"Hey, Mom, where'd Eli go?"
That was Pete. Pete's my age. Eli is his younger brother. We needed to find out where he was.
See, we'd got to talking earlier. We were in Pete’s room, watching some porn flicks with the volume turned down, discussing fag boys. You see, Pete and I are a lot alike. At only sixteen we were far more mature for our age. We both have to shave. We're rejected by the rest of our peers, so we pal around together. We share very similar tastes, in all matters.
So, I was talking with Pete, and Pete said, "What kind of boys do you find useful?"
He hadn't actually used the word 'boys.' He'd said 'fags.' See, several weeks ago we admitted to each other that we both thought more about fucking up faggots than our girlfriends; more about sticking hot needles through a faggot’s cock and balls than sucking our girlfriend’s tits, more about abusing a faggot than loving our girlfriends. So we started to refer to boys in derogatory terms. It turned us on. "Boy" or "man" makes you think of them as people. Faggot, cumdump, fuckhole, cocksucker, makes you think of them as what they are — fuck toys for the men of the world. Only the faggots have convinced most men they have rights, and so most men don't take advantage of them, as they should.
I thought a while, and then said, "I think your brother needs to be fucked up."
I looked at Pete, thinking he might grow upset over that, but he smiled his toothy smile.
"Ya know, me too!”
"My brother is such a homo. His queer friends come over, and fucking flaunt themselves. God, I'd love to torture him, make him bleed for me!"
My cock grew enormous as I thought about his brother. Eli was only a two-year younger than Pete. He was thin and wispy, with pale skin. Although fourteen, he still looked as if he were only twelve or so. He had no cock and balls to speak of. His narrow face had a pug nose; his wispy brown hair fell to his shoulders. He was a true fag and didn't like either of us. He was smart, got good grades in school, so Pete's mom liked him and not Pete.
Pete started to stroke his cock.
"Tell me what you'd do to Eli if you caught him alone."
I closed my eyes and imagined.
"He'd be all alone, in the house. I'd come in and call out for you. He'd say you weren't in, from where he was sitting, reading a book on the couch. I'd walk over next to him, strike the book from his hand and grab him by the hair and strike his face real hard."
Just then, there was a knock on the door; we hurriedly pulled our pants up as Pete's mom walked in.
"Are you two behaving yourselves?"
"Yeah, sure. Hey, Mom, where did Eli go?"
"He went with Tom to the fishing hole."
Tom was Eli's wimpy boyfriend. He'd never even kissed him.
When Pete's mom left, I asked him, "Why'd you wanna know where Eli is?"
He grinned when he said, "Let's go fuck him up!"
I was a bit apprehensive, but Pete finally convinced me. He said the old fishing hole was two miles deep into the woods. Overpowering Tom would be no problem, and there'd be no one around to hear Eli’s screams. My hard cock prompted me to go without too much worry over getting caught.
First, though, we had to get some "toys.” Yeah, sure, we'd fuck Eli, right in the mouth and asshole, but fucking fags is only half of what they're good for. The other half's torturing.
Pete got his school bag, and we went around the house, putting things into it. We got a bundle of strong cord. We got pliers and his dad's power drill, with all the tips for it. Pete put a sharp paring knife in; I got a box of needles and a lighter. The heavy electrical wire went in, as did some tent stakes. We got it good and full, then started to hike.
The woods weren't far from Pete's house. We got on the trail and walked. The hard-ons in our pants wouldn't come down. The trip took forty-five minutes, but then we were at the fishing hole. We hid behind the bushes and watched.
Eli and Tom were doing homework. Tom's fishing pole had been placed into the ground and was ignored. Tom was seventeen, a year older than Pete and myself, and much less well-built. We watched for a while, horrified by the fact that Tom didn't seem the least bit interested in jumping on Eli and raping him. As nothing in this scene changed for fifteen minutes, we sprung up and crashed our way out of the bushes.
Pete immediately went to his brother and put him in a bear hug. His face smashed against his chest. Meanwhile, I grabbed Tom by his short hair and dragged him into the little, muddy pond. He drowned quickly, without much struggle.
When I came onto dry land again, Pete was holding his brother from behind. He'd seen what I'd done and started wailing.
“Stop it! Stop it!"
I laughed and smacked him. Pete whispered into the little faggot’s ear, "We're gonna fuck you, bro. What you think about that?"
"You’re both perverts and should be locked up!" he cried.
He then twisted his way out of Pete's arms. (Actually, Pete had let him go). We chased the little faggot around the pond until his unathletic, little body couldn't go any further, and he collapsed.
"Pete," he pleaded, tears welling in his eyes, "This isn't funny."
"It's not meant to be, you queer, little faggot!" he yelled at him.
Pete grabbed a handful of the little faggot’s hair and dragged him kicking and screaming into the woods. Forcing him roughly against a tree, we stripped him. Using brute strength, we tore his clothes from his body until it was bare. Eli was whimpering.
"No, no, please..."
Pete enjoyed smacking him almost as much as I did. When he was fully bare (there's not much to describe. His barely existent, hairless cock and balls made him look like a little kid), I punched him in the stomach. He folded up, clutching his stomach and moaning.
"Oh, I'll give you something to moan about, fag!" I said.
Taking the rope out of Pete's bag, I tied the little faggot in between two trees, his legs and arms spread out so that we had a clear view of his entire body. Eli struggled against the bonds, but it was useless. With him so restrained, Pete and I undressed. His cock swelled just as much as mine and its purple tip oozed pre-cum. When Eli saw this, he started yelling for help.
