Demon Hunter (story/pic)

        They had warned me that he had changed, but I just couldn't believe them.  Ricky and I grew up together.  When there were reports of demons in the jungle, we just ignored them as nonsense. 

        When they told me Ricky had gone missing in the forbidden caverns, I decided to go after him.  I entered into the dark cave armed only with a short dagger I had made.  My lantern was the only light.

        Before too long, I could hear echoes in the towering chambers.  With a flutter, he flew out of the darkness.  I had little time to react, so I thrust my sword forward, ramming the blade deep into Ricky's gut.  

        His eyes widened at the shock.  His belly quaked and quivered.  His chest heaved as he tried to regain his breath.  I could hear his voice in his gasps.  I knew my friend's wound was mortal.

        Before I could come to grasps with the dying demon before me, he reached out and grabbed my arm and yanked me towards him.

        I rammed the blade in deeper to try to stave off the attack.  He wrapped his strong arms around me in an embrace.  I tried to hold him back, but could feel his warm breath on my shoulder.

        He was too strong and clung tightly around me as he sank his teeth into my throat.  I tried to let out a scream but, only bloody gargles came out as we both fell to the floor.  His embrace never gave.  I could feel a final heartbeat from his chest as the world went black.

The fighter's last battle. (story/render)

The blade had sunk deep into his bowels.  He dropped to his knees, yelling out in defeat.  

"Aaaauuuughhhhh!!!"

His chest heaving as he tried to gain control of the shrieks of pain ripping throughout his body.  His pierced abs quivered in spasms as blood slowly trickled from the wound.

     Fierceness faded from his demeanor, overshadowed by pain, fear and weakness as the strong fighter slowly past from a lifelong glory to an ultimate defeat.

KGB Tales #13 - Liars and Theives (story/pic)

        We had been searching for a traitor named Vasiliev for two days.  Our sources had tracked him to a small village in the Ukraine.  There was a young local man who was one of his contacts that may have aided in his escape.

        Since I couldn't have my whole team follow every lead, I decided to go this one alone.  I arrived and tracked down the lousy son-of-a-bitch.  I kept an eye on him for a couple of days.  

        I learned that he was the leader of a small gang of thugs.  They were known in the town as being a group of liars and thieves.  So, I paid some of his friends a little visit.  Once they knew who I was, a fear of death struck them to the very core and they were more than willing to cooperate.

        They tied him up against a post and two of the young men invited me to pay him a visit.  Of course, I was too intrigued to say no.  So, I went with them.  

        A third young guys was holding an oozi, guarding their imprisoned leader.  They appeared to have roughed him up a bit.  I suppose their fear of me lead them to some extreme measures to try to earn my trust and favor.

        They had him stripped down, blindfolded and tied up in a barn.   His only response to me was that the americans would never give up Vasiliev.  The young guy with the oozi pointed it at him and kept looking to me as if I was going to give him the thrill of killing him.

        I had him set down the oozi and commanded the three young men to hold their former leader.  Their eyes all glistened with excitement as I unsheathed my sword.  They held him firmly against the post as I rammed the blade all the way through him.  

        He let out a bellow of pain as he felt his body completely pierced through. The three young men stared at his facial expressions as he tried to grunt through the last thralls of pain.  His body twitched awhile before his head finally slumped forward.  

        One of them pulled his head back by the hair, examining to make sure he was really dead.  They all had a look a glee on their faces.  They were so excited to have helped out.  They figured they had earned me as a new ally.  Unfortunately, I knew they were too immature and loose-lipped.

        They looked at me in horror as I picked up the oozi and began spraying their young bodies with a barrage of bullets.  They screamed in unison as their bodies jolted and their chests were torn to shreds.  They fell in a jumbled heap on blood soaked floor.

        I dropped a single match on the hay-stack as I walked out.  That was the easiest cleanup I ever had.

       

Lake Slasher - part 2 (story/pic)

 Lake Slasher part 2


        His friends told him to wait by the boat.  They had been out for a day on the lake and decided to stop by the shore for a break.  Since there was no place to dock the canoe, one of them had to stay with the boats.  That lot fell on Eric.

     Eric laid back on the stern to catch some sun and a nice nap while his friends wandered on shore to explore a little.  They had been warned to avoid the southern shore of the lake, but never knew why.

     While basking in the summer sun, Eric could hear his friends's voices fading off into the woods.  He was enjoying the warm caress of the sun and the gentle rocking of the boat on the rippled waters.  

     After a short nap, he just laid there, eyes closed, soaking in the peace and serenity of his surroundings, not knowing he had been sited by one of the crazy killer rednecks who lived on the southern shore.

     The redneck had been waiting in the branches of a chestnut tree.  Eric's canoe just happened to be drifting slowly in his direction.

     Once the young vacationer was under his branch, the redneck leaped from the bough and drove his blade right through his gut.  The young man had no idea what just hit him.  He felt a hard pound against his stomach and heard a splash in the water.  

     Feeling a stinging burn in his gut, he looked down and saw a blade piercing him through, blood pouring quickly from the wound.  He was too stunned and tired to cry out and his dizzy head collapsed back down on the stern.

Lake Slasher part 1 (story/pic)

Lake Slasher part 1

        He had wandered off to the wrong side of the lake.  He had been warned not to go anywhere near the old camp, but the young guy just didn't listen.  He was a member of the boxing squad at his prestigious school, so he figured he could take on any challenge he faced.  

        Despite all of the warnings of crazy killer rednecks roaming the woods on the other side of the lake, he went anyway.

        After a brief piss in the woods on the other side, he was greeted by on of the crazy rednecks with a blade being buried deep in his gut.  His first reaction was to punch the hick in the face, knocking him out cold.

        The young man stumbled backwards a bit, but managed to lean against a tree.  Damn it hurt like hell.  He examined the blade, he knew it was buried in too deep to risk pulling it out.  Mustering out all of his strength, he got back onto his board and began paddling back to the campground on the otherside.

        His knees were weak and shaky.  It took all he had to make each stroke of the paddle.  Blood slowly seeped from the wound and he could feel a throbbing pulse in his abs with every heartbeat.

        He could taste the taste of blood in the back of his mouth.  He started feeling queezy as if he needed to throw up.  He tried to hold it in as long as possible, if only he could make it to the otherside and get medical attention, he could survive this.  

