If you are younger then18y, please, leave!

If you are younger then18y, please, leave!

Please, read!

Warning!
In this blog you can find immages (mostly drawings) that can be disturbing and not acceptable to view for everyone. It is only fantasy and has no connection with reality. But, in any case, if you think you might feel upset by these creations, please, LEAVE!
The same rule for minors - if you are under legal age, please, leave this blog!

čtvrtek 6. října 2011

Story by Guru, illustration by me

It has allready been few years since Guru and me became friends through internet. We share similar type of fantasy and immagination and we, in many cases, complement each other rather well as an author and illustrator.
So let me show you one of the examples of our cooperation in the past.
There is a story called "Be careful what you wish for" that I did an illustration for once I read it. Guru seemed to be pleased by it and he was so very kind to allow me to publish his story here in my blog. So here it is....


Careful what you wish for
story by Guru

He had asked for this and he was happy. It had taken many months to negotiate but now he was waiting by the side of the road. The Greyhound bus had dropped him at the old gas station an hour before and he had done what he had been told to do. Wait. There was nothing else to do. The gas station looked as if it had closed down in the fifties and the desert stretched out in all directions. The bus driver had asked him two or three times if he really wanted to be left in this remote spot but he had insisted.

He took off his baseball cap and the blond, skater boy wig he’d worn and took off the big T shirt with ‘Hang 10’ on it. He pushed these items into his backpack next to his laptop and phone. He had been ordered to bring his communication devices with him that told the story of his courtship.

He noticed a cloud of dust coming from the east. There was a dirt track that ran from the highway, cutting alongside the station then disappearing into the heat haze of the desert. Through this he could make out a truck of some kind coming his way; the waving lines of the haze made it impossible to identify. It took another three minutes before he saw it was a dusty, beaten up ’89 Ford 150. There was just one man in the cab. He pulled up under the canopy of the station and got out. Six two, very muscular, wearing old cowboy boots, worn jeans that were painted to his body and a singlet. He was about thirty and very good looking.

Pete looked at his new owner and smiled. He had wanted to be an owned slave, indentured, possessed one hundred per cent by one man. And this was the man. Sandmaster was his on line name and Pete knew no other. He was looking Pete over, walked round him as he stood there in the agreed clothing of white T and Levi 501s, black DMs, nothing else. Sandmaster reached out for the backpack Pete held and he willingly gave it over. His master took it over to an open oil drum standing on its own in the open space next to the station and dropped it inside. He came back, patted Pete down, made him empty his pockets, took the loose change and the ten dollar bill and added them to the drum. Going to the open back of the truck, he removed a can of gasoline, poured most of it into the drum, stood back and lit a cigarette. He tossed the match into the drum and didn’t flinch at the whoomp of igniting petroleum. He waited to the flames died down, checked the contents, seemed happy and went back to the truck.

‘Get in the back, boy.’

Pete climbed in and hunkered down. The truck lurched off back down the track and he was on his way to hell. No one knew he was here. The bus driver, if he remembered him, would describe another kid altogether, not the cropped headed boy being covered in dust in the back of the F150. His old life had just been burnt up in an old metal drum.

After about thirty minutes the truck slowed and Pete looked over the side at the ranch house they were drawing up to. It stood on its own in the desert, a single storey wooden building with a porch. There was a barn about twenty yards off to the rear. The sun beat down fiercely on the sand and grit that made up the driveway. Sandmaster stopped the truck and climbed out, ordering him to follow. They went inside and his owner took two beers from the icebox, opened both and handed one to Pete. They chugged them down real fast. Without a word, Pete was led into the back room, stripped and put face down on the white bed sheet. Ropes were tied to his ankles and wrists and he was quickly fastened spread-eagled. Sandmaster stripped off, spat on his hand, lubed his cock and positioned himself over his new slave’s asshole. He spat again then simply thrust in deep and hard. Pete screamed and bucked under the pressured and weight and pain. Over and over again the cock went in, right in to the hilt then out again, then in deep. Sandmaster raped his ass for an hour, finally coming up his ass with much grunting and sweating. He got off and left the room. Pete could hear water running but just lay there, shaking with shock. He had never been fucked by such a huge cock. He had never been used so brutally. He had never been happier. Or in so much pain.

He heard Sandmaster return. There was a phone by the side of the bed and he saw his owner’s hand reach down, pick up the receiver and punch and few numbers. He tried to look up but he could see his master. Just the telephone cord spiraling up out of sight.
‘He’s arrived. As agreed.’ Sandmaster listened to some brief comments then said, ‘See you at six.’ And clicked off the call. He dialed another number and repeated the conversation. There were two more calls then the receiver came down. He went out, came back with a damp cloth of some kind, wiped his slave’s ass then left the room. Silence. Pete waited. With his head facing the wall at the top of the bed, he had no way of looking round the room. Other were coming. He knew a slave was property to be used by his master any way he felt fit but he hadn’t expected his new owner would let others use him on the first night. Maybe it was just going to be an inspection. Showing off his new ‘boy’.

Time past. Pete dozed. Then he heard the sound of a truck pulling up outside. And other. Voices. Laughter. Bottles clinking together. Doors opening and closing. Someone walked into the room. Pete heard him drop his boots on the floor and the sound of stripping. Then another gob of spit hit his asshole and another cock penetrated him. The new man smelt of beer and sweat –not unpleasant but not clean either. He pumped Pete’s ass for a good long time. Someone else came in and stood by the side of the bed, watching. The first man came and got off, to be replaced by the second. In turn, he was replaced by two more. The four men used his ass hard, leaving him very sore and stretched. Pete needed to piss badly but just took the fucking without a word. He wanted his master to be proud of him.

