, the wrist exploded and shattered both bones holding the hands outstretched, first the right and then the left. That was followed by the elbow blowing out of the back of the long, muscular arm on each side, one after the other, individually but close enough together to be felt as one great wave of heat in the brain.

There was a great intake of breath, and just as the lungs filled for the loudest scream yet, the hamstring on the right leg was ripped open and torn free of the heel of the foot. A white, thick strand of matter that had helped walk for over thirty years was removed forever from its place and jerked from its bone attachments. The second hamstring exploded outward accompanied by the snap of another cap.

The knee cap was blown off on one leg while it was just partially blown free on the other and hung down on a thick flap of bleeding flesh. The legs, jerked backward by the blast, were quickly thrown frontwards as the back of the knee exploded with the charge set in the hollow behind the knee joint. One leg hung only by an attached muscle, but the other seemed to survive the ripping and though it had no front or back, the hinge remained intact.

The thighs exploded in a series of explosions, ripping the flesh from the solid, shaved, muscular appendages. Four charges were inserted in each thigh, and the force of the explosions were set so that the thighs were twisted out of socket as they went off in sequence. They hung limply from the body connected now only by bloodied flesh and partially in-place muscle.

The man's chest suddenly exploded, one side and then the other. His tits were both removed from the blast leaving gaping holes in the muscles and the red-white bones of the ribs.

There had been a few seconds pause from the ripping of the muscles of the thighs from their bones with its wrenching them from their sockets and the explosions on the chest. It gave him time to relax. When his nipples and the tissue behind them was removed from their place, he again jerked his body taut. That was reflected in the tightening of his butt cheeks. Just as they snapped tight, each one exploded and was ripped open. They remained attached at top and bottom, but the force of the explosion of the two buried explosives ripped open a gaping hole in each cheek and severed the muscles crossing and recrossing there.

His body was driven forward by the blast, and as his crotch was shoved forward to its fullness, jerking his dick outward, the head of his dick exploded in a shower of pink tissue. The meaty head beneath flew in all directions showering the men next to him who had been already sprayed pink. His cock was most cruelly beheaded. When the second explosion in the urethra was detonated, the penis evaporated as he received a white-hot penisectomy from the explosives. His nuts were next to evaporate in a spray of blood and gore, and his scrotum was torn open and mutilated. His entire crotch was now a bloody imitation of a woman in her menstrual cycle, a bloody gaping hole, oozing his life out.

His body jerked twice very noticeably even though no sound. The two explosions buried inside of him, the one up his colon next to his prostate and the one in the bladder destroyed all his inside sexual functioning as well as tore his bowels from their roots. His ass shot blood out as the force of the explosion sought easiest escape for the burning gases. He sprayed the floor and what remained of his legs with blood.

The series of buried caps in his stomach muscles were detonated--the three at the top, the two at the sides, the one above his cockless crotch. His taut stomach muscles were ripped out and open, and his viscera fell out of the gaping wound where his abdomen had been.

The soldier worked hurriedly now, for there was little conscious time left. With a sudden double pop, the man's nose was splintered in two and then blown free of his face exposing skull bone and cartilage and leaving a gaping hole on the front of his face. He detonated the jaw spreader so that the jaw was ripped from its hinge and hung useless down on the bloodied chest. Next the eyes were ripped from their sockets. One disintegrated into mush being sprayed outward as well as into the brain cavity. The explosions at the ears shot the tiny bones into the brain where a massive hemorrhage was taking place from the explosions in the eye sockets.

Death was only a few moments away, and the body now hung there limp and almost lifeless. No wires were connected anywhere anymore. Each had ended in a flash of burning light and gas.

Quickly the pair moved to the body with two long plastic bags about a foot in length each. The bags had a small wire leading from each. The bags were resilient yet bendable. The older man took his bag and stood on the box that he had carried with him. He pulled back the hanging head with either no eye or one eye hanging from its stalk and shoved the tube down the throat so that it was placed behind the chest cavity. There was a sucking sound as the man who had appeared dead now gasped for at least a partial breath.

The younger man took his plastic bag with wire attached and shoved it into the body cavity from below where the ass hung open and limp and bleeding oozily from the internal explosion that had blown it open. They both stepped back, took the box they had used with them, attached the wires quickly but with determined professionalism, and stepped behind the barrier.

The next two, closely spaced explosions opened the hanging man's carcass as deftly as if he was a gutted animal on a hunt. His chest cavity was blown open and the lungs and heart and tissue were blown outward and evacuated from the body cavity. Some were still attached by veins and arteries that had withstood the blast, so they just shot outward and then down to hang.

The second of the explosions did the same for the lower body. The pubic bone and pelvis were split wide. The body itself was now open from the neck to the ass-hole, and the gore inside was hanging from the carcass or was sprayed about the room.

