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A New Pair of
Genes By Yagov Sangria Part IV
The tall, well-built, older blond man was smiling as the terminator duo crossed the field, his chest puffed out. He had oiled his body and had handed the bottle to a younger man to finish his back and ass. His eyes beamed as Mitch stood in front of him, appraising him with an expert's eyes. "I am soooooo ready, Mitch. The whole thought of getting executed (I mean having my suicide done) this way has me almost mesmerized with its lure. My spine tingles every time I envision myself at that final moment. You haven't made any changes, have you?" Mitch shook his head but didn't speak. "You must be the director here? Miles, is it? I am so glad to meet you, sir, and more glad that you are allowing Mitch here to do me in--finally. My brother over there," he gestured to an area without any grass where some type of frame structure was being erected, "and I have been attempting to cool our heels until Mitch here could get his license to terminate us. I'm so very glad that you pushed that process through so quickly, because I certainly wouldn't have been able to hold out much longer. "Mitch here has been marvelous with both of us. I didn't know you guys could bring such delicious torment and still succor us with the compassion we need. My son, Jeff here, is eagerly looking forward to his own time, so I had him hook up with Mitch. He may still have a few years and beers to go before he starts in on the viral spiral, but I want him to see how great this can be. That's okay, isn't it? He's twenty." "Well, yeah, I suppose so. We don't usually get the kids watching, but if it's okay with you and with him, it's fine by us. Mitch? You don't mind, do you? I thought not. Your brother is going out today, too? Now that is very unusual." "Yep!" the man beamed, practically bouncing on his toes as he chuckled. "Jeff is my oldest of six--two girls and four boys (I started breeding at 15, of course). Mitch managed to stall my own rush to my expiration date so Carl there could catch up. He kept me on the edge with just enough agony and pleasure to keep me in a continual state of euphoric bliss while at the same time making it so the virus didn't kick in any further. He also accelerated Carl's inevitable end with extra workouts for him. We knew Carl would have been only about a month or two behind me, so this set up is just perfect." "Well, Mitch. I guess I was right about you. You do have a natural instinct for this line of work." "Thank you, sir." "You can cut the 'sir' crap. If I am any judge of talent and character, and I usually am, you will be my boss within a year!" "He is a genius," the bouncing muscle-stud glowed. "Uncle Steve!" Mitch blushed, "You're embarrassing me." "Not at all," Miles corrected. "He is right. You had the two relatives to work on, I presume, and may have thought they were being cooperative because you are a relative, but I assure you that, in bringing a man to the termination phase, kinship has little influence." "Yeah, I suppose so, but, as you said, at this stage their judgment is impaired and they'll say anything to get offed." "True, but that only applies to their looking to bring the viral cycle to its final stages. Praise from an infected man at the advanced stage as your uncle is, is true praise indeed. Wow! Look at these readings! He is right. Even I never had anyone at this level. I'm surprised he isn't walking off a cliff or hanging himself." Uncle Steve rubbed his nephew's hair, hugged him and then his son, kissing them both. He announced with a final, deep expulsion of air, "Well, then, if I am at such a high level (and man-oh-man, I can feel it--my blood seems to be loaded with pleasure chemicals), then let's get on with the show!" Mitch smirked as he reached into a box and pulled out a red stick. "Are those my new dildos?" his relative teased. "Yes, Uncle Steve. Now let's lube these babies up and shove them into that perfect asshole of yours." "Uhmpf! Not as good as your magnificent cock being up there. I'm going to miss those great rapes of yours. You're hung like Carl there. Jeff and I sort of got the short end of the stick, so to speak. We've only got seven inches to your eleven long and seven around." Mitch blushed, but he kept his professionalism and stuffed the hard objects far into his uncle's twitching ass, leaving the wires hanging neatly out. Jeff was helping by wrapping the long wires from the dynamite with tape so they didn't tangle. With the sticks of dynamite filling his guts painfully with so much pressure, one could see the irregularities in the man's muscled stomach. Steve was grimacing but enjoying the internal pain as he groaned. Positioning the oiled-up man on his knees with his back to a vertical pole, both