by Nathan Keeffer
On the island of Hawaii, the city of Honolulu was being destroyed. An exploding volcano hurled boulders the size of houses, along with millions of tons of ash, soot, pumice, magma and fossilized bone into the air. Men screamed and women died as molten rock covered them, causing them to be crushed and burned and vaporized– all at the same time.
However, a big white cruise liner was pulling out of the harbor, escaping the fiery destruction. Passengers crowded the decks, pointing and gasping as the city was incinerated behind them. Below decks, in one of the cabins, eight teenage boys sat around. They had been enjoying a vacation in Hawaii, but were leaving now. Just that morning, some of the local people of Honolulu had insulted the boys, calling them worthless tourists and fools.
This was a mistake, because Nathan, the 20 year old leader and mentor of the boys, did not tolerate such rudeness. He fired a pistol at the volcano from over one mile away, hitting it in just the right place and causing it to erupt and destroy the city, to punish them for insulting his friends.
Now they were escaping, setting out on a cruise to California, far away across the Pacific ocean. But, gentle reader, that’s really just background. This little tale concerns what the boys did to pass their time on the cruise...and what they did was extremely naughty! ( understatement of the decade ).
Fifteen year old Josh Radish, a sturdy, growing adolescent boy with black hair and warm brown eyes, stood next to Nathan, making some kind of fuss about Nathan’s amazing marksmanship earlier.
“Dude, how did you shoot at a volcano with a pistol, from a mile away, and make it blow up!?” he lamented.
“Well, Joshua.” Nathan laughed, as Josh grappled with him, wrestling playfully. “It’s because I have the ability on occasion to do the impossible. You know that, you Radish!”
“I’m a Radish.” Josh agreed, pushing his friend up against the wall and leaning on him.
“Josh, get off me! I’m covered with Butter!!” Nathan slurred in a thick British accent, just to be funny. It was an old joke. Last year, they had gone to sleep on a couch, and other boys had put butter on them as a joke. In the morning, it had melted, and it was a messy scene.
Nearby, Shawn giggled as he heard Nathan say that line again. Shawn was twelve, with shaggy light brown hair hanging in his face like a sheepdog. He had a smooth, tanned body and sat shirtless and barefoot on a bed, wearing a string of beads and shells like a tropical beach brat.
Thirteen year old Randy sat on a big chair, his brown hair long in back and medium length in front, wearing a gold chain and black tank top, and blue shorts. His feet were bare, and they were big, and they were propped up on a table. He smiled, like a brat.
Four other boys were present...Petey and Robby were twelve and thirteen year old beach brats in tie-dyed shirts and sandals, while Brandon and Jasper were both tall, cute, fifteen year old skateboarders...
Nathan glanced about the cabin at his friends and began to smile.
“I see boys all around me!” he said, “There are skaters and beach brats and friendly dude boys! There are horny 13 year olds! Oh my!”
The natural thing to do.
They did it.
Yes Mister, they DID it!! They eagerly fell on each other with friendly warmth and pushing hands!! The goodness of boys! Say it now! Say it forever! Josh and Randy and Petey were on Nathan, while Shawn did Robby a favor, and Brandon and Jasper had fun!
Two hours later, they all lay together, hot and tired and so content. They rested like boys, because they were boys.
“You’re a boy.” Nathan said to Randy, patting him.
“I’m glad.” Randy said, cuddling.
A bit later, Nathan and Randy went up to the deck with Brandon and Jasper, the skaters, who brought their boards and started rolling around on the shuffleboard court, while Nathan and Randy sat at a little table and ate a crab meringue pie with chives, accompanied by glasses of milk.
“I love you.” young Randy said, kicking his feet gently against Nathan’s legs under the table. Nathan felt Randy’s warm toes on his shins, and smiled across the table at his pal. Randy’s big brown eyes were shining and happy, his long dark hair shone darkly in the sunset. The gold chain around his neck said ‘I’m a brat’ and his big hands and thin arms said ‘I’m 13'.
Yes, like many boys, he was on the brink of adolescence and was just brimming with hot, unruly boyishness.
