The Championship (story/pic)

          He thought it was just me bragging.  He was a champion wrestler.  Strong, young, very handsome.  Undefeated, and some said, undefeatable.   Well, here I was, not quite as big or talented as he was, but very boastful.  People thought I was all talk, when I told him that I would fight him to the death for his championship.  

          So, he agreed to a match.  He looked on me with a grin, almost taking humor in my challenge for the title.  The bell rang and there we were, our hot, sweaty bodies rubbing, pressing and grappling each other.  Before too long, he had me pinned down with his warm body snuggly restraining mine.  I could feel his moist breath panting across me as the match was called.

          When he let go of me, he stood, arms raised in victory.  I crawled over to my towel, just outside the ring.  I wiped the sweat from my face.  He approached with his hand outstretched in a gesture of sportsmanship.  I pulled the blade I had hidden under my towel and rammed it into his vulnerable gut.  He let out a gasp as his eyes widened in shock.

          I stood up and wrapped one arm around his shoulder.  "Told you, I'd fight you to the death.... you lose."  With that, I ripped out the blade and rammed it into his upper gut and under his ribcage, piercing his heart.  His body dropped limply to the floor.  I placed my foot on his chest.  

          Whose the champion, now, bitch?

Savage attack (story/pic)

        Braeden tried to escape the hostile savages.  He ran through the jungle towards the beach where is boat was docked.  The natives were not far behind.

        Once he got the the edge of the trees, he jumped down a 6-foot embankment to the sandy beach below.  Unfortunately for him, the sand was wet at the edge and he sank to his calves in the mud.  He tried to get out, but was unable.

        The natives were quick to catch up and saw him trapped in the sand.  One of the savages cast his spear down into the young tourist's stomach.  

        Braeden let out a grunted "Uuugghh".    

        
        His smooth, young body slowly fell back as he let out a final moan.  The savages sank their teeth into his flesh and enjoyed the fine meal.

Rebels in a Lost Cause (story)

           We had been dispatched by the confederate army to go into the Indian Territory and negotiate an alliance against the yankees. This would most assuredly turn the war in our favor.

           After weeks of riding long and hard in the hot summer's heat, we had stripped ourselves of our shirts, letting the warm sun tan our bodies.

           We finally met with our Indian contact, who arranged for a meeting between us and the chiefs down by the dry riverbed. Little did we know that the Yankee Cavalry had gotten to the tribe before we did.

           We knew trouble was brewing when instead of seeing the indian chiefs approaching, we saw a war party. We grabbed our guns ran for cover. I leapt behind a boulder as the arrows began flying.

           You ran for a downed log, but were struck in the back of the knee with an arrow. After falling to the ground you turn and begin firing. The mounted indian that had been chasing you took the bullet with a thud in his chest, killing him instantly and sending him falling backwards with his arms spread out.

           I began firing, killing two more of the savages. Two more galloped towards you. You easily shoot the first one dead, but before you cold get a clear shot the second one had leapt from his horse and was on top of you.

           You wrestle with the smooth-skin warrior armed with a rock blade. He is no match for you as you pummel him and ram his own blade into his cute little navel. Another indian is already there, ready to strike, but I kill him with several bullets to the back. His his bare torso twists and turns and his blood sprays down upon you as he falls dead.

           I grab you and help you to the log. The coast seemed clear, but we both knew this was just the advance party. Now, every indian in the area knew our location and we were in for one hell of a fight.

           After moments of calm, we heard federal cavalry bugle-calls and the main party of indians advanced on foot. You are laying down, firing over the downed tree, while I stand, getting clear shots at our attackers. After a couple of hours, we are running low on ammunition. Any native who attempted to run on our position is now laying dead in a pool of blood. But there is still no sign of the yankees.

           Many natives are still concealed behind the rocks and trees and take occasional arrow shots at us, but we give them little or no time to take good aim, so many of the arrows embed themselves into the log protecting us.