        He did well maintaining his calm, but the pain of each movement, caused him to wince and grimace.  After making it about halfway across the lake, he let out a cough.  A mouthful of blood spit out from his lips and onto his board.

        It was more than he could take, he began vomiting blood by the pints, until in his dizzy and weakened state, he fell off his board and sank to the bottom of the lake, never to be seen again.

KGB Tales #12 The traitor's son (story/pic)

        One of the worst things for an agent to hear is that we have a mole in our midst.  Such betrayal must never go unpunished.  It then became our number one priority to find and get rid of the mole.

        Agent Vasiliev was my second in command and my most trusted and loyal agent.  He was a third generation agent, which meant he was bred and raised for this type of work.  His son was even beginning his training and was even preparing to go to America as a "Turkish" exchange student.  I knew Vasiliev was the man for the job, so I put him in charge of finding and "plugging" the leak.

        Apparently, the mole was even too good for him, as over a month later, he was still not uncovered.  I decided that I should then oversee the investigation myself.  I had him bring all of his research files to me.  

        He seemed surprised that I was quick to take over the investigation, but he also understood how I wanted this resolved immediately.  He gave me a full verbal report on who were the prime suspects and who he had already ruled out.  He then returned to his office to continue sending over the rest of his files.

        I began pouring over his research and jotted down a several questions on a piece of paper..  After a couple hours, I called for Vasiliev to come to my office for some questions.  When he did not show up, I became immediately aware.

        My first instinct was that he may have gotten too close to finding the person, but it quickly became clear that was not the case.  He investigation had been sloppy...... too sloppy.

        I quickly alerted a couple members of my team and we raced to Vasiliev's flat.  We gave no warning, just busted in the door. The only one home was his son, Samir.  He was a handsomely tanned young man with brown eyes.  Quite an exceptional new acquisition for our agency.

        He was in the middle of changing when we walked in.  His suitcase lay open on the bed with some clothes hastily tossed in.  He was startled when we burst in.   His face went pale as I walked in the door to his room.

        "Where is your father?"  The question was straight and simple, yet he seemed to fumble in his words before claiming that he did not know.

        I was usually a patient man, but under these circumstances, I had very little patience for traitors.  I asked him about the leaks that his father was responsible for.  Again, no straight answer.  The darting of his eyes, the high adrenaline in his demeanor told me this boy was hiding something.

        "Where are you going?"  I asked, pointing to his disheveled suitcase.  He again fumbled over his words, before claiming he was going to his first assignment.  I pulled out a phone and called his supervisor, who was quick to deny this.

        Now, he knew he was caught and began squirming in his seat.  I eyed him closely to make sure he wasn't thinking about doing something foolish.  Just then, his phone rang.  We had him get up and answer it.  We could tell from the look on his face that it was his father on the other end.

        He looked at me with wide eyes, then began to warn his father that we were here for him.  I quickly grabbed the phone from the stupid boy's hand.  "That's right, Vasiliev, we are on to you.  I nodded to two of my associates who simultaneously drove blades deep into the young man's gut on either side of his navel.

        Samir stood there in shock, his brown eyes staring forward, fearful of looking down and noticing the result.  His young chest took in a couple heavy breaths as if he was trying to use deep breathing to numb the pain.

        I snapped a picture with the young man's camera and sent it to his father.  I walked up to Samir as he stood there.  Placing one hand on either blade, I ripped them from his gut.  He lurched forwards slightly, his head jerking somewhat backwards.  He brown eyes rolled back and he collapsed on the floor.

        I turned to my associates, "Gentlemen, lets go find his father."


.............to be continued............

Fountain of Arrows (story/pic)

        Those damned american tourists think they own everything when they come to visit our country.  Robert Feckler was one of those arrogant american college tourists who show up here on Spring Break thinking they were in charge because they had some money to spend.

        Spending most of his nights clubbing and most of his morning puking was his standard of "living it out".  He didn't give a crap about our customs and laws.  His daddy was a lawyer who could (and indeed did) get him out of any mess.  He had been here last year, drugged and raped two girls and a simple bribe to the police chief and away he went.

        Good ole Bobbie never expected the welcome he received.  He got off the boat at the dock with a group of his american buddies. The haughty punk smirked at every hateful stare from the locals. After a few hours of he was checked in to his hotel and he and his buddies headed to the fountain in the central plaza of the town.

        The young prick stood up on the fountain and boastfully announced to the town that he was here and how their girls were all gonna fall for him.  

        Needless to say, the locals didn't take that very well.  they began launching arrows at him, nailing him in his chest and abs.  The young stud didn't know what hit him.  He merely stood with his arms stretched out.  Blood trickled slowly from each wound and his young body fell backwards into the waters of the fountain.

        Looks like the girls would be safe for this season.

        

Javeline Catcher (story/pic)

        Thad was one of those guys who were annoying as hell in college.  Sure, he had a great physique, but he had very little beyond that.  He thought that since he was so well built that he was awesome at every sport.  Unfortunately, what god granted him in his figure, he did not grant him in skill.

        Thad was one of those know-it-alls who thought he was the greatest in any sport he went for.  This brought a ton of ire from his far better skilled teammates.

        Even though he failed to make the cut for the track team, Thad felt it his obligation to come to each practice and to try to "coach" those who made the team.  After a few weeks of this, one of the team captains asked Thad to stand out in the field to retrieve the javelins.  

        At first, Thad thought this was beneath him, but the captain told him it would give him the best vantage point to critique the javelin-thrower's style and form.  This was something Thad could not pass up. 

        He stood out in the field, just beyond the distance where they had been throwing the javelins.  After each throw, Thad would make a snide comment or spew out some criticism towards even the best athletes.

        Finally, one athlete grew angry.  He had just thrown his personal and the teams best, still Thad came back, carrying the javeline and correcting him on his form and technique.  

        The athlete, tired of this talentless prick criticizing his every throw, had what we shall call an "exchange of words".  During the argument, Thad took off his shirt and told the athlete, when you have a body like this, then you can talk.

        With those words, Thad began walking back out into the field.  About halfway there, the athlete yelled out to him, "Hey, M---er F--ker."  

        Thad turned to yell back and the athlete launched his javelin with deadly accuracy, piercing Thad straight through his muscular abs.  The young man stood there in shock with the javelin skewering him through the navel.   

