From: rdragon@ix.netcom.com(***)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: The Undoing Of Craig (mm,pedo,bd,rape,torture,snuff) [1/2]
Date: 26 Jul 1996 03:14:38 GMT

			  Unlucky Number 13
				  by
			       Thunder
		     Contributions and Editing By
			     Sammy Smegma
			       Part One

	Craig Sommers was not looking forward to school. It was hard
to look forward to something you hated with a passion.

	It wasn't the schoolwork or the teachers - Craig was bright,
and he did O.K. (he knew he could do better if he tried, but chose not
to - and after all, why should he?), and the teachers were O.K., too.

	It was all the other kids that bothered him.

	Craig was not like other boys. When he was very little, he had
been very ill, and thanks to this had unluckily been misdiagnosed as
retarded. In fact, he was nothing of the kind - if anything, quite the
reverse - but by the time anyone had managed to figure that out, he
had been placed with numerous "rehabilitation centers" and special
classes throughout his brief childhood, and from these he had gained a
totally undeserved reputation for mental retardation. It settled
around him like a blanket; no matter where he went, kids picked on him
and called him "weirdo" or "retard" until there was scarcely a day
when he didn't run home after school, lock himself in his room, and
cry himself to sleep.

	These experiences had had a profound impact on Craig's
personality. He was introverted and philosophical, and his long
experience with the cruelty of others had taught him to be stoical in
the face of pain and torment. In all, he had seen more cruelty and
injustice than most adults would ever know in a lifetime, and this had
taken a heavy toll; despite his age - he was only eleven - he was the
youngest patient ever to be treated at the local mental health center
for clinical depression. His parents tried to help, of course, but how
much could they actually do?

	Craig was, quite understandably, a loner. Not that he was shy
- he was quite comfortable around adults, who were more apt to accept
him at face value - but he was careful to avoid any contact with other
children. When in school, he studied alone, ate his lunch alone, and
he played alone - preferably out of sight of the others. Craig hated
his present existence; he didn't want to be called weird anymore, and
he had long ago become bitterly weary of being constantly picked on.

	And today especially, of all days. Rising out of bed and
dressing, he saw it was gorgeous day outside, warm and sunny. The sky
overhead was a bright blue; he could hear the birds singing outside
his window. It was late spring, and one of the first nice days to come
along all season.

	Craig decided right then and there that he was NOT going to go
to school that day. He'd play hooky instead, go off and have some fun.

	Enjoy the nice weather and feel HAPPY for a change, instead of
feeling sick all over at the idea of going to school and having - yet
again - to endure the constant taunts and jibes of classmates who
didn't know half of what he did, and didn't care anyway.

	As excellent as this idea was, however, there were problems
with it. The biggest one was that your choice of destination was
decidedly limited - you couldn't go "Just Any Old Where," you see,
because if you chanced to meet anyone you knew, you could wind up in a
helluva lot of trouble. Fortunately, there was a solution - the old
factory at the edge of town.

	The factory had long ago shut down, the heavy equipment
removed, leaving only an empty shell that was also the ideal place to
play. Even though the town council had ordered it locked up long ago,
somebody had broken the lock at some point, and the place had become a
haven for kids to play in, despite the warnings of their parents about
how dangerous it was.

	With this in mind, Craig went to breakfast, ate, kissed Mom
good-bye, and left. Only instead of heading toward school, he headed
toward the old plant, and a day of games and fun and...

	His worst nightmare!

				* * *

	Mike DeBassi felt rather tense today - then again, when didn't
he anymore? Traveling as often as he did, eating in roadside diners
and sleeping in lumpy motel beds was enough to make anybody tense.

	At least, he hoped, he'd find what he was looking for here.

	To look at Mike, you wouldn't have thought him anything more
than an average Joe, the guy next door. He was always neat and clean,
his face always shaved, his hair always neatly cut. He never wore
anything ragged or dirty, and he was incessantly polite. It was, in
short, the perfect disguise...

	Because underneath it all, he was a rabid, sadistic pedophile
with a taste for little boys.

	Mike wasn't like other pedophiles, mind you. He didn't "love"

	little boys... rather, he loved hurting them! It was such
great fun to him to rape and torture a young boy, then to watch them
slowly die, rather than to teach them "soft" sex, which he personally
found quite repulsive.

