A gay adult story: the snuffer by azteko
not a mine story but one of the best i found …enjoy
WARNING! This story contains detailed descriptions of very cruel tortures and murder of a teenage victim. I insistently recommend you reading it ONLY if you are really interested in the things like that. I am not going to accept any complaints or disapproval from those who might be squicked with it but who read it nevertheless.
THE SNUFFER
I am going to snuff you.
I didn’t tell that aloud. Even without these words his eyes staring at me were full of terror. For a short moment there was hope flickering in them – and then, when I just slid my glance over him and walked in, he understood that there was no chance. He was a smart kid.
He sat on the floor in the corner of the empty room, with his ankles roped together and his arms tied behind his back tightly and cruelly – by his wrists and his elbows, so, that his shoulders looked twisted forward unnaturally and his chest bulged. He was gagged – I saw his distorted lips were dry and bruised; it made his face seem older.
Well, he was no more than sixteen – I knew it despite his so very tired expression (he had a sleepless night and the most possible he didn’t manage to rest by day) and despite his eye-sockets black with smeared mascara. And he was handsome – not sweet – but with a subtle expressive face you are going to remember.
One of my customers picked him last night in the street and brought to the house. He caught the little hooker when he tried to snatch an expensive bagatelle from the hall. He gut-punched the kid and called his friends. They raped him all the night, as refined as they could – and when their fantasy ran short they decided to call me.
I don’t know whether he would finish like this anyway, even if he didn’t try to rob the host. And, actually, it didn’t matter now.
There was no much left of his clothes. I saw his leather straight jacket on the floor at his feet – but there was no possibility for him to cover himself with it though he had to be cold. The room was in the basement and even I felt like huddling myself up. I didn’t have any sight of his skirt – and his black narrow corselet of mat textile crumbled around his waist. One of his fine stockings slithered down to his foot, the other was laddered irreparably. The funny thing was that through all their entertainment they didn’t take off his sandals – blinding golden things on 5″ stiletto heels. They were laced around his ankles and didn’t fall down themselves. He had to have a hell of time, having them on his feet for so long.
“Hi pretty,” I said coming up to him and squatting. I smiled. I reached my hand to his face – and thanks to my voice or to my expression he didn’t back from me. Not that there was any space for him to back. I found the fastening of his gag and released it. “What is your name?”
There were some moments when he couldn’t speak. He tried but he couldn’t. His mouth was too dehydrated after the hours with the rubber ball in it, his jaw probably strained painfully and his throat disobedient. When he did tell it – it sounded like a hiss of air going out of his lungs. Josh – or Joe – I didn’t understand.
“No little one,” I corrected him softly. “Your name how you call yourself in this garment.”
“Mary Beth,” he said.
I liked it. It was a nice name – and it sounded new for me.
I put my hand around his face. His skin was pale and by touch very smooth – girl-like; he didn’t have to shave yet. I stroked his cheek-bone with my thumb slightly. His eyes were turned to me – huge dark-brown eyes, very beautiful. His gaze was mesmerized; he didn’t know what to wait from me.
“I think you have to take a shower first,” I said untying his feet. Oh yeah he did need it. He stank. With his own sweat and with sweat of those who had him last night and with their cum. His lovely black hair – a kind of rippled, not really wavy – was icicle-like with it – and some of it was sticky even on his lashes.
Mary Beth didn’t ask me anything – although I saw his eyes were still puzzled, even more puzzled than before probably. His discolored lips worked a little, as if he hoped to find some saliva in his parched mouth.
Don’t worry dear, soon you’ll have more water than you will want.
I tugged the thin belts of his sandals next. He really had to feel uncomfortable – I could sense how puffy were his feet, with the laces stuck deeply into his skin. I rolled down the stockings and took them off, too.
“Come on, get up.”
When I pulled him on his feet I had to take all his weight myself. I didn’t wonder – I would wonder if he were not cramped after eighteen hours in this position. And he was not heavy at all. A head shorter than me and bony. His garter belt hanged on his pelvic bones. I unbuttoned it and his twisted corselet with a shade of squeamishness and dropped them on the floor.
He had cum and blood crusted on his legs and on his chest.
