Story: Shapeshifter

Shapeshifter
by hangdogmi September 2015

The woods were quiet as I hiked down the trail through the big park a little ways out of the city. I liked this trail the last few times I’d hiked it, but those were weekend visits and there were always too many people. It’s a Tuesday this time, so it’s only me and birds and the occasional chipmunk chattering in the underbrush. I wore snug jeans, sneakers, and a loose t-shirt that let air in to cool my torso. I didn’t stop to nature-watch, because I was thinking more of what I was going to do with the rope in the small backpack I had.

I was headed toward a particular tree a little ways off the trail, about a half-hour from the parking lot where I left my car. It was a large, older tree with good stout limbs only a couple of feet over my head. The rope in my backpack would look good dangling from one of the limbs. Then I’d put my head through it and dangle, too.

It’s not that I was suicidal, really. I was a kid when I discovered how much I liked tying things around my neck, around the time I discovered masturbation. The more I did it, the more my fantasy developed. I progressed, slowly at first, from a belt to a bicycle inner tube to rope, and then to wanting to get the rope really tight, At 30, my current age, I hadn’t gotten my feet off the ground yet, but I’d done tiptoes, and now I wanted to try going a little farther. I thought I could get out of it if I did hang with my feet off the ground. I realized I could end up dead, but ... maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. I really wanted to get the rope thing right.

The farther I walked, the more I thought about my plan, and my cock began to snake down my pant leg. My heartbeat was faster, more due to my thoughts than exertion. I was kind of crazy from being so noose-horny. Five steps past a trail blaze, I headed off the trail to the right into the woods. A few more minutes, and a left turn, and there was the tree.

And there was a man

A Story by Brig Rat

This isn't mine, but I hope it's no problem if I share it. Years ago I had a mail correspondence with a guy who went by the name Brig Rat. Maybe some of you remember him too. This is a story he sent to me, which I haven't seen anywhere else online. I recently learned Brig Rat passed away about three years ago, so I wanted to share this in his honor.

CONSTRUCTION WORKER
by Brig Rat

I am a burly young construction worker, sweaty and dirty after a hot day in the broiling sun. One of the tank tops I always wear a size or two too small to show off my muscles was soaked with sweat and filthy with the dust and dirt of the job, as were my skin-tight, faded Levi's. I had stopped for a couple of beers with a buddy, then started to walk home, when a beat-up old pickup truck stopped and the driver offered me a lift. I climbed into the cab and looked at him, a little older, a little bigger and maybe a little more muscular than me, but we might be pretty closely matched if it came to a fight. His scuffed boots, worn jeans and black T-shirt gave me a hint that he might not be unlike me in other ways as well. I looked forward and my eye caught a pair of handcuffs dangling from the rear view mirror. I couldn't resist taking them down and playing with them, running the arms through the ratchets to hear them click.

"You like them?" he asked.

"Well, I wore them some when I was in jail. They don't bother me. Why, think you can put 'em on me?

"Mebbe so. Want to try it? Maybe you could put 'em on me, but I don't think so."

My natural arrogance, along with the careless self-confidence brought on by the beer, made me agree. We drove along, chatting quietly while I tried to figure the odds. He knew the area and we followed a secondary road, then a little dirt road which finally ended in a small clearing deep in the woods. We got out and he tossed the cuffs onto the ground, then took up a wrestling stance. I matched him and we started. It took some time, as we each had the advantage at various times, but then I felt the cold steel around one of my wrists. I struggled harder but he was able to flip me over onto my flat stomach, then pull my arms together and click on the other cuff. It was over. I lay there, sweating and panting with the exertion as he knelt over me, sitting on my ass, holding me down.

"Looks like you lose, buddy boy," he taunted.

"Yeah, looks that way. What are you gonna do to me now?"

"Well, I got some ideas. I don't think you're gonna like it much, but you said you spent some time in jail, so I guess you know how to take it."

He rolled me over and opened my jeans, then pulled them down around my ankles, very effectively hobbling me since there was no way I could get them off over my work boots. I lay helpless, naked from waist to ankles, broad chest heaving under my sweat-soaked, dirty tank top, my cock just beginning to swell and grow, as I thought of the situation I was in. Sure I'd taken a lot of shit in jail, and there had been nothing I could do about it just as there was nothing I could do about whatever he was going to do to me, except that in jail I had made sure to take it out with interest on some of the younger, weaker prisoners, and really made them suffer. Even as I thought about raping one cute, slender, young guy in particular, my cock swelled even more and started throbbing gently.

"Yeah, looks like you can take it, and maybe even enjoy some of it too," he commented. "First you're gonna get fucked."

He lifted my legs and placed them over his powerful, broad shoulders, and I couldn't move them away because they were still hobbled by my pants. I squeezed them together, trying to crush his head, but he just laughed it off and inserted his cock into my ass, pushing in hard, breaking through my sphincter, then plunging in all the way with one long, quick thrust causing me a yell of pain. He fucked me quickly, looking into my eyes, at first holding my shoulders down, then switching his grip to my neck. I was hurting, of course, from the tight cuffs on my wrists and the rough, hard fucking, but now I was scared as well as his fingers met at the back of my neck and his thumbs pressed on my windpipe, squeezing it slowly closed. I gasped and struggled, fighting hard to breathe but seeing his face begin to waver and gradually the light went out of everything. My cock exploded in a surge of foamy cum which I could feel splattering on my chest. This is what it is like to die. He is killing me, and I did nothing to him, was my last conscious thought.

I came to, lying on the ground, even more dirty and sweaty than before, but at least I was alive, he had given me a reprieve. I hoped he would release me, but he had more in mind.

