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Muscle Boy
Joe woke up on a weight bench, on his back, with his feet tied together under it, and his arms cuffed behind him. "Where am I?" "You're in my basement," a vaguely familiar voice said from above his head. "And I'm a musician with a band, and we like to play loud, so it's been soundproofed. And you and I are going to chat for a bit. But first, one thing, to make sure you take this little talk seriously." Joe screamed as he was hit by a stun gun. His own, in fact.
Earlier that day, Joe had gotten a good look at his neighbor's new pool-boy. Kenta, his name was, and he was breathtaking. He had a well-shaped and exotic face, with green almond-shaped eyes, and typically asian hair, straight and black, which he wore long, nearly to the small of his back. From the neck down, he was just as perfect: his body was lean and muscular, with every sinew visible in clear relief. And when he came out of the pool, his shorts clung to a cock that had to be at least seven inches soft. The very existence of this man irritated Joe to no end. So handsome, so perfect, and so eager to show it all off. His penis was the worst thing, though. Bad enough that all those other muscle-boys had big dicks, but something about such a big dick on a JAPANESE muscle-boy enraged him beyond all reason. (Joe believes that myth about Asian men. I, the author, do NOT. But on with the story...) No matter. He had ruined the balls of several muscle-boys before now. Kenta would be no different.
"I bet you weren't expecting this," Kenta said with a wicked smile, as he was toying with the stun gun. "So, you followed me to my house, and tried to hit me with this stun gun. Care to explain that?" "Fuck you!" "No? I can't blame you. Considering how many men you've stunned, then beaten, I think you're here to try to smash my balls, probably with that meat tenderizer that was in your pocket. I wouldn't want to admit that either, in your position." "How do you know that?" "One of my friends is a police profiler. He's been studying the case for a while, and when he heard I was trying to make extra money for my band by doing pool work, he warned me about this area." Joe's heart fell. "So, the police know about me?" Kenta smiled like a hungry wolf. "Come on. You shot your wad on one of your victims. And in another one. And they were all in your neighborhood. Are you really surprised? Now... why do you do it?" "Why should I tell you, faggot?" "Wrong answer." Kenta unzipped Joe's pants, pulled down his underwear, and held the stun gun against his penis. "And you're actually lucky I'm not gay. If I were, I might be tempted to fuck you in the ass, instead of doing this." The stun gun hummed, and Joe screamed. "Now, why do you do it?" "Suck my dick!" "Nope. I'd rather zap it." More screams. "Now, really. Tell me why you do it." "Because you all show off! You're all so perfect, so high and mighty above all us mere mortals. You all think you're better than everyone else. I wanted you to learn that being so handsome has consequences!" Kenta sighed. "I spend ten hours a week working out. You could, too, if you weren't spending so much time on this... hobby of yours." "But it wouldn't give me the monster dicks you have!" "You stupid fuck," Kenta spat, suddenly enraged. "Do you really think women care about that? Most of the ones worth knowing couldn't give a shit! The first girl I laid commented on my dick -- she said it was a shame I didn't know how to use it!" His face reddened -- the girl in question taught him how to please women after saying this to him, and he'd been a quick study, but he was still annoyed that he'd just shared this memory with a stranger. "That's not what I see on the streets," Joe said, matching Kenta's volume. "I see girls going up to guys with bulges like yours all the time, staring at..." "Do you really think that's a good thing?" Kenta interrupted. His Japanese accent, normally carefully hidden, was coming out in full force. "I've had a few size-queens, too -- and they're fucking boring in bed. They don't realize there's more to sex than having a big dick! Sometimes they forget that there's a human being attached to the big dick." "Bullshit. You still show it off!" "No. Look at how I'm dressed." Joe did: Kenta was wearing a T-shirt that was tight across the chest, but baggy further down, over snug jeans. The total effect was flattering to his body, but left his crotch a mystery. "I saw you show off! In my neighbor's backyard, in nothing but shorts!" "Hello! I was doing poolwork, you moron! But even if I was showing off, that's not the problem. The problem is you. You saw the size of my dick because of your own issues. And I think it's more than sex. You enjoy playing god. I think you're a kind of vandal: you get off on finding something beautiful, so you can destroy it. It makes you feel powerful." Kenta grinned. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" "Uh..." "Aha! I struck a nerve. Well, I think I'm going to give you a taste of your own medicine. Tell me, do you believe in Karma?" Kenta touched the stun gun to Joe's scrotum, and squeezed the trigger. Joe wailed in agony, but Kenta held the trigger until he fainted.
A sharp smell roused Joe from unconsciousness, and his eyes opened to a stinging pain. As he tried to scream, he realized he was wearing a ball gag. With a thrill of revulsion, it occured to him that he was being pissed on. He closed his eyes tightly, and soon the flow stopped. "Glad to see you're awake." Something heavy made an impact against the side of his face. "My band is taking a break for a week." Thump. "Final exams, that sort of thing." Another thump; Joe opened his eyes long enough to see that it was Kenta's penis that was slapping his face, and closed them again. "So we've got some time." Thud. "To fully communicate my contempt for you." Thud. Kenta buttoned himsself, and picked up the meat tenderizer. "So... this is what you were going to use on me. I think it's only fitting that you be unmanned with it." Kenta put a block of wood under Joe's balls, and taped his penis pointing toward his face. "Now, 'say bye-bye to your seeders.' But first, a little music, just in case you start screaming too loud." And with that, Kenta picked up a remote control, and hit play: Meshuggah erupted from the speakers. (For those unfamiliar, Meshuggah's music is a dull bass roar, and is as close as you can get to musically orchestrating chaos. It's so noisy that Slayer sounds like Brahm's Lullaby in comparison, which makes it perfect for overpowering other noises... like, say, agonized screams.) He tapped gently several times, at first, and with each tap Joe felt a dull ache. Then, without warning, he brought the meat tenderizer down full force on Joe's left testicle. Then, the right one. After a lot of screaming, Joe passed out again.
Joe woke up naked and duct-taped to a dolly, to find Kenta, and an older blond man, staring at him. "Mister, ya gotta help me, this psycho..." he said, interrupted by a blow to the solar plexus. "Joe, does the name Chip Greer sound at all familiar to you?" Joe shook his head. "Then I'll let my new friend here tell you about him. I mentioned him before... this is Officer Edward Greer." Joe looked the blond man over -- something about him looked vaguely familiar. He was no pretty-boy; his face had the rugged handsomeness of maturity, but Joe could still very easily picture women falling for him at a glance. Especially since his plainclothes seemed to be filled out by a lean and well-muscled body, with a formidable bulge in the crotch. He wished he could have nutted this guy when he was a young buck... but as he tried to picture what this guy might have looked like, his blood ran cold. The officer spoke up, trembling with rage. "I told my son to get a job, to teach him self-reliance. After about a week working at a gas station, he came home one night, and wrote a note." Joe's heart sank; his worst fears had just been confirmed. "He also drew a picture of the person he talked about in the note." He held up a penciled sketch of Joe's face. An excellent one; the kid had talent. "He was pronounced dead on the scene, of a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. The autopsy showed massive trauma to the testicles, and evidence that he had been raped." The last word caught in his throat. "You destroyed my son, you evil little shit," he bellowed, before breaking into sobs. Kenta forcefully wrapped his arms around Edward; the officer returned the hug gratefully. "It's okay. Don't worry, it's okay..." "No, it's not okay. But it will be. Thank you, Kenta." "Not at all. You saved my balls. This was the least I could do. So, you brought the other stuff?" "Blowtorch, pepper spray, a steel trash can, a dremel, a grinding wheel..." "And I have music that will drown out his screams. It's already in the stereo, set up on infinite loop. Here," Kenta said, handing him a spray can labeled "Ozium". "It kills odors like you wouldn't believe. You'll need it, after you've disposed of the body." "Body?" Joe asked, suddenly terrified. "Yes. What did you think, we were going to let you go? You raped and neutered this man's son, and drove him to suicide. He wants payback. So, you're going to die here, you're going to be reduced to pieces small enough to flush down a toilet, and not necessarily in that order." Edward lit the torch, and brought it close to Joe's crotch. "But not now. Not for a few days." Joe howled in pain, as the smell of burning flesh filled the room. "What's wrong, little boy, aren't you having fun? This isn't so great when you're on the receiving end, is it? Well, you brought this pain all on yourself!" (And I'm going to draw a kindly veil -- I borrowed it from Mark Twain -- over the rest of this scene. If you have any imagination at all, you'll picture something appropriately horrific, I'm sure.)
Edward got away with it, naturally. His work as a police profiler gave him the knowledge to avoid making those mistakes that usually get people caught after having perpetrated such grisly crimes. And for a time, Kenta and Edward were on intimate terms. Considering all they had done together, and the enormous debts of gratitude that each man felt he owed to the other, there was such a strong bond between them that sex seemed the only way to express it adequately. This didn't last, since both men were ordinarily straight, but even as the intimate encouters became infrequent, and then disappeared altogether, a deep friendship remained.
The End
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