        The rest of the team erupted in cheers.  All Thad could do was stare until his his hunky body fell into the dust of the field in a worthless heap.

Changes, Änderungen, changements, изменения (Update)

          For those who may not have noticed, I have added some storylines to pictures that I had posted previously.

          So, go back and check them out and let me know what you think.

Ich habe einige Geschichten zu Bildern hinzugefügt, die ich vorher gepostet hatte.
           Also, gehen Sie zurück und überprüfen Sie sie und lassen Sie mich wissen, was Sie denken.

J'ai ajouté quelques scénarios aux images que j'avais postées précédemment.
           Alors, revenez en arrière et vérifiez-les et laissez-moi savoir ce que vous pensez. 

Я добавил некоторые сюжетные линии для фотографий, которые я отправил ранее.

           Таким образом, вернуться назад и проверить их и дайте мне знать, что вы думаете. 

Trip Home from the bar (story/pic)

 
        It had been a great night out at the pub.  Carl was plastered and had no clue about the world around him.  He staggered out the door and into the streets.  He passed out and fell to the ground a couple of times before reaching the door of his apartment.

        He turned the knob, only to find it was locked.  He flupped around in his intoxicated state to get the keys from his pocket.  He fumbled to get the key in the lock.  Damned this was jammed.

        He went around the back and attempted to climb the fence.  After a few tries the ended up with him flailing on the ground in the alleyway, he managed to flop himself over, landing with a thud on the grassy lawn.  The drunk guy was amazed with the softness of the grass.  

        He laid there for awhile, trying to re-orient himself.  Everything seemed all screwy and the blurry spinning world just wouldn't come into a clear picture.  He managed to get himself up and opened the sliding door.

       Upon entering, he was still disoriented from the drugs and booze. Everything seemed backwards to him as he slowly made his way up the stairs.  He was tired and weak and knew he had to get to his bed before passing out.  He kicked his shoes off while still stumbling up the stairs.  The carpet seemed softer than normal on his bare feet.

        He got to the top after an effort and pealed off his sweaty beer-soaked shirt and started undoing his pants.  He thought he heard some noise from the bedroom.  Nah, must have been the neighbors in the next apartment.  

        Carl's head was still spinning as he entered.  He undid his pants and dropped them in a heap on the floor.  Ge stepped over to the bed and lifted up the covers when he heard a loud scream.  The lights suddenly flicked on and before Carl's inebriated mind could grasp what was occurring, he felt a hard ram against his gut.

        It felt as if the air was knocked out of him.  There was a dull aching pain coming from his abs.  He found himself out of breath.  He looked down and saw the hilt of a short sword sticking out of his navel.  Blood slowly trickled from the wound, down his man-trail and into his pubes.

        Carl's eyes widened as he realized what had just happened.  A paralyzing jolt of adrenaline shocked throughout his body and he could feel himself in full thrush of an orgasm.  His face reddened.  He heaved out a couple heavy breaths before blood spewed from his lips and ran down his pale white chest.  He gagged twice on the blood and slowly sank limply to the floor.

 

The Servant of the Heir (story/pic)

        Handsome, muscular, lean, he had the body of a young god.  Most definitely a body fit hot enough for a king.  Derrick was a young man on leave from his military service.  He went to one of the exotic asian countries as he heard that there was money to be made in selling himself for sex.

        Little did he expect that his stunning body and charming face would quickly caught the king's eye.  The powerful monarch made the young man a very generous offer

        He was to be the personal lover to the king's heir.  His fine body and personality were worthy of such an honor.  Plus, with no links to the kingdom, this could avoid any of controversy.  As the king with very intent on his son keeping things "discreet".  

        The only stipulation was that Derrick could not have sex with anyone else during his three years of servitude.  After the three years, he would be rewarded with five million dollars.  If he was still pleasing to the kings heir, his contract may be extended.

        The young man was zealous to agree to the terms.  He underwent a medical examination and spent a couple months with a personal trainer to get himself lean and toned until the day arrived when he would be taken to the castle.

        Derrick was led by one of the king's servants into one of the palace's many bedroom chambers.  The servant helped the young man disrobe and gave him a thorough sponge bath.  Derrick couldn't believe the care and attention to detail that the servant had.  He even found himself aroused by the servant's gentle touch.

        The servant then took Derrick over to the large bed.  The sheets were of the smoothest silk that he had ever felt.  Plus the bed was slightly heated.  Derrick melted into the soft warm embrace of more luxurious comfort he had ever known.

        After a few minutes of enjoying the softest, most comfortable bed ever, handsome young servant returned.  Derrick rolled over on his side and watched as the servant looked him over.  

        This servant was bare from the waste up and Derrick was astonished at the young man's beauty.  He was about the same age as Derrick, but more mature.  He spoke no words, but Derrick could tell that he was admiring every inch of Derrick's body.

        Derrick began rubbing his pecs.  The servant's eyes widened at the gesture.  He was clearly enticed.  It wasn't long before the two were entangled in each other's lustful embrace.  Derrick's seduction and the servant's passion were stronger than either one could resist.

        After about an hour of impassioned sex, the two lay side by side in the silky embrace of the soft bedding.  Derrick had his hand over, stroking the curly locks of the servant's head.  He felt a real connection with the young man. 

        Derrick asked the him,  "Is the king's heir as good in bed as you?"  The young man's face turned towards him with a look of confusion.  

        "What do you mean?" he asked Derrick, almost disappointed in the compliment.

        "I mean, you were great.  I was just wondering if the heir was just as good as you.  You're not going to tell him about us, are you?"

        The servant slowly shook his head and laid back down, placing his head on Derrick's chest.  He could hear Derrick's heart beating.  It was an amazing sensation.  With his fingers, he traced the outline of Derricks abs. 

        Derrick continued stroking the young man's hair for a few minutes until he nearly fell asleep.  Just as Derrick was dozing off, he felt a cold point pressed against his navel.  He opened his eyes, just as the young man's head raised off his chest.

        The young man looked straight into Derricks eyes, with dampened lashes.  "I am the king's heir.  And you thought you were breaking your vow by sleeping with me.  I loved you, but now I know I can't trust you.  Enjoy your bed."