           The endless summer heat causes sweat to pour down over our bare muscular bodies, causing our bodies to shimmer in the afternoon sun. I stand at your side behind a tree, sheltering me from the natives. Your back is against the downed log as you sit facing backwards, guarding us from anyone attacking from behind.

           Soon enough, as the indians bring on another wave of attacks from the front, you spy the cavalry approaching behind us in the distance. Lucky for us, the trees still provide us with ample protection from their guns and they are slowed down by having to cross the river.

           As I defend us from the indians attacking from the front, you begin picking off the cavalry one-by-one as they slowly attempt to make their way across the river. We are starting to run low an ammunition, so we make sure that each shot counts.

           Most of the indians are hunkered down behind boulders and trees, fearful of sticking their heads out. While you have taken out most of the cavalry. A few, have managed to swim ashore, but no one has made it on horseback. Not to mention the ones who did make it to shore only survived drowning by removing their boots. So, the were slow and barefoot- - easy targets for your deadly aim.

           It is now several hours later, as we look for routes of escape, we can see there are none. We know we are surrounded and this is the end, but we are not going down without a fight. We thought about running out and dying in a hail of bullets and arrows, but that would just make it too easy on those yankees and treacherous natives. We would inflict much more damage in our current position. They would have to come for us.

           And it wasn't long before they did. Several members of the cavalry who had made it ashore commenced an assault. You quickly kill six and reload. A couple indians get excited when the hear the yankees attacking us and run from their positions, only to be shot down by my deadly aim. You take out six more yanks and start to reload.

           You see a yankee charging me from behind with his bayonet at the ready. You try to warn me to, but it is too late. My eyes widen and my back arches backwards as the soldier rams his bayonet deep into my lower back. I let out a hollar as the blade sticks out through my navel.

           My arms fall to my sides and one of my guns falls next to you. I am temporarily stunned by the thrust into my back, granting the indians a chance to exact their revenge. Two arrows plow deep into my gut and a third one strikes just above my navel.

           My face reddens and I let out a gasping “huggghhh!” The yankee rips his bayonet out of my back. I stumble forwards, clutching my abs as two more arrows are flung at me, piercing me in the chest. I spew out a mouthful of blood and a third arrow nails me in the center of the chest with a deadening thud. It shakes twice as my heart spasms out it final shutter and my limp dead body drops down onto you.

           You quickly roll me off of you and aim one of the guns I dropped a the man who attacked me from behind. He is standing over you. His eyes widened as he is staring down the barrel of the gun. You look him straight in the eye, “Goodbye, mother fucker.” and pull the trigger.

           A clicking noise lets you know that gun is out of ammo. His face turns from fear and shock to anger and rage. “Oh shit!” was the only thing you were able to get out before he rams his blade downward straight into your gut.

           You gasp out a loud “huuuaarrgghh” as he pressed all of his weight on his weapon, completely impaling you with the full length of the bayonet. Your chest raises up and your head forward as you stare into his hate-filled eyes. Each time you try to take a breath, he presses down again. You grasp onto the blade, trying to hold it in place.

           He places his barefoot on your muscular pec and rips it out. “Looks like you guys were too slow.” He rams the bayonet straight down into the center of your chest. You instantly hear yourself gasp out a final breath.  You feel your warm blood flowing out of your lips and onto your chest as your world fades black.

Servant to the Heir #2 (story/pic)

     What an honor it was to be selected to serve as the heir's newest servant.  Andrew was fairly new to sex work, but had been well-trained by his nation's finest.  He was presented to the heir as a secret gift from his country.

     Andrew had a smooth, handsome body.  His skin was warm and soft, a pleasure to touch.  He was strong, yet tender.  His lips were soft, sweet and moist.  The heir was going to enjoy this young man.

     After a few weeks of "serving" the heir, their bond had become strong.  The heir enjoyed his new-found pleasures in the young man and Andrew loved the feel of the powerful heir both inside and out.