young men bound his arms behind him and tied him to the pole. His knees were on the ground far in front of him, and this arched him backwards, curving his stomach out and up. The young executioner placed a large yoke around his uncle's neck and led the wire behind the pole. Not a usual collar, this one jutted in front of the neck with a long, wide, but narrow box. Jeff removed a brick of firecrackers and handed his cousin a string. Carefully and somewhat artistically, he wrapped these around his uncle's ready woody and, wrapping a longer fuse at one end, stepped back, admiring his uncle's gorgeous body. Grinning lewdly, he walked back to the plungers, screwing the wires to the terminals. He turned to his cousin. "Are you sure you want to watch this? I mean, seeing your dad get killed isn't high on the family album list. Besides, seeing it done by a cousin might put a chill on the family get-togethers and reunions." "Don't worry, cuz. No one is going to blame you or resent what you are doing. My dad and I are just so glad it's you doing this and that you're enjoying this, too--at least from the look of that monster cock you've got that's trying to split the fabric of your sweatpants open." "Okay," Mitch blushed as he pushed his cock up along his stomach. "But it's gonna get messy--really messy. Want to light a match?" he grinned. "Uh, no, well... yeah, I'll light it but you have to put it on the fuse." He lit the wooden match and handed it to Mitch. Mitch preferred to use the wooden matchsticks instead of a lighter because of the feel of the wood and the smell of the sulfur as it caught the spark. A lighter was good as a back-up plan, but he had earlier used the lighter, emptying out its fluid. The zip of the match head against the box was in itself erotic. The spark burst the red head into flame and this, in turn, lit the long fuse. The crackle of the filament was an erotic tone for both the victim and the two terminators. Steve's eyes were wide with fearful anticipation as he watched the progress of the starburst flame approach nearer and nearer, yet he was swiveling his cock in the air, urging the flashing spark on it journey. "C'mon, c'mon! Let's get a move on!" The rapid succession of explosions tore at the bound man's sex organs. Although each individual firecracker didn't do much, the painful burns and the forceful ripping of his flesh caused the bound man to convulse and tear at his rope bonds. The prick flopped in myriad directions until the explosions ripped the tender family jewels into shreds and finally blew the penis and then the testicle clean off the screaming man's body. The thirty-five year old man, his face red from the pain as tears streamed down his face, instantly went into his puffing mode, a technique he had used successfully that Mitch had taught him to maintain control while in intense pain. His distended stomach and chest were heaving up and down as he focused his attention on his breathing, letting the pain from his gelding create oodles of endorphins that seemed to drip in rivulets, cascading over the pleasure centers of his brain, firing all of the synapses like a fireworks display. Mitch went to work as a professional, and he soon had checked the wires on the plunger terminals, dropped to one knee, and grasped the handle. He waited for his uncle to look at him. Jeff laid a hand on his cousin's shoulder and Miles backed up behind the two young men. With a quick, upward jerk, he raised the handle, paused, then slammed his full weight down. A spray of blood and tissue spewed from the bound man's abdomen, accompanied by the loud sound of the explosion. Steve's body was hurtled in several directions by the blast, but the ropes binding him to the pole made him look more like a child's tethered stuffed toy caught in a hurricane. Bloody pieces of the man's body were flung as far as twenty feet away. When the crimson spray settled, Steve's eyes fluttered open wide and he was visibly shaken but awash in euphoria. He gave his nephew a questioning look as if to ask why this ordeal was not over. Yet, there was a glow to his whole body. Mitch picked up the small box with the single wire that led to the dying man's collar. He could have used a more sophisticated trigger mechanism for the dynamite, but had opted for the plunger for the ambiance it lent to the scene. This device, however, need something handheld, like a TV remote or garage door opener. Miles was watching the quad-corder and was about to say something when Mitch, who had been looking intently at his relative, gauging the man's readiness, pressed on the button as hard as he could. There was a gasp as Steve took in his last gulp of air before the electromagnets at the back of his yoke pulled the sharp edge of the thin blade to them. His tongue gurgled, and