A New Pair of Genes

Part III

Tens years of this plague changed the entire structure of human society and government. There were those who pandered to the excesses created in the behavior of men. Producers and purveyors of bondage and S&M tools and toys pandered to those who were infected and who had developed symptoms. Suicide factories opened where men who had reached the point of their disease where they felt the aching need to terminate their lives could go and get relief--for a hefty fee, of course.

As Mitch walked into the "gym" with confidence, his company T-shirt tight across his developing chest, Miles approached with a huge grin.

"Well, you've been with us a while now and you've shown a lot of potential in a very short time! How long have you been in this business? Two years?"

"Eleven months next week, sir."

"Wooooeee! You're how old now?"

"Six...," he stopped and grinned, "nineteen, sir."

Miles winked and grinned. "Good boy. Well, I think you are more than ready for the next phase. You are inventive, diligent, and a really mean fucker! Cruelty seems to come naturally to you. It's a damn good thing you have the gay genes or your aggression might put you where these men are." He gestured across the field.

"Here. Let me show you some of my innovations."

Mitch like Miles and thought his shaved head made him look sexy. They walked to a small mound where one man was tied upside to a Y-frame with his head apparently buried in the ground. Another was buried in the ground with only his head and hands above the ground, his hands each a foot from the ears.

"Now, Ned here has his head stuck underground where there is a large container so he can breathe, but, of course cannot see what we are going to do to him. This setup is causing his fear to increase."

He held up a device with a visual display and aimed it at the inverted man's body.

"Hmmm. He is almost ready but needs a bit more--how shall I put it? Incentive? This little gimmick measures the endorphin and hormone levels. As you can see, they are extremely high and Ned's cock is about to split apart, I see. Now the monitor display shows you his face in the barrel. It's a thermal image since he is in complete darkness, but you can see that he is ready for his termination."

The young man watched the delirious man's face--apparently devoid of any rational expression. Instead, he was moaning, eager yet afraid to get killed.

"Most men don't need too much additional pain or humiliation when they reach final termination levels. Their nerve cells have been so stimulated with pain and pleasure that its almost like a burnout--they still get immense pleasure, but to them it is little more than a dullness of their previous sensations. The body can't provide more pleasurable or higher levels of sensation, so the virus, which has been causing the release of chemicals driving these men to self-destruction, has kicked into overdrive. Like whatever it is that causes lemmings to rush into the sea to drown, these men rush here to get exterminated. Our job is to make sure that they have reached the most pleasurable high when they depart."

"So, if I understand correctly, the red, green, orange and yellow lines on this display have to be at their highest frequency?"

"Not really. Most men can never get to that level. We make it so all of the lines are synchronized--each crest and valley of the frequency waves not only needs to be of the same amplitude but also the same wavelength."

"They look like sine waves or heartbeat monitor waves. Well three of the lines are aligned but the orange one isn't. How do we get it to be the same?"

"Ah! You are smart. Usually the question is 'why aren't they aligned', but yours is how to get them aligned. Watch." He grabbed a rubber mallet and walked to the partially buried man, lifted the mallet, and rained down several blows onto his balls.

"It only went up a little. Does that mean he needs more pain before we can kill him? Can I suggest something? Got a lighter? Here. Open yours and pour the fluid onto the underside of his cock and across the base of his balls. Now here is my lighter. We need lots of fluid. I've got some matches somewhere."

The fluid's irritation on the sensitive skin caused Ned to writhe and squirm. He knew something was going on, and the fear mixed with anticipation was driving him nuts. He knew he was going to die, he was prepared for it and was actually looking forward to it, but the uncertainty and the waiting were driving him over the edge.

When the fire was lit, there was a moment of stunned inactivity followed by the torso wrenching itself against the bonds. The thermal display showed the mouth opening in a scream, eyes clenched shut, neck muscles straining. The two speakers next to the bound and flaming man projected Ned's screams so the two tormentors could appreciate them, too. The sound was unique because of the small space and reverberations of the can enclosing his head.

"Here," Miles offered a bow and arrow and took one himself. "Shoot him with an arrow."