     After nights of great sex, they would lie down together in each other's warmth and whisper to each other to each other.  They could feel the warmth of each other's breath as they shared secrets.  Unfortunately, Andrew had a secret of his own that he did not share.

     The heir found out that Andrew was not sent as a gift, but rather as a spy.  True, he may have turned on his former nation, but the heir was not about to let that nation believe they had gotten away with it. 

     As Andrew was resting peacefully in the heir's bed, the heir went in to him and started making love to him.  Andrew awoke to the pleasureful sensations and caressed his lover's waist as the heir slowly and sensually slid in and out of him.  

     After a final deep and pulsating end, the heir pulled out his prized possession, the royal sword.  He showed it to Andrew, who looked at it pleased.  

     "I want to give this to you," said the heir.  "Do you accept?"

     Andrew was overthrilled at the gift.  "Yes, your highness."

     With those words, the heir rammed the sword through Andrew's navel.  Andrew jumped with a start, but was already pinned by the blade.  The heir then applied pressure to the sword, sliding it deeper until only the hilt stuck out of his lover.

     Andrew squirmed in vain, trying to free himself, but the pain was unbearable with every move.  His chest heaved with every breath until he gave out a final cough and was still.
   
     He then took a picture and sent it secretly to the other nation's leader, thanking him from the present.

Fight or Die. (video)

Okay, this is not one of mine, but I love the energy, art and talent these guys put into their work.  Plus the kill is great.

Webster Park (story/pic)

        Webster Park was once a thriving, fun-filled place for the children to play.  Since that time, the neighborhood had gone into decay.  Drug dealers, prostitutes, gangbangers all had their run of the park.


        After some problems at home, Aaron had moved in from out of state to live with his aunt Mildred, who lived just minutes from the park.  Aaron had been an addict and his parents sent him to his aunt Mildred's house to help him get clean. 

        After a few days of being clean and sober, Aaron was starting to get twitchy.  He wanted to get high so bad, but knew his aunt Mildred wouldn't approve. 

        So, that night, he snuck out of the house and headed straight for the park.  He knew he didn't have any money, so he had to try to find a way to get some.  He quickly found what he thought was an "easy target". 

         He started talking to a young black guy named Martin who was selling dime bags of cocaine.  He young guy agreed to take Aaron on, but warned him not to screw up, as his supplier was one mean SOB.

        Aaron worked from the park bench with the young man and a few of his friends.  It was simple, he would work for a few hours and would be paid with a couple bags.  Aaron agreed.

        After a few hours, the police swarmed the park in numbers.  Aaron saw them arriving in the distance and immediately swallowed several bags to avoid being caught with them.  He sat calmly as the police arrived.  His new friends scattered like cockroaches.

        He was polite and cordial when one of the cops started questioning him.  Aaron had no signs of being high and a thorough search of his person found nothing of interest.  Aaron even admitted that he saw the others dealing, which made the cops even more appreciative of his cooperation. 

        Aaron was hung around and waited for everything to settle.  After about an hour, the last of the arrests were made and the police departed just as quickly as they had appeared.  Aaron never saw Martin being placed in the van, so he knew he was safe.

        As things started to settle, a large black man wearing a dress shirt and tie approached Aaron as he sat calmly on the park bench.  He ordered Aaron into one of the park restrooms.

        Thinking this guy was an inspector, Aaron agreed and followed.  "So, you're Aaron, right?"  the man asked.

       "Martin told me you saved the goods."

        "Yes sir," Aaron said, realizing this was no cop.

        "Where is it?"

        "I swallowed it."

        "Well, you better bring in back up."

        With that, Aaron tried to force himself to regurgitate the goods, but to no avail.  After about 5 minutes, the supplier was getting impatient.