He sat beside me, chatting calmly as though nothing had happened, as though nothing more was going to happen, but after half an hour or so he got up and walked over to his truck, returning with a knife and a short piece of rope. I was scared he was going to slit my throat as he brought the knife near my neck, but he only used it to cut my tank top, then ripped away the remaining rags, so I was naked except for the jeans around my ankles and boots. He kicked me over so my face and cock were grinding into the dirt, then he straddled me, sitting on my ass. He took a turn of the rope around my neck, then started fucking me again. I was looser now, of course, so it didn't hurt as much as he rammed into me, but it took longer as it was his second time. He pulled on the rope, tightening it slowly, letting me know he was going to put me out at the same time he came. I could feel his increasing tempo and hear his labored breathing as the rope got tighter. I choked and gasped, struggling to breathe, and felt lightheaded from the lack of air and blood to the brain. Again I passed out just after my cock let go and I shot a load of cum into the dust below me.

Again I awoke, my face in the dust, slow and groggy with lack of air. I shook my head, trying to clear my mind, hoping to make some sense out of what was happening to me. He liked to strangle me, to make me pass out, but how much farther would he go? Would he do it again? Would he hold it too long so I would never wake up?

Again he sat beside me, calmly talking as I lay there, dirty and sweating and scared, but I didn't want to let him know I was scared so I played the role, pretended nothing was wrong and talked about nothing in particular.

Finally he was ready to go again, and this time he brought a longer piece of rope from his truck and tied it into a noose around my neck. He lifted me to my feet and dragged me, struggling uselessly, over to a tree with a limb a few feet above my head. He tossed the rope over the limb and pulled it taut, making me stand tall to keep my air passage open. He stood back to look at me and I must have been quite a sight, hard, muscular body covered with sweat and dirt, naked, cock again hard and sticking up and out, pants bunched around my ankles. He moved behind me and started fucking me, his hands roaming over my solid chest, then tweaking my nipples. I tried to stand straight but his thrusts were too much and the noose tightened around my neck, digging into my flesh, squeezing my windpipe, slowly choking me. Somehow I sensed that this time there would be no release, that he would leave me hanging there, feet just dragging on the ground, limp on the end of the rope. I felt that he was closer to coming one last time up my ass and my own cock responded once again, shooting up and out as again everything faded from view. I felt his final thrust and his arms holding tightly around my sweaty chest, then total oblivion and it was over.

Story: Voyeur

This was written October 23, 2003, with some edits in May 2015. I'm not sure this is as "cooked" as it could be, but I wanted to start a different project so I may come back to this and add more later. Let me know what you think about it.

My next-door neighbor Mike was a pretty nice guy. I'm not usually real friendly with the neighbors around here, though sometimes I like to keep an eye on what they're up to. Especially if they're up to interesting stuff and they can't really tell that I'm keeping an eye on them. Guess that's why I'm not really all that friendly with them — afraid I'd have some explaining to do, I guess.

But Mike was OK. We even chatted a little bit, because he lived next door and he was outside a lot. Tended to do his yard work in just cutoffs and running shoes on warm summer days, no shirt. He was easy to watch; nice build, a little meat to his shoulders and upper arms, and a pretty hairy chest and stomach. More than once I wondered what the terrain was like if you could follow the line of his hair from his navel southward.

Dust and cobwebs

For something like twenty years, now, I've been a regular user of Internet Relay Chat, or IRC. I'm actually there now, in fact, on EFNet in a channel called #gaysnuff. I don't know if I should give that particular detail, except it's pretty dead. Ha ha what a pun. No, I mean, dead as in no one there but me. It used to be fun; there used to be quite a few guys with various kinks of a fatal sort, all talking fantasy. They're mostly gone now. But then most of the whole EFNet is gone now. It used to see 100,000 users at any one time, or more, and at the moment there's all of 26,000. I don't know where they've gone. Probably the same place as all the guys who used to go to bars, maybe.

I admit that, especially in the last five to ten years, I would disappear from IRC during periods I wasn't quite as horny (or noose-hungry, maybe is a better way to put it). Then I'd come back after a couple of months, and things were a little different. The channel would have a new set of bots or operators, or different users, or what not. Now, there are no bots, and usually when I join the usual channel I'm also the first one there. Ops for me, yay! Not that I remember what to do with op privileges, anymore. It's not as if there is much reason to throw an ops' weight around in a moribund channel.

IRC is not very spiffy. Old tech rarely is, and everyone goes to the shiny new places instead. I can't imagine finding someone to share a snuff fantasy with on Grindr, but maybe one can. (I don't even own a smartphone, so I wouldn't know.) It's still possible to have fun on IRC. All it takes is a few warm bodies.

New year's greetings and random thoughts

Happy new year to you ... Wow, 2015 already, huh? Maybe I should make a resolution to update this blog more often. Anyway, just wanted to check in and let you know I'm still thinking about the blog and any readers I have. Thanks for stopping by. There are still notions for stories perking in my head, though I haven't made the time to coax them out of my head and into the computer lately. I will soon.

I've been going through my image archive on my computer and rearranging photos into new folders, deduplicating as I go. It is a long chore, mostly because each image tends to get examined closely, and that's when distractions happen. Large, stiff, somewhat leaky distractions. Perhaps you know what I mean. If I should uncover photos that would be of interest to readers of this humble blog, I will share them. I've mostly limited myself to images that are in the public domain, but I may rethink that this year.

A crazy notion has occurred to me: Maybe a few of the stories I've posted here could be collected into an ebook somewhere. One of the other websites I follow frequently mentions such things created by the blogger. It's just a thought, for now. Which stories would you pick for this, dear reader?