You know my wife thinks a prostitute can’t be raped. She means everything what is done to a prostitute is just a part of his/her profession. Well, I was going to continue to call rape what was done to the kid the night before. I couldn’t call it in any other way when they fucked him until he started bleeding and pinched or bit his nipples till splitting them. They beat him, too. I saw these purple stains of bruises on his belly and rib-cage. And I saw his misused genitals.
I had one of my arms around him when I turned him and reached for his hands. He almost lay on my elbow like that and I knew my jacket’s sleeve could be rough against his tender injured tits. His skin was so very white that every trace on it seemed extremely visible – was it the soreness on his wrists from the rope or more bruises in his kidney area. He was going to piss blood, I thought.
“Yeah Mary Beth, yeah girl,” I whispered to his ear when gently shaking him upright. “Let’s go.”
There was the door to the bathroom from this room. I don’t remember how many times I was there; more than a couple of times, anyway. And it was not always this house. I turned the light on and helped Mary Beth to come in.
The bathroom could look old and void of conveniences but one thing I knew for sure – it was scrupulously clean. And I didn’t need anything else but the tub and the shower; I brought my things with myself.
“Don’t be so tense,” I recommended when easing the cross-dresser’s frail body to the tub. The water ran from the faucet and drained down to the hole with the pleasant purling. Mary Beth sat a kind of lopsidedly, partly on his ass, partly on his thigh, with his arms wrapped around his knees and his face was turned to me all the time, while I made the temperature of water appropriate and took the shower from the hook. The wings of his narrow straight nose were fluttering. He was in pain, I knew it. His limbs had to get dead stiff by the time I came – and now blood was returning to them. He will have more of it when they get warmed with the water. But there was not only pain in his eyes, even though for last twenty four hours he learned more of it then probably ever – and will learn more too soon.
“Wanna drink?” I filled my palms with water and brought it to his face. His hands were of no use now. He clang with his mouth to it – swallowing, gulping greedily, his lips soft and warm on my skin. I gave him more – why not? It meant nothing on the long run of this night.
When he finished and looked at me again the worried questioning expression in his eyes became even more visible.
“Will…” he licked his lips once more, as if delaying with the moment when he would get to know inevitable – and still he was not able to refrain from this question, of course. “Will I be allowed to go… soon?”
During all this time I asked myself on and on what was better, what was more correct – to tell them the truth and watch how they go mute, unable to accept it at the first second, and then become hysterics? Or to lie – to be mild with them as I tried to be mild with them in everything else? And I only half-lied, you see.
“A little more of sex pleasures from you sweet toy,” I murmured under my breath. I ran the shower over Mary Beth, seeing with satisfaction how the layers of sperm melted and disappeared from his skin. His wet hair looked funny, sticking to his skull. “You can stand it, can’t you?”
It was what he was doing for living – stand sex. I looked at his lashes flopping up and down under the streams of water. It took several moments before he raised his eyes to me again and said:
“Yeah, sure.”
“That’s the girl,” I smiled approvingly. “Nah, no girls tonight.” I held some water and washed his face with my palm pressing it firmly to clean the residuals of his barbaric make-up. “Now you are a good boy, aren’t you?”
There was no mirror for him to check it – but my eyes were his mirror. It was strange how quickly they all start looking at me in the search of answers. But it was right; I had to become his last answer.
“Spread your legs,” I asked him, “I have to wash your basket.”
He did it with hesitation. I didn’t touch him – just the flow of warm water on his visibly swollen balls and bruised cock. He was uncircumcised and his pubic hair was the same black and fluffy as his head hair.
“Now stand on your fours.”
He watched me when I was filling the enema bag. There was no fear in his eyes – I guess he used to do it to himself. And it was just a usual enema, nothing more.
“Are you Spanish?” I asked it conversationally while looking at him standing in this funny pose in the tub. He did look attractive and vulnerable – with his narrow back and slim hairless limbs, with this small ass stuck up. I asked because he had so pale skin and so dark, almost raven hair.
“I am half-Italian,” he answered looking to my face.
“That’s nice.” I didn’t mean it was nice that he was half-Italian, it related to his smooth tender crack I reached to now. His anus looked soft and bright, a bit raw after the previous night but whole in any case. A sweet and neat anus, almost as neat as if no thick dicks ever split it open. But when I probed it with my finger the muscles relaxed readily letting me in.