        He slammed Aaron against the wall and stuck two fingers down his throat.  Unfortunately, Aaron didn't have much of a gag reflect.  He throat mere quaked and massaged the man's fingers.  Aaron could taste his salty hands, but was unable to bring back up the bags.

        After a few moments, the man pulled out a knife.  "I know how to get them out."  With those words, he jammed the blade deep into Aaron's gut.  

        The young man let out a painful groan as the knife pierced his flesh and tore through his muscles.  The man slid the blade upward, slicing open Aaron's stomach.  He then reached in and pulled the bags out of the young man's body.

        Aaron could feel the man's hand inside him as he gasped in pain.  The man gathered his bags and washed his hands in the sink.  Aaron slowly slid down the wall, holding his bleeding gut with his hands until he faded away.






       

The Roommates - #2 (story/pic)

        Thomas had been Randy's roommate for several months.  They had a fondness for each other.

        After witnessing the expression on Randy's face while playing with one of his knives, Thomas had been so intrigued by his roommate's reaction when the blade slipped through his body that he decided he should give it a try.

        In his high, he was a little pissed that Randy had "fallen asleep" with his blade completely through his belly.  This meant, Randy wasn't going to do the favor of holding the knife for him.

        So, Thomas went into his room and grabbed his own collector's dagger.  He pulled up his wife-beater and placed the tip of the dagger in his navel.  He wiggled it around  and it sent a slight tickling sensation throughout his abs.

        Now, he understood why Randy liked that so much.  But, Thomas was not fully satisfied.  He pressed down hard, feeling the pressure on his abs grow until the blade tore through his flesh and into his bowels.  


        His high made it all seem so surreal.  The cold blade, the warm blood, the tingling in his abs as they shook violently.  The taste of blood in his mouth.  But most importantly to him, the throbbing and pulsating in his shorts.

        Then he understood why Randy was so tired afterwards.  He, too, was feeling drained and slowly drifted to sleep.

KGB Tales #15 Bourne's counterpart (story/pic)

     After hacking into the American Secretary of State's emails, we were able to identify several american spies in Russia.  The first was this muscled assassin names Peter Isaacs.  (of Course, he had a different name in Russia, a few in fact.)

     We spent some time surveilling the man and planning our move.  He spent his mornings on a jog around the park, waiting for his contact to show up.  He suspected nothing when he jogged past us as we were "fixing an iron fence."  

     He never saw it coming as one of my men swung the pointed end of one of the posts in front of him.  He ran right into it.  The tip stuck straight into his navel and a further thrust from my man rammed it all the way through. 

     We pulled his bare, muscular body into our nearby van and watched him writhing in pain and succumbing.  He was supposed to be one of the most highly trained assassins, instead he became one of the easiest kills we've made.

The Roommates #1 (story/pic)

        A little puff here, and little snort there.  Anything to take the edge off.  Randy had been living with his roommates for several months.  Their place was quite the frat pad.

        They raised rent money working the streets at night.  Their handsome faces, chiseled physiques and party personalities made them favorites for some of the city's loneliest rich men.

        Their clients would keep them well-paid, which meant they had plenty of cash for recreation.

        Randy loved to try new things.   One of his favorite sex toys was a small sword he had purchased.  He loved the feeling of it pressing against his muscular chest and abs.  But he found it even more exhilarating when he would stick the tip in his navel and move it around.

       One day, after a few lines of coke, he was playing around with one of his roommates named Thomas.  Randy was kneeling on his bed while his roommate pressed the tip into Randy's sexy navel.

        Randy leaned forwards and felt the tip press in the flesh of his abs.  The sensation was wonderful.  He wanted more and pressed with full force.  Then, there was a sound that was somewhat of a cross between a tearing and a pop.

        Randy felt the blade tear directly into his abs.  The sensation gave him the greatest orgasm he ever had.  The stared down in shock at the hilt sticking out of his belly. 

