Snips and Snails
"No, man, I can cover it."
Ian nods, eyes averted as Donny pulls out a wad of cash, begins counting off
twenties. Ian's grateful, sure, but sometimes being the poor friend of a rich
kid really sucks. He shifts from foot to foot, nervous, as the dark man hands
the baggie over, disappears into the night.
"Come on, let's go." Donny motions Ian to his BMW, climbs in, laughing as he
pulls his door closed. "Par-taaaay!" At 16, Donny Brenfield is the
quintessential rich bad-boy. Unsupervised, undisciplined, immature with an
expense account. He adores Ian, though-Ian McBride, his younger, calmer,
smarter, and much, much poorer friend. It's Ian who keeps him out of bad
trouble, Ian who makes sure he gets home, carries his classload for him, keeps
him from fucking up and flunking out. He'd do just about anything for Ian, even
if his dad does say that the poor boy is nothing more than a money grubber, a
hanger-on. Pulling sharply away from the curb, Donny shakes the thoughts from
his head. "Roll me up a fat one, Bluntman!" He giggles, brushes his sandy hair
from his blue eyes as they both begin laughing loudly-Ian always cracks up when
Donny says that.
Ian opens the bag, shakes out leaf into the folded paper, his fingers working
magic. It's one of his great talents-he can roll up a joint in seconds flat.
Tight, hard, even burning. He puts torch to the blunt, takes a deep toke before
passing it over. Donny takes a matching drag, his eyes never leaving the road
as his eyes water, lungs hitch. The boys laugh, driving toward the lake to meet
the girls, share the wealth, get a little tail for their trouble.
Marton Kiris pulls out slowly, his rented Ryder truck lumbering a block behind
Donny's Beamer. He flips open his cell, pushes a number, waits. "Yeah, I'm on
him, give me five." Clicking the phone shut, he drops it on the seat, crushes
out his cigarette. He pulls on his dark gloves, slides the ski mask down over
his face as he hits the gas, speeds up to approach the dark blue BMW.
"What the-" Donny's exclamation is cut short as the bright headlights disappear
behind the trunk, the large truck slamming into the rear bumper. The Beamer
swerves crazily as Donny struggles to maintain control. Another impact, Ian's
head slams against the dash, a single, dark red rivulet running down his face.
"Fuck, FUCK!" Donny screams, his foot instinctively hitting the brake, the
smell of burning rubber and scorched brake pads filling the car as once again
the truck slams into them, pushing them inexorably from the road, into the low
ditch at the shoulder. The airbags deploy with a deafening WHUMP, steam rising
from the twisted front end as the truck stops hard behind them. Donny groans,
pushes the deflating bag away from his face as his door is jerked open.
"Wh-wha-" strong hands grab him, yanking him from his totaled car, slamming him
to the murky water. He struggles weakly, still stunned, stoned, confused. His
hands are wrenched up behind him, taped securely, another hank of tape slapped
over his mouth before he can protest. The rough hands drop him into the cold,
slimy water, squirming helplessly as he watches the heavy boots ascend the bank
of the ditch.
Ian moans, his hands pushing the airbag away, then clasping his head. He pulls
back, looks at the blood on his hands. He draws a shuddering breath, looks to
the driver's seat. "D-Donny? Awww, fuck, Donny, dude?" He pushes his door
open, steps out, his feet sliding on the muddy slope. He twists instinctively,
grabbing at the weedy, slick ground as he slips, falls. He looks up-boots. His
eyes travel up-legs, then broad chest, strong arms. "C-can you help me?" He
grunts as one of the boots catches him under the jaw, sends him tumbling into
the icy water.
Marton springs down the ditch bank, grabbing Ian's dark hair, plunging the boy's
head under the filthy water, his other hand grabbing a flailing wrist, dragging
it roughly to the boy's back. He grinds a knee into Ian's back, holding him
under the water as he clasps the boy's other wrist, wrenches it back. Working
quickly, he winds the tape around and around, securing the straining hands
behind. He smiles at the boy's frantic bucking, thrashing, his cock stiffening
as Ian's well-muscled form twists violently under him. He rises, drags Ian to
the bank, shoving him down hard as he begins winding the tape around Ian's face,
covering his mouth. Ian gags, gasps, mucky water spewing from his nose as he
struggles weakly. Marton leans over the boy, his rigid cock straining against
the fly of his jeans as he grinds obscenely against Ian's squirming ass. Ian's
blue eyes are wide, stunned, tears brimming as he writhes helplessly.
