They sentenced me to death. The motherfuckers. Die by lethal injection. Shit, I didn’t even know California still had a death penalty on the books, and never-mind it hadn’t been used in 20 years. Being accused of a couple hundred murders sort of screamed that it would be applied to me, no matter how unjustified.
Yeah, sure, I’d kidnapped and raped all those guys from all over this state and Nevada. But what seemed to horrify everyone more than the wholesale slaughter was how I wasn’t sorry or regretful or even shocked at what I’d done. Which is probably why they didn’t believe me when I swore I hadn’t killed any of them.
To be honest, the fact that the dead men’s bones were still lying around that cave’s floor...the cave where I was caught about to rape another guy...sort of said, “He’s not to be trusted.” Hell, I doubt I would have trusted myself.
That may be why they accused me of faking insanity when I told them they’d just been food for the Beast and its spaceship. Apparently, having a dozen dudes from Area 51 swarming over that cave where the Beast had crash-landed...and the old motel above it...meant nothing. Those assholes kept sending out little missives saying, essentially, Nothing to see here; move along.
So all but the UFO conspiracy freaks did.
And while they let the local cops photograph and document and count all the bones, none could be taken to be used in my trial. Same for the clothing remains, and shoes, and jewelry...of which there was a surprising amount. Neck chains. Bracelets. Rings. Most for a finger, but some for a cock. These all had to be inventoried and tested and vetted and examined and contemplated and all the shit necessary to make sure they’d never be seen by anyone ever again. All without saying they wouldn’t be.
I heard through word of mouth that everything filled two twenty-four foot cube vans. Seems I’d been prolific in my adventures. On top of it, samples of rock and dirt the ’51 guys gathered had taken filled a third.
But what the local cops had was sufficient to slam me into trial and determine I was a menace to society, then decide to put me down like a rabid dog. All joyously reported by the mainstream media, online media, video influencers by the hundreds, threads on Facebook and Xitter and Instagram and everything else you can think of...and even fan clubs.
For me!
All with the attendant comments of hate and glee at my fate.
And more than a few men and women wished they could suck me off or fuck me or have me fuck them in my usual way...whatever the fuck that is. I never got this many propositions when I was living my previous life. Guess the best way to get laid is to be a serial killer.
But...now it was all settled, and I was to be taken to San Quentin’s death row. Where I’d be kept in isolation as my appeals worked their way through the system. Which was extremely unfair...but maybe understandable.
I mean, I thought that isolation part was due to some things I did while I was in jail, during the trial. I was more than a little insulted to find out it was normal practice, for death row inmates. So all I would have to alleviate my inner tensions whenever they arose was my memories and right hand.
And they did still fire up, out of nowhere. Seems I’d gotten used to kidnapping and fucking men who didn’t want to be kidnapped and fucked. I hold the Beast responsible for that. Before I was killed and brought back to life, I was your typical dude out to drink, fuck chicks, and work his way through a nothing life. Then a cop shot me in the back, and that moment of death released every inhibition I’d ever had and changed me to where I enjoyed being a...what was it this one nasty DA called me? Hell’s own monster...no...no, it was fancier than that.
Oh...right...I was So much of a monster even hell spit out in disgust. Quite eloquent, if not completely true.
You see, I was just bringing the Beast the food it desired. And having some fun for myself, at the same time. It wasn’t until I was sitting in this massive county jail, waiting for half a dozen district attorneys to finish fighting over who got to try me first, and started to have withdrawal from the erotic joys of sexual assault.
It startled me, I have to admit. Seeing a half-good-looking guy get rostered in, focusing on his crotch and ass and feeling my heart explode into a need that was fucking uncontrollable. Watch him walk around in the vile jumpsuits we were issued. Knowing underneath that flimsy material was a dick and balls and ass that could bring me joy. And peace. If only for a moment.
I tried to keep it hidden...just go into my cell and jack off as many times as I had to in order to quell the gnawing hunger within myself. It was against the rules, but no one seemed willing to turn me in or do anything to stop me. And I felt like I was going cold turkey off a heroin high, but I was making it. For weeks, months, I was handling it.
Until this one dick of a biker gang fuck decided I would be who he bullied.
The stupid fuck.
All he saw was a guy with sandy hair and a good build, who’d just hit thirty, while he, himself, was big and buff and tough and strong enough to make the other inmates step aside when he strutted past. Tatts up his left arm and around his neck. He radiated a Don’t fuck with me attitude.