        He reached around and felt the tip sticking out of his back.  "Yep, it's through."  he thought.  Usually the thought would be scary, but his high made it seem surreal.

        He looked up at Thomas who was standing there, half in shock and half amused.  Randy just knelt there and waited for the next thing.  He quickly drew tired and laid down for a final nap.

Party Games (story/pic)

          A pool party seemed like just the thing to celebrate the new arrival of summer break.  Carl invited his classmates over for a great time.  He promised them girls, alcohol, some awesome music and even swore that a couple celebrities were going to stop by.

        Much to their dismay, when the guests arrived, they found only soda, the sound system was not yet working and no celebrities.  The games were generally boring and their host basically sucked.  He used to time to show off how much he was spoiled by his parents.

        After a couple hours of their host rubbing it in how much better he was because his parents were rich, the booze began wearing the partygoers a little thin.  

        One drunk partier was playing lawn darts.  Who knows if it was the wear of the boring party or the fact that he lost every game he played so far.  Not to mention he was already pissed because he gave up going to a concert to attend this party, since Carl had hyped it up.

        Angry at the host, he found Carl lying on the patio next to the pool, soaking in the sun.  "You fucked up my weekend."  He said in his frustration.

        With a heavy throw, he slammed the lawndart straight down into Carl's widespread abs.  At first, Carl didn't even know what hit him.  He looked up at the guy who was now walking away, leaving.

        Carl's gaze turned to the large dart stuck in his navel.  The pain tore through him as he flexed his abs.  He placed both hands on the shaft and slowly pulled out the tip.  Blood poured from the wound and Carl's handsome young body went limp.

Arena Battle #1 (story/pic)

        The two young warriors battled it out in the arena.  Hatred for each other filled their heart with savagery.  The crowd knew this was going to be a brutal battle.  As much as these two men hated Rome, they hated each other even more.

        Each blamed their own enslavement on the other.  That coupled with the promise that the victor can go free made them even more lethal.

        They had fought long and hard for over 30 minutes, each second was as stirring as the next.  As the two started to lose energy,  Marek knocked Arturus to the ground.  

        When Arturus tried to get back up,  Marek rammed his blade clean through his opponent.  Arturus dropped to his knees resting against his sword.  One hand grasped the hilt of the sword sticking out of his belly.  He arched over in pain.  The crowd roared in thunderous applause.

        Marek approached to retrieve his sword from his opponent's gut.  He stood over Arturus mocking him.  As he reached down to grab the hilt of his sword, Arturus got his second wind and rammed his sword deep into Marek's unprotected navel.

        Marek let out a yell of pain anger.  Arturus shoved the blade in deeper until the hilt pressed firmly against Marek's abs.  All Marek could do was grasp his enemy's arm to prevent him from causing further pain.  Neither man could hear the cheers and festivities of the audience of the arena.

        Arturus struggled with both Marek's grasp and the searing pain in his gut.  He dropped back down, both angry at his own demise and gladdened by the fact that he would not be dying alone.

        The crowd continued it's jubilous roaring as Marek collapsed atop of his enemy.  He felt Arturus let out a final breath while his own body seemed to lose function.  The warmth of his enemy's flesh under him gave him no solace as he shortly greeted death himself.

KGB Tales #14 Vasiliev's demise (story/pic)

        Vasiliev had been on the run for some time before I finally caught up with him.  The americans knew better than to try to hide him in their land, so they secluded him to a small town in Argentina.  

        Unfortunately for him, I easily discovered his whereabouts and made my way personally to his new home.  I waited patiently for him to come home from a local brothel.  (yes, I knew his pleasures.)  

        He went into his bathroom and started a warm shower, as was his typical pattern of behavior.  I waited for him to start bathing before I entered.  I pulled the curtain back.

        He turned in a surprise and I buried my blade deep into his masculine gut.  The poor bastard didn't even see it coming.  He stared down and the blade in shock and horror.  He had always prided himself in being an excellent agent and could hardly believe he was bested so easily.