	Town after town, Mike rarely failed to find a boy to please
him. He wasn't choosy - any old boy he could get his hands on would
do. It wasn't so much the sex he enjoyed as it was the pain, the
domination, the sheer pleasure of having control over such young,
innocent and quite helpless lives! So it didn't much matter what they
looked like or who they were; still, the better they looked to him,
the more he enjoyed what he did.

	The town he'd come to recently was like so many others -
quiet, small, the kind of place people didn't lock their doors, where
everyone knew everyone, whatever. What HE liked about it were the kids
- they were all over! And most of the time, he'd noticed, they seemed
attracted to one particular place...

	It was an abandoned factory toward the edge of town, the kind
of place that attracted kids like a magnet. Big, empty and old, it was
ideal for games like War or Cops and Robbers, a perfect place to play
Hide and Seek.

	Over the past weekend, he'd watched the place carefully,
hoping for an opportunity. Unfortunately, the few kids he did see go
in there were mostly in groups, which left him feeling quite
disappointed and only served to heighten his aggressions.

	Luck, however, was with him Monday morning.

	He'd been hiding nearby, scoping the place out, when he saw a
boy come wandering along.

	He was a small kid, maybe four and a half feet, but not quite
five feet, tall. He wore a blue plaid button down shirt that hung out
over his belt (it looked to be a hand-me-down, a bit big on him), and
well fitting, slightly faded jeans that looked to have seen a lot of
use; the ground-in dirt on the knees was all too apparent. His shoes
were plain, black basketball sneakers with dirty white laces. Despite
the loose fitting clothes, which were obviously too big for him, he
looked thin. Not concentration camp survivor thin, but skinny, with
just enough meat on his bones to look healthy. Short, straight, sandy
blonde hair, and the brightest blue eyes Mike had ever seen, standing
out against the kid's light complexion, which in turn was dotted with
a good smattering of freckles. Beyond that, his face was pretty much
average, average nose, average mouth, but it might as well have been
the face of an angel to Mike.

	He was carrying schoolbooks, Mike saw, but he obviously wasn't
going to school! Instead, the boy looked around and hurried into the
old plant.

	"Playing hooky, eh?" Mike said to himself, his hard cock
forming a tent in his pants. "Wonder what your Mom and Dad would say
about that!"

	Chuckling to himself, Mike stepped out of his hiding place and
looked around, making sure nobody saw him. Seeing nobody else, he
snuck up to the partly open door to the plant and peered inside.

	The kid had tossed his schoolbooks aside and was running
around, ducking behind I-beams, like he was hiding from something;
some sort of game, Mike decided. Good, he thought, let him play -
it'll give me time to get ready... and then he'd give him a REAL game
to Play!

	He ducked away and ran back to his car, hidden behind some
trees near the plant. Already he had a plan in mind, one that had
worked for him before. Shedding his own jeans and flannel shirt, he
pulled on a pair of blue pants and a blue shirt - actually a uniform
from a service station he'd worked at once - from a duffel bag on the
back seat and put them on. He moved quickly, lest he lose his chance.

	Then, from the duffel bag, he removed an old police badge he'd
picked up in a pawn shop once. The thing was old, probably something a
boozing cop or an old widow had sold for a few bucks. Nonetheless, it
served a purpose.

	Now dressed, he grabbed up the duffel bag and headed back to
the plant, peeking inside. The boy was on his knees now, drawing in
the dirt with a piece of wood. Stepping back quietly, Mike shoved the
duffel into some bushes and prepared himself, putting on his best Look
of Authority.

	The kid would never know what hit him.

				* * *

	Craig didn't see the man right away. He was busy playing,
pretending he was exploring the surface of Venus, that the huge plant
was a Venusian cave. Running to and fro, he almost jumped out of his
skin when the man called out to him. He stopped dead in his tracks.

	"Hold it right there, mister! You're are in a lot of trouble,
young man!"

	Craig turned slowly, spotting the man standing in the doorway.

	Uh-oh, he thought, caught!

	The man was neatly dressed; his hair was cut short, almost a
crew cut, his face was clean shaven. He wore what to Craig looked like
some kind of police uniform; it was all blue, pants and shirt, and he
had a badge tacked to the left side of his shirt.