        With those words, the young man pressed the blade deep into Derrick's gut.  His abs flexed to try to stave off the steel, but the sharp blade easily sliced through.  Derrick could only lie there in his drowsy confusion, his abs twitching from the pain.  He tried to get up, but the young heir laid back down, placing his head against Derrick's chest and listening to his last heartbeats.

        The heir left Derrick's body laying peacfully in his bed for the rest of the evening.  His servants would take care of it in the morning.

The End (maybe?)
       

Destroy All Evidence (story/pic)

        
        Today just wasn't going well for me.  I had to leave work early due to a power outage at the firm.  This means double the workload for tomorrow.  

        On the way home, my car broke down and had to be towed.  Luckily, I was able to bum a ride home from one of the mechanics.

        I was sitting quietly in my parlor, trying to relax from all of my earlier frustrations, when suddenly, I heard a crash of glass from the dining room. There had been a series of break-ins in the neighborhood, so I was quick to react.

        Grabbing the gun from the side table drawer, I stealthily walked towards the dining room.  Suddenly, around the corner came a young man, early twenties.  He ran right into me, then, once he noticed the gun in my hand, backed against the wall with his hands raised.

        "Oh, Shit!" were the only words words he could mumble in his stutter.  His face was pale from fear and I could see a trickle of sweat running down his brow.  I could tell he wasn't going to give me any trouble.

        "Oh shit is right."  I said, pointing the gun at him.  I shook the gun to motion him to walk.  I guided my young captive to the basement.  Once there, I had him strip.  He had a beautiful, lean figure.  Not too bulky, not too skinny.

        I got some rope and tied him to a chair.  He continued to plead and beg, so a simple gag did the trick.  Unfortunately, that did not stop the pleading in his brown eyes.

        I tossed his clothes in the old coal furnace.  It wouldn't take long for those to be reduced to ashes.  I sat down across from him, staring him in the eye, pointing the gun at his chest.

        "So, now.  What am I going to do with you?"  I could hear him muffle through the gag "Please don't shoot me."

        "Very well."  I set the gun down on the table beside me and grabbed a knife.  Before he could even react, I rammed the blade deep into the young man's chest.

        His eyes grew immensely and he let out a muffled groan.  He briefly twitched and jerked, but the ropes held him firmly to the chair.  He stared for a second at me before his head sank.  

        Now, time to get rid of the body. 

       


        

For My German Friends (Update)

Guten Abend,

Ich wollte Danke an alle meine Freunde aus der wunderbaren Nation Deutschland für den Besuch meines Blogs zu sagen. Ich hatte mehr Besuche in diesem Monat aus Deutschland, die von jeder anderen Nation. Ihr seid fantastisch.

Ich hoffe, diese Übersetzung ist richtig.

Tell Me Everything You know (story/pic)

          I had kept the young man captive in my basement for several days.  Still, he insisted he knew nothing.  I had tried every trick in the book to get him to talk, but returned with every trick in the book to keep quiet.  

          He insisted he didn't know what I was talking about.... You'd expect that.  He begged for mercy....You'd expect that too.   He even promised to never tell anyone...... Yep, another lie.   

          I knew him from the local community college where we had a Psychology class together.  He was one of those straight-A students who pushed themselves to achieve above us others.  Worse yet, he was excellent in sports.  A wrestler and a gymnast.  He had always been so cocky at the gym.  Now, he just pretended to be a scared stupid young boy.

          Simple truth, since he wouldn't talk, he was of no use to me.  I walked down the stairs, carrying the sword, a gift from my father.  The young man watched me with his wide-opened fearful eyes.  I had torchered him before, so, he was expecting some of the same.

           He began crying, screaming, pleading.   "NO!! NO!! NO!!!"  

          "This is your last chance to tell me what you know."  

          "I don't know what you want me to tell you,  Please!!!!"

          "Well, since you won't tell me anything, I have no use of you."   With those words, I stuck the tip of the sword against his navel.  He began squirming, crying, trembling in fear.

          I rammed the blade through his gut.  I could hear the sharp tip of the blade chip against the cement floor.  'dammit,' I thought, 'now I have to resharpen it.'

          He let out a blood-curdling scream as the blade pierced his bowels.  Blood ran down his crotch, dripping onto the floor.  'Dammit, another mess to clean up.'

          After a few second of watching him flexing in the ropes that held him bound and screaming, crying in an hypnotic rhythm to my ears, I ripped the sword from his smooth, muscular gut.  He rolled over onto his side, panting heavily and squirming like a worm as blood flowed out of his abs.  His tearful pleading eyes stared up at me as if asking for help.

          I felt pity on him and I laid down beside him facing him on the floor.  He had began shaking, so I pulled his body to mine in a friendly embrace.  I held him to me, feeling his beautifully muscular body against mine.  His heart was beating so hard, so quickly.  His chest expanded with each exerted breath.  His warm blood oozed out onto my belly.  I was so warm and soothing.  I held him close until the shaking stopped, his breathing calmed and his body was still.

          I closed his eyelids and admired him resting so peacefully after such a traumatic event.  I stuffed his body into one of the barrels in the corner, went upstairs and showered.  I got out the list of study tutors.  I crossed his name off and called the next one on the list.   After all, someone has to explain the psychology lesson to me.

Jungle Outpost #9 (story/pic)

Captain's ambush

       After the ambush at the river, the soldiers back at base were still unaware of what had just happened.  Most heard the gunshots in the jungle, but played it off as one of the soldiers out practicing his aim.

        The Captain back at the base had just got done with his daily workout and went into his office.  He had left his shirt off due to the heat.  When he walked into the room, he was greeted warmly by an enemy assassin, who shoved him against the door, covered his mouth and rammed a blade into the captain's gut.

        The muscular soldier tried to cry out from the pain, but the warm hand pressed against his soft lips allowed only a muffled "Mmmmhhhh" to escape.

        The enemy shoved the captain away, taking the soldier's side arm with him.  The captain merely stared blankly at his attacker, his chest heaving from the pain rippling from his gut.

        After a few moments, the captain fell to his knees and collapsed.  His beefy body sprawled out on the floor. 

The Good Christian Boy (stories/pics)

Part 1

        We were a happy family until Austin came along.  My sister met him at church and he put on a show of how good of a christian boy he was.  He and I had become great friends.  We worked out together at the gym and he even hung out at our house.  Of course, Sally, my sister, would tag along.
        