then his mouth gaped open and closed like a fish out of water, as his head slipped over his shoulder, falling to his side. All three men looked at the hollowed out torso with the blond head blissfully smiling next to it. "Great job, cuz! Are you sure dad was your first? I want to go out in a blaze of glory, too, just like my dad just did. Could you arrange it exactly like this when it's my turn? You can? Kewl!" "I agree, lad," Miles smiled approvingly. "That was one helluva good offing. Most men can't get it that good even when they've been doing this job for years. I have to agree--'kewl'!" Mitch enjoyed the accolades, but he deliberately walked to the severed head, lifted it up and kissed the cheek. He turned away from the others and hid the tear that trickled down his cheek. "Good-by, Uncle Steve. I love you so much. Thank you." "Yo, Mitch! Over here. It's my turn, now," the man by the strange building shouted and waved his hands overhead. "Oh, Mitch!" Jeff's eyes were sparkling and he grabbed his crotch, swaying from one foot to the other like a kid having to pee. "Can I watch you do Uncle Carl? I mean, I probably don't have a right to, but I'd heard what he has planned and maybe that will be the way for me to go. I just need to see it to make sure." Miles grinned and pushed the man forward, then leaned towards Mitch and whispered jokingly, "When it's Jeff's turn, can I do him in, huh? Huh? The men in your family sure are unique!" "It's in the genes," Mitch smirked at their inside joke, then hauled the plunger. "Well what do we have here, Carl? Hi. I'm Miles, by the way." "Pleased to meet you but I probably won't remember your name after Mitch gets done with me, now will I?" Both of the older men laughed. "Well, Mitch and I have built this... well, whatever you want to call it. Basically, It's a wooden frame. Under here are two dozen metal spikes. I've put a very thin sheet of wood--really nothing more than the thickness of a couple of sheets of paper--on top of them. It's just resting on the tips of the spikes. "On top of this, we've got some packs of dynamite wrapped in rag bundles. Above that, but not resting on the packs, is a grid of thin strips of wood crisscrossing above. I'll be lying down on that with my head sticking out over here." "Look rather flimsy, don't you think?" Miles warily looked at the structure. "That's the intent," Mitch pitched in. "The wood needs to get flung aside in order for my--" "Yeah!" Carl bubbled in excitement. "If it doesn't, I'll just get blown up like my brother Steve there--although my guts'll be blown in and my body parts'll fly all over this yard of yours." Miles gave a dubious look. "How do you know how much dynamite to use?" Before Mitch could speak up, the naked man bounced around the structure and dragged out a stuffed sack with sand leaking out. It was a dummy with arms and legs. "You're tight, of course, that there is always an element of uncertainty in these things. That's what is making it so exciting. If the dynamite is just right, I'll be flung off the structure by the impact and land to the side like the dummy here did. I'll probably get knocked out, so Mitch has this oxygen tank here to revive me before he stabs me to death; if the amount of dynamite is too much, I get blown to bits; if it isn't enough, I'll be lifted up, the thin board will be blown to smithereens and I'll come down landing on these spikes." The blond (his hair slightly darker than his brother's had been) rocked back and forth, his chest puffed out. "I've taken some of the dynamite and removed the powder," Mitch continued, "then refilled them with sand and salt so they felt and weighed the same. That way, some sticks are true dynamite, while others only have a third, a half, or no powder. Then I randomly placed the dummy sticks with the real ones, so when--" "Yeah!" Carl interrupted. "So I don't know if I placed enough charges to rip me to shreds or just enough to make me pop up a bit. Now underneath this whole magilla is a layer of real dynamite, but that's for after the show." "Well," Miles chimed in, rubbing his hands together, "let's get on with the show then, shall we?" Carl climbed onto the structure carefully and lay on his stomach over the crossing strips of wood. Mitch had Jeff tie the burly man's ankles and knee together while he tied the man's wrists and arms behind him, finally attaching the ankles and wrists together. It looked uncomfortable to be hog-tied like that, but that was the intent. Carl's neck and head were dangling over the edge, and when Miles came up to him, his crotch was at Carl's level and was definitely tenting his sweatpants. "Uh. You don't want me to take care of that for ya, do ya?" The doomed man was hopeful that he wouldn't be called on for that task. "Oh yes, I do!" Miles