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."
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