Donny moans, his eyes peering into the total darkness of the back of the truck.
Ian is hurt, he saw the blood, the dazed expression on his friend's face as he
was dragged across the pavement, hefted into the back of the truck. His legs
have been lashed together, as have Ian's. He listens for Ian, his mind
racing-kidnapped. He tries to tells himself to stay calm, that his dad will
just pay and they'll be released. He shakes his head-he saw the man grabbing at
Ian, groping, laughing as the boy whined, squirmed. This may be a ransom
situation, but he fears that it will be something far more terrible than
anything he ever imagined.
Marton drives carefully, adhering to the speed limit, obeying all traffic
devices, his dark hair mussed from the mask. He lifts his phone, dials before
pulling away from the stop sign. "Got him-but he had a friend with him. No,
no, male. I doubt it-kid's not dressed like he's worth much. Yeah, I suppose.
Okay, see you soon." He clicks the phone shut, smiles, his hand moving to his
crotch, thumb stroking his still stiff cock through his jeans. He hopes the kid
isn't rich-if he is, they'll just ransom him, too. But if he's not . . . "If
you're just some trailer trash punk, your ass is mine, I'll fuck you 'til you
die." Marton flicks on the turn signal, swings smoothly onto the dirt road, his
hand moving more urgently along the seam of his pants.
Ian groans low, his head throbbing as he tests his bonds in the darkness of the
truck's cargo area. Tears brim as he thinks of the way the man touched him,
ground his crotch against him. At 15, Ian looks older than he is-dark, thick
hair, blue eyes, pale skin. "Dirty Irish," his mom used to say. His body is
toned, fit, muscular thanks to a penchant for football and unlimited use of the
school gym. He's a serious boy most of the time, but perhaps not as strong, as
mature as his looks and demeanor would make it seem. He takes a ragged breath,
tells himself not to cry. The road turns rough, jouncing him on the cold steel
floor as he squeezes his eyes shut, no longer able to bear the deep blackness
around him.
Steve stands at the door of the beaten up mobile home, his eyes following the
pale headlights in the distance. He curses, presses a button on his cell.
"That you? Turn off the headlights, you stupid fuck." He turns off his phone,
slides it back in its holster, sits on the rough stairs. For months he's
planned this-ever since he hired on as a handyman at the Brenfield estate in
early June. Only an entertaining thought then, it became a serious plan after
the brat's old man fired him in August. He smiles, considering-he should thank
the old man. This payoff will certainly beat anything he could have earned
pounding nails or repairing cracked pool tiles. He rises as the truck
approaches, his smile widening.
"Who the fuck are you?" Steve grinds his knee into Ian's neck, pinning the boy
to the dirty floor of the trailer. "Who's your father, any money? Answer me,
you fucking brat!"
Ian moans, his mouth free of the tape, his eyes squinting in the light of the
trailer. "I-I-my name is Ian McBride . . ."
"WHERE DO YOU LIVE?"
"T-twelve-fifteen Tillitson . . ." Ian's voice is tight, labored, his eyes
blinking hard, trying to stave off the threatening tears.
"Tillitson? Oh, fuck," Steve rises, turns to Donny, "slumming, huh? Tell me,
what does a rich punk like you need with some trailer-trash kid?" He leans,
yanks the tape off Donny's mouth. "Well? Anything special I should know, does
he have a fucking trust fund or something?" He laughs harshly, staring
pointedly at Ian.
"P-please, my dad will pay, he will, he'll pay for Ian, too." Donny's voice
cracks, his lips trembling as he chews them nervously.
"No, no, your daddy won't pay for him-because anything we ask for him, we could
ask for you." Steve shakes his head, rolls his eyes. "You get me? He's
worthless, because your old man won't give us anything for him we couldn't make
him give us for you." He turns to Marton, notes the man's heavy stare, hungry
smile. "Looks like you got yourself a bonus, Marton."