"Help me! Help me, somebody!" he yelled over and over.
Pete and I walked over to his naked, helpless brother. The little faggot stared at us, eyes wide with fear and blurred by tears. I took his back, and Pete took his front. We felt him up. I ran my fingers through his fine, brown hair, then they lingered on his soft neck. I imagined it squeezed beneath my hands. My hands made a quick route down his back, and then I reached his ass. It was small and thin, just like the rest of him. I stroked it gently.
"Please, please, don't touch me there!"
The little faggot pleaded with me (or maybe that was to Pete's attentions on his tiny nipples). I smacked his ass hard for his complaining. It made a nice cracking sound, so I did it again. The little faggot yelped in pain, and my erection jerked. I kneaded his thin buttocks, digging my fingernails in. I spread them apart so I could get a look at his asshole. It was small, like a little girl’s, all crinkly and pink. I massaged it with the tip of my pinky, it started to quiver, and the little faggot jerked and moaned in pleasure.
Pete called me up front to watch as he started to decorate the little faggot. I heated the sewing needles up for him. Then he grabbed as much of a ball as he had and yanked. Eli’s body pulled forward, and the ball squeezed out. Holding it like that, he slowly inserted the pin through it, taking his jolly time as Eli screamed and screamed.
"Will you listen to that?" I laughed, "Your brother is quite the vocal brat. Think I should quiet him down!"
Once both pins were through his balls, we put on through his puny dickhead and put a loop earring into the hole it made and attached a leash to the loop. I tugged on it a bit, enjoying the reactions this solicited from the little faggot and the way it made his cock stretch out. Then we took him down. Pete sat on his back as we made him crouch there. Pete took out a length of the electrical cord and began whipping the little faggot’s ass with it as I shoved my aching member into his tiny mouth. He looked so much like a little girl! His screams and sobs and gagging around my cock brought up a load of jism, which I was happy to withdraw for and spread all over the little faggot’s pretty face. Then I smacked him with my aching cock.
The little faggot's ass was bright red when Pete got off him. We lead him around with the leash for a while. Then I hog-tied him and pulled him along the ground by his hair while Pete lay atop of him, humping him. Pete lashed him over a tree branch and fucked his ass while I used the pliers to jerk and tear at his tortured balls.
We tied him lying on his stomach to a log, his small frame contorted and stretched around the huge thing. We inserted the tent stakes into his hairless asshole and twisted it around. The little faggot jerked and strained, his voice was getting hoarse from all his screaming. His body was covered with bright and dark bruises; my cum still lingered on his face; his tiny asshole distended by too much violent fucking. He jerked as his abused body convulsed from all the attention. His legs twitched, calling attention to them. I took out the lighter and lightly burned his inner thighs. They had a nice, red glow. Then I whipped them with a thick, wire cord. The little faggot screamed, and Pete shoved his thick cock down the little faggot’s throat again.
"Keep doing that man. It feels so good when he screams."
So I obediently kept whipping the little fag, moving from his inner thighs to his ass and then his puny balls. Pete gushed a load of cum down his faggot brother’s throat. When Pete pulled away, the little faggot tried to spit his brother’s white love juice out, but Pete pushed the little faggot’s jaw back and made him swallow. His face contorted at the taste. It was so lovely. Pete punched the little faggot’s nose, breaking it.
We hung the little faggot upside-down from a high tree branch and used him as a punching bag as he swung back and forth. Pete punched his in the little faggot’s swollen balls; on the return swing, I kneed him in the face. He made horrible sounding gargling noises as we did this. The fag's screeching didn't even sound human anymore. He sounded like a wounded rabbit.
When we got tired, we left the little faggot like so that we could rest, and get our horniness back. Pete's fag brother dangled there, in mid-air before us, cut up and bleeding, covered with cum; his asshole leaked shit and cum. His mouth swelled up so that he couldn't breathe that way anymore. That served as a really effective gag. He made small, helpless sounds that helped make us horny again fast.
It was getting dark by the time we got our strength back. We untied the little faggot and made the fag boy crawl between us, sucking us off while the other whipped the little faggot’s ass and balls. He was so cute! His tiny body was naked and helpless as we abused him; he made screeching sounds to our direct attentions and then mewled when we left him alone, which wasn't often. I was having the best time of my life and told Pete his. Pete forced his fattened cock through the little faggot’s bruised lips and down his throat. I took out the paring knife and started making a little drawing on the little faggot’s thighs.
Eventually, the little faggot collapsed from the pain and suffering. We fucked his unconscious body. He cried out, moaned, and whimpered until he was still. The little faggot’s young body was a mess of cuts and bruises, splattered with blood and cum. Pete pissed on him. I cut his dick and balls off with the knife. He awoke screaming. I cut off the sound as my hands enclosed his throat. I choked him slowly, letting him get gasps of air before tightening again. The little faggot’s face started turning red and slowly purple. His beautiful, brown eyes bugged out. Pete inserted his entire arm up the little faggot’s asshole and started to scrape at his insides. His screaming voice was stopped by my hands. Then, he died, and we spent the night fucking and abusing his dead body before burning him in the morning.
When we got back to Pete's house (his mom had been worried about Eli but hadn't given a shit about us), we remembered we'd forgotten to take pictures. C'est la vie.