Mitch pulled slowly back and took careful aim. The blur of the arrow was followed by a spray of blood and Ned's screams could be heard above ground.

"Good shot! Right in the nads, too. Put out the fire though. I am very impressed!"

The lad blushed. "Well, actually, I'm not all that good, sir. I was really aiming for his bellybutton."

A hearty laugh and slap on the back caused the bashful youth to grin.

"Well, boy, you seem to have a bit of serendipitous luck, then. Here. Try a few more shots."

Mitch launched several arrows, most of them finding their way into the bound man's belly with only a few whizzing by and missing entirely.

"Well, Ned isn't dead by a long shot, so to speak, and he is at his greatest synchronized level so he is definitely ready to go. Reach into that box and take that junky thing out."

The lad complied and removed a large and impressive firearm, which he eagerly placed against his shoulder, threw the straps on in a fluid motion. He aimed at the bleeding form in front of him.

"Go on! Spray him with bullets."

The loud racket of the Uzi was so sudden that it frightened everyone nearby, but a spray of bullets punctured a line across Ned's belly, then swung back and pierced his chest. The body was jolted by each impact, and Mitch was stunned at how easily he had done this and how natural the weapon felt in his hands, his body adapting to the cacophonous rhythms of the weapon as it vibrated.

"Good job! See his face? See all of this cum he spewed--9 feet, I'll wager. He died at the peak of the juncture of all of the necessary components. The display shows a perfect alignment of the waves. Now Jim here," he pointed to the man whose head was sticking out of the ground, "needs a lot more pain before his levels are in synch. That's why he wanted to be buried wrapped in banana leaves and surrounded by hot stones to cook him. His face is red and contorted with the pain, so he should begin screaming soon."

The two watched patiently as the buried man cursed them both, then apologized, then gave them his profuse gratitude as the agony became more intense. Finally, he burst out screaming and shrieking in long, piercing, high-pitched wails.

"Ah, sounds like the pop up thermometer has kicked in on our little turkey... or did the cooking timer go off?"

"Great sense of humor kid, he'll like that. Actually we'll know when he's done cooking when the smoke detector goes off, that's how I always cook--wink, wink. Here. Grab this handle."

A two-handled adz was positioned in front of the mostly buried man whose head was thrashing from side to side and whipping about so much that Mitch thought he would snap his neck. The blade of the adz was almost at ground level and was slanted with wheels at the back. Each man grabbed one of the upright handles and ran forwards, the blade's edge aimed at Jim's neck. The man looked on in wide-eyed terror through his agony--yet there was a mixture of emotions as the expression on his face swiftly changed to that of intense pleasure. The men hurtled forward with the instrument, lopping the head cleanly off.

"Shit!" Mitch blurted. "I forgot to check and see if he was really ready. I didn't aim my quad-corder at him to check!"

"Don't worry. We all make that mistake, but we all have an instinct that tells us when they are ready. The quad-corder is a backup plan. Only the sissies really use it all of the time. I'll bet when we exhume him, will find the stones in front of his cock doused with jism and they'll be cooler than the rest."

A disturbance brought both men's attention to a screaming, cursing man being dragged forward across the field to a field house.

"Ah. This one is mine!" the light in Miles' eyes was intense.

"You fucking son-of-a-bitch, Miles!"

"You obviously know my mother."

"I knew you'd be the one to finish me off. You cocksucker--and you were good at that."

Miles turned calmly to Mitch.

"This piece of human waste went to high school with me. He harassed me and made my life a living hell while he played on the football team, furiously fucking every cheerleader. I was stuffed into a locker and humiliated by him."

"Yeah. Even then I knew I'd wind up in some faggot's hands to be offed, so I figured I'd get my licks in while I had a chance."

"'Faggot', eh?" Miles was no small man, and the punch to the man's gut was enough to knock the wind out of him. "You didn't seem to mind the faggot so much when you sucked my cock in college or when I skewered your fine ass on my pole! You were a better lay and cocksucker than most queer men I know! You had your legs up and your pink eye puckering and begging for this 'fag's' cock."