Marton grabs Ian, smiling thinly as the boy begins to thrash violently in his
grasp. He jerks the tightly bound boy back against him, squeezing him tightly
around the chest, constricting the air from his lungs. His hips grind obscenely
against Ian's ass, his head dipping, licking, then biting his neck. Ian moans
breathlessly, tears brimming, then flowing down his pale cheeks.
"N-no, NO, Goddamn you fucking shit, leave him alone!" Donny's voice is shrill,
thick with tears as he watches the man crush Ian to the filthy floor, hips
grinding, thrusting as he laughs cruelly. "Please, PLEASE don't, please!"
Donny dissolves into sobs, his hands clenching behind him, eyes locked on the
terrible scene unfolding before him.
Ian thrashes violently as Marton's hands claw their way under him, yanking at
his buttons. Marton laughs, moans in anticipation as he works the boys pants
down over his squirming ass, pushes them down to his thighs. One hand planted
between Ian's shoulder blades, he opens his jeans with his other hand, pulls his
huge, rigid cock out. He smiles broadly, guiding his tool to the boy's
clenching rectum, pushing relentlessly. Ian screams high, thin, his hips
bucking, mouth hanging open wide as he sobs, shrieks. Marton thrusts hard,
tearing the tender flesh as he buries his full length in the screaming boy's
virgin hole. Moaning loudly, he lowers himself completely, his weight pinning
the boy as he begins pumping in earnest.
Steve smiles, shakes his head in amusement as he crouches before Donny. Donny's
eyes are wide, horrified, tears streaming down his face. "We're going to call
your daddy now, tell him how much you're worth." Dialing, he grins, follows
Donny's stricken gaze. "Oh, don't be sad-be glad, it could be you."
Ian whines, grunts with each ripping stroke, his belly cramping as his bound
legs thrum helplessly on the filthy floor. His face open, pale, eyes staring
wide in pain, terror. His hips squirm, writhe under the onslaught as he sobs
thickly, taped hands clenching between their bodies. He squeals as Marton bites
the bites his tense neck hard, sucking the blood from the wounds as he pumps
viciously. A deep, satisfied moan fills his ears as the thick cock in his
bleeding ass swells, begins to jerk deep inside him, spitting forth thick, hot
cum. He sobs, sharp, barking cries as his attacker's thrusts become uneven,
jerking, fucking the spunk deep into Ian's battered bowels.
"D-dad? Dad, p-please, please daddy---"
Steve jerks the phone from Donny's sobbing face, turns to watch as Marton lies
heavily on Ian, panting, his hips still moving slowly. "One million, Mr.
Brenfield. You have 3 days. Call the cops or the FBI and your brat dies after
we fuck on him for a while. Shut up-wait for a call tomorrow." He clicks the
cell shut, looks hard at Donny. "Stop your bawling, what, you jealous? Don't
want anyone else riding your girlfriend?" He turns, "Hey, get the bitch over
here, her boyfriend's jealous!" He laughs harshly as Marton pulls out of Ian's
bruised, bloody ass, rises to drag the boy over.
Ian drags his head up, his red, tear filled eyes glassy with shock, his thighs
slick with pink-tinged cum. He moans, his wounded head throbbing, ass ringing
with pain as Marton slams him to his knees before Donny. His eyes meet Donny's,
then slide away, shame burning in his otherwise pale cheeks. He whimpers,
begins shaking his head sickly as Steve reaches down, unbuttons Donny's jeans.
"Mmmnoo, n-n-no, p-please . . ." He begins sobbing deeply, Marton's hands like
iron on his shoulders, holding him in place.
Steve laughs, pulling Donny's limp cock from his jeans. Donny's eyes are wide
with comprehension, he shakes his head violently, new tears spilling down his
fresh, handsome face. Steve nods at Marton, motioning him to bring Ian in
closer, force his face to Donny's crotch.