The last clouds of life left the man as the shock of the ripping explosions opened him wide. He would enter into whatever came after riding on a wave of white-hot pain that would last him until all eternity.

The young man in the middle jerked again as he heard another pop, waiting for the searing heat of the explosion to shock his brain. Yet he only felt a spray of blood hit his already dripping body from the other side. He would have to endure the disintegration of the second terrorist before it was his turn. He had felt the fear of death, the revulsion at the violent end of the first man, but he also had visions of pain and whips and chains and raping dicks up his ass and down his throat and cum running from his ass and harsh words and brutal beatings when he watched the first man's end.

But as he saw the second man slowly disintegrate and become ripped and bleeding flesh, he felt sadness, he felt the soft words in the middle of the night, he felt the soft hands that smelled of Symtech drying his tears, touching his welts, wiping his bloodied body, cleaning his ass crack of the oozing cum, searching out tenderly that place with his fingers and soothing him inside and out.

He smelled the sprays of his blood, but he remembered the smell of his breath as he brought his mouth close, against all custom, and sucked his tongue inside. He felt alone and afraid hanging there, but he remembered feeling close and loved as he was held long into the night after having been raped anally and orally by the first, now dead man. He felt tenderness and sorrow.

He felt a tear run down his cheek as the pops continued around the body of the one next to him. He felt a great loss when the thick, fear-flaccid penis disappeared in red spray, and he felt totally deserted when the nuts sprayed across the front of his body. They would be no more to provide the soothing balm he had needed.

He was now lined by two gutted mammalian creatures. The next explosion began his odyssey.

The threat of the terrorist group was over. It would never again bring the end to life. It would never again create pain and suffering for others.

The men cut down the three bloodied bodies. A machete-type knife was brought into the room and the limbs severed and dumped into barrels. A ride across the desert to the shoreline and a quick trip off shore would provide a fitting end to the trio and their plans for terrorism.

As the two men went about their task showing little expression, as they dumped the severed parts into the barrels, as they then washed down the room, in another part of the old rock castle another man worked over a tape machine editing the different angles and actions. He would finish his job by the time the two men had cleaned up their task and themselves. One hundred and ninety-eight copies of the tape would be made--one for each of the passengers lost, even for the family of the terrorist who had died on board, one hundred and ninety-eight separate explosions.

On each tape will be the printed lable,
xx

Clark Williamson
the Bad Deal

We went ashore with no problem, having been scheduled to arrive in the evening before, we had avoided any unwanted welcoming committee that Rodriguez may have planned for us.

I'm Mike, my partner in crime is Tommy. He and I have known each other for years, shit long before we got fuzz above our dicks and knew what they were meant to do. Grew up in Hollywood, and went all through school together, now we are in college in San Diego, far enough from home to be really away, yet close enough to take the dirty laundry home on weekends.

We got into this unsavory business rather by accident. This school buddy has a big drug habit, and the supplier is an ass-hole, aren't they all. Anyway we had been doing some of the pick ups for our buddy, because he is an OK joe, even if he is fucked up most of the time, so much he can't even get his dick stiff any more.

That's OK, Tommy and me got each other for that shit, ya know? Anyway this ass-hole dealer makes us an offer, man, I mean fucking big time offer. All we had to do is smuggle money into Mexico from San Diego.

The plan was this; we cross over looking like a couple of college kids, which we are, going for a few days hiking and camping in Baja. In the backpacks is the money, over a fucking million in American cash. Man we thought about splitting, but the decided to be honest.

We bought an old clunker when we got across the boarder, that was a planed expense of a hundred, and gassed the thing up ad took off. It took us three days of solid driving, between breakdowns, to get to Rancho San Jose de Castro, a small fishing town on the west coast about half way down the Baja de California Peninsula.

Now we had our thoughts about the honesty of Rodriguez the bastard who we were working for, but in town we got the feeling we were about to become shark dinner on the boat he had arranged to get us back into the US.

We hitched back with an American fishing boat with a couple of older queens who had chartered the boat, and rode back to San Diego with them, doing what ever they liked, and they both were good cock-suckers.

We had half the forty thousand dollars we were suppose to get, and that was one reason we thought we might be shark bate, carrying that much cash, and the rest we would get in San Diego.

We called the man at the restaurant in Tijuana where Rodriguez hangs out, and arranged to meet him at four in the afternoon in the arcade at the main YMCA on Broadway in San Diego. This gave him time to gather some henchmen to go after the cash we were carrying, and gave us time to get rid of it.

We had gotten only a couple of blocks from the pier when Tommy spotted a used car lot and he made a bee line to the place and started to look at an old beat up Plymouth. A fat man with curled mustache came from the outhouse like shack in the back of the lot at once.