He strutted in and chuckled it up with a few of the Brothers and Latinos. There was also a semi-pack of other guys like him. Same tatts. Same broad shoulders and beefy arms, though most had more gut than he did. Fortunately for them, none of their asses were as nicely rounded as his, and every one of them had thick scruff or a beard that was verging on longish. So when he came in with the same scruff and that snotty attitude that comes from being too full of yourself to see all it is...is shit...they gravitated towards him.
What none of them knew is, being the Beast’s caterer, as it were, I’d wound up a lot stronger than I looked. Yeah, I was buff and had my own tatts, but me keeping off to myself while trying to control my needs made me seem weak and fearful, to them.
The asshole’s name was Tuck...which I think was short for Tucker. Maybe. I never cared enough to find out. He came in on drug offenses. Spent the day making his rounds to build up his backing. Spit a lot of crap about all the girls he fucked and who sucked him off. All the college shits he beat up. All the knife fights he was in where he never needed to bring his own knife to knife someone. And how they never squealed on him. It was ludicrous. But I think really got his goat, with me, was how I was just sitting in a corner of the rec-room, ignoring him.
So an hour before dinner, he picked a fight with me.
Now I was in deep enough shit without having to deal with some cocky asshole. One of the deaths I was accused of was the cop who’d killed me, so I knew any crap he pulled with me would be ignored by the guards. And the only thing the rest of the inmates really knew about me was I was a bigger, better, badder version of John Wayne Gacy. So all I’d gotten was the usual faggot and maricon and cocksucker comments muttered my way. I didn’t care. My focus was on trying to get away with all the things I’d done...and my poor little public defender wasn’t having much luck.
So...Tuck decided to fuck with me. Normally, I would have ignored him. But I was in the middle of this exploding wave of need and just wanted to go jack off. Somehow, when raping the beast’s meals, I’d grown to build a reliance on getting them to cum. Like it was food for me. Or a drug. Whichever. I’d suck them off, swallow their cum and fuck them...then suck them off, again. And I would feel so good.
I still ate my burgers and fries and shit...but the only thing that satisfied my hunger was their cum. That satisfied my need was fucking them. And here came big, bad, really kind of beautiful Tuck, thinking he was the shit. And I was headed for my cell, he stopped me.
“Where the fuck you think you’re goin’, faggot?” he snarled, his new buddies chuckling in the background.
I didn’t look at him. I was still trying to maintain control. But the motherfucker wasn’t having that. He grabbed me by the collar and tried to yank me back, snarling, “Hey, I’m fuckin’ talkin’ to you, cocksucker, so you—”
BAM! I slammed him to the floor, whipped an arm around his neck, and used my free hand to rip open his jumpsuit. The guards would not be happy about that.
He gasped and choked and the others started over to help him when I howled and rose to my feet, still holding him by the neck, then lifted him up off the ground. His arms were flailing. His legs kicking. And my free hand was pinching his right tit so hard, you’d think I was trying to tear it off.
That’s when I snarled, “Stay the fuck back or I’ll break his fuckin’ neck.”
They stayed, mainly because they weren’t sure what to do to stop me.
I slipped my hand down his belly. Sighed at how lovely the hair on it felt. Grabbed the elastic to his underwear...which turned out to be boxers. Of course. Such a butch baby boy. I ripped them open, tore the jumpsuit almost in half, and revealed a decent-looking middle-class dick. Cut and flopping around like it was calling for someone to help it.
I slammed Tuck against the wall, let him fall to the floor and yanked the jumpsuit down his arms to bind his wrists.
“Help me, motherfuckers,” finally spit from him. “Get him off me! GET HIM OFF ME!!!”
I rammed a knee into his side to shut him up, then rose to my full height.
“You cunts got two choices here,” I snarled. “Stay back and stay out of this shit. Watch me show Tuck who’s gonna fuck who. Or get involved and fucked over by the guards. You notice, they ain’t showin’, are they?”
The looks they cast each other told me they were going for option number one. Maybe Tuck had been too cocky of an asshole with them.
He almost had his voice back and was spitting, “What the fuck? He’s just one guy and—”
I dove in and flipped him onto his back then got in his face, almost laughing as I told him, “One more fucking word and my dick goes in your mouth. And if you try to bite it off, I’ll break your fuckin’ jaw.”
Finally...finally, I caught a hint of fear in his eyes.
“Fuckin’ shit, man, I was just fuckin’ with you. C’mon, I was just fuckin’—”
And there we go. I chuckled, low and deep.