Nathan was gazing affectionately at his friend when suddenly, a horrible gurgling scream ripped at the sunset, spoiling the mood.
“Idiot!” Nathan snapped, whirling around. He saw a 60 year old woman wearing a blue silk dress and an enormous strand of obviously fake egg-sized pearls. Her hair was a huge wooly white afro, and she clutched a big red purse.
She was pointing at Brandon and Jasper.
“Aieeee!!” she screamed.
Her husband appeared– he was wearing a plaid suit, and he was bald! He shouted “Mabel, what is it!?”
She screamed, pointing at the skaters.
“Egg-Scuze me, Muh-Damm?” Nathan slurred sarcastically at her.
“Who? What!?” she gasped.
“Why are you screaming.” Nathan said flatly, inviting her to sign her own death warrant with her next words. She gladly obliged.
“Those terrible, obnoxious, dirty, stinky, ugly, stupid, worthless vile unruly thugs are operating Skating Boards on the cherished Shuffleboard Court!!” she brayed in outrage.
Nathan assumed an arrogant pose, then threw his crab meringue pie in the woman’s face. Then he thundered “Bitch! Whore! Fool! Plagiarist! Those boys are clean, happy brats!! They are teenagers, they are noble skaters, they are my friends!! How dare you speak rudely of them!?”
The woman stood, gasping.
Nathan continued : “Hypocrite! Prostitute! It is you, madam, who are undesirable! Have you dared to look in a mirror lately? You are the one who is ugly, vile, stinky and worthless!! Did I mention that you are ugly!?”
The old woman turned the color of a rotten avocado and brayed “Harold, do something!!”
“Shut up.” Nathan said, tossing his glass of milk. It broke over Harold’s head and he fell overboard and drowned. Nathan then threw a ten pound bag full of salt, ammonia crystals, nitroglycerine, and cyanide at Mabel. It opened in mid air and went all over her. She screamed as the caustic mixture petrified her skin into a hard, shiny, mummy-like rind. Gasping like a fish, she stumbled inot the path of a gust of wind and was carried away into the sky, dead.
“Hmmm. Most odd.” Nathan said, then sat back down with Randy, who was giggling about all of this. The skater-boys were still skating...tearing up the shuffleboard court deliberately now, leaving skid marks and shredding the colored tape lines.
Time passes with gentle unease on the open sea...
The boys grow bored, and begin to prowl the corridors of the cruise liner, looking around, peeping through doors...
Louis Burtglass was eighteen. He was leaving Hawaii to live with his four uncles, five aunts and a guy called Earl, in San Diego. For now, he lay on his bed in his cabin, sick to his stomach. Some people enjoy ocean travel– others are nauseated by it. Louis was of the second type. His stomach felt quivery, as if full of butterflies, and he was weak. Occasionally, a tear would seep from his eye– they were tears of seasickness. He looked at his watch and cursed in Danish– the boat wouldn’t reach the shore for almost two more days!! He ate a sleeping pill and went to sleep.
Robby, Petey, Shawn and Josh are creeping down the corridor, looking for adventure. As they walk, they surreptitiously try each door knob, looking for an unlocked room. Let me tell you about these boys now.
Josh, as we know, is 15 years old. He is 5'-7" tall and weighs around 140 pounds. He’s wearing a black T-shirt with a basketball team logo on it, black shorts, and black size 10.5 Nike Air Force high top sneakers... and a red baseball cap turned halfway backwards. He was a sly, devious, smirking teen who was cool and happy also.
Petey, 13 years old, is 5'-3" tall, 110 pounds, and is wearing a hysterically tie-dyed t-shirt, black shorts, and size 9.5 black slip-on adidas sport sandals. He’s got dark blond hair and warm, brown animal eyes.
Shawn is 12 years old, 5'-0" tall, and at 99 pounds he is a shaggy-haired brat. He wears a white T-shirt, beads around his neck, dark blue shorts, and he is barefoot. Had he been wearing shoes, they would have been size 9. Shawn had a little gap between his two front teeth which looked cute.