	Craig swallowed hard. Was he in some kind of trouble? Likely
he was! The man strode up to him, a very stern look on his face. "This
building has been condemned by the town council," the man said, his
voice echoing throughout the room. "And on top of that, why aren't you
in school?"

	Craig swallowed hard again. His mother would kill him! Still,
he stood his ground, trying very hard to think of a way out of this.

	"Um, are you a cop?" he asked. "If you're a cop, where's your
gun?"

	"I'm not a cop," the man told him. "I'm a Building Inspector.

	I'm with the Fire Department. I saw you come in here and
believe me, you're in big trouble, mister. What's your name?"

	"Craig Sommers, sir," Craig answered.

	The man stared at him, his face expressionless. "How old are
you, Craig Sommers?"

	"Eleven, sir."

	The man smiled. It wasn't a normal smile, not a fond one or a
friendly one, but kind of a leer, one that sent chills down Craig's
spine.

	"You're in a lot of trouble, Craig Sommers," the man said,
more quietly this time, almost a whisper, "and believe me kid, you
don't know how much."

	Craig started to back up right then, but he was just a hair's
breadth too late. The man grabbed the boy's slender shoulders and spun
him around, clamping one hand over his mouth before he could cry out.

	Shoving Craig to the floor, the man pressed one knee into his
back, keeping his hand firmly over Craig's mouth.

	"Now you listen up, Craig Sommers! You're going to do what
you're told and not give me even a bit of trouble, you got that? If
you do, I'll hurt you so bad you'll wish you were dead!"

	The threat was enough to make Craig freeze. Inwardly, he
groaned. "No. PLEASE tell me this ISN'T happening," he thought to
himself. The man's hand came away from his mouth, but Craig made no
attempt to scream - especially not with the man still on top of him!

	"Give me your hands, Craig," the man ordered, even as he was
pulling Craig's hands together behind him. He felt something being
wrapped around his wrists, something rough and scratchy - rope,
apparently.

	"I like little boys, Craig," the man sneered, twisting Craig's
head to the side and stuffing a balled up wad of cloth in his mouth.

	Out of the corner of his eye Craig saw the man withdraw a
kerchief, which he tied over Craig's mouth, keeping the other wad in.
"I like to hear them scream and cry, you know that? Little boys scream
and cry a lot when I fuck them in the ass. I'm gonna fuck your ass,
Craig. I'll bet it's a TIGHT ass, and it's gonna hurt a lot when I
fuck it. And you know what, Craig? And that's not ALL I'm gonna do,
either!"

	Inside, Craig writhed at the unfairness of it all. He had seen
plenty of television newscasts concerning the sex murders of young
children: kids who had been kidnapped, stripped stark naked, beaten,
raped, killed - and sometimes even worse things! - and Craig was
plenty bright enough to realize that something rather like this was
now happening to HIM! He had no real ground for complaint - he was,
after all, here by choice (although if he had known that THIS was
going to happen to him, he would most certainly have chosen to go
elsewhere). If nothing else, it meant an end to a thoroughly miserable
existence. He DID hope that he could face up to his death bravely, and
not give this pervert any enjoyment out of his dying; and he deeply
regretted the agony which he knew his mother and father were bound to
suffer from his murder. In thinking all of this, Craig could not help
but give vent to a deep-felt, soul-wrenching sigh, which his captor
either failed to hear, or else ignored completely.

	The man hauled Craig to his feet and, holding his arm, pushed
him, half-stumbling, deeper into the old plant. "Yessiree, Craig, I'm
going to have a fucking ball with you. It gives me a real fuckin'
kick, you know? I just love raping cute little kids like you. It's
Fun." He gave Craig a shake. "That scare ya, huh? Does it?" He
laughed. "If it don't, I got some real surprises in store for ya,
Craig. And they WILL scare ya!"

	He stopped then, turning Craig toward what had once been an
office back when the plant was in operation. Pushing the boy ahead of
him inside, he pushed the sagging wooden door closed as far as it
would go and turned Craig to face him.

	The office was bare, outside of an overturned wooden milk
crate in one corner and some old papers. The man pushed Craig over to
the wooden crate and told him to stand, while the man himself sat
down, positioning Craig in front of him.