"No, NO, oh, God, please don't, please don't . .. " Donny writhes, his body
trapped against the hard, peeling paneling of the dilapidated trailer, his cock
held firm in Steve's calloused hand. He moans, sobbing harshly as Ian's soft
lips make contact. He stares down at Ian's drawn face, his blue eyes gone dark
with pain and horror. Marton grinds his thumb and forefinger into Ian's face,
forcing his mouth open. With a satisfied grunt, Marton shoves Ian's head
forward, laughing as the trembling boy's mouth envelopes his friend's flaccid
cock. The men crouch, Marton slamming Ian's head back and forth as Steve keeps
a solid grasp on Donny's slowly stiffening rod. The men laugh as Donny closes
his eyes, moans thickly at the warm wet of his best friend's trapped open mouth,
his chest hitching as he sobs at his own body's betrayal.
Ian whines, a soft, hoarse sound, tears flowing as his face is pushed forward
again and again. His whines turn to sick gagging, pathetic whimpers as Donny's
tool grows in his mouth, pressing against the back of his throat with every
cruel thrust of his head. He squeezes his eyes shut, moaning, choking, then
thrashing weakly as his head is forced all the way down, his nose buried in soft
curls as his friend's cock pushes relentlessly into his protesting throat. His
large hands clench helplessly behind him as his throat works desperately,
milking Donny's cock. His jaw aches, lips stretched wide over the thick shaft
as he feels it swell in his throat, begin jerking. He retches sickly, gagging
on the sour cum, his throat gulping again and again as his belly pulls up tight
in protest.
Donny moans, then screams as his cock explodes in Ian's trapped face. His hips
buck violently, the frantic working of his friend's tortured throat sending
intense chills up his back, down his legs. He thrusts stupidly as his tool
spasms over and over, sending waves of hot, thick seed down Ian's throat. He
sobs hard, eyes locked on Ian's face as cum bubbles from the boy's nose,
trickles from the sides of his mouth. He closes his eyes, groans as his hips
continue bucking up, another spasm rocking through him.
"Tomorrow at 3pm you will receive a call telling you where to leave the bag.
What? No friend with him, he was alone. No, you spoke with him yesterday-don't
push me, old man, or I'll let you hear him, alright-I'll let you hear him
scream." Steve clicks the phone shut, smiles at Donny's red, bleary eyes.
"Tired? Or just tired of watching our friend there bang your little girl?"
Steve follows Donny's numb gaze, watches with mild amusement Marton's ass
pumping up and down, Ian's bound thighs secured to his chest with tape, leaving
his bruised hole open, exposed, totally vulnerable. Marton holds the boy by the
calves, thrusting violently as Ian whines, grunts under the attack. "I know,
he wears me out, too. Sometimes having a sex-addicted sadist for a partner is
just exhausting."
"P-please, please don't do this anymore, please-"
"You sure do say 'please' a lot," Steve's voice shifts, harder, biting, "funny,
you didn't have one nice thing to say to me when I was just the handyman." He
laughs roughly at Donny's widening eyes, the stunned recall in his face. "Ohhh,
now you remember me? What, a guy's got to kidnap a rich snob just to get a
little recognition out of him?" He glares, his hand snaking out, clouting Donny
in the ear. "Fucking brat, be grateful I haven't turned my friend here on
you-of course, I need you alive, at least for a little while longer." He nods
at Donny's gasp. "That's right-I haven't decided if you're going to survive
this or not . . . sadly, your friend there is toast. "
Ian groans, his swollen, stunned eyes staring to the side, his body shaken with
each violent thrust into his devastated ass. His cock lays soft, small on his
belly, his balls wracked painfully with each vicious stroke. He's stopped
struggling-it does no good, and it hurts worse when he fights. His puffy lips
move as he whispers to himself to relax, relax, it's almost over. He has to
believe that, otherwise he'll fade completely. He hears Donny's voice, but
cannot make out the words. He whines, wishes Donny would talk to him, tell him
it's all going to be okay. His whispers break into sharp, animal-like cries,
shrill, hoarse screams as Marton grabs his testicles, crushes them in a baseball
grip. His slender hips buck mindlessly as his belly cramps hard, nausea
building even as the torturing cock inside him explodes once more, coating his
bleeding bowels with hot spunk.