"Morning, you sailors looking for a good set of wheels?"

"Yea," Tom said winking at me, "just something to get us around."

"Something with a big back seat," I added.

"That's important for any young man ... heh, heh, heh...," he laughed, twirling his mustache. "You boys going to be stationed here?"

Peeking into the old car which looked like a rolling turd, Tommy said,

"Somewhere on the coast."

"Runs good."

The man said, glancing back at me,

"May not look like much but has a good engine in it."

"Is that the price, $750?" Tom asked.

"Well I could come down to $700 for you sailors," the man said.

"I'll give you $500 in cash, you change the license and shit with the DMV."

Tom got in and sat behind the wheel.

"Hey, I gave you a good deal at $700, what more do you want," the man protested.

"This is a piece of shit, man. The fucking seat is busted, it's got rust holes in the fenders big enough to put your dick through, and the rocker panels are gone, the chrome is pitted, shit it ain't even worth $400."

Tommy got out and slammed the door hard, the car shook, then he kicked the ties and walked around the car.

"The aerial is missing too...."

He was going to say more but the man interrupted.

"OK, $500 ... cash ... American..."

"And you take care of all the paper work."

"How am I going to make any money?" the man asked, looking pained.

"Fuck, you probably bought it from a junk yard for a hundred," Tommy scoffed. "We want to drive away now, get me the papers.... Pay the man Mike."

I shrugged and reached into my pocket and pulled a roll of hundred dollar bills out and pealed off five, the man's eyes bulged, then he scurried into the shack and returned with the papers and a license plate and screw driver and while Tommy filled in the information and signed, the man put the plates on.

"What guarantee is there," I meekly asked.

"Usually none, my cars don't need a guarantee, but for you boys I'll give you the special 24 hour return guarantee. If the back seat don't fuck like motel bed I'll take it back in the morning."

Tom was already inside with the motor running and I climbed in beside him. As we drove off the lot, Tommy said under his breath,

"Sooner than that, ass-hole!"

"I figure with luck we can get to the bank in LA and deposit this cash and get back here in time to get ass-hole to take the car back after we meet Rodriguez."

"I think it would be fun to play games with Senior Rodriguez the Mexican chicken cock-sucker."

"Yea I think we should so he knows we are on to his scheme, and he won't be so willing to try anything else again."

As Tom got onto the freeway headed north, I asked,

"Got any ideas?"

"Yea, when we get back we pull the old bag switch routine."

"The what?"

"We get two shopping bags from somewhere, then we put something heavy in one, and nothing in the other. We stash our suitcase at home and carry an empty one. Before we meet with Rodriguez we stash a shopping bag and the empty suit cases in a locker, letting him see us do it if he's watching, then after we meet with him, we put the cash he's going to give us in the second shopping bag, and go to the locker and play around with both bags, he won't know which one has the money and which one doesn't. If he is the bastard we think he is, he will send someone after us to either get the locker key or the shopping bag, which has the money. So if he is trying to fuck us over, we lead his henchmen into a trap somewhere and kill the muther-fuckers."

"And get back home and forget about the empty bags in the locker, but Rodriguez won't know they were empty, and he will be fretting about them."

"First we give this pile of junk back to Happy Harry's Motors."

"The fat man is going to be very unhappy."

"Tough shit."

We drove on without any troubles, got to the bank and made the deposit, stopped at the apartment and dropped off the bags. Then we stopped at a Desert Industries Thrift store and picked up two old suitcases, Rodriguez had no idea what we were carrying, and also stopped at a Broadway and got two department store shopping bags and were off to San Diego within an hour, so we were back there at three thirty, parking in front of the 'Y'.

As Tom backed into the parking place, I said,

"There are some good looking guys here, aren't there."

"Sure are ... I must confess once I raped a sailor on the tenth floor. We fucked all night -- man it was fun."

Tommy smiled. I was skeptical --

"Raped -- and then you did it all night?"

"Sure -- he said after my dick got in him he found his true self."

"You should be studying creative writing instead of accounting."

I laughed.

There was a dark haired sailor leaning against the building with a large piece of dick hanging down the leg of his crisp whites.

As we got out of the car, I said,

"Hello sailor...."

"Mike, he's the type who will beat the living shit out of you," Tom warned.

"You're probably right. Well lets get inside and do the dirty deed."

Leading the way, Tommy said,

"Remember carry the suit cases like they are full."

"Gotcha."

The San Diego YMCA has a large number of stores on the main level and the entrance is actually on the second floor. There is a separate entrance which leads to a staircase up to the 'Y' lobby.

There is a hallway which leads to an arcade that stretches across the back of the building. There are several sets of lockers and two tattoo parlors, a liquor store, three fast food restaurants, a game room, and souvenir stand.