Robby was 12 years old, 4'-11", and he weighed 93 pounds. He was wearing a pair of cut-off blue jean shorts, a white tank top, and like Shawn, he was barefoot. His feet were size 8.5. He has straight, medium-short chestnut brown hair, big eyes, and a wide mouth made for smiling– or eating people. He was fond of sticking out his tongue and licking things.
They were boys. This we know.
They all had nice tans.
Josh twisted at a door knob, and a voice from within the room yelled “Go away! I didn’t order room service!”
Josh raised his middle finger at the door ( Shawn laughed ), then moved on to try the next door.
Louis Burtglass slept. In his dreams, he was back in Junior High, and Big Patrick Geronimo, the school bully, was pestering him. They called him Big Patrick because he was six feet tall and weighed 230 pounds... at the age of 13.
In the dream, he was sneering at Louis and making fun of his name. Louis went home and asked his father what kind of name Burtglass was...it was Dutch, he had been told. To this day, Louis secretly believed that his father had lied, that Burtglass was no more a Dutch name than Koomoboomoschlagenpiper was. Louis believed his father had merely invented the name Burtglass for some insane reason.
He was right.
You see, in 1954, his father had been named Pigchuck. But then he consulted a gypsy fortune teller, who suggested he change his name to Bhertglausz, the Pied Fool of Seville and his Holy Margarinette Pickler.
The man had balked at such an idiotic name, but settled on a shorter version: Burtglass. He died in Vietnam on the day Louis was born– hit in the face by a 105mm artillery shell.
Now, Louis awoke from his weird, introspective dream. At first, he thought he was still dreaming. The lights were out, and when he tried to move he could not. He felt weak and hot, and his heart was racing. He heard the whispering of young voices, and he felt a hand pressing against his mouth. But he soon recognized the sickening rhythm of the ocean waves, and he saw the dim outlines of his cabin, and he realized that he was definitely awake.
He had come out of a dream and into a nightmare. His door had been unlocked, you see, and the four boys had entered, carefully locking the door behind them, shutting off the lights, then standing around the bed. They looked at him laying there. He was an older boy, but they outnumbered him four to one, and he was sleeping. Slowly, ever so slowly, they climbed onto the bed. They moved carefully, quietly. They didn’t want him to wake up yet. They took their time, smiling, savoring the anticipation– this guy was theirs.
The mattress compressed under their hands and knees as they crawled like big boys from hell, from the foot of the bed up to Louis’s torso area. Josh smiled broadly in the dimness as he eased his big hands down around Louis’s arms, to hold them down.
So slow, so gentle.
Petey crept up and then sort of crouched half on louis and half on the bed, and put his hands over the sleeping boy’s mouth, to keep him quiet.
So slow, so gentle.
Robby sat on Louis’s legs, to keep them from kicking, while Shawn warmly slid in between Petey and Josh, laying on Louis, holding him down with his weight, his friendly hands open wide, reaching down for his vulnerable throat.
So slow, so gentle, a horizontal ballet of death.
That was when Louis awoke. And then, as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw that boys were sitting all over his bed, holding him down, covering his mouth. He saw one boy, around 12, lean in close. He had a nice head of brown hair, and a space between his two front teeth, and he smiled as he pressed his hands around Louis’s throat.
Shawn and his friends smiled, encouraging each other. This was a good thing they were doing, they knew it was. Shawn could have put all his strength into it, raising himself up and letting his heavy boyish weight be transmitted down his arms to his hands. He could’ve just squeezed down so hard, pressing his thumbs deep, killing Louis right then and there in about a minute or so. Or for that matter, they could have used a knife... but this wasn’t about killing Louis quickly. It was about killing him playfully, teasing him with a breath every now and then, to prolong the pleasure.
Shawn squeezed playfully.
Louis gasped “What do you want–urgh!-- money?”
“No.” Josh said.
“Wh– arrgh– what– gurgle@*!cough...why--why are you--”Louis gargled, as Shawn squeezed harder, starting to strangle him.