        We had planned a family trip to the beach and invited him along.  However, the day before, we found out that Sally was pregnant.  Sally never said who the father was, but it was pretty clear, as he was the only boy she hung around with.  (yeah, "good christian boy", my ass.)  This would definitely ruin our reputation at church. 

        We had a family meeting and decided to take swift and definitive action.  Sally was taken immediately for an abortion.  They spoke nothing of Austin.  After the meeting, I went to my room to read my bible.  I read about Jacob's only daughter who got defiled by a young prince.  I personally decided that I would deal with Austin when we went to the beach.

        The next day, we all loaded up in the minivan.  Austin seemed particularly excited to spend the day with us.  He didn't have much of a home life.  His mother had died of an overdose when he was twelve and his father was a drunkard, so anything to take him away was great.

         I must admit, we had a great time that day, swimming, picnicing, exploring the sand dunes.  After a very fun morning, Austin and I decided to go to a secluded spot where we could sunbath privately.  We both took a power nap, soaking in the warmth of the sun.  

        I awoke first, I turned and admired Austin's beauty.  His perfectly sculptured body was a masterpiece.  His muscular chest rose slowly with every breath.  I stared at his innocent face as he slept, wondering how he could be such a monster to get my sister pregnant.

        I grasped the knife firmly in my hand.  Austin never knew what hit him as I pounded it firmly with a single strike straight into his heart.  His chest let out a heave and his eyes quickly opened from the forceful thrust.

        He let out a cough of blood and his head dropped and his eyes closed as if he had simply fallen back asleep.  Except this time, his chest gave no movement of breath.

Part 2

        I sat next to Austin for a short while.  Finally, I got up and told my dad what I had done.  He became very angry.  I quoted the scripture that I had read the night before.  His frustration rose even greater.  I could see that he loved Austin as his own son and was sad at his loss.  He was also disappointed in me and what I had done.  Then dad gave me the most shocking news.  Austin wasn't the father......

        That is when I knew I had screwed up majorly.  Father, being a good christian man, was not going to let this slide.  He pulled a large knife out of his fishing gear. (The one he uses to gut the big catches.)

        "Since you want to follow the bible exactly, It also says that a murder should be put to death."  His angry eyes glared into mine.  My jaw dropped and my eyes widened as shock and fear streamed through my body like a numbing wave.

        I had no time to react as he lunged forward and rammed the blade into my gut.  It felt as if my navel had ripped open along the center line of my abs.  I grabbed his arm with both hands trying to hold the blade back, but another quick thrust and I felt the cold metal of the knife jolting through my innards and the blade tear out the flesh on my back.

        My muscles tensed and I cried out in sorrow and pain.  An orgasmic sensation pounded in my loins.  I began feeling weak and woosy.  I leaned against my father's shoulder, sobbing at both what I had done and what was happening to me.  My abs shuttered from the pain.  I could feel the warmth of my blood soaking the front of my shorts.

        My legs began quaking and gave out.  I fell to my knees, still grasping my father's arm that was holding the blade.  He knelt down with me.  I placed his warm hand on my shoulder and held me up.  I looked up into his tear-filled eyes.

        I grunted and groaned with each sobbing breath.  I could feel my heart pounding a million times per second.  My grasp on his hand weakened.

        He tore the blade out of my guts and I felt my back arch as my hips lurched forward.  My arms spread out as I fell backwards onto the warm afternoon sand.  The sharp pain in my guts forced my hips upward.  I grasped at my navel and felt the blood flowing from the gaping wound.  The pain was unbearable.  

        I lowered my hips and raised my head, almost as if doing a crunch to try to view the damage, but the dizziness overcame me.  I felt my head and arms fall against the warm sand as he last breath left my lungs.
















 

KGB Tales #11 - POW (story/pic)

        Poor young chap.  Ian got lost while his unit was pulled out of the area.  Fearing for his life, he hid himself well in the mountains.  When he saw a small group of europeans in the area, he quickly came out from his cover.  Little did the poor guy know it was us Russians.

        My men were warm and welcoming and brought the poor lost boy to one of our field offices.  We tried to be hospitable and get him to tell us all about his unit, their commands, etc., but the poor boy just wouldn't talk.  Looks like we're going to have to do this the hard way.

        My men strapped him and hung him in a cage.  The fearful chap struggled and fought his bounds, but it was no use.  After several hours of my men having "fun" with him.  He still could not tell us much of anything.  It appears the young man actually didn't have any useful intel.

        I felt sorry for the young man as he hang there helpless, pleading to be returned to his unit.  The fear and sobbing from such a strong boy almost softened me.  But, we couldn't let the westerners know we were in the area.  

        I pulled out a machete and walked towards the young man hanging in the cage.  His eyes widened and he screamed as he saw me approaching.  Tears fell from his face as he pleaded and begged for his life.

        "NO......no, no, no....NO!!!!" and "PLEASE,, please, please, please." were the only words he could articulate in his panic.

        I rammed the tip of the machete into his midsection, just below the sternum.  He let out a harrowing screech as the blade penetrated into his guts.  His head jolted back and I could see the pounding in the veins on his neck.  

        He lowered his head as if trying to regain some composure.  I shoved the blade in further, penetrating deeper into his bowels.  He let out some gaspy cries as the new rush of pain echoed throughout his body.

        I ripped the blade out and blood poured from the wound.  He hung there, head up, gasping and quaking until he finally sagged in the straps and went limp.

KGB Tales #10 - double agent (story/pic)

        If there is one thing I hate more than any other, it is an arrogant traitor.  Uri had been transferred to my unit from another location, apparently, he had some issues with in subordination.

        I caught on quickly that he was planning on turning traitor, as he tended to ask too many questions.  Since I was the only member of the unit he never met, I was assigned to keep an eye on him.  After tracking his movements for only a couple of days, my suspicions were confirmed.  He set up a meeting with an american counterpart to give him the names and information on every member of both his old unit and our unit.

        Poor bastard never had the chance.  He met with the american at a small quaint rural restaurant.  He ordered a coke and sat in the booth closest to the door.  Just before he could blurt out the first name to his informant, I gently squeezed the trigger on the crossbow.  