“For how long do you take cocks up there?” I asked. I felt the sphincter around my finger clamping a little.
“For three years.”
“Do you like it?”
“No… I mean… No.”
His glance was wary – as if he feared he could say something I wouldn’t like. I continued to look at him with the same gentle expression, rotating my finger inside him. Then I took it out and pushed the hose of the enema in.
“Do you like doing it with your mouth better?” I spoke to him while the water was leaking into his guts.
“Yep.”
“Then you’ll do it with your mouth for me, won’t you?”
There was a tiny pause before he answered:
“Yes. Yes, I’ll do.”
I could take whatever I want without asking him. But at the same time it was not what I come here for. That’s why I always asked. They never refused. I even didn’t have to say: “I will be kinder to you then,” – because it would be a lie anyway.
“And do you like girl’s clothing?”
If I was bringing any discomfort to him with the enema his face didn’t reveal it.
“I guess…” I saw him biting his lip and wincing slightly with the pain of a split on it. “I guess I do. In any case – if I play a girl I should dress like one.”
“Are these your words?”
He shrugged.
“Who was your first lover?”
“My father.”
“Is he your souteneur?”
“No. He died.”
“And who is?”
“Gabriele. He is just a pimp.”
“Has many like you?”
“Some.”
“You don’t use drugs?” When hoisting him I didn’t notice the traces on his arms.
“I… Just a little.”
“What color was your skirt?”
“Golden leather.”
“Did you have lipstick?”
“Yes.”
“Red?”
“Yes.”
For a moment I grinned imagining the vision of the young hustler in the electric-light street – startling brightness of the narrow stripe of his skirt, easy tapping of his high-heeled sandals, whiteness of his face and the scarlet wound of his painted mouth on it.
“That’s all,” I said taking the hose out. The clamp was still shut, however. “We’ll wait ten minutes. And meanwhile…” I nodded a bit. “Stand on your knees hon. Can you put the rubber with your mouth?”
He could. I let out my heavy organ and gave him the condom and in no time at all his warm lips were enveloping it. He was a pro – I didn’t have to pull his head closer. In three or four attempts he let my cock behind his gag reflex and then the movements of his head went smoothly and sliding. His eyes were squinted shut – and I kept my own lids half-mast.
I liked the sight. Mary Beth’s dark head was bobbing over my crotch while he kneeled obediently in the tub, his thin shoulders beaded with the drops of water – and more water was splashing on the cloth of my jeans. The whore looked so fragile in comparison with my own muscular frame – child-like. He was a lot older than my children, however.
“Okay, okay, you are fine, you are great baby,” I muttered when feeling that my release was close. I saw a short flickering of his velvety eyes when he looked up at me – and then my cock twisted and pulsed out in his mouth. In the rubber, of course – but still it was a good sensation, long and deep enough.
I flashed the thing to the toilet after that and turned to Mary Beth. It was time for him to clean up, too – and it was time, really. I could notice he didn’t feel too good anymore with the filling inside him.
I repeated the procedure after he had voided his bowels – for a shorter time, however. Then I looked at my watch and I knew we had to hurry.
“Aren’t cold any more?”
He shook his head. I rubbed the towel over his light body gently and over his hair with more pressure. He didn’t have time to get it dry – but it didn’t matter much. I brushed him anyway – so that his locks looked shiny and clean. Then I hastily changed my own clothes.
I was not the one who liked it! No, true, I would like to do my work in my usual shirt and jeans; they didn’t have to look at me during the performance. But they wanted me to be impressive. They wanted as much for their money as they could get. So, I stripped and squeezed myself into the tightest black leather pants I could put on in any case. Well, when I was in – yeah then I could agree I looked like something. Even if a bit showy. With these scars and tattoos covering my chest and back. The leather pants were the only thing I had to wear. And it was much, taking into account that Mary Beth had nothing.
The kid stood facing me, with his arms limp along his body, not trying to cover himself. Even without make-up his face was startling – with these enormous eyes in the deep shadows of the sockets, with sable-like brows and brightly outlined mouth that could be so very sensual if it were not so beaten by now.