“We’re gonna kill you.” Robby giggled, then reached down between Louis’s legs and started to playfully pet and rub. Louis gasped– and then Petey put his hands over his mouth and nose. Louis began to lurch, terrified. His mind reeled in hysterical denial. ( This cannot be! They’re smothering me! This can’t be happening! I can’t move! I don’t believe it! I’ve got an erection! Noooo!! )
Yes, Louis had been unable to stop it. Under Robby’s playful hands, his penis had grown stiff, and his loins tingled with a forbidden pleasure. He felt deeply ashamed by his reaction– he was being masturbated by a boy of twelve! Yet...deep inside... he felt a growing urge to just say “Yes! Yes!” and fling himself open to the inevitable, to embrace this, his own unbelievable rape, with rapturous glee!
He struggled to subdue his pleasure, for that way lay madness. He had to breathe! He realized that while he’d been moralizing and contemplating the insanity of his own sexual abuse by a twelve year old boy, he’d also been not breathing at all. The warm hands over his face made sure of that, and the other warm hands which squeezed his neck reinforced his brutal suffocation, while also depriving his brain of the oxygenated blood it needed.
A kaleidoscope of color and light whirled madly before his eyes, with his closed eyelids serving as a movie screen on which was being projected the hysterical film entitled “I’m Dying”.
He felt his blood grow thick, and imagined it was like Jello, freshly mixed but gelling towards solidity at 10 times the normal speed. His heart beat madly, brutally, insanely. He bucked and heaved uncontrollably, he lurched and wept, but the hands stayed with him, smothering, always smothering; the soft, smooth hands of evil thirteen year old Petey covering his face, sealing his nostrils with warmth and weight, sealing his mouth forevermore, and he was doomed! Doomed!! Now, with a hysterical twist of madness, pain, desperation and ecstasy, he gave in and accepted the taunting, evil hands of the taunting evil boy who sat on his legs. He accepted his own rape!
“Goddamnit!” a voice in his mind hissed, “If you’re going to die, then at least accept this one last pleasure!!”. Louis accepted. He felt as if he was exploding , imploding, blowing up, freezing, melting, bursting into flames, dancing at the speed of light, and having a heart attack all at the same time. He moaned with horror and joy, and his underwear became messy and warm.
Then, to his shock, the hands on his face shifted, and he could breathe through his nose. He did so, maniacally, like a madman, like a race horse that was trying to go up Mount Everest at a full gallop, like a fish, like a fool... and like anyone else would’ve done in his place.
He couldn’t believe this. What was the purpose!? Would they leave now? Had they just come to plunder his body, to exercise some twisted juvenile lust?
“That’s enough air for now, Jerko.” Petey smiled, and moved his warm hand, covering up Louis’s nose once more, starting the mad tap dance of suffocation all over again, a dance that blended fear, hysteria, optical fireworks, and desperation into one goddamned insane production. Around a minute later, just as the dance was about to reach it’s frenzied conclusion, Petey smiled nicely and moved his hands, allowing Louis the Pitiful to breathe once more. Shawn made sure he didn’t squeeze his throat too tightly, just enough to help him choke and gurgle.
And so it went, on and on. An older, less fit person would’ve died of heart failure, but Louis was eighteen, and his body just soaked up the horror until he wished the boy would just NOT remove his hands this time, just finish it!!
But then when the hands were lifted, he would always embrace life again, sobbing, wretched, praying that they’d leave him alone this time, that they’d just leave! But no. Of course not. The game began again. And again. The boys took turns. Josh, with his big teenager hands, covered Louis’s face nicely, and Josh really enjoyed it. As the face turned red, then purple, Josh laughed with evil joy. As the eyes began to go out of focus and cross, Josh let go, and Louis breathed, and his face turned back to it’s normal color, and then it was Shawn’s turn, and then Robby’s, and then Petey again.
When Louis finally died, it was under Shawn’s hands. Louis was hardly struggling anymore. He was exhausted, and if he hadn’t been so scared, he might’ve fallen dead asleep. But he merely tried to shift around. He was dizzy... so, so dizzy. He felt like he’d taken all the drugs in the world. He felt sick...and hot... and tired. He saw the smiling boys leaning over him, felt their bodies and knees heavy on his chest, saw the sweat on their faces. They were grinning. The room had become like a sauna.