I yanked my dick out. It was raging hard. Then I pushed my fingers into his mouth and opened it, wide, and rammed my dick into it. He tried to scream but only choked as I thrust deeper, making him gag and his legs kicked and his body twisted to try and get away and he was about to hurl and he couldn’t breathe, so fortunately for him my dick was so primed and ready I fired a load down his throat before he choked to death. Then pulled out and let more of my cum fire onto his face.
Then he did hurl. Not a lot, just enough to make it obvious. And he coughed and shook his head and struggled under me. I was now sitting on his hips, my legs trapping his torso, and I was playing with his tits. Nice ones. On a lovely full chest with some very fine hair flowing over it. An elegant tattoo of a snake on his right shoulder, about to bite his tit. Seemed appropriate.
He kept trying to kick me up but couldn’t get the leverage. I just kept riding him like you do a horse, my dick still hard and bouncing up and down. I even shot another stream onto his chest. But my balls weren’t done, yet.
Nor was my hunger satiated.
I shifted back to sit on his thighs, making it even harder for him to struggle, and fondled his dick. It was actually kind of pretty. His balls were up in his scrotum, but my steady pulling on his dick and tickling my fingers around it and swirling down between his legs was making them begin to reveal themselves.
“Get off, you fuckin’ faggot. Get the fuck off me!”
“You’re the one with a load of cum in your belly, bitch. And look at your dick. Getting’ hard. Gonna be nice. Ain’t it?”
“This is fuckin’ rape! I’m no faggot! THIS IS FUCKIN’ RAPE!”
“Not if you cum, bitch.”
Then I began stroking him. Hard. Fast. Both hands playing not only with his dick but his balls and his pubes and his inner thighs. Stroking. Caressing. Playing. He tried to sit up, but I shoved him back down and took him in my mouth and used my hands to toy with his tits...and keep him from rising.
“No, no, no...you can’t do this! I won’t cum. I fuckin’ won’t. Cocksucker, get the fuck off me.”
His balls were out, now, so I shifted to licking them and nuzzling his pubes and kissing up his stiffening shaft. It was a beauty. Shame it belonged to this asshole.
None of the other guys tried to stop me. And I halfway think the guards believed it was him attacking me, and that’s why they didn’t show. It was glorious.
And having a man’s pretty dick in my mouth...son-of-a-bitch, how I’d missed it. The feel of it lying over my tongue. The taste of his pre-cum beginning to leak out. Up and down and up and down on him, I went. My heart pounding from joy...no, rapture. Pure unadulterated rapture.
His howls became whimpers. His struggles shifted to slight thrusts into my mouth. I could now just finger his tits instead of pinch them to hold him down. His breathing grew faster. Shallower. Little grunts with them. Until....
He let loose. Shot a lovely stream into my mouth. I pulled back to swallow, and another stream fired up nearly a foot before dropping back onto his belly. I dove in and drank the rest of what he had to offer. Sucked it all out of him. Every drop, then licked it off his belly, as well. It was fucking magnificent.
I heard the guys murmuring things like Sonofabitch and Fuckin’ shit and Damn, motherfucker behind me. They’d seen it all. And it wasn’t even over yet.
I raised Tuck’s legs and put his calves on my shoulders. I ripped the jumpsuit completely open. Tore his boxers out of the way.
He shook his head and looked around and gasped, “No, man, now...no...”
But I plunged into him. Hard. No spit. Nothing for lube.
He screamed in pain. Guess he’d never done this, before.
Again, it only took me about four or five thrusts before I was letting loose inside him. And feeling the beauty of it wash over me like gentle waves on a sun-riven beach.
I was planning to suck him off, again, mainly just to prove I could, when the guards finally realized who was getting fucked and who was doing the fucking and roared in to put a stop to it.
Bastards. They beat the shit out of me, cursing me left and right. Threw me in a cell and left me to myself. Fortunately for them, my inner beast was happy enough to let them do it, because one of them was cute and had a mouth I’d love to make use of.
Seems they didn’t learn their lesson but let me out a week later...and I had my way with Tuck, again. This time a bit more quietly. In his cell.
Then I pounced on a college brat they’d brought in for DUI, and back into solitary I went.
Happened twice more before the trial was over, but by that point I didn’t care. Because I’d been sentenced and told I was being taken to San Quentin, so I had no reason to worry about what they’d do to me for using that cute guard.
So I did. And he was so fucking tasty, too.
What made it perfect? While I was cumming down his throat I got a message from the Beast. It was returning to Earth with a proposition for me, something more interesting than just feeding its spaceship, so I was going to get released.
While en-route to San Quentin.
Something none of the guards or DAs would be expecting.
Son-of-a-bitch, I couldn’t wait...