All about there was a menagerie of people, mostly men, young men, lounging about looking delectable. Never mind the fact that Tom is one good looking fucker, and there are guys who would kill just to see his dick, let alone taste it, but we both still look.

Most of these guys, I would guess, would be opposed to having sex with a guy, but that has never stopped me in the past. As I looked over the crowd I spotted several who stood out as hustlers, mixed in with the sailors and others to attract the old queens willing to pay who were milling about checking crotches and asses.

There were also other gays here cruising, looking for a lonely sailor who would trade a blow-job for a meal and some companionship. Several of them looked good too. I was sure Tommy was looking with lustful thoughts dancing through his head too.

We selected a locker and pushed the bags inside, and I kept the folded empty shopping bag, the other one was filled with sand from a butt urn we found on the street in Oceanside where we stopped to eat lunch.

We were to meet in front of Frenchy's Tattoos at four, we waited there for Rodriguez to show.

Looking at the designs on the window and at the blond boy getting an eagle punched into the skin on his bulging biceps, I said,

"I've been thinking."

"That's always dangerous for someone, especially a fag like you," Tom said with a smile.

"Yea, me this time. I think I'll get a tattoo on my butt. I'm not sure what the design should be, but it would say 'property of Tommy Brown', just to let everyone know I am taken."

"That might fuck up some of your screwing around in the locker room."

"No, I'll just wear undershorts until the lights are off."

"Then who's going to get the message."

"They will see it after, then they can find out who owns that piece of real estate camping on, or in."

"Real Estate?" Tom asked.

"Yea, my butt's had enough erections on it to be a city block."

"Oh ... in that case it's had enough erections on it be a fucking city."

"Don't get nasty just because you're the butch of this pair, I can take your butt any time I want it."

"That's only because I let you take it shorty."

"Shit, there you go again, picking on me just because you got a bigger dick, and are a few fucking inches taller."

"Hush, isn't that Rodriguez talking to that blond over by the men's room entrance?"

Watching the clandestine conversation across the wide room, I said,

"I do believe you're right. That kid's going to be fun to kill ... I hope he sticks his nose in our business."

Tommy nudged me,

"I bet he's getting his instructions right now. Lets go over and break it up."

We crossed the busy room and Rodriguez saw us coming and sent the blond away right off. We sauntered about after the blond left and browsed our way over to the fidgeting man.

"Good afternoon gentlemen," he cheerily greeted us.

"Got the cash?" Tommy asked, crisply.

"Of course. You would doubt me? Think that I might be doing something underhanded?"

Rodriguez sounded wounded.

"Of course not, I just have an itch to get on with this!" Tom snapped.

Looking over at the blond loitering near the hallway to the street, I asked,

"That hustler you were talking to was a bit old for you, wasn't he? I thought the boys you went after didn't have fuzz above their dicks yet."

"Actually he was trying to sell his butt to me." Rodriguez apologized.

"We aren't here to talk about hustlers, we got to be on our way,' Tommy said, all business.

"I have it right here in this Taco Bell bag," the man said.

He was beaming at his ingenuity with the bag. Reaching out for the bag, then dropping it into the Broadway shopping bag, I said,

"How nice of you to have bought us lunch."

Letting go the bag, Rodriguez said,

"Don't eat it all in one place. You call me at the restaurant, say you are Pablo Smith, then we can arrange for another trip."

"Very good." Tommy said. "No chicken today?"

"He's over there in the game room playing a pin ball machine, the slender one with the brown hair and no shirt ... you're rich enough now, even you can afford him."

We looked at the youth, about 12 or so, round little butt, slander body, his butt twitching, putting English on each strike of a flipper. He was a very cute boy, but there are hundreds of them at the boarder crossings just waiting to sell their butts to rich Americans for a couple of bucks.

"But when you're young, good looking, and hung like we are you don't need to pay," I said, starting away.

"You should really teach you friend some manners if you are going to continue to deal with people of the caliber in this deal," Rodriguez said to Tommy, like an old maid school teacher. "You have manners and show proper breeding."

He smiled.

We left and went to the locker.

"Now we play the game," Tommy said.

He pulled the duplicate shopping bag from the locker, and we exchanged bags a couple of times, then took the Taco Bell bag from the shopping bag I had held and put it in the one from the locker, then we set both bags down, and then turned the suitcases about and placed both shopping in the locker, then took the one with the money in it out and locked the locker and left.

"That sure should confuse him, I'm not sure which bag is which now," I said as we went outside.

Indicating the blond boy Rodriguez was talking to, Tommy said,

"Yea, that's good, there he is, talking to some hustler."

"Well what kind of chase do we lead him on?" I asked.