He saw arms, and he saw the warm, wet hand of a 12 year old boy come close, filling his field of view, settling over the center of his face. His nose was nestled in the palm of the boy’s hand, covered, blocked, and it was the last time... and he knew it. So smooth, so soft, so heavy was his death. Fingers gently on his forehead. A hand over his mouth, a hand under his chin. His nose blocked, his view the darkness under the boys smothering paws. His senses heightened in his final passion of rocking doom, he rolled and strained under the sweet teenage hands covering his whole face, clean and slippery with warm sweat and his own salty tears, mingled with coconut suntan oil.
“Oh, yeah! He’s gonna die.” a young voice said cheerfully.
“Oh, YEAH!! I’m gonna COME!” another kid panted.
“So is HE... again.” the first boy laughed.
Louis was totally losing it.
The room spun. It spun again. An orchestra was playing out of tune. A ballet dancer was having a seizure. Plants were wilting. Sun spots and solar flares behind closed eyes. In his mind, Louis dialed the tuner on a radio: a lousy jazz quartet which faded to static... his mother’s voice, which faded to static...a row of TV screens were shorting out. They were his brain cells.
He felt blood in his lungs.
He spun through a green sky on fire.
So much weight, so much heat.
The radio was all static. No more signals.
The lights faded rapidly in his mind, and a loud sound came to him–
He glanced about, in his mind, trying to find the source of the sound.
His mad dream, his hysterical last second of life was stretched out into minutes by the slow-motion nerve synapses of his dying brain.
It was his heart, and he knew that it would beat only once more and then be still forever. In the terrifying slow motion of his death, he fought to regain consciousness, to make one final desperate attempt to wrench himself free from the cruel, smothering hands which seemed the size of pillows and weighed 500 pounds. Oh, how he tried.
“No!” he screamed ( in his mind. ) “No!! NOOOO--”
Louis lurched once, as his heart stopped and his brain shorted out totally, as if a plug had been pulled. He spurted various bodily fluids as he died.
The boys remained clustered atop Louis for several more minuets, squeezing and pressing him... and each other. Then they removed their hands of death and joy and crept from the steamy room, exhausted and in a state of bliss. They had been in there for two hours.
Nathan stood on the deck, holding a pineapple kumquat rum fizz, and Josh came over, his black clothes soaked with sweat, and slumped against the railing next to Nathan, the clean sea breeze blowing over him.
“Oh man.” Josh said with happy tiredness.
Nathan patted his pal on the back.
“You look like you’ve been in a sauna.” he smiled.
“Dude, we found this guy and we spent two hours smothering him.” Josh explained. “It went on and on like this wonderful dream, all dim and hot and close, and we took turns covering up his face. Man, it was paradise. I’m exhausted.”
Nathan said “Here, you noble boy. Have a strawberry rum fizz.”
Josh smiled. He sipped at the drink, and watched the ocean.
( The Next Day... )
“Oh Harold, look at the sun– it’s so bright and shiny!” said Mabel Brootolooto a fat Portugese woman with no chin, as she lay piggishly on her handmade redwood lounge chair on the rear deck of the cruise liner. There had been a big commotion earlier, when a dead boy had been found in his bed by the ship’s housekeeping staff, but Martha paid no attention. She was too busy being fat and proud.
Her husband, Harold , also fat, lay next to her on his own identical chair. They had commissioned a team of the finest old world artisans to craft portable redwood lounge chairs for them. The artisans had labored for two decades, slowly and painstakingly carving the wood, polishing and attaching the copper fittings as if in slow motions, embellishing the chairs with elaborately filigreed depictions of fat people sitting in chairs. Each chair was made of over 5000 pieces of wood, 8000 copper fittings, and rolled on solid gold wheels. They were in the form of normal reclining lawn or beach chairs, only much more complex and expensive. And after 20 years, the chairs had been completed.
Harold and Mabel flew to Italy to pick up their chairs, paying two million dollars... for each chair. Now they were finally enjoying life. They had worked all their lives just so they could afford the finest deck chairs in the world, and now they would spend their retirement years on a fabulous never-ending cruise.