I could read his anxiety in his eyes turned to me. What did he think looking at my bare chest, at the taut leather on me? He was afraid. But not so much afraid as he could have been if he knew. And there was something else in his eyes, something I hardly believed I saw – but I had seen it before, too. There was dependence.
“Come with me Mary Beth,” I said. “You have to come.”
“What is your name?” he asked suddenly. I stumbled for a moment. Then I said, I said the truth:
“Rodion.”
“You won’t leave me, Rodion?” he asked in a voice so small that I barely could hear it. He repeated my name right.
“No Mary Beth,” very swiftly I ran my fingers over his forehead. “You can be sure. I’ll be with you till the very end.”
* * *
I knew where to look when I entered the place – and both my eyes and my bare feet were used to it. I guided Mary Beth by his elbow. And looking awry at his face I saw how his lashes fluttered when we were on the scene.
Well, it was not a real scene, of course. Just a kind of support in front of several arm-chairs. Six of them, exactly. Sometimes there were fewer. Never more than six. The places were already taken.
I didn’t look at the faces, didn’t try to discern them – that was not so difficult, even though the scene was lit and the audience shadowy. I think Mary Beth could recognize them very well – he saw every one of them yesterday night; there were others, their friends, too, then, however.
“On,” I whispered this word pushing the little slut forward slightly. He stumbled. He looked back at me and I saw his lips starting verbalizing one question:
“What…”
But then we were in the circle of light.
They didn’t clap their palms; not in the begging, at least. By the end of the night, when their spirits rose, they would be much more outspoken. Now they only looked at us and even though I knew they saw me times before and I used to it I still could feel the unpleasant palpable quality of their stares. I dug my fingers deeper into Mary Beth’s shoulder.
“Close your eyes bird,” I said. I didn’t want screaming and thrashing to start right now. Only when it will be too late.
As if it were not too late now.
His lids lay down obediently. He didn’t see how I pushed the button and the device lifted to the scene from under the floor. I walked him to it and he still didn’t look. Because I told him not to.
It was a cross. Not a kind of cross for the crucifixion but X-like, made of solid wood and with the most durable cuffs on each edge of the cross-bars. It was a rack. It could be put vertically or horizontally or under any desirable angle. It stood upright now.
I led Mary Beth there. I watched his face askance – whether it would distort when he felt the emanations coming from the thing. It was washed clean and clear after every time, scrubbed and brushed and disinfected. And still it had to be there, you know; it doesn’t go anywhere. But the transvestite slut was not the one who could sense it.
“Turn around,” I said quietly, audibly only for him, not for the audience. He did. He stood in a couple of inches from the instrument and he didn’t know it.
“Raise your hands and spread your arms,” I ordered. He obeyed me even before it struck his mind what implication this order could have. But then it was too late. I seized his wrists in the shackles and locked them.
“Hey!..” these gorgeous eyes, now wide with the sudden fear, opened at once. He was fast in starting flailing – but I was faster. I glided down to the floor and fixed his ankles in the same implacable manner his wrists were held. “Let me… Let me go! Why…”
I stood up and looked at him. At that moment in Mary Beth there was no more this weird charm of a rabbit hypnotized by a boa. He looked like the most ordinary teen – naked and spread-limbed, twisting in the manacles wildly. A pretty kid, surely – with his slender alabaster-like body and dark patches of hair in his crotch and under his arms. But I preferred him frozen and docile, to tell the truth. Well, I was going to put him into that state again very soon.
His head was flopping up and down wildly and he babbled:
“Oh come on… what’s that? Why that? What d’you wanna? It’s… it’s…”
I turned the lever behind the rack and the shackles pulled his hands up sharply.
Actually, I made several turns at once – for he was not tall, really – and when the cables pulled the cuffs they yanked Mary Beth up roughly. He gasped. This short “Oh” made a break for the meaningless chatting. He was standing on his tip-toes. I turned again and again – until his feet left the ground completely. And then even more, pulling the cables of the ankle shackles down. Yes, that’s how it worked. Then the inevitable happened and his body started being stretched in four different directions.
“God…” it was an exhale, not really a word from Mary Beth. I looked at him. He hanged by his hands now – and the shackles on his ankles pulled him down, already painfully. Then I turned the lever once more and he yelped.