When the fourth man was done with him, they all left and Sandmaster came in and untied his ropes. He pulled Pete off the bed and pointed to a door.
‘Go into the bathroom. Clean your ass, boy and shower quick. I want you back here in your DMs, naked, in five.’
Pete ran into the bathroom. He took the hose off the shower and cleaned himself out, pissed in the shower cubicle and washed himself off. Drying himself he ran back in and put on his DMs and stood, hand behind his back, head down, waiting for instructions. His master came back in, stood behind him and handcuffed him and pushed him out into the hall and further, onto the porch.

He was led across to the barn. There was a chain hanging from the roof beam and his hands were uncuffed and then recuffed round the chain. One of the men, a dark, handsome guy in tight jeans, pulled on a rope and the boy’s arms were stretched high and his feet lifted off the dirt on the barn floor. When he was six inches off the floor, the pulling stopped and he hung there, naked. The five men surrounded him. A punch to the gut. A slap on the ass cheeks. A nipple was pulled and twisted. He swung round, facing each in turn, getting the gift of pain from each. Then Sandmaster took off his thick leather belt. The others followed. Five bastards, one boy, five belts. He was lashed across the chest. The ass. The belly. His master looped the belt and brought it up hard between his legs and cracked it across his balls. He screamed.




The beating went on for an hour. His whole body was bruised, red and black. Tenderized like meat. He hung there, shaking. Finally his master grabbed his balls in his fist and squeezed, slow and hard until Pete was howling like a dog. The rope was released and he fell to the floor. Five men. Five cocks out, five streams of piss. Over his skin. In his mouth and eyes. He lay on his back and took the treatment. They left him there and went out of the barn, sliding the door closed.

Two hours later, his master returned. Threw a bucket of water over him. Told him to stand. Untied his hands then used the handcuffs behind his back and led him out to the yard.

It was dark now. The only light came from a camp fire burning in an open pit. There were the four men sitting round the fire on logs. Beer was being drunk. On each side of the fire were two heavy metal posts, each one having a slot cut in the top that could hold a metal pole for turning the meat to be cooked over the fire. The pole lay on the ground, seven feet long, one end turned into a handle. About three feet from one end there was a metal tube sticking up and out like an L. About twelve inches long, it came out about seven inches before turning up to run parallel with the pole. The tube was about two inches across. There were pieces of fencing wire lying next to the pole, barbed points catching the glow of the hot burning wood in the fire pit.

When they saw Pete come out, the four men stood up and waited. Two of them were wearing thick work gloves. One picked up the pole. Sandmaster ordered Pete to take off his boots then undid the cuffs so he could obey. The boy was shaking now. The idea of what might be coming was impossible but he obeyed anyway. This was not what he has asked for. Maybe it was a test, to see if he would crack and cry and run away. He took off his boots and waited. The fourth man came up to him and stood at one side and then Sandmaster, on the other, escorted him to the waiting men. He was turned round so his back was to the pole. He felt the two men grab his biceps and lift him. He felt the piece of the pole that stuck out come between his legs then he was forced down onto it. Twelve inches of cold metal were pushed up into his asshole and he whimpered.

He was hanging off the pole, impaled. The fourth man held him there by placing a hand on his chest as Sandmaster took his hands and handcuffed them behind his back with the pole between his hands and his back. He saw the other two men with gloves move, picking up pieces of fencing wire. His feet were dragged behind the pole and there was pain as they were bound in position with the vicious wire. A piece came round his chest, metal points ripping his skin as he was bound to the pole just below his nipples. Another piece fastened him below his belly button, cutting into his six pack.



Finally his mouth was forced open and wire filled it, cutting across his cheeks and pushing his head against the pole. He started crying, softly. He felt his whole body being lifted as the four men, two on each end of the pole, moved him from upright to horizontal. He was carried over to the fire and, quickly, they swung him over the burning wood and dropped the ends of the pole into the two metal supports. He now hung like a piece of meat over the heat, which was intense. They had put him there without a word. No one had said anything as they prepared him for the fire.

Sandmaster stood at the end with the handle and turned it. Pete saw the flames disappear and the stars appear, the heat moving from his front to his back. He was turned 360 degrees. The water dripped off him into the flames and sparked and sizzled. His bruised body turned. He hung over the heat, his cock hanging down, the head quickly starting to burn. He was turned and turned again. Sandmaster handed him over to another of the men and Pete was turned some more. He felt his pubic hair burn. He screamed as the heat crisped his foreskin and scrotum. His eyelashes burnt away. He heard the laughter of the men awaiting their meal as his skin reddened and cooked. Finally, just before he lost consciousness, he thought of that last message from Sandmaster. ‘Don’t be late. I’ve got friends coming for dinner. You’ll be serving them. They like their meat on time and very rare, young and hung. Tenderized.’

They ate well that night.

2 komentáře:

  1. This story is amazing.
    One of the best on the net.
    Hope you have lots of more material like this.
    Consider me your biggest fan then!

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  2. The first pic really excites me, naked,bound, on display for a bunch of men. Woof Woof!! Wish this would happen to me ;)...

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