        He looked up at me and I gave him a smirking grin, rammed the blade deeper, gave it a twist and mercilessly tore it out.  His face grimmaced as he stared at me.  

        He strong, muscular legs went limp and sunk into a kneeling position on the shower floor, blood pouring from the gaping wound in his gut.  He held his abs with his hands and stared straight up at me with his mouth agape.

        I placed the tip of the sword into his mouth.  His eyes widened as he anticipated my next move.  I thrust the blade directly down his throat and into his  chest.  His body gave a heavy jolt, the collapsed in a worthless heap on the floor.

        Thus be it to all traitors......


       

Lake Slasher - part 3 (story/pics)

        The group of young men wanted to throw Greg a party for his 21st birthday.  The town had banned alcohol, so they decided to sneak off into the woods where they thought no one could find them.

        They all met at the campground parking lot and took a couple boats across the lake to a secluded spot.  From there, they wandered into the woods and found a nice site to set up camp.  That's when the party began.  
 

        After a night of boozing and partying, the group lay slumbering on the ground in their hangovers.  Christopher, ever the responsible one, woke early and packed up his things.  He had to work later today and wanted to get home in time to get cleaned up.  

        He knew the others would lounge around for most of the day.  So, he decided to hike around the lake to get back to his car.  Like most kids who grew up in the town, he had heard rumors of the dangers of being on the "other" side of the lake.  But, like the others, he blew this off as a fable to scare kids into staying on this side of the lake (where the townsfolk could keep a better eye on you.)

        As he got about half a mile from camp, he began hearing noises in the woods as if someone was following him.  He stopped a couple of times to look to see who it was, but no one was there.  Convinced again he was alone, he continued onward, only to hear the noises again.

        He stopped and turned around.  Again, no one was there.  'One of them must be trying to scare me,' he thought.  "Hey, I know you're there," he shouted to whoever it was following him.  Yet there was no answer.  Annoyed, he shrugged it off and figured they would eventually show themselves.

        He turned to leave and walked straight into a spear pointed at his belly.  The shaft was thrust forward and the sharp tip pierced deep into his navel.  

        He stood there in stunned silence, as he felt the cold steel sticking into his gut.  His attacker lunged forward, forcing the spear in deeper.  Christopher was forced backwards as the tip tore deeper into his bowels.  He let out a scream of pain as he fell onto his back.  

        The crazy redneck stared him in the eyes, pulled out the speartip.  Christopher lurched slightly up as his abs contracted, trying to stop the pain that was tearing through his bowels.  

        His attacker jabbed the tip back down like a jackhammer, pounding into his gut.  The young man's body lurched and flexed as he let out a cry of pain from each hit.

        Finally, with a heavy thrust, the redneck rammed the spear once more into his gut.  Then with all his weight, forced it through Christopher's tight, fit body.

        Christopher let out a final cough of blood and remained forever silent.

         Ricky, who had been the one secretly following Christopher, came out from behind a tree.  "You F#@king Son of a B#!ch."  he yelled as he charged the redneck who had killed his friend.  He knocked the bastard away from the spear in Christopher's body with a pounding punch to the face.  

        When the redneck fell down, Ricky gave him three heavy kicks to the head.  He stepped back and got into his boxing stance.  "Get up Mother F!@#ker!!"  he yelled, anxious to inflict as much pain on this murderous prick before killing him.

        The redneck slowly staggered back to his feet and Ricky began his second assault.  Two jabs, followed by a heavy hook and the redneck was knocked backwards to the ground, reeling from the attack.

        He again got back to his feet and leaned against a tree.  Ricky knew one swift kick to this guy's chest would easily crush his ribs.  The star boxer got ready for his final move when a spear from the woods zipped through the air and tore straight into his flexed upper abs.