flexed his knees as he pulled the waistband beneath his genitals so his impressive cock, damp from the fabric, and balls were set free. "That's why I'm in front of you. It's one of the perks of the job, to humiliate you sad little straight boys with our big, ol', scary, gay pricks. I'm surprised Mitch hasn't beaten me to this, but his loss is my gain. Besides. I have more seniority. Now suck, boy!" Carl focused in on the meat in front of him and diligently worked the man's rod until Miles gasped, grasped the blond head and shoved it down as he spat volleys of his ball-juice into the hot mouth. "Shit! You are pretty good at this! I shouldn't be surprised, though, since you've been working with Mitch." Although he knew Carl, humiliated by his domination by some queer, was more than ready for his termination, he measured his readiness levels with the quad-corder in order to keep a record of it for his portfolio on Mitch's apprenticeship. He was required to document his ability to hit the mark on when to finish a victim. As before, the levels were higher than most he had seen. Mitch dusted himself off after he checked the charges on the ground as well as the ones above the spikes, then he shooed his cousin and boss off to the side and out of harm's way. He was screwing the wires onto the plunger when Carl teased him. "Hey! Dickhead!" That was his favorite nickname for his executioner. "If they are still intact, give my cock and balls to your mother. She'll like to keep them." Mitch grinned and shook his head in embarrassment. Carl's cock, was, indeed as impressive as the lad's own, as were the huge set of knockers, but he didn't believe they would last intact. There were too many variables. "Sure I will," he said to placate the man who was now fidgeting in anticipation and apprehension. He lifted the plunger and looked at the victim. "Ready, Dad?" Miles eyes popped open as Carl's head nodded and Mitch rammed down on the handle. The explosion sent the body straight up from the platform and blew apart the wood as planned. The body made a half turn and Mitch groaned, expecting his father to land the wrong way. However, the flying form made another half turn on its decent and the torso was in position as it was driven onto the tips of the spikes and down, the body sliding along the shafts. "Darn!" Mitch grinned in mock disappointment. "He didn't blow up." Still grinning, he walked up to his father who was struggling to avoid the pain of the spears on his body. Mitch stood with his arms across his chest, grinning down and the wriggling victim. "That'll teach you to spank me," he said fondly, then, placing a foot on his dad's back, he shoved the naked form further onto the spikes. "What the hell," he shrugged and stood on top of the man's back, walking towards the shoulders and back. The skewered man grunted but didn't complain. He was in his own world of intense pain and pleasure, his mind reeling from the giddiness and ebullient aura he was experiencing. Mitch was about to return to the plunger when he noticed something, grinned excitedly, and squatted down, removing his knife from its sheath, He tugged on the dying man's genitals to free them from being squashed by the hard belly that was on top of them. Except for some redness, they were intact. Mitch carefully removed the family jewels. Carefully setting these next to the plunger, he screwed the second set of wires to the terminal and quickly set off the second set of explosive charges. The nearly dead man was raised off the spike and blown to pieces. "He's dead, Jim. You get his tricorder and I'll take his wallet," Jeff intoned in his best Dr. McCoy voice, recalling the favorite joke between the two cousins. Miles shook his head in disbelief as Mitch packed his dad's jewels in ice to be preserved and presented to his mother. "I don't believe you just did your old man in. I mean, I've done uncles, cousins, nephews, but no one else I've known in the business has ever done their own father in. Now that takes chutzpa--and for your apprenticeship, too!" "No, it wasn't anything special. Dad, just like Uncle Steve, knew I'd probably become a terminator, so they both got me ready for it. I never screwed my dad, though--just tortured him and, as you saw, blew his ass away. We actually had a good father-gay son relationship, and I'll miss him a lot, but it was his love for me and mine for him that got us both though this. He was a good parent, only spanking me once when I set a fire in the middle of the living room to imitate a cartoon I had seen." Miles had a new and deep admiration for his protégé as he placed a comforting arm around the young man's shoulder. Here, indeed, was a superstar among terminators, the pinnacle of professional talent, a real go-getter who was going to go far in this biz. |