I looked at his body that seemed to become somehow longer – stretched and narrow, with his rib-cage looking like a dome and his abdomen incredibly hollow. He was panting. I could see the thin film of perspiration appearing on his very pale skin. When I met his eyes there was a real fear in them. Real, I mean. I know how it looks like.
He followed my hand with his gaze when I reached for the lever once more.
“No… Don’t…”
I turned again, he screamed and then choked. You can’t virtually scream when you are stretched this much. For a moment his head fell down – then he tossed it back and I saw his throat trembling in torment. I stooped for my bag and took out a bunch of pins.
Sometimes when one of those whom I was doing on the rack screamed too much or cursed or behaved with especial indignity I was ordered to gag him. But with Mary Beth, I guessed, it was not this kind of case. We were going to get his every cry or moan or gasp – so far, at least.
Even in the searing pain of stretching he still noticed what I had in my hand and his mouth quivered desperately. Maybe, he was going to plead – or, maybe, he already started understanding it was completely useless. I took his left nipple between my thumb and forefinger and tweaked it slightly. My, it was not easy! With his tits being so tiny naturally and because his skin was so taut now I could hardly do it. I saw I was leaving the dark spots with my fingers around the golden-brown tender circle. I worked it up a little, sensing how my Mary Beth held his breath in – and that’s when I drove the pin right through it.
You see, these were not just clothespins. I have three sets of them – 2″, 3″ and 4″-long, thicker than usual pins and not too sharp. I mean, I blunted them on purpose, so that it took some strength from me to stick them.
The little whore’s shriek was short and heart-breaking. I took another pin from my mouth – I hold them like that – the ones I need now – like a tailor – and pushed it through the same nipple, only not downwards but obliquely. There was no much blood – just very minute trickles from where the points were coming out. I put two more pins in this tit and four of them in his other one.
Oh dear if you think there can’t be pain like this you are wrong.
He was giving a nice cry for every pin coming through his flesh – and as I did it slowly he had enough time to get breath for making sounds. His skin became slippery with sweat – and his face was wet – but with tears. The pretty prostitute was weeping with pain.
When I stuck the 4″-long pin through his left ball he went limp. Not really unconscious because his lashes were still trembling – but kind of slack, as if his bones and muscles became dead. I cupped his balls – with the ugly pin piercing one of them – nice warm things, with the very wispy curly hairs on them. I didn’t squeeze. I just held them for a little while. Then I put in another pin and Mary Beth was with us again, in his fearful misery.
I stuck ten pins into his balls and the same amount of 3″-long ones through his cock, all over from the head to the base, careful not to pierce his urethra – you’ll see soon why. By this time his shrieks became much less loud, reminding harsh moans instead. When I finished with his penis and straightened I saw his face. It looked like a mask – so pale that it seemed yellowish, glistening with sweat and tears – not a pretty face. The tiny trickles of blood from the pin-holes on his chest and genitals streamed together and now the first drops of blood splashed on the tile floor under the rack.
I stepped back to let the watchers review what I had done. I didn’t look at them. But I heard them – shifting, relaxing, perhaps starting bringing pleasure to themselves. I heard Mary Beth’s breathing, too – even though he was almost unable to make any great noise by now his sobs were very audible, harrowing.
I put my palm on the stretching lever and turned it once more. There was something that was making me sick when I saw how his rib-cage stuck upwards even more and his limbs, unbearably drawn out, started vibrating, as if on the verge of tearing. He made a harsh howl, hardly imaginable for the dainty creature like he was.
Now I was going to start the water torture.
I knew they were getting right crazy when watching it; they never had enough of it… It was a big part of my services I was paid so generously for. So, I pushed another button and my appliances appeared on the scene.
I doubted that Mary Beth followed me with his eyes lucidly by now. His head was either sagging or leaned back and then I could see some spit leaking out of his mouth. His lovely-colored irises were so black and kept being like this – it was almost frightening. When I approached him with the hoses he made a short inhale. He already knew he had to expect pain and nothing except pain from me, whatever I had in my hands.
I pushed another lever and the rack flopped down – horizontally. I looked at the trickles of blood changing their directions on Mary Beth’s ch0
Read 33093 times |
Rated 70.3 % |
(64 votes)
Please rate this text: