The Chosen One free porn video

THE CHOSEN ONE

By

JASON

They were all in some way chosen, of course. Chancemay have provided them. Hitchhiking by the side of the road. Hanging out atthe mall. Hustling on a well-known streetcorner. Getting off work at McDonalds.Carrying bags out into a reasonably empty supermarket parking lot. Stumblingalone and drunk out of one of the late-night nightspots popular with the youngcrowd. Or even--it had actually happened twice--knocking on the wrong door--AKA's--atjust the right time. But there was always that moment of choice. For AKA, thatis. Was this one okay? Would this one do? Because AKA had his standards. Bothin terms of quality and in terms of safety.

Yes, the kid had to be good-looking enough to makethe risk worthwhile. There was no question of that. What was the point of killingsome pimply-faced pig? But the risk had to be as minimal as possible as well.The two went together. Because AKA had made up his mind early on that it wasbetter to let some adorable young Adonis go free rather than get caught. Therecould be nothing worse than getting caught. And AKA had held to this resolution.

With one exception perhaps.

The one exception was THE CHOSEN ONE. The REALLY chosen one. Because whatAKA meant by chance had played no real part in his selection. AKA had met him,wanted him, decided to get him, and made his plans accordingly. Despite therisks.

And there were risks. Lots of them.

To begin with, the kid knew who AKA was. He knew where AKA lived. He knewwhere AKA worked. To put it bluntly, he knew AKA. Thatwas bad enough. Because AKA had no doubt that his success rate--his on-goingtriumph in what he thought of as THE GAME--was largely due to the fact thathe and his victims had not known each other until chance--or fate, if one preferred--broughtthem together. On some lonely road. Outside a busy mall. In a parking lot.On that well-known (to those-in-the-know) streetcorner.

AKA had no complaints. Fate--or the Dark Gods,as he preferred to think of them--had been very generous. He was now up to--what?--30and counting? Not quite John Wayne Gacy's number, but getting there.

So that the boy knew who AKA was, was a definitenegative.

Worse, however, was the fact that the kid was also--ina manner of speaking--a relative. Because AKA's younger brother had suddenlyup and remarried not five months after his world-class, knock-down, drag-outdivorce became final. Why Phil would want to risk doing that to himself again,AKA didn't know. But Phil had met Carolyn, who was also on the rebound, andmarried her--snap!--like that! Which meant that Phil suddenly had extra familyto deal with as well.

Specifically, Carolyn's kid by her own failed marriage:Donovan.

Donovan. THE CHOSEN ONE.

AKA first saw Donovan--not at the wedding, sincePhil remarried with the minimum of fuss (which is to say, AKA wasn't even invited)--butthe first time AKA was asked to come to dinner at the newlyweds' brand-new "let's-make-a-fresh-start" trophyhouse. By then, Phil and Carolyn had been married almost a year. AKA knew therewas a boy who came with the package. He had heard the boy described as "nice" and "verygood-looking," but the seventeen-year-old who greeted AKA at the door was waybeyond good-looking.

It was the eyes that grabbed AKA first. The pupils,an unusual as well as unusually intense gray-green, seemed to pierce rightthrough to the back of AKA's skull. Set in the whitest of whites under luxuriouslylong, black lashes, vitality as well as intelligence shot forth from them.

The rest of the face was nearly as striking. Rich,black, naturally wavy hair framed a broad, high, lightly tanned forehead. Aslender, perfectly pitched nose perched above a wide, sensuously lipped mouth,a mouth that enclosed two rows of perfect teeth as perfectly white as the whitesof the unusually piercing gray-green eyes. An equally perfect, lightly tannedcomplexion--the kid looked as if he had never had a zit in his life and probablyhadn't--suffused the high, rounded cheekbones. A strong, smoothly tapered chinand a slender, straight, solidly set neck completed the picture.

What was below that neck AKA hardly even botheredto register at first, so compelling was the kid's face.

"Hi. You must be ."

Donovan sounded out AKA's real name in a smooth,clear, unusually polished voice for someone his age. AKA knew Carolyn was "acut above"--as others in the family had put it. It was a judgment he had madefor himself. Used to money. Well-educated. Fashion-conscious. Carolyn had thatold-fashioned thing. Class. And she had clearly passed that class along toher son.

"Yes, hello. And you are Donovan, no doubt."

The boy smiled. The glow of the teeth seemed toincrease the glow of the eyes.

"No doubt."

Coming from another kid, the hint of irony mighthave seemed snide, but coming from Donovan it only seemed winningly sophisticated.

I'm in love, thought AKA.

And each man kills the thing he loves .

The words popped into AKA's head uninvited.

First said by Oscar Wilde, if AKA weren't mistaken.Little did Wilde know how literal those words could be made.

Donovan backed away to let AKA enter the house,and AKA finally dropped his eyes--the kid was almost as tall as AKA--in orderto assess the rest of his gorgeous new nephew-by-marriage.

The boy was dressed in an unremarkable short-sleeved,open-necked sports shirt and a pair of loose-fitting, light-brown chinos. Thoughunremarkable, the shirt--which featured tiny moss-green-and-white checks--fitvery nicely, very nicely indeed. Donovan was clearly the possessor of impressivelybroad shoulders and an admirably flat stomach. The chinos might be loose-fitting,but they hugged a pair of attractively slim hips and--so far as AKA could tell--amore than acceptable butt. Worn loafers--no socks--completed the understated,vaguely preppy wardrobe.

"Mom and Phil aren't down yet. I guess you'll justhave to deal with me until they arrive."

No problem, AKA thought. No problem at all.

Donovan closed the door and led AKA across thesomewhat pretentious marble-and-chandeliered entrance hall to the expensivelydecorated living room. Which was almost, but not quite, the size of a tenniscourt.

Well, the house was a trophy house, right?

His first marriage aside, everything AKA's brothertouched had always had a way of turning to gold. AKA had never been enviousof Phil's success, however. But, then, AKA lusted for things other than money.

Yes, indeed, he thought as he followed along behindDonovan. The kid's butt was more than acceptable. With each step the boy took,firmly molded cheeks flexed invitingly beneath the smoothly combed cotton ofthe chinos.

"Something to drink?" Donovan called over his shoulder.

This is one seventeen-year-old who would know howto mix one, AKA deduced.

"I'll wait," AKA replied.

Once in the living room, Donovan gestured for AKAto sit, then sat down directly across from him.

Tall and slim, obviously fit and firm, with thatbeautiful face and those striking gray-green eyes, Donovan leaned back intothe plush confines of the overstuffed couch facing AKA's equally overstuffedchair and promptly proceeded to be the perfect little host until his motherand new stepfather arrived.

To be honest, AKA hardly heard a word he said,so busy was he just taking the kid in. There was polite chatter about Donovan'sboarding school (as upscale--and therefore expensive--a place as one wouldexpect), about his hopes for the future (law school or medicine perhaps), aboutgirlfriends (no one special at the moment), about sports (he played golf, soccer,liked to swim), etc., etc.

But it was all relatively meaningless so far asAKA was concerned.

Donovan's life--privileged though it was--was justone of many. If his life ended somewhat earlier than expected, so be it. Theworld would go on. It always did.

There was also the conviction on AKA's part--andhe reviewed it as he listened to Donovan talk--that nothing the boy would everdo (even if given the chance) would be as exciting as what AKA could--indeed,had already decided he would--do to him.

The conversation was not all one-sided, of course.AKA was determined to charm in his own right. He wanted the boy to like andto trust him. If not absolutely, then--well--enough. Thus, AKA deftly psychedthe boy out, encouraged topics he saw were meaningful to him, and more or lesscharged the air with his own (quite legitimate) pleasure at being in so finea young man's company.

"So," AKA said when Phil and Carolyn finally appearedand the boy rose to leave for an evening out with friends, "we'll meet again."

"That would be great."

And he meant it.

But then AKA meant it as well.

* * *

AKA did not hurry. If anything, he took more timethan he needed.

This was yet another risk, of course. Because themore time that passed, the more a relationship (of sorts) would develop, withall that that might mean in terms of emotional complications. For AKA, thatis. He had never really known any of the boys the Dark Gods provided. Withthe exception, perhaps, of the neighbor kid he had strangled in his parents'house that time. But that kid had essentially been a familiar face attachedto a seductive fifteen-year-old body AKA had lusted after for months, not someonehe knew in any real sense of the word.

Donovan, however, would beknown. And would know AKA in return.

That would be a new challenge for AKA, and, tobe honest, he was not sure how he would feel about that part of it when thetime came.

AKA learned that first night that Donovan wouldbe living with his mother and Phil for most of the summer. A one-week staywith his father--a career-driven California corporate exec--was planned, butthat was weeks off. The boy was scheduled to begin work at Phil's company--ofwhich Phil was significantly the CEO--the next week, but that would be part-time,clearly something to give a veneer of purpose to what was otherwise intendedto be a pretty relaxed, even self-indulgent summer.

"Donovan's handled everything so well," Carolynasserted over the main course--turbot in a champagne cream sauce--"but Philand Frank--that's Donovan's dad--and I thought he could be allowed a bit of'down' time, if you know what I mean. His school's rather intense. That's onething. Then there was my own divorce. Then our marriage." Carolynsmiled at Phil. "Well, Donovan's remarkably mature for his age, but even so."

Phil concurred.

"The boy deserves some time off. He's one of akind. As bright as he is good-looking. We're well on our way to being friends."

So AKA did not hurry. Nor did he hang about exactly.True, he accepted more invitations to events at his brother's new home thanhe otherwise might have. True, he went out of his way to talk to Donovan asoften as he could if the boy were there. True, he actually managed to takeDonovan to dinner early on--a seemingly spontaneous affair at one of the nicerlocal restaurants, a restaurant that had the distinction of providing AKA withone of his more memorable (and longest-kept) victims. But even that first dinner,in terms of intimacy, was no more than one would expect of a precociously suaveseventeen-year-old and his new stepfather's intelligent, if far less affluentolder brother.

Three weeks passed. Four weeks. Five.

Phil and Donovan may or may not have been wellon their way to being friends, but Donovan and AKA became at least openly,genuinely friendly. They developed an easy rapport. An uncomplicated acceptanceof the other's presence. A happy, casual bridging of the generations.

That, at least, is what AKA wished to and actuallysucceeded in making Donovan feel.

Vanity, AKA determined, would be the door throughwhich Donovan would walk into AKA's other life, into his second world, thewonderful, dangerous, unforgiving abode of the Dark Gods.

Their second dinner together--also seemingly spontaneous,but at a different and somewhat more downscale restaurant where no busboy hadyet appeared to tempt the Dark Gods--produced the key, revealed the vulnerableAchilles' heel.

"I think I'd like modeling, but Mom won't hearof it. Too de classe , I guess."

AKA smiled at the classy phrase-dropping.

"I mean, you can earn good money modeling," Donovancontinued. "There are two guys at school who've done a little, so I know. Butit's not the money really. I just think it would be fun."

This had all been prompted by AKA's voicing theopinion--in what was admittedly a fishing expedition--that Donovan, given his "goodlooks," should consider the movies or modeling or something like that. At least,on the side.

"That's amazing," AKA replied, seizing on the boy'sstatement like a lion on an unwary lamb. "I have a related, secret passionthat not even Phil knows about. Promise not to tell? I would really be tooembarrassed."

"Sure," Donovan replied, clearly intrigued.

"Well, I'm something of an amateur photographer," AKA lied, inwardly astonishedat the wild possibilities of this sudden inspiration. Would Donovan reallyfall for it? "I've actually done a few fashion shoots for a friend involvedin advertising," he continued, expanding on the lie. "Some of my stuff haseven appeared. Under a pseudonym, you understand." More lies. "As I said, I'dbe too embarrassed to have the family know. They are a bit like your mother.But I'd love to shoot you. Do a portfolio, as they call it. Then see if myfriend could get you some work. On the sly, of course. I couldn't promise anything,but . . . ." AKA smiled inquiringly. "Would you be interested?"

"I would," Donovan shot back. "But we couldn't tell. Not unless somethingcame of it. Maybe not even then. Gee, do you really think?"

The boy's to-die-for face blushed an engaging shadeof pink. For the first time in their acquaintance, he looked younger than hisseventeen years.

AKA nodded.

"Yes. I do. I really do."

* * *

Vanity? Maybe that was too harsh a word. But the kid's self-image was clearlyspiced with a healthy dash of narcissism.

As well it might be, AKA admitted.

If there had been any doubts on that score, they were completely eraseda few days after the second, far more friendly dinner-for-two when AKA droppedby his brother's house unannounced and found Donovan tanning himself poolside.

It was one of the boy's "days off."

As AKA knew.

Thus, his unannounced visit.

Until AKA walked out onto the poolside patio he had been forced to speculateabout just how good a body was hidden underneath those understated preppy clothesDonovan tended to wear.

Well, one glance told the story.

The kid was sensuously lean from top to bottom. The muscles of his torso--frontand back--seamlessly smooth across a marvelously flexible ribcage. His longlegs lightly haired with perfectly proportioned thighs and calves. His buttwas also perfectly proportioned, beautifully rounded beneath a pair of tightbikini Speedos. Then, last but not least, that amazing face with its amazinggray-green eyes topping it all off.

Words failed one. Or they failed AKA anyway.

For a minute, he actually felt breathless.

"Hi!" Donovan called out, getting to his feet.

Sun flashed off his well-oiled body.

"You come by for a swim?"

AKA had been invited more than once now.

AKA shook his head, needing the additional timeto steady his voice.

Donovan stretched, oblivious to what the motiondid to further outline his already tightly cupped, brazenly outlined genitals.

"I'm being pretty lazy, I guess."

"No. Not at all," AKA finally managed to say. "But," hetook a deep breath and went on, "I can put you to work if you're really worriedabout it."

Donovan dropped his arms, shook his hands to theside, kicked out with one foot, then the other. A swimmer's routine.

"Sure. You mean"--he lowered his voice, althoughit was clear that he was home alone--"the photo shoot?"

"That's exactly what I mean," AKA answered, loweringhis own voice as well.

Donovan smiled. The glow of the teeth was almostblinding.

"When?"

"When's the next time you're going to be here byyourself?"

"Mom's away every morning pretty much. A lot ofthe afternoons too. About Phil, you know. Gone all day every day. There arethe servants." Yes, the servants, thought AKA. How many did Phil and Carolynhave? Three, he thought. But none was a live-in, fortunately. "They're oftenaround," said Donovan. "But you don't mean to do it here, do you?"

"No. But I thought it would help preservethe secrecy we'd like to keep if you could get away unseen. Even by the servants.What about tomorrow?"

Donovan nodded.

"Fine as far as I know. I even think the servantshave the afternoon off."

Yes, AKA silently replied, I know that.

"So, tomorrow it is, then. Don't forget to packa suitcase."

This was a crucial--if not the most crucial--partof AKA's scheme, the all-important misleading clue that would direct everyoneaway from Donovan's real whereabouts once he went missing. If everything workedas well as AKA hoped it would, this one detail would lead everyone away froma more accurate speculation about the boy's true fate.

"Pack a suitcase?" Donovan asked, clearly perplexed.

"Filled with the clothes you want to model, right?"

The boy's momentary confusion lifted.

"Of course. Right."

"Pack a full range of things. Sportswear. Underwear.Dressy stuff. Shoes. Even a few toiletries. We might use them as props. Basicallyeverything you might take on a long trip."

From which you will never return, AKA said to himself.

"Okay. Great. So what time do you want me to beat your place?"

Donovan had a car, of course, a sporty little navy-blueMG.

The car would end up in an unmonitored parkinglot near a small local airport, AKA had decided. Sans Donovan. Sans suitcase.

AKA appeared to think, although he had alreadyplanned this part as well.

"Let's say one o'clock. This will probably takean hour or two. Three at most. That way you can be back home before anyone'sthe wiser."

"Sounds good. I'll be there."

AKA scanned the boy from head to toe, a photographerclinically assessing a promising subject.

"Bring the swimsuit as well," he said in an offhandtone. "We might even start with it."

And end with it, he speculated to himself. At least,so far as modeling clothes is concerned.

* * *

AKA actually managed to turn the third floor ofhis house--the floor where any number of his victims had met their fate--intoa fairly convincing studio.

Rent-A-Thon, the local anything-you-want-we-have-itrental company, had on hand a wide range of photographic equipment. They evenhad a fold-up backdrop perfect for lighting just the kind of shots AKA wassupposedly going to take.

I may take a few pictures at that, AKA decided. "Before" and "After" onesmaybe. Like you see in those weight-loss ads. Except, in this case, the moreaccurate way to put it would be . . . what? . . . "Alive" and "Dead"?

AKA had never been one for trophies. Trophies werehigh on the list of risks one should avoid. But maybe I will make an exceptionon this occasion, he now thought. Pictures of this kid could be fun to have.Depending on how good a model--or was it victim?--Donovan turned out to be,of course.

When he first started on his second life, his DarkGods career, AKA had liked to use some article of the victim's own clothingto do him in. T-shirts. Socks. Underwear. Jockstraps. Speedos. Shorts. Cut-offs.Shoelaces. Necklaces. Leather neck-thongs. Even a set of dogtags. AKA had usedthem all. But the routine had staled after a while, and AKA had since run thegamut from smothering by pillow to drowning in the third-floor tub to asphyxiatingwith a clear plastic bag. Those done in his death-on-wheels van were stilldispatched by and large with a piece of their own clothing, but AKA's home-killscould be far more inventive.

What he had planned for Donovan was, he felt, particularlyimaginative.

* * *

The boy arrived just when AKA told him to.

"Be sure to drive straight into the garage," AKAhad instructed. "That way you want have to lug the suitcase all the way upfrom the street."

That this would also lower the chance of Donovan'ssnazzy little car being seen at AKA's house, was, of course, an idea left unsaid.

Donovan lifted himself out of his sporty MG evenas the garage doors started their cranky way down.

"Any trouble finding the place?"

"No. You gave good directions."

Another plus. Because so far as anyone knew, Donovanhad never been to AKA's, had no idea where his new stepfather's brother evenlived.

Donovan walked around and hefted his suitcase fromthe passenger side of the car. It was clearly heavy.

"Good," AKA commended. "You brought a lot. I cantell."

"I didn't know for sure," Donovan said a bit breathlesslyas headed for the door into the house AKA was holding open for him. "What wouldbe best, that is. So I thought, better be safe than sorry, right?"

"Yes," AKA replied. "It's always better to be safethan sorry. It's even a motto of mine."

He closed and locked the door behind them.

"The studio's on the third floor, I'm afraid."

Donovan had stopped and put the suitcase down inorder to mop at a line of sweat that had popped up on his smooth high forehead.

"No problem." He smiled, lifting the suitcase backup. "It might even be good to look a little sweaty for the first shots. Youknow, like I've been swimming or sunning. You did say you wanted to do theswimsuit first, right?"

"Yes. That's what I said."

AKA gestured Donovan forward.

They traversed the back hall, the kitchen, thedining room, and came to the front hall stairs.

"Up you go, then. All the way to the top."

"This is going to be fun," Donovan said as he shiftedhis grip on the suitcase. "Just like I thought."

"Well, there might be a little blood, sweat, andtears along the way," AKA advised. "Modeling can be hard work." Excitement--mixedwith a natural enough anxiety--swirled in the pit of his stomach. "But then,no pain, no gain, right?"

"Right," Donovan answered, smiled, and, newly balancedfor the climb, ascended.

* * *

The blush in the restaurant was the only time AKAhad seen anything like adolescent shyness come from Donovan. Until then, theboy had conveyed an easy aplomb many an older (and supposedly wiser) man mighthave envied. Donovan's remarkable savoir-faire --AKAcould phrase-drop himself if called upon--was once again the order of the daywhen they reached the third floor. Stripping before a relative stranger--andAKA was surely not much more than that--apparently posed no problem at all.

"Where shall I put these?" Donovan asked of theclothes he immediately began removing.

He had come over dressed his most casual yet--stone-washedjeans and a T-shirt, sneakers, no socks.

Donovan's question was an honest one, given thatAKA had pretty much emptied the room. Yes, the bed was still there, but transformedinto one of the upcoming photo ops (or so AKA was pleased to see Donovan assume)by a set of expensive smoky-green sheets purchased just for this occasion.The kid would, after all, be spending some time in the bed. He might as wellbe made to look as pretty as possible in it. The sheets were meant to matchhis eyes after all.

"I'll take them," said AKA, holding his handsout.

So, first the T-shirt, then the jeans, then theHilfiger briefs were dropped into AKA's hands, the sneakers having been removedfirst thing. AKA bent and collected them as well, then took the small troveacross the hall to the third-floor bathroom as a splendidly, unselfconsciouslynude Donovan turned to fish the revealing bikini Speedos out of the suitcase,which--AKA having anticipated the need--was supported on an old-fashioned fold-upsuitcase rack.

Donovan was still at it when AKA returned, havingtemporarily placed the clothes on a bathroom shelf. They, along with everythingelse the kid had brought, would eventually find their way into a Goodwill clothesbin AKA had used in the past for the very same purpose, but, for now, the pretensecould continue that Donovan would be wearing them again.

"I know I packed them," Donovan complained, hisback still turned to AKA.

The sight of the boy's ass--which was on full display--madeAKA feel faint.

A pure, unblemished vanilla-white, it was a perfectly molded, adorably dimpledtwo-part masterpiece of a piece with the rest of the kid's fabulous body.

Hasn't this kid ever heard of perverts? AKA wondered as he came up behindhim. Hasn't some teacher, some geek, some jock, some priest--hell, even hisfather!--ever tried to put the make on him? He's as smart as a whip, no questionabout it. So how did he get to be seventeen and this good-looking and not realizethat the world is a dangerous place to strip butt-fucking-naked in?

AKA could only marvel at the kid's trust.

Yes, he thought, I've done a good job making myselfbelievable, but even so!

"Damn! No, wait! Here they are!"

Donovan turned and held up the Speedos.

AKA did manage to look at the Speedos, but the boy's genitals received acouple of quick, assessing glances as well.

AKA was not disappointed by what he saw.

It was sometimes hard to tell, but AKA had no doubt that the boy would sporta very impressive rod when aroused. Even limp, as it now was, the penis--crownedwith a halo of curly jet-black hair--was an elegantly long four inches. Atfull erection, it would surely be seven. Maybe more. A pair of large, glossy,perfectly balanced testicles were tucked tidily underneath.

Hopping from one foot to the other, Donovan adroitly legged his way intothe Speedos and pulled them up.

A little adjusting of his lovely, dark-haired, roses-and-cream-colored genitalsand he was ready.

"So, where do you want me?"

AKA proceeded to turn on the rented spotlights, adjust the rented reflectors,slightly move the rented backscreen.

"In front of the screen," he said. "I know it looks plain, but what withcomputers being what they are these days we can later put anything from a virtualbeach to an Olympic-size swimming pool behind you if we want to."

"Neat!" Donovan allowed.

AKA picked up one of the cameras he had actually managed to master and beganto shoot.

Donovan was a natural. He neither stupidly froze nor awkwardly slouchedbefore the camera. He neither puffed his chest out in some silly cock-of-the-walkpose nor wilted self-consciously between shots, clumsily at a loss about whatto do next.

A happy look over the shoulder. A serene, full frontal, into-the-camerastare. An inquiring glance skyward. A thoughtful staring down. Hands-on-hips.Hands on knees. Head up. Head to the side. Eyes closed. Eyes open. Smiling.Not smiling. Laughing. Looking tragic. In a diving stance. With a towel. Withouta towel. Holding a bottle of suntan lotion. Holding nothing. It was all great!

"I think you've done this before," AKA finally said, believing it reallymight be the case.

"No. I promise. You really think I'm good?"

"Better than good. Excellent."

Donovan broke into a broad, warm, white-toothed smile.

AKA focused and clicked.

"We should have some music," Donovan suggested, obviously eager to intensifythe pleasure of the situation. "Isn't that one of the things a fashion photographerdoes to create a mood?"

"I have used music on occasion," AKA lied as he took yet another picture, "butI generally like to shoot without any distractions the first time around. Youreally get to know the subject that way. Test his limits. I might not see allthere is to see--challenge the model in the way he needs to be challenged--ifmusic is playing."

AKA wondered if Donovan would be troubled by such phrases as "test the limits" and "challengethe model," but he didn't appear to be.

"I see that," the boy finally said. "Yeah, that sounds right."

"What I most like to do is create scenes," AKA continued. "Little dramas,I guess you might call them."

Click, click.

Donovan was silent, intent on a particularly serious facial expression.

Click. Click.

"They make for much better mood-setting than music, I've found."

Click. Click.

Donovan finally relaxed his expression.

"You mean act things out?"

"Exactly. Modeling, in its own way, is theater, you know. It's just theaterwithout the words."

"Wow! That's a neat way to put it. I've never thought of it like that."

Click. Click.

"It makes for much better results, I've found."

"So what's the drama right now?"

"This is just a warm-up. A relax and settle-into-your-body time." Whichyou clearly have no problem doing, thought AKA, you confident little cocksucker! "Ihave several things in mind for later on, though." Indeed, I do, thought AKA. "Someare rather whacky actually, but you just do what you feel comfortable with.If something doesn't suit, we simply go on to the next idea."

"Great. I like it."

That smile again.

Click. Click.

The smile would soon be gone forever, so AKA wanted as many shots of itas possible before the last smile was smiled. That would be--AKA glanced athis watch--in about ten, maybe fifteen, minutes from now.

If all went well.

He finally called a halt.

"Great! So how do you feel? Warmed up and ready to begin?"

Donovan flapped his hands, rolled his shoulders, did a quick little loosening-updance. A boxer's routine.

"I'm ready. So what scene do we start with?"

"Well," AKA replied, "I thought I would direct you to make a tape, an audiotape."

"An audio tape?"

AKA went to the corner where he had stowed the rented cameras, cords, andother pieces of equipment he had no idea in the world how to use, and pickedup a small, easy-to-manage tape recorder, one he actually owned.

"That you were going to be bringing a suitcase put me in mind of this," AKAsaid. It happened to be true. "Here." He handed the machine across to Donovan.He then tossed the boy a still wrapped cassette tape. Donovan could unwrapit. Donovan could put it in the machine. Later, AKA would extract the tape,careful not to smudge Donovan's fingerprints or, even more important, leaveany of his own on it.

"Pop the cassette in," AKA directed.

Donovan did as ordered.

"Now, you see how it works, right?" AKA asked, meaning the machine. Donovannodded. "When I tell you to, I want you press 'record' and then make up a shortmessage. Here's the scenario. You're a spoiled little rich kid, okay?" Donovanlaughed. "But you are also a pretty unhappy one at the moment. Your parents'divorce. Pressure at school. No girlfriend. It's all gotten to you. You wantto tell the world to fuck off! You want to tell Phil and your mother in particularthat you've had it! You're going off on your own for a while! Maybe California.Maybe Mexico. Maybe the South Pacific. Who knows? You'll be in touch when youfeel like it. So, how about it? Can you get into that?"

Donovan had widened his eyes, clearly startledby the idea.

He seemed at a loss for a moment, then said, "They'dnever believe it. I mean, Mom wouldn't. I'm not unhappy. Really."

We will soon do something about that, AKA thought,but what he said was, "Of course you aren't. That's why the scenario. As Isaid, modeling is acting, and acting stretches you emotionally. It challengesyou. Tests your limits. I want the next set of shots to capture two very differentthings as once, if possible: your delight at setting off, footloose and fancyfree, but also the unhappiness you want to leave behind, the anger at the worldyou've been hiding from everyone. I know it's a challenge, but I also knowyou can do it."

Come on! AKA silently ordered. Fall for it theway you've fallen for everything else, kid!

Finally Donovan said, "Okay. But what do I wear?"

It took all of AKA's control not to burst intolaughter. What does one wear indeed?

He gave Donovan a huge grin.

"Well, let's imagine it this way. You're back homehaving decided to leave, right? You've had a final soul-searching swim." AKAgestured to the Speedos the young man was wearing. "Now you want to make thefuck-you-I'm-off tape, dress in whatever you'd be likely to travel in, pack,and then get the hell away. How does that sound?"

Donovan pondered.

"I brought a new red-and-white-striped Ralph Laurenshirt Mom recently gave me and a pair of Banana Republic chinos." He pointedtoward the suitcase. "And some neat Gucci loafers I bought in Rome last summer.How about that?"

"Terrific. But first the tape."

Donovan smiled.

"Yeah. First the tape." He carefully placed themachine on the bed and began to unwrap the cassette. "Hey, maybe this isn'tsuch a stretch. I suddenly feel like traveling.How about that?"

"What can I say? Except that being footloose andfancy free does have its attractions."

AKA lifted the camera, poised to shoot.

"Is that why you never married?" Donovan asked. "Iasked Phil about it and he just said you weren't the marrying type. I thoughthe might mean you were gay, if you wanna know"--a guilty smile graced the admission--"butPhil seemed to see what I was thinking and said, 'Now don't go and get thewrong idea. There's never been a man in my big brother's life either.'"

Good old Phil, AKA thought, momentarily loweringthe camera. He's never considered that there might be other ways to have aman in one's life.

"No. No man. No woman," said AKA, meeting the boy'sgaze. "Not on a permanent basis anyway. If you really want to know, Donovan,I'm pretty picky when it comes right down to it. Not many measure up. Sorryto seem like a snob, but there we are."

Donovan took the declaration very seriously.

"I understand completely," he said. "That's whyI said what I said when we talked about girls at the restaurant that firsttime. There is no special one because that's just it. She has to be prettyspecial, and I haven't met her yet. When I have a relationship I want it tobe permanent. Anyway," he continued as he popped the tape into the machine, "there'sno rush. I've got plenty of time, right?"

"Right," AKA lied.

AKA was suddenly curious.

"I know guys don't ask normally each other thiskind of thing, Donovan, but, given that I'm old enough to be your father but,instead, am just a well-wishing, if rather unlooked-for new older friend whothinks you are a pretty amazing young man, are you a virgin?"

Donovan glanced up, amusement filling his wonderfulgray-green eyes.

"I didn't say that !" Helaughed. "But I called a halt about year ago. Because just having sex for thesake of the sex finally didn't feel right. Not once I decided I really wantedthat SPECIAL ONE. I know. It sounds corny. Old-fashioned. All that crap. Butthat's how I feel."

He straightened up. The tape was ready to go.

"So I've had my soul-searching swim. I've decidedI need to be on my own for a while. Sort things out. Escape all the pressure.Maybe find that SPECIAL ONE. How long will I be gone? Who knows, right?"

I know, thought AKA.

"Right," he said, and once again raised the camera.

* * *

"Mom, Phil, Dad, this is going to take you by surprise,I know, but I can't help it." Click. "I've just got to go away for a while.How long? I don't know. Just don't come looking for me, okay? Respect my privacythe way I've respected yours." Click. Click. "What can I say? The world justisn't right for me at the moment. I need to sort things out. Be alone. I'vegot some money. I've got fake ID. I've even got a fake passport a kid fromschool got for me." Click. "I know I haven't seemed it, but I'm really unhappy,okay? Trust me. Just trust me and wait. When I come back, I'll be happy again.I promise. Goodbye." Click.

Donovan pressed the stop button--clack!--and stoodup.

"So what do you think? How did that sound?"

AKA lowered the camera.

"That"--he said through his amazement--"was perfect."

You don't know HOW perfect! he silently amended.

* * *

AKA waited until Donovan bent over to step intoa fresh new pair of boxer briefs before using the stun-gun.

A few minutes before, AKA had removed the taperecorder from the bed, then--while the boy stripped off his swimsuit and beganto gather the clothes he wanted for the next sequence--he had dutifully carriedthe swimsuit to the bathroom and tossed it on top of the discarded jeans andT-shirt.

Once he was back in the bedroom, AKA had quietlypulled the stun-gun out of his back pocket and waited.

AKA had considered just asking Donovan to put onthe handcuffs, of course. As part of a second "whacky little drama." And thekid might well have done it, given how gullible he had been about everythingelse. But AKA decided not to risk it. Donovan was clearly very naïve butnot totally stupid. The kid might have suddenly put two and two together andmade things difficult--or worse.

Thus, stun-gun in hand, AKA assessed his moment,moved forward, clutched the back of Donovan's neck with one hand, then pressedand fired into the middle of Donovan's exposed lower back with the other.

AKA knew from experience that it was easy to breakthe contact. The target could jerk. AKA could slip. At which point the stun-gunwould crackle and flash like a dozen tiny firecrackers, and all could be lost.The target might still be able to resist, fight, flee. Thus, AKA leaned intoDonovan, effectively shoving the already bent boy over onto the bed, fallingwith him as he fell.

Donovan didn't make a sound, of course. Which wasone of the nicer features of the stun-gun. It somehow seemed to freeze thevocal cords along with most of the rest of the target's body.

So it was a totally silent Donovan who droppedforward, his body stiffening . . . stiffening, then sagging . . . sagging,in a matter of seconds turned into a noiseless, unresisting sack of human potatoes.

Nonetheless, AKA kept the gun pressed into theback even then. Experience had taught him that the longer the charge was delivered,the longer the target would be putty in his hands. Not that AKA needed a lotof time to do the next thing--cuff Donovan's hands behind his back--but itwas always better to take no chances when unnecessary risks could so easilybe avoided.

Only when AKA was certain--he waited for what wasprobably two full minutes--he jumped off and got the cuffs, which had beentucked out of sight amid the jumble of phony props and photo equipment in thecorner.

Another nice thing about the stun-gun--which AKAhad used a total of--what?--four times now--was that the target didn't loseconsciousness. Not really. He might be as limp as a rag doll--as Donovan nowwas--but he was at least partly aware (however zapped his mind might be) thatsomething badly, painfully paralyzing had occurred and that someone was responsibleand that that wasn't good, that wasn't good at all.

Cuffs in hand, AKA turned back to the bed and sawjust such an awareness in Donovan's wide, voltage-dazed eyes. Even so, thesearing mind-fog the stun-gun had unleashed did not lift for another two minutes.

Even then, as it turned out, Donovan had troublebeing coherent.

"Ahhhhh. Mmmmm," he protested.

Not that it really mattered, because by then AKAhad begun to fuck him.

AKA had not intended to actually--not so soon,that is--but a lust as intense as any he had ever had swept through him assoon as he stood up to survey his newly cuffed captive. Blame it on the boy'sgreat butt. Blame on his wonderful legs. Blame on the whole gorgeous seventeen-year-oldpackage. Whatever the case, AKA was out of his clothes and into Donovan's ass--havingsufficiently lathered his cock with the handy, nearby bottle of suntan lotion--beforethe kid even realized what was happening.

He realized WHILE it was happening.

"No! Please! Please! Don't do this!"

It was rather faint, but reasonably clear.

"But I AM doing it!" AKA hissed into the boy'sperfect, pink right ear.

"Please, . Stop! Stop NOW!"

Louder this time.

AKA shoved in that much harder.

"No," AKA whispered.

His penis bumped across the lump-hard teenage prostate.

Again.

And then again.

And then again.

The boy groaned.

Fuck!

Fuck!

Fuck!

AKA's dick delved the depths.

Fuck!

Fuck!

Fuck!

Donovan sobbed.

Fuck!

Fuck!

Fuck!

Donovan sobbed louder.

At least the pleading has stopped, thought AKAas he buried himself up to the hilt in the boy's lush, tropical, fragrantlyoiled ass.

Again.

And then again.

And then again.

AKA could feel the boy's fists tightly bunchedup against his own belly as he pumped his cock in and out, in and out, in andout. He was once again reminded that none of his handcuffed or handtied victims--notone--had ever tried to use his hands to block the violently violating cockin his ass. It baffled AKA a bit. Donovan could easily have pushed his handcuffedhands down, tried to grip or otherwise prevent AKA's cock from doing what itwas now doing, but, like all the others, the boy simply didn't.

AKA came. Once. Twice. Three times.

Or so it seemed, given the awesome triple shudderof his ejaculating spasm.

AKA gasped.

Once. Twice.

And then collapsed onto the inert body beneathhim.

* * *

Both fish and guests are supposed to stink afterthree days, but Donovan, thanks to a shower a day perhaps, didn't. Not at all.Yes, there had been a couple of unpleasant things to deal with. There was abad spell of diarrhea on the morning of the second day, for example. Fortunately,the new sheets weren't involved. The runs actually served to clean the boyout, making him easier to deal with—both physically and mentally. Onthe afternoon of the third day, the kid suffered a rather dramatic fit of theshakes and shivers, caused by what AKA suspected was a low-grade fever, butthe problem was soon remedied by a few leftover antibiotic tablets AKA happenedto have on hand. AKA actually fucked Donovan at the height of the fever, enjoyingthe additional tremors rippling through the kid's svelte, smooth, fever-dampbody. There was the emotional crap to confront as well, of course. Especiallyat the beginning. The crying, the sobbing, the pleading. Soon after the firstfuck, Donovan had resumed all three. "Why are you doing this?!" Wasn't it obvious? "Pleasedon't kill me!! Just don't kill me, okay?!" Why not? "Not again!! Please, notagain!!" Yes, again, as AKA flipped the boy over onto his stomach for his nextfuck.

Donovan's anger was much to be preferred. "Yougoddamned motherfucker!! When I get loose, I'm gonna kill you, you goddamnedmotherfucker!!" A nice thought, but I wouldn't count on it, kid. "You put thatin my mouth and I'll bite it off! I swear I will!! I'll bite it off!!" Theboy hadn't, of course, the knife at his throat apparently being a fairly convincingdeterrent.

All things considered, then, things went well.Donovan wasn't going to win first prize--that still went to the quiet, long-haired,loose-limbed busboy from that upscale restaurant AKA had taken Donovan to thatfirst time--but he was very far from being the worst. That "honor" went tothe skinny, red-haired, whining little twerp of a hitchhiker who had so irritatedAKA that he lasted only one hour on the third floor, one hour being all AKAcould take before offing the kid with his own dirty white T-shirt.

By the fourth day, Donovan had more or less settledin. There was still the occasional sob. There had been one fairly dramaticoutburst. "You're going to rot in hell for this!! You hear me!! You're goingto rot in hell!!" Yeah, tell me another one, thought AKA. But the boy soonmore or less settled into the routine. A fuck in the morning. A fuck at night.If AKA was feeling like it, a midday blowjob. That was the basic pattern.

What was there to complain about? AKA reciprocated.For the blowjobs anyway.

As AKA had suspected, Donovan sported a more thanacceptable dick. Elegantly long and lean like the boy himself, it was indeeda solid seven inches at full mast. As for the kid's cum? Well, it was as thickand rich and white as the whites of the extraordinary gray-green eyes.

The eyes alone troubled AKA. They had seemed to pierce to the back of AKA'sskull the very first time they looked at him. They were all daggers now--smolderingweapons aimed directly at AKA's heart.

If looks could kill, AKA would be dead for sure!

AKA hated to admit it, but the look hurt. Enoughso that AKA actually blindfolded the boy at one point on the second day, justto get some relief. But he soon took the blindfold off. AKA preferred to seeand be seen. It was the only way to really tell what was going on in the victim'shead, and knowing that was half the fun, right?

The handcuffs never came off. Securely locked,tight but not too tight, they were the restraint of choice. The boy's wristssoon looked like chopped liver, of course, given his repeated efforts to pullfree. AKA finally had to bandage them, but he did not take the cuffs off.

Donovan spent most of the time on his stomach,his feet spread and tied to the bottom of the bed. AKA did untie him, of course,when the boy needed to be on his back. During the knife-to-the-throat cocksuckinginterludes, for example. But for the most part Donovan remained flat on hisbelly, his tightly roped feet pulled far apart, his cutely dimpled, porcelain-whiteass exposed and ready for action whenever AKA felt the desire to plug it.

The kid was also gagged any time AKA was goingto be out of the room. No use risking that the boy's cries--and he would havecried out--might be heard, even from the heights of the third floor.

The boy's car had been dealt with the first day,driven and then abandoned in that conveniently unmonitored parking lot AKAknew about near one of small local airports. AKA had rather a hike gettingback home, but he had waited until dark and no one saw him. He was sure ofit.

The tape Donovan had so helpfully made had beendealt with earlier. Using gloves, AKA had ejected it from the machine, placedit in a ziplock bag, and then, before Phil or Carolyn returned home, carefullyslid it from the bag onto Phil's desk in his study, the house having been accessedby means of Donovan's own set of keys. AKA had propped the tape right-side-upon the middle of the desk in order to call attention to it, assuming that Philwould have the wit at some point to pop it into a player and listen.

It was days before AKA knew whether he had or hadn't.To be precise, it was not until late in the afternoon of Day Three that Philcalled to say that Donovan had taken off--"Just like that! Up and left!"--andthat he and Carolyn were trying to respect the boy's wishes and give him sometime, some space, to sort things out, but what did AKA think?

Well, AKA thought that they were doing the rightthing. Of course, he didn't really know Donovan, AKA stressed, but from thelittle contact they had had AKA had been deeply impressed with how mature Donovanseemed. No, he hadn't detected any depression or anger. Quite the contrary.The boy seemed unusually well-adjusted. Yes, the whole thing was verysurprising. But, then, young people in AKA's experience were often deep-runningstill waters.

Phil never mentioned the tape, and AKA didn't botherto ask how he knew Donovan had skedaddled.

* * *

Donovan seemed to know early on that he was notgoing to allowed to go free.

"That's why you made me make that tape, isn't it?So they wouldn't go looking for me. Or not right away. So you'd have time todo all the sick shit you're doing to me."

Donovan was a bit breathless, having just triedto kick the "sick shit," as he called it, out of AKA. AKA would later havetwo nasty bruises on his chest to show for it. But AKA--who was a good fiftypounds heavier and far more muscular than Donovan--had soon regained control.

"Yes," AKA said as he prepared to plug the boy'sbutt again.

He sank in, the kid's well-lubed sphincter onceagain giving way to the invasion with relatively little difficulty.

Donovan gave a sharp gasp.

"You're not going to let me go, are you?" the boyasked as AKA began to pump.

"That's right," AKA replied. "You'd tell."

Then he bit--but not too hard--the back of Donovan'sneck.

"I'm not the first one either, am I?"

"No, you're not the first one."

AKA bit the neck again, savoring the salty, sweatytaste of it.

"How many"--ugh, ugh--"how many have there been?"

AKA pumped.

"You'll make it"--pump--"31."

"God!"--ugh, ugh--"Oh God!"

"God"--pump, pump--"has nothing to do with it.Now shut up"--pump, pump--"and let me fuck."

* * *

No, Donovan wasn't going to win first prize--PrinceValiant, the lithe, long-haired busboy (having had that mysterious extra "something" AKAfound hard to name) still had the edge--but by the time the sixth day of hiscaptivity dawned Donovan was running a very close second. The fucks went trulywonderfully now. The sucks too. All way, way above average.

"You're good at that," AKA said after a particularlysatisfying post-lunch blowjob.

"Fuck you!" Donovan said. He had not even botheredto try to spit out the cum this time.

Weakness might have had something to do with it,of course. Because the boy had not had any solid food since the first day.Plenty of fluids, yes. Water. Cokes. Milk. Regularly imbibed Slim-Fasts, lovinglyheld to the boy's mouth by AKA. But no solid food. As a result, Donovan's admirablytall, trim frame was thinner now. Not unpleasantly so. Yet. But definitelythinner.

AKA ran his hand down the cool, firm chest. Donovanwas sitting up on the edge of the bed, his feet untied. He had no more energyfor kicking. At the moment, anyway. Not that AKA was worried. He had managedthe boy when he was stronger. There would be no trouble handling him now thathe was weaker.

"You now hold the record," AKA said as reachedand fondled the boy's genitals. Once again, the cock responded. Despite theboy's shame. Despite his on-going fear. Despite his deepening physical andemotional weakness.

AKA knelt and licked the top of the penis. Thecock immediately jumped and elongated.

Amazing, just amazing! AKA thought, still surprisedthat a kid could get hard and cum--not once but any number of times--in sucha situation. Only two had been completely unable to do so, but both had beenborderline hysterics from the get-go. Disappointments in other ways as well.

"What record?" Donovan asked, his voice tired,flat, defeated.

AKA opened his mouth and went down on the cock.

The kid's thighs flexed, his legs straightenedout from the bed.

AKA moved his hands down the legs, back up themto the boy's waist, around to his back as he engorged the seven long, leansatisfying inches to the hilt.

Donovan groaned in pleasure. It was not a pleasurehe wanted, of course. There was no conversion to a new and exciting lifestylein process here. AKA was no fool. The boy was being raped and he knew it, wouldnever forgive it, and, if given the chance, would make sure AKA paid for it,but he responded to the pure physical pleasure of what was being done to himwhether he wanted to or not.

Once again, the kid came rather quickly, anothergood, full, rich, savory mouthful.

AKA pulled free, licked his lips, and sat back,his hands on Donovan's knees.

Donovan had fallen back on the bed, his face towardthe ceiling. He was breathing hard.

AKA said, "The record I was referring to was timekept. By me. Of somebody like you. Like this."

He stood up, looked down at the boy.

God! He was so beautiful! So fucking beautiful!Way too beautiful to live!

Which, of course, was how AKA explained his ownbehavior. Part of it anyway.

Donovan said nothing. It was not clear he had evenheard.

"The record until now was five days. But I've nowkept you for six."

Donovan still said nothing, although his breathinghad eased, his face, relatively speaking, relaxed. His eyes were closed.

"You're not quite as good a fuck as that kid," AKAcontinued, "but you give better head, I'll say that for you."

"Fuck you," the boy more mouthed than said.

So he was listening.

"They're still not looking for you. Isn't thatunbelievable?! I talked to Phil again yesterday, and he said they had decidedto give you a week. Then they'd start looking. No police, though, you understand.Private detectives. That kind of thing. So I guess all that will get underwaytomorrow. Your car's just where I left it, by the way. Like I said, unbelievable!"

A moment's silence.

"They never will find you, of course. Early on,I didn't care about that aspect of things one way or the other. I just leftthe boys where they fell, so to speak. Or dumped them wherever it happenedto be convenient to dump them. Problem was, the police soon knew there wasa serial killer on the loose. So I took advantage of some property on the rivermy parents bought. They left it to me. I still own it. I planted any numberof kids out there for several years running. Not a one's ever been found. Butthere has been a lot of development out in that area in recent years, so, aftermoving here, I bit the bullet so far as disposal goes. That meant dismemberment.It wasn't easy, but I had it to do. You're going to be hotter than most. Richand privileged. Family who will care. You really do have to vanish, and vanishcompletely."

Donovan's breathing had picked up again. His facewas slowly reddening. He was certainly listening now.

"I hate blood. Guts. The whole messy inner-bodybusiness," AKA continued. "You have probably wondered why I haven't done anythingto make you bleed in any way, right? Well, that's why. I hate that kind ofthing. I really do. But like it or not, taking a kid apart is the only trulysafe method of disposal. So, I'll fix myself a stiff drink or two and thencut you into pieces. Then gut what's left. The pieces will go into the bayon one of those solo late-night sails I told you I like to take. Your hands,your arms, your legs, your head, your torso--properly broken down, of course--they'llall end up fish-food. As for your innards--your heart, lungs, kidneys, liver,all that stuff--I'll wrap them up individually and put them out with the trashon alternate days. Keep them frozen until then. As for the guts themselves,I'll use them to fertilize the roses. I don't know if you noticed my roseswhen you drove up, but they have really taken off the last few years. I'vealready gotten rid of your clothes, by the way. I deposited them in a Goodwillbin on my way out to ditch your car. Some poor, no-account black kid's probablyalready wearing them by now. Oh, but I did keep that sexy swimsuit. And thepictures I took. Both those you posed for before I sprang my surprise and allthose I've taken since. They're already on a disc. I'll be taking it out fromtime to time, popping it into the computer, and remembering. There will bethe 'after' pictures too once the time comes, but they will be easy enoughto add."

AKA was rather shocked at the ferocity of his ownsadism. He had never let loose on a kid in quite this way before. "Sticks andstones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me." So the saying went.

Well, bullshit!

Because there was no question that AKA's wordshad hurt and hurt badly. Donovan's tightly closed eyes were streaming tears.His mouth was open, stretched wide, twisted in horror at the picture AKA hadjust painted. For the first time in his life perhaps, the boy actually lookedugly.

For one awful, black moment AKA felt guilt.

It loomed up, dark and menacing, like an almostpalpable monster in the room.

No! AKA commanded.

He looked back down at Donovan's silently heavingbody, at his tragically crumpled face and limp, provocatively exposed genitals,and repeated the command.

No!

The monster darkened, resisting the order.

AKA stepped forward, drew back his right fist,and then slammed it into the boy's groin, aiming directly for the plump pinkballs.

"Aiiiiii!!!!" Donovan screamed, jerking his legsup.

AKA gripped him by the knee and flattened him backonto his back, then raised his fist and struck a second blow, directly on targetagain, but even harder this time.

Again and then again and then again AKA broughthis fist down on the balls, on the cock, on the balls, on the cock, forcedmore than once to shove the boy's legs apart in order to land the fierce, hard-hittingblows.

By the time AKA finished, Donovan's groin was wellon its way to being black and blue. His cock already looked bruised, and hisballs were swelling fast, well on their way to becoming ugly, asymmetricalbags of crushed crimson tissue.

The monster had gone.

Donovan hiccupped, then convulsed. Blood suddenlyoozed from his piss-hole.

"Shit!" said AKA and went to get piece of twine.

When he returned the boy was on his side, his kneesdrawn up foetal-fashion.

Once again AKA was forced to pry the legs apartand work the boy back onto his back. Mission accomplished, he got up on thebed and, facing the kid's feet, straddled Donovan's chest.

AKA wound the twine as tight as he could aroundthe root of the genitals--once, twice--then up and around the cock alone forgood measure, then, pulling for all the was worth, tied a knot at the baseof the abused balls.

The oozing blood ceased as the constriction causedby the twine kicked in.

In less than a minute, Donovan's cock, filled withtrapped blood, surged to its usual seven inches, then, the blood having nowhereelse to go, bloated to twice its normal diameter as blue-black veins poppedout along the congested shaft.

The battered balls continued to swell--they wouldsoon be the size of small oranges if the process continued--but at least nomore bloody emissions appeared.

AKA felt spent. He hated it when he lost controllike that. Damn the boy!

He got off the bed, went to the foot, and onceagain spread and secured Donovan's long, lean, lightly haired legs.

He'd let the boy recover--as much as he could anyway--thenprepare for the final event, the wonderfully inventive--at least, AKA thoughtso--offing of Donovan he had had planned from the start. That would requiregoing to the basement, but it would clearly be a while before Donovan wouldbe up to walking that far and AKA did not intend to carry him.

AKA didn't even bother to gag Donovan this time.He just left, needing some time to recuperate himself.

* * *

A good nap did the trick. AKA awoke feeling bothrefreshed and confident again. He turned over onto his side and looked at thebedside clock.

5 PM.

Okay.

Let the show begin.

Unlike AKA, Donovan appeared not to have sleptat all. His eyes were wide open, his face full of strain and exhaustion.

"Well," said AKA, "the time has come, don't youthink?"

Donovan tilted his head and looked directly atAKA. His wonderful eyes--slightly red from crying?--no longer pierced to theback of AKA's skull. Instead, they seemed to freeze to a halt as soon as theymade contact with AKA's face.

Too bad, AKA thought. I had rather come to likethe dagger-stare.

The sexily unshaved face had settled back intoits handsome, high cheek-boned seventeen-year-old contours. There was no moreugliness now.

The body was still fabulous, the battered genitalsalone marring the stunning perfection of shape and grace of form.

The bloated cock--now a red so red it was almostblue--pointed obscenely toward the ceiling. The swollen balls--now fat littleblood-oranges, for sure--bulged out below it.

AKA untied the feet.

"Up you go," he commanded.

Donovan didn't move.

AKA was forced to go around, grip Donovan by theback of the neck, and hoist him into a sitting position. The kid was hot tothe touch, fever once again having made an appearance, it seemed.

"Please," Donovan pleaded in a low, wracked voice. "Onelast time. Please, please don't do this. We can say I was kidnapped and youfound me. Anything. Just . . . please don't kill me. I won't tell them youdid it. I won't."

AKA ignored him.

"Up!"

AKA helped the boy swing his legs over the sideof the bed.

Then he helped him stand.

For a moment, they stood leaning against each other.It felt almost brotherly, affectionate.

Then Donovan pulled away.

AKA felt a flash of anger, but pushed it down.

Donovan had to fight to keep his balance, but hemanaged, his blood-engorged cock bobbing absurdly in front of him. He tooka deep breath, then a step forward, then another, the ridiculous cock dancingin the air each time.

AKA caught him by the arm, both to control anddirect.

Donovan let him.

They slowly made their way out of the room andstarted down the stairs.

Each step seemed to cause Donovan pain, but heat least no longer seemed in danger of losing his balance.

He turned to look at AKA as they reached the second-floorlanding.

"Why? You've at least got to tell me why!"

"Why you in particular or why this at all?"

They started down the next flight of stairs.

"Why this at all? I'm not gay, but a lot of youngguys are. Why couldn't you just meet somebody and fall in love and have a relationship?I don't understand it."

"Neither do I," AKA replied.

"I don't believe you. You're an intelligent man.You're a handsome man. You have a career. People like you. Nobody would everbelieve this, right?"

"Right."

"So why do it? Forget the risks. Why do it at all?What's the point?"

"The point," AKA answered, "is the pleasure ofit. It's like no other in the world. At least, not for me."

"That's no answer," Donovan shot back. "You knowthat's no answer. Why should it give you such pleasure? That's what I don'tunderstand."

AKA was silent.

"Is it the power trip? Having such power over lifeand death? That must be part of it."

"Yes," AKA replied. "That's part of it, I guess."

They reached the first floor.

The stairs faced the front door. Donovan eyed thedoor longingly, futilely.

AKA attempted to turn Donovan toward the back ofthe house, but Donovan resisted.

He continued to stare at the door.

"My whole life's on the other side of that door," hesaid. "Please. Let me go out and live it."

AKA kept a firm grip on the arm.

"No," he said.

"But"--the voice broke--"I'm only seventeen!"

"And too beautiful to live," AKA murmured.

"Too beautiful to live?"

AKA was silent.

"Is that it? You hate . . . hate . . . that I .. . that I'm good-looking?"

"I love how you look," AKA responded and tuggedat the arm.

"But you're jealous? Are you jealous or something?"

"Or something," AKA agreed.

He pulled, and Donovan stumbled forward.

They resumed their progress.

"Did somebody do something like this to you? Isthat it?"

"No. Never," AKA said. It was true.

"I just don't understand. I just don't understand."

They proceeded through the dining room and intothe kitchen.

Donovan's bare feet squeaked on the recently waxedfloor.

"Did guys tease you? You know, call you names?Stuff like that? When you were my age? Is that why you hate me? Us?"

"That's probably part of it too," AKA admitted,once again impressed by Donovan's insightfulness. "I was teased. I did hateit. Was hurt by it. But I also loved to look at the guys who did it. I lovedto fantasize about them. Imagine doing things to them. Having them do thingsto me. Not bad things necessarily. But then something happened. I killed akid my age. My only friend, actually."

They had reached the door to the basement. AKAopened it.

"But accidentally," Donovan offered, stiffeningat the top of the stairs. "You didn't mean to, right?"

"Oh, but I did. I wanted to kill Derrick badly--Imean, really badly--and I did. I was lucky, though. Everybody thought it wasa kinky autoerotic thing that Derrick had done to himself. No one ever dreamedit was murder. I didn't even understand that that's what they thought at thetime, of course. I just knew they didn't suspect me. I was only fourteen."

AKA pushed Donovan forward, and he began to descendthe stairs with AKA holding onto him from behind.

"God. Oh, god," Donovan murmured as they went down.

"There are only the Dark Gods," AKA said.

The basement of AKA's house was in three sections.The front two continued the usual stuff--a washing machine, dryer, water heater,furnace. The rear section, where AKA and Donovan were headed, was different.

Accessed by a narrow, cement-block passageway--thedoor to which was usually kept locked--it featured a big, badly stained, six-by-four-footbutcher's block at one end, and an equally big, and relatively new, storagefreezer at the other.

What AKA did on the one, he housed (at least temporarily)in the other.

A locked metal cabinet to the right of the tablecontained the saws and knives AKA had bought once he decided he had to makeat least some of the bodies disappear, whether he liked what that meant ornot.

The room's hard concrete floor sloped toward alarge floor-drain located in the very center. A length of hose hung nearbyfor washing down it whatever needed washing down.

"God. Oh, god," Donovan repeated as they made theirway in.

AKA nodded toward the butcher's block. "That'swhere I'll take you apart." He nodded toward the freezer. "And that's whereI'll temporarily store whatever needs storing."

"This can't be happening. This can't be happening."

AKA walked Donovan to the center of the room andstood him over the drain.

It was only then that Donovan seemed to noticethe rope dangling from the solid steel hook in the ceiling.

He brushed against the rope as AKA positioned himabove the drain.

"Rope?"

AKA reached up and seized the rope and began toloop it about Donovan's head.

"Yes, rope," AKA confirmed.

"You're going to hang me?"

AKA pulled the rope tight but not too tight, thentied a relatively simple noose knot.

"Well," he said, "not exactly."

Having finished the knot, AKA stepped back to admirehis handiwork.

"This deserves a picture too, don't you think?"

Before Donovan could comment, AKA had left theroom.

He was gone much longer than Donovan thought hewould be. It was a good twenty minutes in fact before he reappeared--completelynaked, carrying a stiff bourbon-and-water in one hand and an expensive, newlypurchased camera in the other.

He held the camera up for Donovan to see.

"I tried a number of the cameras I rented for ourfirst session and liked this kind the most. Digitalized and disc-ready andall that other the-latest-in-technology shit. No need to go anywhere to haveanything incriminating developed, the biggest plus. The whole business canbe taken care of right in the privacy of your own home. Neat, huh?"

"Neat" had been one of Donovan's favorite words,but it had been a while since he had used it. AKA now used it for him.

AKA took a big swallow of the drink and then placedin on the butcher's block.

Lifting the camera, he began to focus.

"I would have been back sooner, but the phone rangwhile I was upstairs. Phil again. Somebody finally took note of your abandonedcar. The thinking now is that you arranged to fly out of the little airportthat's nearby. Where to and with whom? they're now wondering, of course." Click. "Philseemed almost relieved." AKA moved in order to get a different angle on Donovan.Click. "Says they've decided to put off even getting detectives at this point.Your father's idea apparently. He thinks you should be given another week.Then if they still haven't heard from you, they'll all confer again and decidewhat to do." Click. "They won't, of course. Hear from you, that is. By then,you'll be long gone. I should have the last pieces out of here by--what's today?Wednesday?--by Tuesday"--click--"at the latest." AKA focused the lens on Donovan'sswollen genitals. Click. Click. "Those I'll just put down the garbage disposallater today. You'd be surprised how easily they slice off and grind up." Hewalked around behind Donovan, focused on the boy's beautiful back and butt,and clicked again. "But I think there is time for one last fuck, don't you?" Click.Click.

AKA returned to the butcher's block, put the cameradown and picked the bourbon up. He took a swig. Then another swig. Then replacedthe drink and walked back over to Donovan.

He had begun to massage his cock, which, despitethe recent demands put on it, hardened soon enough.

"I'll do this slow and easy," he said as he camearound behind Donovan. "You need to help, however, or that noose-knot willkill you. Too much moving around and you'll be dead. Understand?"

If Donovan did, he didn't say so, but he manageddespite the unavoidable heft of AKA's initial penetration to maintain his stancepretty well. No serious stress was put on the noose at all.

AKA encircled the boy's body with his arms and,as he had promised, proceeded to enjoy as slow and as easy a fuck as he hadperhaps ever had in his life.

"Oh baby!" he murmured into the back of the Donovan'shead, inhaling the fresh natural male hair smell as he slowly heaved and withdrew,heaved and withdrew, heaved and withdrew.

He let his hands wander down Donovan's chest, acrosshis now thinner, tightly flexed abdomen, to the outrageously enlarged cockand balls.

AKA gripped and squeezed the balls, but not tooviolently.

The slow easy pumping continued, built, and--atlast--exquisitely, with a prolonged shuddering release of pleasure, climaxed.