"Let's fuck him over real good." Tommy said approaching the car. "You try to start it -- pump a lot of gas in before turning it over to flood it, then I'll look under the hood. Blondie should break away from the hustler when he thinks we are going to drive off, then when we don't they might signal each other, a sure bet they both work for Rodriguez. While I am under the hood keep an eye on Blondie."

"Oh Bruce Wayne, you are so fucking smart, no wonder you're Batman." I said as we got to the car.

"Don't be a smart-ass Robin, or you won't get the bat-cock up your bat-hole tonight," Tom said.

I chuckled as I got in and pumped the gas,

"I'd sure hate to see the bat-cock if this is the bat-mobile."

The blond and dark haired guy separated and the blond approached a motorcycle parked on the sidewalk next to the YMCA building. I pumped more gas into the engine, tried to start it, of course nothing happened.

I tried several times, and then Tom got out and lifted the hood and tinkered about. I watched the Blond straddling the bike, his crotch a nice lump, actually he was rather physically inviting.

I watched, he was nodding to someone, and I strained about in the seat and sure enough the dark haired guy was sitting on a bus bench across the street, his legs stretched out also showing a large basket.

I suppose that Rodriguez wouldn't hire anyone who didn't have a big cock, and let him suck on it, even if they are straight. Both guys looked armed, they had bulges on their jackets, and they looked like they could take care of themselves in a dark alley.

Tom continued to tinker and the blond looked about not trying to be watching us too much, but he was looking at the car, and sitting on the bike and not going anywhere was rather obvious I thought. Tom dropped the hood and came about to the drivers side.

I slid across the street and he started the car. I briefed him on what I had seen, he agreed that they both were working for Rodriguez and we should split them up, and since the brown haired guy didn't seem to have wheels that should be easy.

We drove along headed for Happy Harry's Used Cars to return the heap, and I watched, sure enough the blond was behind us, but with the brown haired guy on the back of the bike.

"Lets see how fast they split up when we pull into the used car lot," Tom said with a smirk.

"Lets see how fast Happy Harry returns our cash," I said.

Turning into the lot, Tom said,

"That's what you've got the Glock-19 in your pocket for."

The bike went on past and pulled over to the curb, the boys got off and went separate ways, the blond went across the street to the McDonald's. Harry came out all smiles, until he saw it was us.

"It's a piece of shit, man," Tommy greeted the man.

"Well I never said it ran like new."

Harry started to back toward the office.

"Listen man," I started, "the fuckin' seats won't lay back, how the hell am I suppose to fuck? You said the car was great for that."

Entering the doorway, Tommy right behind, Harry said,

"You got a whole back seat."

"What are we suppose to do -- dog fuck over the seat?" Tom asked.

I joined them in the office.

"We want the $500 back, and want it now," I said.

"I deposited it," Harry said. "I'll send you a check."

"Bull-shit man," Tommy roared.

I had forgotten how impressive he can be when he speaks up.

"The God Damned money is right here in your pants."

Trying to salvage something on the deal, Harry said,

"I filed the paper work and so the deal has to be undone -- that will cost a service charge."

Tom pushed the man down to his desk, and pointed to the paperwork sitting on the corner.

"What the fuck is that?"

"I forgot, I thought I did."

Harry said realizing he was no match for two young guys. I pulled the gun out and pointed it at his face, he opened his mouth to say something and I shoved the barrel in.

"Now while I take these papers," Tom said, "you fish those five hundred dollar bills out! Hear, you used car bastard?"

Harry said nothing, he was grumbling under his breath as he fished the money out and handed it to me. Tom checked to see if he had all the papers, then he tossed the keys and the car's registration on the desk.

"Fine Harry," Tom smiled. "Guess you are an honest businessman after all."

"Gee, it's sure nice to do business with someone you can trust."

I giggled as we left.

"What'd you guys do, hold up a bank this afternoon, and need a getaway car?" Harry ruefully asked.

"Watch the ten o'clock news and see -- we had a sign in the dash, 'Get-away car by Happy Harry's motors' and we won't charge for the plug," I said.

We crossed the street and went into the McDonald's to get some dinner, the blond almost shit as we entered, surely thinking we had discovered who he was, but we ignored him.

While we ate, the blond fidgeted, eyed the folded shopping bag, figuring it had the money, but not sure about what we had left in the locker.

The brown haired guy walked by a couple of times, but made no effort to come in. After a while we decided he was walking around the block, and we timed how long it took.

Just before his next arrival we got fresh coffee's and that sent the blond up for more. Then as soon as the brown haired young man was out of sight, we got up and left, and started walking toward an industrial part of town, planning to attack the blond there.

"Hey man," I said, spotting a sign ahead, "the Baths -- why not take in the tubs and really get blondie going."