"Yeah, well, the virus must've been kicking in, otherwise I never would have done that shit. You humiliated me by raping me, even though I begged for it--still beg for it. My stint on the football team and on the college's hockey team must've had my testosterone levels and aggression levels working overtime, stimulating and feeding that fucking terminator virus. How come I didn't burn out earlier, then? I would've thought that I'd have been ripe for the picking before I was 25."

"Most of your team members did 'burn out' and we got them when they were still in their early twenties. Like the lummoxes hauling your big, hulking carcass, you spent most of your post-teen life with me and under heavy sedation. These guys are doing the sedative therapy to forestall their own imminent end until they've had enough pain and pleasure built up. They, at least, have chosen to work here because they can build up money-points to be able to afford their own executions since they are broke little piss-ants. You, however, were just a rich man's idle son after you got out of college.

"Yeah (sob) and you laid your spell on me and made me your cock's slave. I was humiliated being led around in public, nude, where you sold tickets to have me raped!"

"You loved it or you wouldn't have done it or the other things we did in my basement's chamber of horrors. Sadly, the sedative treatment only delays the inevitable, and I see by our handy dandy little quad-corder device here that you are overflowing with endorphins, hormones, and, apparently, semen. I'm going to love doing you in."

"(Sigh!) You loveable son-of-a-bitch. Actually, I'm glad you are going to do this. Rod has been such a prick with me--no imagination. You, at least, were always coming up with new--and expensive--ways to torture me so I could shoot my hot load often. He just used the old standbys. So, speaking of your hot little imaginative designs, what has my sixty grand bought me for my extermination."

"Seventy grand--I get a commission for the design of, and assisting with building of, the mechanism. Don't look so pissed, pussyboy--it's not like you'll be needing the money, after all.

"Yo! Lunkheads! Drag this waste of protoplasm inside and put him into the container."

The former athlete was led to a small building and all five men entered, instantly focusing their attention on the apparatus in the middle of the room. A large, glass cylinder with several glass pipes leading to it from pumps dominated the center of the room, surround by a platform and a series of control devices.

The victim's heart was beating rapidly. One could almost see it pulsing behind his ribcage. Was it from dread or anticipation? A metal and leather harness was forced onto him and leather straps were wrapped around him at his biceps, elbows, and wrists, effectively binding his arms to his sides. Similar straps held his thighs, calves, and ankles firmly in place. A heavy chain and metal ball were attached to the ankle chain.

"Well, Jack. Are you ready--probably not, but, hey--I don't give a fuck about what you want, so, up you go."

The athletic-killer director shoved a handle on a control panel forward and an ominous cranking noise was heard as Jack was lifted, another well-planned addition, since the thunderous sounds and grease smells of the heavy metal added to the aura of fatalistic doom. Another lever caused the bound form to swing over the glass tube in the center of the room. Lifting and positioning the man into the center of the cylinder, the powerfully built, but eventually ill-fated, assistants carefully slid the man inside the glass.

"I like these levers. See? They are dildos. Now watch as I grab this one and pull."

Jack was lowered into the bell-jar tube, the weight at his ankles pulling his legs straight, until the metal ball rested on the floor of the tube. Jack was suspended in mid-air, his feet off the ground. The assistants placed two semicircular, glass lid parts along the top and slid them until they met and locked around the prey's neck so that only his head protruded above the enclosed tube.

Miles directed Mitch to turn a round faucet handle at a big pipe and water jettisoned into the chamber from all sides, filling it in only moments. The older man hit a large, green button with the palm of his hand and large bubbles percolated around the suspended figure.

"Ooooh! Feels kinda good. Is this supposed to kill me? Am I suppose to perish in a Jacuzzi?" the former athlete smirked, edging his executioner on.

"No," Miles stated matter-of-factly. "But the bubbles will relax your muscles as well as provide pleasant sensations on your skin, making it both sensitive and sensual. I got the idea from a bathhouse in Chicago. Ah! I see your cock is burgeoning nicely and, look, there are trails of seminal precum floating in the water. Pity you never had any kids or got married. Why was that?"