"You don't have to die." Marton ignores Steves low laugh, leaning in close to
lick Ian's softly crying face. "You don't have to, it's up to you-do you want to
live?" Ian nods weakly, whining, his tightly taped body trembling as he stares
up, eyes pleading. His hands taped to shoulders, ankles to thighs, he balances
precariously on knees and elbows. "Mmm, such a smart boy, such a nice boy-will
you do anything?" Ian nods again, sobbing harder. "Good boy, good dog." He
laughs, pulls Ian's head forward. "Suck cock. Every moment between now and
when your brat boyfriend's daddy drops the money. Suck. All of us. Drink it
all, no spitting, no puking, no matter what goes in your stupid girl mouth. If
you do that, you might live through this, understand?" Ian groans miserably,
his head nodding almost imperceptibly. "Good boy, get started." He laughs
harder, winks at Steve as the boy's head lowers, his lips parting to take
Marton's thick shaft into his trembling mouth. "Suck good, kid-this is your
only chance."
Ian moans, his head bobbing up and down unsteadily, his cracked lips stretching,
bleeding as he works Marton's cock. His eyes stare blindly at the cruel man's
hairy belly, his every muscle screaming in pain as a thick mixture of blood and
cum runs steadily down his thighs. His motions are jerking, mindless as he
sucks the thick tool in his face, tears trickling down his cheeks as he moves.
His throat constricts, then opens, allowing the rigid tool passage. Gagging, he
continues to suck desperately, whimpering, choking as Marton ejaculates
forcefully, filling his crying face, his belly, with thick, sour spunk. Marton
forces the boy's head down completely, burying his nose in the tight curls of
his belly before releasing his bladder. Ian gags, sputters, gulps helplessly as
the stream of urine threatens to drown him.
"Next-move, don't make me tell you, just do it, bitch." Marton wipes his cock
on Ian's stubbly cheek, then pushes him toward Steve.
Steve sighs, laughs, opens his pants, pulling out his cock. "The shit I do for
you, bud." He watches Ian's tortured approach, his painful balancing on elbows
and knees as he inches forward, mouth hanging open, cum and urine drooling out.
He smiles slightly, always amazed at Marton's capacity for cruelty. He moans
softly as Ian's swollen lips cover his tingling shaft, his tongue swirling over
the head as his dark head begins moving up and down. He runs his fingers
through Ian's soft dark hair, then grabs, begins thrusting into the boy's sadly
compliant throat, thrilling at the sharp gagging, sick gasps between strokes.
Steve doesn't get into boys, he never has understood the attraction, but this
boy-so cowed, so desperate, so willing to do whatever he must to survive-this
boy has Steve's cock rock hard in moments. Steve nods, realizing that Ian has
become almost sexless-not a young man, not a buff jock, but a weak thing to be
used. He groans as his cock swells in the boy's face, then jerks again and
again. His eyes close as he continues to thrust, Ian's desperate swallowing
milking the spunk from him. Sighing, he opens his eyes, winks at Marton before
letting loose, urinating in the gagging boy's throat.
"Damon Park, 8 pm tonight, leave the bag in the garbage can next to the
restrooms on the west side. Yes, next to the parking lot. No, you'll get a
call after we have the money. Fine, fine." Steve holds the phone next to
Donny's face, smiles as the boy moans, his cock buried in Ian's pale, exhausted
face. "Your daddy wants to talk to you." He laughs as Donny's eyes open wide,
pleasure and sick shame blended perfectly in his handsome features.
"Mmmdaddy? Daddy?" Donny groans, then cries out as his hips buck up hard, his
cock firmly planted in Ian's throat as he begins to climax, waves of his hot cum
shooting deep into his friend's throat. He whines in frustration, horror as
Steve pulls the phone back, laughing.
"There you go-8 pm, don't fuck up." Clicking the phone shut, he nods at Marton.
Marton jerks Ian back, thrusts his cock in the boy's face for one last shot
before they depart.
Steve grabs Donny's elbow, jerks him to his feet. Donny stares, confused,
swaying dangerously. "Time to go, brat." Steve shoves him hard, laughs as Donny
crashes to the floor. Dragging him up again, he propels him out the door toward
the truck.