        The arrow wizzed at lightning speed and nailed the center of his chest with a thud.  His chest heaved forward and his head jolted back from the force of the hit.  He sat there, bewildered and confused as the arrow shook from the quivering of his heart.  He slumped in his seat.

         I was able to sneak out the back in the chaos that ensued.  Uri, on the other hand, was left as a useless pile of flesh.

The mighty hero (story/pic)

        The mighty warrior Jarek pressed forward in the darkness.  He had no fear of the enemy warriors, as he was strong and powerful, having slain them by the hundreds.
        
        He made his way down the corridor, he could smell them before they even had a chance to attack.  A quick slash from his sword and the threat was sliced in two.

        He slowly made his way to the prison chamber where the villagers were being kept.  Once he freed them, they could pick up the arms of the dead enemy and help him fight.

        Jarek, unfortunately, never made it that far.  Just as he entered into the light of the prison chambers, a he received the pointed end of an enemy sword that had been flung across the room.  The flying sword rammed through his navel and into his vulnerable abs.  He arched backward from the blow.

        The prisoners all stared in horror as their mighty hero struggled to stay on his feet.  After a few moments of staggering while grasping the hilt of the sword, he collapsed onto his knees.  He lurched slightly a couple of times, then fell dead.

        The villagers knew no one would save them from their up-coming executions.

The shooter (story/pic)

        
        A true vigilante.  Jesse had armed himself when his little brother was killed in a drive-by.  Since then, he had been secretly hunting down those responsible.  Every week, another gang-banger was found dead in a pool of blood with a single bullet hole to his head.
        They never suspected Jesse.  They blamed a rival gang and kept retaliating against them.  After several long months, the leader of the rival gang caught on to Jesse and decided to try to recruit him.
        They took Jesse to one of their secret arsenals.   A dark old apartment, filled with boxes and weapons caches.  When Jesse refused to join them, they turned violent.  Jesse quickly killed two with a single bullet.  He grabbed a third one when the others opened fire and use him as a shield.  Jesse could feel the man's body shake and thud as his captive was filled with lead.
       Jesse dropped the man and dove behind a sofa.  A couple more shots took down another thug.  The gang leader grabbed a nearby uzi and opened it up on the couch, which was torn to shreds by the time the last bullet left the chamber.
        Luckily for Jesse, he had already crawled elsewhere. The several body guard of the gang leader spread out to search the labrynth of boxes in the apartment.  As they searched through the maze in the apartment, Jesse was able to take a few more out one-at-a-time.  He snuck up behind one and snapped his neck before he could even cry out. 
        A couple more met their fate with a blade Jesse had picked up from an open box.  The first one got a quick pounding in his chest when Jesse snuck up behind him.  The other got it straight in the throat when he yelled after spotting Jesse.
        Before Jesse could hide again amongst the boxes, a gangsta with a crossbow fired a bolt into Jesse's upper abs.  Jesse bent forward, dropping his gun and grasping and the arrow that had pierced him deep into his torso.  A second shot hit him in the upper left pectoral.  
        Jesse fell backwards against the wall.  He sat there, his bare chest panting from the adrenaline rush, coupled by the pain.  Within seconds, the gang leader was there, standing over Jesse.  Jesse could feel the grip of a handgun in the shadows by his hand.
        He quickly snatched it up and pointed it at the head of the gangleader, when a third arrow from the crossbow nailed him with a heavy thud in the center of his chest.  This stunned Jesse who felt the breath knocked out of him.  

        The arrow quivered with the stuttering of Jesse's heart.  His world darkened and he dropped the gun without getting out the final shot.

KGB Tales #9 - Self-less (story/pic)

          Young and strong Ivan.  He was my first partner in the KGB.  We were assigned together during our final 6 months of training.  He excelled in all of our training and helped pull me along.

          I had always looked up to his charismatic leadership and pressed myself to be more like him.  Our training was rough and rigorous, but together, we were unstoppable.

          After our training, we were given our first assignment and to no surprise, Ivan was our unit leader.  We were to infiltrate the american NSA program, which was (I must admit) a relatively easy task.

          After a few months into the operation, the NSA detected a breach in their intelligence.  We knew the americans could never catch on to us, but Ivan saw the fact that they had even detected the breach was a failure.

          As his second in command, he called me into one of the safe houses.  I was surprised to see several others from our unit there.  Even though the detection was a unit failure of no fault of his, Ivan accepted full responsibility.

          He pulled off his shirt, revealing his handsome physique and picked up a katana that was lying on his desk.  "I wish to set an example for you all that even a minor failure is unacceptable."

          We stood by, staring his admiration, as he sat in his chair and placed the tip of the sword against his navel.  He stared up at us with his head held high.  His eyes flinched and there was a slight grimmace as he slowly pushed the sharp blade deep into his gut.

          The perfectly sharpened blade slid through his rock-hard abs like melted butter.  There was only the sound of the slicing, as Ivan made no groans, grunts or any sign of pain.  We could see the blood trickle from his wound, soaking the front of his pants.

          Ivan sat calmly as the tip of the blade stuck into the back of his chair.  His chest slowly and steadily rose and fell with each relaxed breath.  My partner did indeed take it like a pro.  His brown eyes remained focused as he looked at me.  "You are in command now."  

          He held his hands together as a symbol of our unity.  I gave him a final salute.  After a few moments, his arms fell to his side and his head sank.  I had learned many things from this young man, the most important of which is perfection is the expectation.

     

The Happy Ending (story/pic)

          He never even learned my name in high school.  He just called me punk.  I was that puny kid he always pushed around.  I always tried to avoid him at school, in the hallways, in the classroom and especially in the locker room (he even tried to sexually assault me once). 

          We graduated high school four years ago.  After graduation, I vowed that I never wanted to see his face again.  I left town and got work as a masseuse at a spa in the Colorado Rockies.  After four years of experience, I became quite gifted.

          I enjoyed the chance to rub people's sore, tired muscles and help them relax.  Out here, I was no longer the little guy who got picked on.  I was the guy with the magic fingers and everyone wanted my gifted bands pressed against their bodies.

           I recognized him the second he walked in.  He undressed and laid on the massage table.  I worked my magic all over him, trying hard to forget days past.  After all, he was a client and I was a master of my art.