"Ahhhhhh," AKA sighed as the last slippery, slavveryshudder subsided.

"You have been a fabulous fuck," he said as hepulled away. "A really unbelievably fabulous fuck. I'm very sorry to see itend. I really am."

Returning to the butcher's block, AKA took anotherbig swig of his drink.

Leaning back, the glass in his hand, AKA lookedat Donovan who, his face fixed stonily forward, did not return the look.

Time passed. AKA finished his drink. Neither spoke.

Inevitably, as the minutes ticked by, the boy wasforced to move a bit, shift his feet, flex his legs, scrunch and stretch hisshoulders and arms. They were all getting rather stiff, given how little exercisehe had had the last few days, a problem now compounded by the highly limitedrange of movement the rope allowed him.

Finally, Donovan spoke.

"Just do it, okay. I don't give a fuck anymore.Just do it. Hang me if that's what you're going to do. Just get it over with,for God's sake!"

AKA tilted a piece of ice into his mouth and suckedon it.

After a minute, he spit it back into the glassand said, "I've done all I plan to do. That's it."

For the first time in a while, Donovan turned hishead to look at him.

A fragile, disbelieving gleam of hope shone inthe once again piercing gray-green eyes.

"You're not going to kill me?"

AKA shook his head.

"No. I'm not."

The boy could hardly take it in.

"You're not going to kill me?" he repeated, astoundednow, although the look in his eyes remained warily fearful.

AKA shook his head again.

"No." He paused for effect. "You're going to killyourself."

Confusion instantly replaced the flickering flareof hope in Donovan's eyes.

"Kill myself?"

"Right."

"But I would never . . . ."

AKA sniffed.

"But you will."

"I don't understand."

AKA smiled and stood up.

"You will." He looked down at the empty glass,then held it up for Donovan to see. "I think I need a refill, don't you?"

* * *

It took Donovan three hours to figure it out becausethat's how long it took for him to become so uncomfortable, so weary, so distressedby the position he was forced to maintain by virtue of the noose around hisneck that the truth finally dawned.

The noose was plenty loose. There was no dangerof it suddenly tightening and doing its job. Donovan would have to make aneffort to hang himself. Or, more to the point, cease to make an effort. Becauseas long as he remained awake and standing, he was safe. As long as muscle crampsdidn't cause him to fall or exhaustion make him lose consciousness, he wouldlive. If he lost control of the muscles that kept him on his feet, however,he would die. If he fell asleep or fainted, he would also die.

It took him three hours to see it because it tookthree hours for the muscles in his legs, in his back, in his shoulders, inhis arms, and in his neck to begin to ache, protest, and suffer bigtime.

AKA had wondered if it would be a tedious business.He was prepared, if necessary, to end the whole charade by simply kicking theboy's legs out from under him. But it was not tedious. It was not tedious inthe least.

Nothing he had ever done was so brilliantly malicious,AKA decided.

Donovan had been weakened by his sickness and captivity,but he was, after all, a lean, superbly fit seventeen-year-old. He was alsoa boy with a fair amount of character. He marshaled every bit of it in an effortto stay awake and standing. It was an impressive performance, AKA had to admit.

In the end, six amazing hours passed before thefirst real stumble occurred.

Donovan and AKA had long ceased to talk. What elsewas there to say? Surely nothing.

AKA had come and gone, continuing to drink--butnot so much as to befuddle his wits and so spoil his appreciation of what washappening. By the end of the fifth hour, however, AKA could see that the kidcouldn't last much longer, so he stayed put, having brought down a comfortablechair so that he could sit back, relax, and enjoy the show. He had even poppedsome popcorn and eaten it.

"Like some?" he had asked Donovan, but the boyhad ignored him.

It was the left leg that gave way.

Donovan dropped, the noose gripped his throat,his legs flailed in an effort to find solid ground, managed to do so, and hewas back on his feet, shocked and gasping.

And still alive.

He looked straight at AKA, the look no longer daggers,but full of defiant rejection.

DESPITE WHAT YOU JUST SAW, I WILL NOT DO WHAT YOUWANT, the look said.

The boy was also hoping--AKA could tell he was--thatsome amazing, unexpected chance would save him yet. Some unexpected callermight arrive who would somehow become aware of his predicament and alert theauthorities. Some suddenly discovered fact about AKA would arouse suspicionand bring the police running. Some accidental sighting of him, Donovan, ashe drove to AKA's that very first day might finally cause Phil and his motherto realize where he really was.

Something!

But there was nothing.

Only a second stumble about twenty minutes later.

This one was more serious.

It seemed to take forever for the kid to get hisfeet back under him.

By the time he did, his face had gone scarlet,his eyes had become dazed, and his breathing had been reduced to a ragged,rasping rendition of its former self.

Donovan did not look at AKA this time. He had ceased,AKA was sure, to look at anything. Everything he was, was focused in on himself,on his will to live, on his desire to stay awake and on his feet, on his hopefor some wild, unlikely rescue.

Three strikes and you're out? AKA wondered.

Which is what it turned out to be.

Even so, it took another thirty minutes for thefinal drop to occur.

This time, AKA could see, it was the boy's mind,not his body, that betrayed him. Yes, the legs had begun to tremble. The armsand torso, too. But there was no question that it was the mind that gave waythe third and final time.

It shut down. Just for a moment. But that was allit took.

Donovan's legs immediately splayed, flailed, triedto right themselves, even as the rope dug irretrievably--deep--down--into hisneck, stretching the head violently up and to the left in the process.

In seconds, the boy's tongue was poking throughhis perfect white teeth, but still he flailed, struggled, his breathing--ifthat's what it was--a garish, guttural, animalistic counterpoint to the disorganized,spastic motions of the desperately jerking legs.

The face darkened.

The distended tongue inflated.

The guttural gasping stopped.

But still Donovan strained to stand up.

Unbelievably, he finally managed to get his rightfoot in place and push up on it. Unfortunately, he was forced to use the tautnessof the rope to do so. By the time his left foot found its parallel footing,his windpipe was completely closed.

Even so, for a moment, the boy stood there, asif survival, defiance, something might still be possible.

Then, as if he was going to kneel, Donovan's kneesslowly sagged forward, and he sank down for the last time.

What with the rope, of course, he didn't drop far.

His knees splayed, thereby giving the grotesquelyenlarged genitals even more prominence than they had had.

The slim neck stretched.

The tilted face darkened.

Whatever light was left in the no longer piercinggray-green eyes went out.

A big bubble of blood gathered in one nostril,popped, and was gone.

AKA came even as it happened.

* * *

The "after" pictures were soon added to the rest.

As AKA had promised, Donovan's genitals were severedand then ground down the kitchen garbage disposal later that same day. Theroses were dutifully fertilized the next. The midnight sail served its importantpurpose the succeeding night. While the last of the inner-body parts did infact go out with the trash by the following Tuesday.

There was finally a search, of course. Detectiveswere called in. As were the police eventually.

There was some confusion about the tape, AKA learned. "There'sall this clicking on it," Phil reported. "While Donovan is talking. They sayit sounds like a camera, but who would have been taking pictures while Donovanmade the tape?"

AKA had felt a chill run down his spine. Had hedone something that would put the authorities on the right track somehow?

But time passed, and nothing came of it.

By then, of course, Donovan was long gone. Hisdisappearance was a mystery that would apparently never be solved. Just asAKA had intended.

Yes, the risks had been many, but AKA had triumphedover all of them.

As the succeeding weeks passed, AKA would occasionallyget out the swimsuit and jack off in it. He would occasionally pop the discinto his computer and revisit the whole amazing episode.

But Donovan eventually receded as an object ofinterest.

After a few months, even Carolyn and Phil seemedto get bored with it all.

Carolyn was soon her former classy self again.Yes, she was sometimes haunted in the night, according to Phil. She would wakeup crying, wondering yet again what had happened to her beautiful only son.But Phil would once again console her and she would once again go back to sleep,to awake more or less rested and ready for her next busy Rich Matron's day.

Finally, autumn having come and his interest havingwaned entirely, AKA drove to the same Goodwill Store he had used to get ridof Donovan's other clothes in order to dispose of the cum-stiffened swimsuit.

A fairly nice-looking black boy was skateboardingout front.

It took AKA a second to recognize the red-and-white-strippedRalph Lauren shirt Donovan had planned to wear that fateful first and lastafternoon of modeling, but there was no question that the black boy was wearingthat very shirt--now a bit faded, of course, but unmistakably good goods still.

AKA deposited the swimsuit into the big outdoorbin, turned, smiled, and waved.

The black boy, a friendly kid--maybe fourteen,maybe fifteen, and rather tall for his age--smiled and waved back.

AKA walked over to speak to him.

After all, he had always wanted to know more aboutskateboarding, hadn't he?

THE END