"If he is really straight, he'll just shit having to follow us. And what better place for a straight guy to die than a queer bath house."

"Holy dildo Batman, that's one great idea."

We quickly crossed the street and entered the building, a grey cinder-block building two stories high. The young guy at the desk, wearing only a towel, folded very short so his circumcised cock-head was showing, let us in without paying the membership fee. I wondered if blondie would get in without too.

The main floor was mostly rooms, and a few lockers, we got a room and a locker, but both went to the room. There was a downstairs which had a small gym and a large pool, and a steam room, on the second floor there was a movie room which could produce an orgy, a dormitory, which also could produce an orgy, and a sauna, very small, for very small orgies.

We quickly toured the place and in the tour we spotted the blond, looking rather sheepish walking about with the towel wrapped about his waist hanging full length, rather than folded over like most of the young guys wear them.

The constant disco music was especially loud in this place, a definite plus when one has murder on the mind. We decided to go for broke right off, and we went back to the second floor sauna.

Tom went in and sat down, dropped his towel and began to play with himself. I pulled myself up over the door and braced myself on the top of the doorway and ceiling waiting to drop on the blond as he entered.

"He's looking in through the door window," Tom said, then laughed. "He looks fucking scared -- a big brawny man like that scared of us fairies."

"He's scared if someone attacks his ass he might like it."

I chuckled then braced as I heard the door handle turn.

The blond stepped in, looking about the room with suspicion for he knew the two of us had been together and now he could not find me.

Stroking his near fourteen inch prick, Tom asked,

"Hi, you looking for a big cock?"

"No ... I, a ... I'm looking ... a...," the blond stammered.

"You want to get blowed? Come on over -- I'm a good cock-sucker. What about you?" Tom asked, continuing to stroke his meat.

The man closed the door, I dropped on him, my right arm about his neck, landing with full weight on his shoulders, he went over and I was on top, quickly twisting his arms behind him, and lifting him in the air, showing my strength. He gasped in pain and fright.

Ripping the towel off from about the young man's hips, and placing it over the door, then lifting a board from the bench over the heating pipe and wedging it against the door knob, Tom said,

"Welcome to the tubs man."

I turned the blond about and now he was standing facing Tommy, I pulled his arms back so the elbows touched, he winced and grunted in pain, his large bicepses bulging as he strained against me, but he knew I had superior strength.

Tommy began to punch the guy's belly, as he did, he spoke.

"OK ass-hole ... you're going to be a message to Rodriguez not to fuck with us."

The kid 'ooofed' loudly, then shook his head.

"No ... No more, man you got the wrong guy ... I don't know no Spic named Rodriguez ... stop man!"

"Lying bastard ... I'll start on your face next," Tom snarled.

He sent a punch to the navel that almost doubled us both over.

"Get him in the nuts, Tom," I said.

Tommy didn't need any prompting -- his fist pounded down on the blond curly dick fur, then up under the ball-sack lifting the guy up. He gasped and wailed loudly, the loud music drowning out the scream of pain.

"Now ass-hole ... how many more are watching?" Tom demanded.

I dropped the arms and the young man slid to the floor vomiting and clutching his crotch groaning in extreme agony.

I squatted down and took his neck in a wrestling hold, wrapping my elbow across his Adam's apple, Tommy lifted the guys hips and placed his cock-head against the virgin ass-hole.

"He asked you a question, man. Don't you understand?"

I grabbed the long hair and yanked his head back, looking into his fearful, tear filled blue eyes.

"You answer and answer God damned fast or he's going to shove his ungreased cock all the way in -- and he's got fourteen inches of hot, ready to fuck man-dick."

"No!, No one else, just me alone, you guys got it all wrong...."

Grabbing my left wrist to apply more leverage to the near strangle hold I had, I shouted,

"Fuck 'im Tom."

The boy reared his head back and screamed, spraying spit over me as Tommy rammed his boner all the way in. The strong muscles responded to the sharp pain by convulsing, his back arched and his arms reached for the offending cock.

Tom grabbed the wrists and bent the youth's arms back and I closed his throat with my elbow as Tommy took some deep long strokes screwing to hurt not for pleasure, yet hurting this guy in any way was pleasure.

Tommy pulled out, his cock making a loud popping noise and I dropped his neck, he fell face down to the floor smashing his mouth on the wood floor breaking off two teeth and bending his nose so when he looked up he was bleeding.

"Want to change that wrong answer?" I asked.

"Ok ... let me go.... OK ... there is another guy ... don't tell Rodriguez, please, he'll kill me."

"Who else beside the brown haired kid with the long cock," Tommy demanded.

"There are others who do odd jobs for Rodriguez, Benny and me we just collect money, that's all, we collect protection money from some business down in San Yusidro, I honestly don't know the others ... please, oh God please don't stick me again ... I'm a virgin ... I'm straight."