          After a tantalizing 45-minute massage and rub-down of his firm, muscular body, he wanted a warm blanket wrap.  I had him lie down on the bed as I pulled a hot blanket from the warmer.  I gently covered his relaxed body with the blanket when he looked up at me.

          Finally, he recognized me.  "Hey, punkie."  His voice was calmer and less forceful than in high school, but then again, I had given him quite a relaxing massage.  He grabbed my hand and placed it on his bulging crotch.  "How about a happy ending?"

          He gave me that same old sly grin he used to give.  Yep, he thought he was the master.  I merely smiled at him, half-pleased that he had recognized me.  "Just a second.  I have to get my ointments."

          He pulled the blanket down to his waist as I walked over to the cabinet.  Boy was this going to feel all-too-good.  He never saw be take down the decorative blade.

          I walked over to him, where he laid, eyes-closed, waiting for a stimulating experience.  Boy, did he ever get one.

          I rammed the blade down hard, burying it deep into his upper abs.  He scrunched up slightly from the heavy hit, hot even realizing a blade was penetrating his body.  His legs began to squirm as he instantly released his seed under the blankets.

          I placed one hand one his chest and relaxed him back down.  I placed my lips close to his ear and whispered, "How's that for a happy ending?"  

          His chest heaved, but quickly calmed and his body fell into its ultimate relaxation.   

KGB Tales #8 - Big Guns (story/pic)

          Patrick was quite the show-off.  His firm rock-hard chest couple with washboard abs.  Still young, he thought the world existed for him.  He was pissed when his candidate lost the presidency, so he decided he wanted to join Russia as a soldier.

          (Yeah, right, as if we would permit someone so flaky to join our ranks.)  After seeing his facebook posts and having one of our informants interview him, we decided to pay him a visit.  He took us out to one of his sheds.  It was set up with a gym and an armory.  Quite impressive.

          Once there, he showed us his stuff, proving his strength and how much we would be missing out on without him.  My men were very impressed, as indeed, was I.  However, he was all meat and no morals.  He showed us his gun collection.  He picked up one of his favorites and bragged how nobody could ever get past him when he had this bad boy with him.

          That sounded quite like a challenge to me.  "Oh yeah?" I said, studying one of the blades he had stored on the wall.  

           "Fuck yeah," he replied enthusiastically.  "With these guns," he said kissing his biceps, "and this gun."  He picked up his favorite piece,  "I am invincible.  I am immortal.  I am a g....."

          His words were cut short when I turned and chucked the blade at him, squarely nailing him in the navel.  His muscles tensed as he stared, wide-eyed at my men.  His faced reddened as he held in his breath, trying to resist the urge to show any pain.

          I walked up to him and yanked the blade out of his gut.  He arched forward and stumbled a little, holding one hand against the wound in his abs.  I tossed down the blade.  "Invincible, huh?"

          He stared up into my eyes with a combined look of shock and anger.  I grabbed his 'favorite bad boy' from his hands and emptied the magazine into his flesh.  He twisted and shook from the pounding of each round until he fell to the floor in a heap of wasted man-meat.

          He did prove some benefit for us.  We now have a great new outpost.

KGB Tales #7 - execution (story/pic)

          Steven was a proud young American boy.  He had come to study computer technology at the University of Moscow.  Quite a talented young man.  He could work his wonders on a computer.

          While he studied, we hired him part-time to work on a couple of our servers.  He thought it was for the university and had no suspicion what was really being stored there.

          He was very friendly and outgoing.  He got along with most of the other guys who worked with him.  He would participate in our early-morning workout sessions.  He was quite the athletic type, which is a rarity in the tech world.  He was even skilled in archery.  Who knows, we might have eventually brought him into our team. 

          We first discovered his suspicion when he began to withdraw himself from our social activities.  He seemed nervous and ill-at-ease when talking with his russian co-workers.  I began carefully studying his online communications back home.  When I finally caught him sending a message that he thought there were top-secret Russian government files on the servers.  He then sent a small attachment of one of the files.

          I was able to intercept the communication and confronted him with the evidence.  He tried to fight, but we had him completely outnumbered.  My men dragged him kicking and screaming to the archery range.  (This way we could blame it as an archery practice accident.)

          He struggled hard against the men who were trying to pin him against the wall.  I gave him little chance to succeed and absolutely no warning.  I pulled back the bow from about seven feet away.  He never even noticed until the bow twanged and the arrow buried itself deep into his midsection.

          He let out a holler and leaned slightly forward.  Before he could make any second reaction, I let look the second arrow.  A deadly aim for the heart.  His jaw stayed open as he let out a final "Huaggh."  

          His strong body quit fighting the men who were pinning him to the wall.  They let go of him as he slowly slumped downward, his glossy eyes staring out at us.  Quite a waste and quite a shame.

The Prodigal. (story/pics)

          Some kids need to understand that they are not wiser than their parents and one day, it will catch up to them.  Especially, if they think they can use their parents for their money.  Some of us don't take our losses very well.  Take, for instance, Marcus.  He was the young son of one of the mafiosos in town.

          An aspiring MMA fighter, he tried long hours in the gym, and had the very nice physique to show for it.  His father had invested a lot of money in his career.   He was scheduled to fight me this past Friday night.  

          His father made arrangements with me to throw the fight in the 3rd round.  (That way, it wouldn't look rigged.)  Being ever the team player, I agreed.  As was usual, his father bid in favor of his son and I was promised half of his winnings.  (Sounded pretty good to me.)

          Little did we know that Marcus had his own plans.  He and his gay lover, Thad, had planned the opposite.  They knew his father had placed the bet, but they decided instead that Thad should bet in favor of me.  Since the odds paid off more if I won.  When they got their payoff, the would skip town and never have any part with his father again. 

          On the night of the fight, Marcus went down quickly in the last few seconds of the first round.  I was quite surprised and expected to be reprimanded by his father, but he could tell from the look on my face and I could tell from the look on his that we had been had.

          After the fight, we both went into the locker room.  Since we were the last fight, we were the only ones there.  I told him I knew he faked the knock-out and he told me of his and Thad's plans.  A quiet placement of my phone gave his father a full ear on what he was telling me.

          His father ordered one of his men find Thad and "take care of that Son of a Bitch."  The poor chap didn't see it coming.  He stood by the back door of the locker room waiting on Marcus to come out.