"Wh-what about Ian? Please, please-"
"Shut the fuck up." Steve smacks Donny hard, throws him toward the truck,
turning to watch Marton lead Ian out by a belt around his neck, like a dog on a
leash. The boy's halting progress across the hard, biting gravel is tortuous,
almost hard to watch. Almost.
Ian whines, his eyes glazed, staring unblinkingly as his bruised knees and
elbows scrape across the sharp rocks. His belly is distended, swollen with cum
and urine, his body bruised, trembling violently. Each inch is agonizing, his
cock and balls taped tightly between his legs, making him look for all the world
like a woman-or a neuter. He whimpers, cringes as Marton jerks the belt, then
kicks him in the thigh. He crawls miserably, mouth slack, dark, sunken shadows
under his eyes. Marton climbs into the back of the truck, flicking the light on
before dragging Ian up by the belt, relishing in the boy's sudden burst of
fight, his jerking, the deep strangling quality of his cries. Ian's body grinds
painfully across the threshold of the cargo area, the cruel metal studs of the
floor tearing raw furrows in his flesh. He lies on his side, gasping, coughing
weakly as the door is drawn down, Marton standing before him, smiling.
Donny moans, looks away as Ian is dragged to all fours, his face pulled into
Marton's crotch. He's lost track of time, the days have become strangely fluid.
He winces as Ian begins to gag, looks up to see his friend's head bobbing back
and forth almost eagerly. Donny knows it's bullshit. He knows. They're going
to kill Ian no matter how obedient he is, no matter how enthusiastically he
works to save himself. Donny's eyes slide back to Ian's impaled face, his
glassy blue eyes, the tears slipping down drawn cheeks as the boy sucks
seemingly energetically. Donny wants to scream, to beg Ian to stop, just stop,
it won't save you! But even he holds out a small sliver of hope that this sick
scene before him, played out so many times, will serve to save Ian's life. He
frowns at the growing tingle at the base of his cock, jerks his gaze away. His
turn next, he knows. Soon his friend's swollen lips will envelope his cock. He
blinks back tears as his tool begins stiffening in anticipation.
Marton's hips thrust slightly despite his desire to keep them still-he wants the
boy to do the work, wants Ian to do the fucking with his face. His eyes
consider the pale, sunken flesh of Ian's face, the stark, numb exhaustion in his
eyes. The boy is done in, he knows. Compliant, unresisting. He groans, his
cock swelling as he contemplates testing that compliance again and again. He
closes his eyes, enjoys Ian's weak gagging, desperate gulping. Grabbing the
boy's head, he pulls him close, releasing a hot stream of urine down his
swollen, abused throat, washing the thick cum down to the boy's tight belly.
Ian swallows hard, once, twice, struggling not to vomit. He crawls on bloodied
knees and elbows, his head hanging as he slowly approaches Donny. His trembling
lips part, seeking his friend's already rigid cock. Whimpering, he takes it
into his mouth, begins sucking, lips sliding up and down the thick shaft
mindlessly, his brain beyond anything that could be called thought. Donny's
voice, distant, inspires a violent tremor, a sharp moan, but no more. Suddenly
jerked back, away, Ian's trembling lips continue to seek, a high, thick whine
emanating from his abused throat. He shakes his head slowly, dully, confused.
Marton jerks Donny to his knees, holding him up by the hair. Donny's eyes are
wide, misty with arousal and fear, his body trembling. Dragging the boy behind
his friend, he grasps Donny's swollen shaft, pushes it against Ian's bruised,
battered asshole. "Fuck your friend, fuck your little girl." He shoves Donny
forward, grinning as he watches the boy's thick shaft disappear into the
tortured hole. He leans, grabs Ian's hair, begins pulling him back
rhythmically, again and again. Donny wails, head back, eyes squeezed shut as
his hips pick up the beat, his still taped hands clenching behind him. Marton
smiles widely, leans close to Ian. "If you want to live, you'll fuck your
friend, fuck him hard, tell him you love his cock in your ass, beg for it." He
grins triumphantly as Ian begins rocking back and forth, head hanging like a
dog's.