"You ain't a virgin no more," I said.

Shoving his prick inside the guy's butt-hole again, Tom said,

"I don't really believe you, you God Damned bastard."

He screamed once more, saliva drooling from his wide open mouth, his back arching high, his arms and legs shaking as he knelt doggy style with Tommy fucking him hard.

"Pull out Tommy, don't fuckin' ruin the guy," I said, beginning a game of good fag, bad fag. "If you rip his ass-hole too much he won't be able to walk -- let alone pretend to be a virgin."

Tommy yanked out again, his cock making a louder sucking noise and a pop as it exited the anus, the kid screamed at the exit too, making me think the suction created by Tommy's cock pulling out had yanked the intestines loose.

The youth bent his head down,

"Oh God in Heaven please believe me, I don't fuckin' know who the others are, only Benny."

"The next question is what is Benny going to do while you're in here playing with the fairies." I asked.

Tommy rubbed his cock against the ass-crack in a menacing way.

"He's suppose to wait outside for you to go out, then follow you and if I'm not with you, or before you. He's to pull a gun and we take the shopping bag, and the locker key."

"I don't believe you," Tom said, shoving in once more.

The kid reared his head back, making his neck stick out, the Adam's apple vibrating with his scream.

"Tommy, your dick-head is poking his navel out, take it easy," I said.

Tommy yanked out creating another strong suction on the boy's guts, he gasped and fell forward sobbing.

"Oh sweet Jesus please believe me ... oh please...."

I caressed his neck with my fingers, then helped him roll over, Tommy had stood, now the blond was laying on his back, legs bent slightly, hands clutching his nuts, forgetting he had a stiff cock for some reason and he didn't try to hide that.

Caressing the neck softly, feeling the boy swallowing, feeling the Adams apple move with each sob, feeling the throat flex as he swallowed, I said,

"Ok ... it's OK."

"Please don't tell Rodriguez about this, don't tell him I ratted on the others, please, he'll fuckin' kill me if he finds out, all you got to do is go out the back way and you will avoid Benny, Rodriguez will be pissed off ... but he won't know the difference."

"Gee I don't know, what do you think, Tommy?" I asked.

"He's just a kid, our age but with no experience, maybe we should let him go, or at least tie him up so he has the embarrassment of being left here ... you got a girlfriend stud?" Tom asked.

"Yea, why ... you guys ain't bi-sexual? You don't want to fuck her too?"

"Oh shit no man. I'll never stick a God Damned cunt," I said.

"I was just thinking," Tommy said with a devilish grin, "we could call up your girl friend and tell her where you are ... that would be funny for us."

"Yea, real funny," I laughed.

The youth looked at me, then Tommy, he cried some more.

"Please, oh please ... I been on the fucking streets since I was fifteen, been selling my cock, then when I almost got raped too many times I started selling drugs, it's safer to keep your ass ... I got a girl, almost married ... I make good money muscling for Rodriguez, the first time in my life I got something ... shit man I'm only eighteen, I just got to make it now ... please don't leave me here for her to find ... oh please."

"Your story has touched my heart," I said.

Grabbing the youth's ankles and lifting them up in the air and squatting between the legs his boner pointing ominously at the bleeding ass-hole, Tommy said,

"But not my cock."

Grabbing his neck in my hands, but not squeezing, I said,

"And it didn't do anything to stop my lust for killing blonds."

"Oh shit no!" the kid cried out.

"You were dead meat when you started following us," Tommy said.

Closing the grip so I could feel each desperate gulp the blond made, I said,

"Yea, we don't fuck around with guys like you, we just fuck them, and kill them"

I clamped down harder with my hands as Tommy rammed his cock deep in the hole and rolled the kid up onto his shoulders and grabbed his wrists, ramming his cock deep in the twisting hips, my hands closed the throat so the boy made a deep gagging sound.

"We going all the way this time batman?" I asked.

"Holy jutting tongue, Robin, I do believe we are," Tommy said.

He rammed so hard the kid's body moved on the floor.

I pressed my thumbs down along the sides of his muscular neck, closing the blood vessels which were throbbing and bulging along the strained muscles.

There was a pleading look in the boy's eyes as I closed his wind pipe forever, closing off all air going in and out of his lungs. His well developed chest heaved and bucked as he tried to exchange the air inside, the pink nipples standing tall from wide brown areolas, his cock too stood hard dripping pre-cum, this kid was frightened and sexually excited, just the way I like a boy to die.

Tommy was plowing his hips fore and back, I suspect his giant cock was leaving the ass-hole with each stoke and he was bending the sphincter inside each time he entered.