"Fuck you!"

In actuality, Jack had been so afraid of the eventual outcome of his disease that he didn't want to abandon a wife and children when he should have been raising a family. Most men were promiscuous, intending to spread their seed enough in the hopes that they would somehow live on, if only through their children. Jack used condoms--often two at a time.

"Fuck me? Nay, nay. I'm a top, as you know from our little rape sessions. But, since you are such a cold and uncaring person after all I've done for you," he gave an exaggerated, mock sniffle, "and all of the pleasure I've provided for you, I will now warm you up."

His palm shot forward and struck the orange button. Mitch heard the gas jets light and looked under the wire-grid platform that supported the glass jar. An array of small blue flames licked the glass. It didn't take long before the gauge indicated that the water was rapidly heating.

"You're gonna cook me!" the encapsulated man fearfully inquired. Yet, his penis leaked more fluid.

"Not quite. Oh, you will practically boil for a while so I can get your pain levels up to where they can give you the highest levels of pleasure before I end your sad life, but I have a variation on that theme for your grand finale."

The water heated quickly and Jack squirmed as the temperature became uncomfortable. After a while, he began screaming and bucking in his harness, churning the water more. Miles directed Mitch's attention to the gauge.

"We'll hold it steady here at this temp for a while. Any higher and the heat would eventually cook him and kill him, which would ruin my plans."

For 20 minutes the former classmate cursed Miles, screamed in agony, begged him to stop, and spewed voluminous loads of semen in powerful orgasms, spewing his gratitude as he did.

"Impressive, Jack! I rather thought that you were an exceptional candidate. Now, Mitch, you see that his pleasure frequency's amplitude is far higher than that of most men. He is burning and in extreme agony and extreme pleasure, all working together. I believe we can push him even higher and make his last moments feel as if he's reached Nirvana."

Another jab at the green button caused the water to be sucked out of the chamber, and the assistants watched as it bubbled and swirled through the many pipes along the side of the chamber. The loud noises as the water retreated were almost comical. A sobbing Jack, his skin a bright red with a few blisters, hung in the somewhat cooler air.

"Now, now, Jack. It's almost over."

"It isn't over? I've had the best seven orgasms of my life. Thank you. Each one of these was more powerful than the previous and I thought that I'd pass out and die from any of the last three! Thank you, thank you so very much."

A smiling Miles proudly puffed out his chest. "You are very welcome, my boiled stud friend. Now, sadly, although I would love to torment you for hours, I see that your wavelengths are practically in sync and almost off the chart as a matter of fact. Your athletic training has served you very well, but it is time for you to join your teammates. So we have to proceed quickly if you are to get the best benefit from this."

The four standing men in the room wore sweatpants, and these were tented, even on the straight, bull-necked assistants. Miles and Mitch had wet stains soaking through the fabric. It was Miles who noticed the erections on the assistants.

"If they are straight, how come they are hard, too?"

"Violence is a very powerful aphrodisiac, my boy. The heterosexual male is often turned on by extreme acts of sadism. That's why wartime atrocities are so prevalent. It doesn't matter who the victim is--male, female, even children and babies are tortured, mutilated and murdered so as to stimulate straight men with a sense of sexual power and domination. Stop. I know what you are going to ask. Gay men enjoy some of this domination over life and death (as we both do), but our victim's are exclusively male and started out with the purpose of arousing us. Now watch as I press the red button."

A clear liquid sloshed through the glass pipes and it looked like a second water bath was going to take place, but the screeching from the suspended victim came far more quickly as the chamber was filled with the fluid within seconds. Bits of flesh and blood could be seen temporarily before they dissolved in the acid bath. A sudden burst of white liquid from Jack's groin was also devoured, but its quantity was so vast and continuous that it wasn't until the entire penis and much of the groin were dissolved that it ceased.

Within seconds, Jack was dead, and within a minute, even the leather and metal were being decomposed until all that remained of Miles' former bully was the head above the tube. A contented, euphoric smile graced the severed head. This was carefully removed, rinsed, and preserved for the collection Miles had of his best hits.