Or so they thought.
75 feet away from these fatsos and their deck chairs, Nathan was sitting at a table right next to the railing, eating lunch with some of his evil young friends. They were watching Harold and Mabel.
“Look at those fat old people over there!” Randy said, annoyed. “I want to murder them.”
“Me too!” said Robby.
“Don’t worry. We will... but wait until we finish eating.” Nathan said.
“Okay.” Randy agreed. He was eating bread.
Meanwhile, Brandon and Jasper were doing skateboard tricks in the engine room. The pair of 16 year old brats had gone there, because the big diesel engines were fun to skate on. After a while, they sat down to rest, taking off their skater shoes and then their socks and letting their feet cool off. It was hot in the engine room. Earlier, a mechanic had tried to make them leave, but he was dead now– strangled by their hands and hidden in a closet.
Brandon smiled nicely and wiggled his toes. He was glad he was a big boy, because boys are good... especially when they step on people. Brandon closed his eyes and thought of himself slowly stepping on some other boy, slowly using more and more of his weight, pressing his big, strong, bare feet into the kid’s body, pressing and crushing. So slow, so wonderful, and his friends were around him encouraging him, and now they lifted their own bare feet to help him crush the victim. Then he imagined that he himself was the victim, and his friends were trampling him, standing on him, pushing, and it felt good.
He opened his eyes, smiling. It’s always nice to have daydreams.
“Man, you know what I want to do?” Jasper asked him, his blond hair hanging cutely around his face.
“No. What?” Brandon asked.
“I want to go creeping around and kill people in their rooms, like Josh and the other guys did yesterday.”
“Awesome.” Brandon said. He grinned a big, wicked skater-boy smile, his green eyes shining with mirth in the engine room....
Back up on the deck of the cruise liner, Nathan finished his lunch and threw the dishes overboard, then stood up. Randy and Shawn picked up the table and tossed it into the ocean too. Then went the chairs.
Mabel the fat lady said “Harold! Those young people just threw their table into the ocean!”
“So what.” Harold said.
“Harold, now they’re coming towards us!” she gasped in sudden panic, then fell out of her two million dollar redwood chair and meeting the deck with a crackling splat as her beauty mud treatment broke and fell off.
Josh came over and stomped on her hand, breaking it.
“Noooo!” she wailed, as Robby and Petey together lifted a 50 pound iron weight and dropped it on her leg, snapping the bone.
“Hey now, you stop breaking my wife’s bones!!” Harold scolded. But he didn’t move from his chair. The boys ignored him for the time being, and concentrated on Mabel.
The sun shone down, and everything was white and bright and sunny and warm. Shawn started kicking Mabel in the head with his bare feet. She gurgled and screamed. Shawn had big feet, big and solid and boyish, and he forced them rapidly against her face, breaking her nose. He sat in her chair and leaned over the edge, feet pressed tight against her face, giggling, as she smothered.
Shawn’s feet were clean, warm and big, and they covered her face completely, pushed hard against the places where she breathed, preventing this breathing. Shawn grinned wholesomely as he did this, happily murdering the woman to death with his boyish feet, yeah, how wonderful.
Robby and Petey were there too, holding her arms, helpfully pushing on her jaw, preventing her from opening her mouth, making sure that she suffocated under friendly twelve year old Shawn’s big warm feet.
Meanwhile, Josh and Randy had kicked Harold out of his chair. He fellon the deck, cackling and gobbling and screaming as Josh kicked him in the throat and Randy bent down and began clubbing him on the forehead with a rubber mallet he had found.
“No, not my chair!! NOOOO!” Harold screamed, as Nathan kicked the chair. It fell apart into thousands of pieces which went rolling off the deck into the sea.
“Yurgh!” the man screamed, as Randy beat on his throat with the rubber mallet, swinging it hard in his slim yet powerful hands. BOMP!! The rubber hammer crushed Harold’s windpipe. He began to gurgle and thrash, foamy blood bubbling from his quivering lips.