Ian whines, gasps, his body rocking back hard. His eyes are glazed, stricken, a
thin line of spittle escaping his slack lips as he moans, mumbles. "I-I-I love
y-your cock in m-m-my ass, I l-love it p-please, please f-fuck my ass." His
voice is cracked, thick with pain, shock, exhaustion. His lips continue moving
in a soft, weak whisper, "Please, p-p-please fuck my ass . . ." He repeats it
over and over, his stunned mind clinging to the phrase as if it has some magical
quality.
Donny sobs, his hips thrusting, meeting Ian's rhythmic motions. So hot, so
amazing, even after Marton's hard use Ian's ass is much tighter than any girl
he's ever had. Each thrust is thrilling, horrifying, his mind screams in
protest even as his voice rings in loud, pleasured moans. Marton laughs
cruelly, sitting back to play lazily with his limp cock as he takes in the scene
before him. Donny begins grunting, his thrusts becoming uneven, wild as his
climax approaches. A violent, deep thrust and Ian is knocked forward to his
belly, Donny crashing down on top of him, hips squirming, thrusting frantically.
Ian's pained, breathless cries blend with Donny's harsh shouts of pleasure as
friend fills friend, hot, thick cum exploding, coating in sharp, ecstatic waves.
Steve pulls from the highway, turning onto the small river access road. He eyes
the bag on the cab floor, hands shaking as he drives past the tree line, toward
the long abandoned boat launch. His eyes keep darting to the side mirrors,
watchful for possible pursuit. He hasn't dared stop to count the money, too
intent upon getting away from the drop site as quickly as possible. Rolling to
a stop at the river's bank, he turns off the truck, reaches for the bag. His
fingers shake as he rifles through the neatly banded stacks of cash. He shouts,
laughs, drums his hands happily against the steering wheel, jumping from the cab
to run back to the cargo door. Jerking it up, he gives Marton an enthusiastic
thumbs up. They pulled it off. Marton laughs, howls, dances in circles before
hopping from the bay. Turning, both men look into the cargo bay, stare at the
boys' bodies, tangled, one atop the other. Marton's belt is now looped around
both their necks, holding them together in their awful pose. Steve raises a
brow, nods.
Marton smiles, returns the nod, striding purposefully toward the cab. He
returns, duct tape in hand, climbing back into the bay. He plops down hard on
Donny's back, grinning at the weak grunt from Ian beneath. Leaning, he begins
winding tape around Ian's mouth, making sure he is effectively gagged.
Satisfied, he takes a hank of tape, slaps it over the boy's nose. He sighs,
thrilled as Ian immediately rewards him with violent, surprisingly strong
struggles.
Donny begins to scream, head shaking violently as realization crashes over him.
"No, NO, you said you wouldn't, you said you wouldn't kill him, PLEASE!" He
struggles to rise, feeling Ian's wild squirming, thrashing under him. Marton
pushes him down hard, hand tangled in his hair as he begins wrapping Donny's
face. Another piece of tape, this one over Donny's nose, and Marton rises,
turns to watch the violent, frantic struggles.
Steve stands, watches. This is Marton's scene, not his. But he does have to
admit to a bit of a stirring in the crotch, a tingle in the back as the boys
writhe helplessly, their eyes huge, pleading, glowing with pure terror. They
buck together, an obscene parody of lovemaking, Donny's legs drumming
frantically against the hard metal floor as his body arches, thrusts against
Ian's. Ian's hands clench, then stretch, almost able to achieve the tape, a
mere inch between his trembling, reaching fingers and his trapped shut mouth.
Steve looks down at his own crotch, laughs. Maybe this is his scene after all.
Marton groans, yanks his thickening tool from his jeans, begins jerking off
furiously. He kneels, hand moving fast, eyes bright with ecstasy as the boys
jerk, arch, twist before him. Ian's eyes dart jerkily, rolling up to meet
Marton's. Dark with terror, sick, horrible comprehension, Ian's blue eyes are
wet, pleading. Marton moans, hand moving more quickly, his other hand reaching,
caressing Ian's trembling cheek, his working throat. With a loud cry, Marton
cums violently, his thick spunk splattering both boys' terrified faces. Ian's
eyes squeeze shut as the hot cum hits his face, fills one eye. Marton leans
forward, begins rubbing his cock up and down Ian's slick cheek.