He later discovered that, since Jack had no heirs, he had been named in the wealthy man's will and he had inherited a large portion of his victim's estate.

"Miles, you fucking cocksucker <wink><wink>! I may have hated your ever-loving gay prick, but the care you took to bring me to orgasms in the humiliation, rape, and torture sessions convinces me that you are adept at the job you do and will do an excellent (no, make that MAGNIFICENT!) job on my poor body when you kill me. I have every confidence in you and know that, although I will suffer untold agonies beyond what I can possibly bear, that you will also make sure that I experience the ultimate pleasure as I die. For this, I am eternally grateful. Sorry about that locker stuffing shit. I'm was such a butthead in my youth and am so even now (ask my staff), but I hope this will both make up for that and reward you."

The recorded image was later given to Miles along with a substantial list of property and money that Miles inherited.

As the older man and his protege left, Miles walked to a man suspended by his arms on a T-cross with a set of wires coiled around his cock and wrapped around his balls. Another pair of wires was clipped to his nipples. One of the executioners was sending current through the wires at various voltage levels and the man was weak and sweating from his ordeal.

Miles looked at his instrument and frowned. He shoved the assistant aside and turned the dial up.

"Thank you! Bless you!" the man managed to utter before Miles slammed a lever that sent the lethal levels of current through the man's body. Smoke and the smell of burning flesh were evident, as the body became rigid and vibrated violently, pulsing with the current's jolts. The setting was just at the lethal level, although it was not a continuous level but alternated between two different levels quickly. As the man screamed and quivered, the unimpeded, almost purple cockhead opened its lips and spewed a load of semen thirteen feet in front of him for twenty seconds (drowning several ants).

When the current was turned off, the director ripped the piano wire from the chastised executioner, went behind the deceased man, wrapped a loop around his neck, and viciously yanked on the free end, briskly closing the loop which, in turn, cut through the neck. The head, once free from it mooring, tumbled onto the dirt and landed with an ear immersed in the victim's own expended sum.

"You fool!" Miles angrily slapped the remorseful employee. "That man was ready to perish for quite some time. Only an idiot would continue tormenting a victim so long after the alignment of the waves. You are not being paid so you could get your jollies by overdoing it."

"I'm sorry," the grown man whimpered with a lisp. "I just got so involved that i forgot to check on the waves."

"Liar! Your device beeps when a man has been too long in the synchronization phase precisely to prevent that. The automatic log shows that a code was entered to disable that feature. I wasn't born yesterday, moron. This is the oldest trick in the book and you've done this often enough to know when a victim is ready. You are suspended without pay for three days."

"Three days!"

"Yep, and no home visit terminations either or you'll be where he is!"

"But... but isn't that too excessive? I need the money for a house I've bid on. If I don't have the cash, I'll lose my chalet!"

"Sucks to be you right about now. You should have thought about that before you violated the rules."

"But he asked me to keep it up--he begged me."

"I'm sure he did, and he probably promised to give you the best blowjob you've ever had if you could just keep him on the brink, too. However, he was well past the termination levels and had I not stepped in, his orgasm levels would have dropped and when you finally got around to killing him, he wouldn't have any usable pleasure and would miss his ultimate orgasm. You are a professional, sir--or are supposed to be! These men can't make rational decisions for themselves! Their minds are weak and they only want one thing--intense pleasure as they die. They expect it. They don't know when they are ready. That's our job. They are delirious. Now pack your things and stay home for three days."

"But, sir... my chalet!"

"Make that four days."

"But, Miles... uh, sir-"

"Five days. Want to try for an entire week?"

The executioner, in the brand new leather duds he was showing off, stalked off with a face so red Mitch could have sworn he could see the steam emanating from under the hood.

Miles quickly regained his composure and took Mitch to the work area where he would be.

"Okay, kid. Show me your stuff. I understand you worked with this guy previously? Does this next guy know what you have planned for him? Good. It's often best when the victim has some input."

RACCONTI

STORIES

LINKS

MATERIALI/ MATERIALS

GALLERIA/ GALLERY