        Ricky doubled over in pain and fell to his side.  His strong body squirmed and writhed in pain until one of the rednecks fired up a chainsaw and tore his once beautiful and strong body into shreds of wasted meat.

        
        Greg, Zack, Corey, Michael and Brad had been back in camp.  All except Corey were waking up from their sleep and getting their belongings together.

           Greg heard Ricky's cries in the woods and ran to his aid, along with the others.  He saw his friend laying on the ground with a redneck lurking over him.

          He reached into his pocket for his small handgun that he always kept on him, but before he could, three arrows shot out of the trees, nailing him in the guts.  

          Zack, Corey, Michael and Brad all ran for it once they saw what was happening.  Greg stared down in shock at the arrows.  He felt a deep burning and sickening sensation in his stomach. 

          He slowly fell to his knees as one of the rednecks approached.  With a quip jab of a knife to the chest, Greg's body gave a final jolt before toppling over dead.

       Corey continued running from the rednecks.  One followed him in hot pursuit.  Corey was faster and kept watching out behind him to make sure his attacker was not gaining.

        When he was looking back, he ran squarely into the blade of another redneck who was hiding behind a tree.  The blade rip straight through his gut.  His eyes widened as he looked down at the hilt sticking out of his belly.

        He stumbled slightly and grabbed onto a small tree to try to steady himself.  The complete impalement of his gut caused him to quickly lose his strength, slump forward and fall dead

        Michael, Brad and Zack kept running and made it to a house in the forest.  Spotting an axe near the woodpile, the three made their way towards it.

        Michael heard a noise behind them.  When he turned, he was met with a blade to his meaty gut.  He let out a loud "huagghh" as the dull blade tore into his belly.  His attacker stared at the strong camper and watched his powerful body weaken.  

        Then, with a heavy yank, he pulled the blade from Michael's body, causing the young man to stumble forward and fall to his knees, clenching his gut.  The redneck then rammed the blade downward into the center of Michael's chest.

        Michael gave a final heave as the blade penetrated his heart.  The attacker yanked out the blade and the young man gave a final spew of blood from his mouth and fell dead.

        Brad and Zack made it to the woodpile.  Brad was able to grab the axe.  When he turned, he saw the redneck finish off Micheal and go after Zack.

        He yelled for Zack to watch out.  Zack turned and ducked under the swinging blade of the redneck.  Brad tossed the axe to his friend and Zack was able to knock the redneck to the ground with the handle of the axe.

        The redneck fell down and pulled out a knife.  Before Zack could do anything, the redneck chucked the knife at Brad who was still standing by the woodpile.

        The blade whacked the strong young man in the gut.  The hilt shook as if it had been buried into a tree.  Brad let out a grunt and stared in disbelief as blood trickled down his manly belly and into the front of his jeans.  

        He tried to steady himself against the woodpile until he succumbed to the fatal blow.  His strong body slumped to the ground.

        Zack turned to the redneck who had just killed his two friends.

        He raised his axe high over his head, preparing to deal the deadly blow to his adversary.  Little did he suspect that his enemy was still armed.  

        As his axe was raised, the man on the ground thrust his blade upward and into the young man's rippled abs.  Zack looked down and saw the hilt sticking out of his belly.  He dropped the ax and clutched his stomach.  

        His abs quivered from the pain and his bowels felt as if they were on fire.  He stared at his attacker in a look of shock and disbelief before falling over in a heap.

(Alternate Ending)

        Zack raised his axe high over his head, preparing to deal the deadly blow to his adversary.  His arms flexed as he prepared to bring down the final blow when he heard the zipping of the wind and felt a few thuds against his belly.

        He looked down to see three arrows protruding from his abs.  His guts began burning inside of him as small trickles of blood seeped out from the wounds.  He dropped the axe and clutched his stomach.

        His abs quivered from the pain and his bowels felt as if they were on fire.  He stared at his attacker in a look of shock and disbelief before falling over in a heap.

 

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.