I continued to press down, listening to the wonderful gagging sounds the blond was making, his tongue jutting high, curling at the end, his hands batting wildly at us, but not doing any damage, his toes curled as he quivered from the pain at his neck and in his ass-hole.

The skin about his face was turning dark purple, the eyes rolled back, then about, into focus, then his body shook wildly, scum spurted from his fat cock-head, long strings of jizz flew across his heaving chest.

I continued to hold, his face now black, the white teeth biting down on the tongue, the lips also dark colored, the fair skin on the shoulders was blue flecked, the deep gurgles from within his chest spurred me on.

Tom gasped, he too was ejaculating, I held the grip, knowing I was going to get his dead ass. I held tightly, the youth was almost dead, his face twisted like dark grooved rock, the tongue bleeding where the clamped teeth had cut into it, his whole body now having a blue tint, and the wonderful dark bruises about his neck where my fingers had bent the skin deeply all added to my sexual pleasure.

Tommy pulled out, his cock dripping still but no longer pulsating, we kissed, then I dropped the neck, the boy laid still, not moving, his body slowly folding over, the legs extending, the arms laying flat on the floor.

I grabbed an ankle and pulled his hips even higher off the floor and I mounted him, shoving my prick into his ass-hole which was hot and wet from the bloody fucking and Tommy's cum.

My nuts rested on the boy's balls as I rammed inside the hot hole, and moved only once as my load exploded into the hot chamber. Tommy's lips closed over my mouth and we exchanged spit in a long kiss as my cock expelled cum to join Tommy's in the rectum.

"I'm going to be sure," I said.

I knelt on the youth's chest and taking the head by the ears and turning it about until we heard the sharp cracking sound as his neck was broken.

"Here's the ideal spot," Tommy said.

He indicated the hole under the seat where the pipes with hot steam flowed through the sauna.

"Holy roasted rat, batman, he ought to be cooked real good before anyone finds him," I said.

We lifted the boy up and wedged his body in the hole where the board that was blocking the door had been removed. When he was all in, straddling the pipe, already his flesh sizzling as it burned from the steam filled hot pipe.

We replaced the board, and armed with his key and leaving his towel, we went to his locker and took his identification, and money, then I felt about and found a gun, a loaded 0.45 calibre Smith and Wesson, automatic pistol.

"This will make one big fucking hole in Benny," I said.

"Yea, it's appropriate to use it on him too," Tommy said. "Lets take a shower, and then get on to the train station, we can get the 11:00 pm train to LA and home."

"Sounds good."

We showered and dressed, there were a couple of good looking guys in there, I sort of wished Tommy wasn't there, you know they had big cocks and looked at my butt in a longing way, and I sure wanted them up my ass-hole, but in the long run there will always be a another big cock for my ass-hole, but never another Tommy.

We left and sure enough Benny was across the street. We headed in back of the McDonald's which was closed by now and when we got in the dark area by the back door, I pulled the gun out and we waited only a second and Benny appeared.

"Hand over the gun Benny," Tommy snarled.

I held the gun next to the frightened young man's face.

Trembling as Tommy eased a revolver from Benny's hip pocket, he said,

"What you guys want?"

"Why you following us in back of the place," I asked.

"Maybe he's like blondie and wants to suck our dicks," Tommy laughed.

Pushing the gun's nozzle into the youth's lips, I said,

"I hope he does a better job."

"Please...," the boy asked, "What you done with Bobby?"

"Killed him ass-hole," I said. "Just what I'm going to do to you ... that's two messages to Rodriguez not to fuck around with us."

His voice almost a sob, Benny said,

"Please no ... take the gun ... I mean you no harm."

Then I heard a fart as he shit himself, he was so scared.

I fired one shot which was very loud and the boy's head disintegrated -- turned into a red, iron-smelling mist -- as his body fell away.

Luckily neither Tommy or I got splattered.

As we ran out the back entrance to the parking lot we dumped the guns into McDonald's dumpster, and we went on down the street for three blocks until we saw the train station, then we walked.

"Shit man, I didn't realize it was going to blow him apart like that," I said.

"You said yourself it was going to make a fucking big hole ... you do have some blood on your fingers, go to the men's room and wash up while I buy the tickets," Tom said as we entered the cavernous Spanish style station.

It had been an interesting way to spend spring break, and we had made forty thousand dollars, even got our dicks sucked off for two days on a fishing boat.

The best thing was the next time we got drugs for our buddy, Rodriguez didn't say a thing to us, the fucker didn't dare. Of course we never offered to do his mule work again either, for sure if we were to go down Baja he'd have a fucking army waiting for us.

We got forty thousand, no need to be greedy. For us it was a good deal, for Rodriguez it sure was a bad deal, and even worse for Benny and Bobby.

 


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click on photo to go back







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