“Kick him Josh!” Randy urged. Josh smiled and kicked Harold in the jaw, then pressed his shoe down on his nose, breaking it. Randy kept hitting him with the mallet– beating on his chest, beating on his crotch. Harold died. They threw his body over the railing.
Mabel was also dead, so she and her stupid chair went down into the ocean, following Harold.
Then, the guys split up. Randy and Shawn decided to go down below and see where Brandon and Jasper had gone, while Nathan and the other guys went to the sightseeing deck at the top of the ship, to smoke cigars, play chess, and eat Swiss Cheese. Why? Because they were weird, that’s why.
Down below, in the long, twisting corridors that ran throughout the lower decks of the chip, Randy, Shawn, Brandon and Jasper had found each other, and the four of them were determined to find an unlocked door with a person laying in a bed. Shawn had been part of yesterdays exciting two hour smothering murder sauna orgy, but the other three guys had missed out. They were very much looking forward to it.
“It was just SO awesome.” Shawn assured them.
“There’s got to be an unlocked door down here somewhere.” Brandon said, trying doorknobs. They tried five doors, and then the sixth was unlocked...
Eric Patrick lay on his bed, his drapes drawn, his lights out, his eyes closed, tied to the bed! His girlfriend, Puffy Buffy, was in the bathroom putting on her black leather outfit and 8 inch spike heels. You see, Eric was a masochist and a weirdo– he awaited the lash of the whip, the baby talk, the slaps to the face.
Then, he heard a door open.
“Come...come to me!! I’ve been a bad boy! Punish me!” Eric sniveled.
Brandon looked at the spectacle– a ready made victim, already tied up, asking to be punished! He took a breath of pleasure, and so did Jasper– and then they saw Puffy Buffy come in from another door. She looked like a complete whore.
“Who are you!? Oh my god!” She screamed, seeing the boys.
Randy laughed at her. She was wearing a black leather bra and carrying a dildo, and her hair was slicked back with motor oil. Tied to his bed, Eric was quite embarrassed that these boys had come in and seen him like this. He turned away, hoping Puffy would make them leave quickly. They must have gotten lost and come into the wrong room, he told himself.
Well, Brandon was a skater, and he knew what to do. He swung his skateboard like a weapon, smashing Puffy in the face. Makeup and blood splattered across the room, and Puffy Buffy reeled back, gurgling with pain.
Eric yelled “No! Leave my girlfriend alone!”, but Shawn jumped onto the bed and punched him in the face to shut him up.
Randy seized a bottle of wine from a small table and threw it at Puffy. It smashed into her face and she raced backwards and fell out the window into the ocean where she died.
“Now, dude--” Jasper grinned at the terrified Eric, “Now we’re gonna get you.”
The four boys turned off the lights, took off their shoes, and climbed onto Eric, forcing him down into the soft mattress under their weight. His hands and feet, bound to the bed posts, could not move. He was totally, horribly at their mercy. And this was bad for him, because they had none.
“No...please!” Eric wept.
“Man, you sure are weird.” Brandon teased.”you were gonna let that girl hurt you– why not us? Don’t you like boys?”
“No! Don’t smother me!!” he begged, weeping.
“Yes.” Randy smiled, like a brat, then slowly put his warm, smooth hands near his mouth and nose.
“No, please! Don’t” Eric said in fear, turning his head away.
Randy’s hands followed, caressing his cheek, sliding over his mouth...
Shawn breathed boyishly, then pressed his hands down between Eric’s legs, pushing...pressing...rubbing...
Eric seethed with fear and pleasure, his heartbeat quickened in anticipation and denial. He was so scared– he knew they were going to kill him. It was a foregone conclusion, and he couldn’t even try to hold them off or get away because he was tied up! Yet he was also very excited, not just because of Shawn’s hands, but his very predicament also excited him-- being covered with boys who teased and cruelly suffocated him!
But he didn’t want to die! He tried to open his mouth to breathe, or to yell for help, but found to his horror that he couldn’t. Randy’s hands were covering his mouth, and Jasper had one of his big skater hands under his chin, holding his jaw, preventing him from opening his mouth.