Donny bucks weakly, a strange, terrible tingle taking over his limbs as his
lungs burn, chest hitches helplessly. He feels Ian's struggles beneath him
losing strength, becoming halting, uneven. This can't be real, it can't be. He
repeats the pathetic mantra in his head, eyes blinking hard as his vision begins
to blur. Can't be real. Can't be.
Marton stands, staring down, smiling at the puddle of urine spreading around the
boys. They tremble violently, their struggles reduced to weak, convulsing
jerks. Grinning, he turns, hops from the cargo bay, steps toward Steve, eyes
bright. A loud report, Marton's smile falters, his legs suddenly jelly beneath
him. His face hits the dirt, his eyes clouding as he stares, confused, the back
of his shirt mushy, black and red spreading. Another loud shot, Steve crashes
atop Marton, his eyes dull, top of his head a soft, spongy mix of grey and red.
Marton convulses weakly under his partner's weight, each tortured breath a spray
of blood and lung. He watches, stunned, as the men surround them, a barrel
pressed against his forehead as he hears someone clamoring into the back of the
truck. Marton smiles sickly, laughs, his teeth coated with blood as he chokes,
splattering gore with each agonizing hack. "You're too late. You're too late."
His voice cracks, eyes blinking hard before rolling, lids fluttering down
forever.
*****************************Epilogue******************************
Ian gives a shuddering sigh, hand trembling as he squints in the dark,
comparing the address scrawled on the matchbook to the address on the mail slot.
He nods, knocks on the door timidly. He wishes Donny were here. The old Donny,
the Donny who loved him, was his best friend. That Donny would help him. Save
him. But Donny's father sent him to a "therapeutic center" in Arizona, leaving
Ian to fend for himself-not that it mattered. Donny had been withdrawn,
unwilling to engage, interact with Ian since that last night in the back of the
truck. Ian's own dad won't talk to him, threw him out. He's quit school, quit
everything-he just can't relate anymore, can't bring himself to look people in
the eye. He blinks back tears, knocks again. The door opens slowly, revealing
a large man, cruel face, hard, piercing eyes. "H-hi, I . . . ?" Ian's voice
cracks, dies in his throat. He looks down at his feet, waits. A strong hand on
his arm, pulling him in, closing the door firmly behind him.
"Take off your clothes."
Ian looks up, the dark, cold room seeming to close in around him.
"NOW."
Ian nods, shaking, his hands fumbling with his shirt, pulling it up over his
head before moving on to the buttons at his crotch. He slides his jeans and
underwear over his slender hips, ass wriggling as he pushes them to his ankles,
kicks them off.
"Nice. Very nice. Jock, huh? Are you a faggot? A sissy boy?" The man paces
around Ian, his dark face lit with a harsh, grim smile.
"I-"
"Shut the fuck up, it was a rhetorical question-you are what I say you are.
Limits?"
Ian shakes his head, hands curving around his stiffening cock as he closes his
eyes, tears brimming, then falling.
"ANSWER ME-WHAT ARE YOUR LIMITS?"
"I-I don't have any."
The man pauses, smile growing even as his own cock jerks to life. "NO limits?
Are you sure, bitch? Do you know what you're saying?" He grabs Ian's face,
yanks it up. "No limits means you're meat, you are an animal for my use, my
pleasure. For the pleasure of anyone or anything I chose to share your
worthless body with. Anything I choose to do to you is beyond your control, you
cannot change your mind, you cannot decide you want to renegotiate. If I tire of
you, I can let you go. Or sell you. Or kill you. Do you understand?"
Ian nods miserably, sobbing quietly.
"How old are you, hole?" The man's rough hands yank Ian's arms back, revealing
his rigid cock. He laughs, his fingers exploring Ian's trembling body coldly,
appraising.
"Fif-fifteen."
The man steps back, eyes narrow, considering. "Family?"
"N-no. My m-mom is d-dead, my d-dad threw me out."
"School?"
"I-I dropped out."
"Friends? Anyone going to look for you?"
Ian shakes his head, sobbing deeply, knowing that Donny will never look for him.
Never even know he's gone.
The man's hand snakes out, grabs Ian's shiny, dark hair, jerking him to his
knees. "Welcome home, hole."