          The hit man grabbed the young man by his white hoodie and pulled him into a nearby storage room.  He shoved the boy against the wall and said,  "Here's a present from Mr. Anthony."  He rammed a blade into Thad's gut.  

          The young man tried to scream, but the walls of the room muffled the sound.  The sharp blade penetrated deep into his bowels and Thad could feel ever cold inch of the steel.  The hitman let go of him and he slowly dropped to the floor.  The young man stared  at the handle and watched it sway with every breath he took.

          With a quick jerk, the hitman yanked the blade from the young man's gut.  His stomach jolted upward briefly from the pull, but then his body collapsed back down in a heap on the floor.

          Meanwhile, I was kind enough to hand my phone to Marcus.  His face paled quickly when he heard his father on the other end.  Sweat dripped down his handsome body even more than it did during the fight.

          His father opened the front door of the locker room.  Marcus knew he was not getting away with this.  He bolted for the back door.  He ran out into the alleyway expecting to see Thad.  Instead, he only was one of his father's men standing their with a crossbow.

          "Oh, Fuck!!" The word had barely left his lips when the trigger was pulled and the arrow made a loud thud against the center of his chest.  The force of the hit knocked the young fighter backwards and he fell to the pavement, his arms above his head.  

          The shaft of the arrow gave a single twitch as the young man's heart beat a final time.  Looks like he actually did finally get away from his dad.

KGB Tales #6 - Comrads (story/pic)

          There is one thing we can never accept on my unit and that is failure.  Dmitri showed great promise when he first joined under my command.  He was young, sharp and very talented in finding things out.  

          He was able to infiltrate U.S. Army Intelligence.  He was very low-level and very low-key, but was ingenious enough to gather some of the most classified information we ever sought.  

          He was also the means of entering incorrect information into their databases.  Unfortunately, he also had to act like he was a "real" American soldier.  He was given information to enter into their database about one of our informants.  He made the mistake of accidentally entering in the real information on one of our informants.

          Luckily, he wasn't our only operative and the informant was whisked away by my unit before being captured.  We then gave him the assignment to try to implicate a defector, but he failed at that too.

          He was not surprised at all when I showed up at his apartment.  He knew he failed me twice and he knew the consequence.  I gave him an opportunity to plead his case, but he knew it was of no use.  He only requested that I use his own sword so that it would look like a suicide.  (Even in death, he was loyal enough to cover his own tracks.)

          I permitted him to write a short suicide note while I got his sword ready.  He stripped off his shirt and hung his dogtags around his neck.  I had him grip the handle of the sword so that only his prints would be found on it.  I then placed my hands upon his and shoved the blade into his upper abs, just below the sternum.

          He leaned forward, gasping in pain.  He lost his grip on the blade and used his hands to hold himself up in a seated position.  His faced reddened as he coughed and gasped.  He held himself up, trying to cause no movement of the sword, as this only added to the pain.  Blood oozed out of the wound in his back and ran down the tip of the blade and over the sheets.

           He slowly sank down onto the couch where he had been sitting.  His hands returned to the handle of the blade, grasping it as his chest and head jerked up a couple of times.  After some minor struggling, he looked at me and said, "for mother Russia."  

          With that, his chest sank down, and his head fell to the side.  His grip on the handle eased and his hands slowly slid down the blade. to his chest.

          He was a true patriot of the motherland.

KGB Tales #5 - Collateral (story/pic)

          Sergeant Vadim was discovered to be working as a double agent.  During our war, he was sending intel on our movements to the enemy.  I'll admit that I was rather new in the KGB and still let my feelings get the best of me.  But this infuriated me.  

          Unfortunately, because his father was a leader in the communist party, I was ordered not to touch him.  Very well.  But I knew of other ways.  There was nothing that a soldier wanted more than good sex after a battle.

          I had a female agent sneak into the camp and wait in his tent.  After a heavy battle, Vadim and his tentmate, Samir, took a nice warm shower, wrapped towels around themselves and went to their tent.  Boy were they surprised to see the naked lady lying on their cots.

          After a hot and heavy threesome, she left and the two, exhausted from the day's strenuous endeavors, (and for Vadim, thanks to the drink the lady prepared for him), the two soldier quickly fell asleep.  I knew the meds would keep Vadim asleep for awhile, so I waited for the evening to advance.

          When things were quiet in the camp, I made my move.  I crept into the tent and saw the two men lying in their cots.  Their naked bodies splayed out for the world to see.

          I went over to Vadim's cot, knelt down and pulled the knife out of the belt on his pants which was lying on the floor.  I admited the blade.  Fine steel.  Oh, how I desired to plunge that blade right into Vadim's heart and watch his hot, muscular body jerk and jolt in it's final death throes.  Unfortunately, our agency couldn't touch him. (Dammit).

          I tapped his shoulder lightly to assure that the drugs were working.  He made a slight movement, but no real response.  Perfect.

          I walked over to where Samir lay sleeping on his cot.  Quite the handsome specimen.  I'm quite sure our female agent had quite the romp with these two.  He lay face-up on his cot, his head resting against his hand.  Quite the beautiful sleeper.

          I placed the tip of the knife against Samir's bellybutton.  He stirred a little, but I was quick to cover his mouth with my other hand.  I slowly inserted the blade.  The hot young soldier awoke.  He struggled on the cot.  His arms pressed against me, trying to push me away.  His legs squirmed and his body jolted as the cold blade sank deeper.

          His wide-eyes stared up at me.  Shock, confusion, pain, sorrow all cried out at me from his teary eyes.  After a few moments of struggle, his strong muscular body lost its intensity.  I placed my hand on his chest and felt the final beats of his heart.  Poor, innocent bystander.  It was a shame he had to die.  But, it was for the greater good.

          I rubbed some of Samir's blood over Vadim's body as he slept.  After cleaning myself up, his unit was alerted to a struggle in Vadim's and Samir's tent.  When they walked in and saw Vadim covered in Samir's blood and Samir laying dead on his cot with Vadim's blade buried deep into his abs, the case was quickly closed in the eyes of his unit.

         It was too bad for Vadim that I was not permitted to kill him. (Too bad for myself as well.  I would have enjoyed it mightily.)  His unit did far worse to him than I ever would have been able to.  Sometimes, battlefield justice is better than a quick kill.  Besides, I did get to enjoy watching the show.