Randy smiled like an evil brat. His long dark hair was cute, and his brown eyes were happy yet mean, and his slim arms were tanned and strong as they lay across Eric’s chest, connected to the hands which lay on Eric’s face, stopping up his mouth and nose with warm, soft pressure.
Eric tried to turn his head, but this was the act of a fool, for Brandon took hold of Eric’s head, gripping the sides of it, preventing it from moving. The boys settled down lower atop him, and lower still, covering him with their bodies, laughing softly now and then as the seconds wore on, and Eric’s eyes fluttered from boy to boy, as he tried to understand this brutal pleasure
Randy’s hands moved a bit, allowing a tiny bit of air, a tiny bit of muffled speech. Eric began mumbling in fear and delight, his breath whooshing over the close, warm surface of Randy’s palm, “Don’t kill me! Don’t stop! No! Yes!”
“You’re confused.” Jasper laughed at him.
Randy took his hands away completely, and Eric could breathe properly.
“Yes! Yes! Let me live!” Eric screamed, like a fool. Shawn was still playing with him, flicking his boyish thumbs over the head of his dick teasingly.
Randy slid off to one side, and Jasper moved in, leaning over Eric and settling his big, strong skater hands onto Eric’s throat. He began to cruelly press with his big thumbs, wrapping his powerful fingers around the sides of his neck.
“Rarrrgh!!” Eric gurgled. Jasper smiled down at him. He had big ears and he was wearing a purple T-shirt that said “Skater” on it.
“Choke him.” Brandon said slowly, quietly, intently.
If someone would come to save him at this moment, he would still be alright. If this were a movie, the audience would be squirming in horror, hoping that somebody would save Eric, feeling his torment, how it must feel to have your throat squeezed shut by powerful teenage hands, to be gagging and coughing, red faced and wheezing helplessly. But this was not a movie. It was real life. Nobody came at the last minute. The boys didn’t lose heart and wimp out and let Eric go. And they weren’t just kidding with him either.
Jasper held on tight, his hands encircling Eric’s warm, bruised neck, and he could feel the blood chugging slowly through the squeezed arteries, and the flow began to slow, and then stop, as he brought the palms of his hands closer together, working them down snuggly with a series of firm little pushes, and holding on tight. Eric’s mouth was wide open, but there was no sound coming out of it. No air passed between his lips. His face was darkening, turning a deep red color. The boys watched his eyes, wide frightened eyes, shining with terror and desperation. They felt no pity. They cared for each other, and not for anyone else. Eric struggled to draw breath, but the suction of his lungs ended in the middle of his neck, which was squeezed shut.
Even though Eric wasn’t breathing any more, he was still alive--- it would take him about a minute to pass out and die horribly. Randy leaned in close to him and looked in his eyes, then put one of his big warm brat hands on Eric’s hot forehead, and his other hand over his gaping mouth, just because he wanted to. He felt Eric’s tongue pushing against the palm of his hand, and he giggled. Randy laid his head down atop his two hands, looking at Eric’s eyes from one inch away. Jasper saw this and thought it was cute, so he loosened his grip on Eric’s throat for a little while, and the heaving lungs continued to suck for air--- but this time, the suction ended in his mouth and nose, under Randy’s hands. Still he choked. Still he smothered. But now, Randy felt the suction on his brat hand, and giggled with pleasure. Eric’s tongue licked desperately at his hand. He made slobbering noises and moaned once, frantically…his face was a purple color now, and a drop of dark blood rolled from the corner of his eye.
It was easy.
It was fun.
And then at last…
It was done.
Eric’s face was blue, and it was hot. His eyes closed. His body shook with a final spasm.
“Ha ha ha, I made him come!” Shawn laughed.
But Eric never heard this. He was falling away down a warm dark tunnel and then he was gone, lights out, just like Louis the day before.
Randy lifted his evil young hand and looked at it. There was spit and blood on it. He wiped it off on Eric’s hair.
When the cruise liner arrived in California, the evil yet happy boys got off and went about their business. The dead people on the boat were thrown overboard by the crew. And everything continued as if nothing had happened. Because… that’s the way it goes!! Ha ha ha.
- - - THE END - - -