	"Well now, let's see the goods, shall we?" The man laughed,
undoing Craig's belt and the snaps on his pants, finally pulling them
down his legs to his ankles. He ordered Craig to step out of them,
then took off the boy's underwear next.

	"Huh! Not much, guess you ain't seen puberty yet!" The man
laughed. "Well, consider this a crash course!" He cupped his hand
under Craig's balls, rubbing them; then, for no reason at all, he
suddenly grabbed them and squeezed!

	Craig screamed into his gag at the sudden shock of pain and
collapsed, the man's hand still firmly clenching his balls. As soon as
the boy hit the ground the man let go of his nuts and Craig fell back,
his head bouncing painfully off the concrete. Before he knew it the
man was over him, straddling him, then sitting on his chest.

	"Woowee yeah!" the man yelled, his face flushed with
excitement. He pulled something out of his pocket - it looked like a
length of wire to Craig - and leaned forward. Craig felt the man's
fingers stroking his little penis, which, in spite of the pain he
still felt, got hard very quickly. Then he felt something else,
something slightly cool, being wrapped around it, tighter and
tighter...

	Craig let out a little gasp as the wire, which he was sure it
was, pinched a little skin on his cock as it grew tighter. He could
feel the man twisting it, twisting until it was like a steel band,
with a slightly worse, more annoying sting where it had caught the bit
of skin, wrapped around his cock!

	The man stood up, and Craig could see it now, wrapped around
the base of his penis so tightly that everything above it was
engorged. The skin there was turning red already, all the blood
suffused into it...

	"Does that hurt, Craig? Does it? You gonna cry for me, Craig?"

	the man teased, making crying faces at him. Craig bit down and
refused to cry. He didn't want to give the man the satisfaction of
seeing his pain. If he was going to die, he at least wanted to die
bravely!

	The man looked angry. "Don't wanna cry, huh? Well,I think you
will!" Grabbing the boy's ankles, he lifted them and pulled off his
shoes, then his blue socks, tossing them toward the door. He fumbled
in his pockets and cursed angrily, as if he were missing something.

From: rdragon@ix.netcom.com(***)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: The Undoing Of Craig (mm,pedo,bd,rape,torture,snuff) [2/2]
Date: 26 Jul 1996 03:15:40 GMT

			  Unlucky Number 13
				  by
			       Thunder
		     Contributions and Editing By
			     Sammy Smegma
			       Part Two

	Then he turned and scooped up Craig's pants, going through
each pocket, dumping things out - a cheap brown plastic wallet with
raised tooling showing cowboy motifs, which he opened. "Two bucks and
nineteen cents," the man muttered, pocketing the money. "Lot of money,
eh, kid?" He pulled out Craig's library card next. "Craig Sommers,
yeah, that's you!" That he tossed aside, and finally, Craig's "In Case
of Emergency Notify" card. "Well now, this is pertinent, isn't it?
Let's see, I guess I ought to call your Mom, Betty Sommers - your
Mom's name sucks, kid!" he bellowed, "and tell her little Craig's been
kidnapped? Yeah, maybe I should!" He laughed and tossed that aside, as
well.

	The last thing he took out was something Craig was proud of, a
membership card to the Smile n' Sales Leadership Club. Craig had
gotten it just before last Christmas. Smiles-n'-Sales was a Club that
went door to door selling greeting cards; Craig had sold the most last
Christmas and had won a $25 savings bond for his efforts. All that
meant nothing now, as the man ripped the card in half and tossed it to
the floor.

	"Sure got a lot of junk in here, kid," he muttered. "Worse
than me."

	Shoving his hand into another pocket, he pulled out the rest
of what Craig normally carried - a plain black comb (his mother
insisted he keep his hair neat - wouldn't she be mad now!), some pens
("Hey, I can use these," the man said), and a keypouch. The man
examined these, then tossed them aside and swore loudly.

	"Nothing but a lot of junk," hissed. "Fuck, kid, don't you got
a yo-yo or something?" When Craig didn't respond he shook his head
angrily and scowled at the boy.

	The pockets emptied, he threw the pants aside, then seemed to
get an idea and picked them up again. "Yeah, this'll do," he said,
pulling Craig's belt off. Grabbing the boy's ankles again, he wrapped
the belt around them and cinched it. "There. Now stay put, the fun's
just begun!" he laughed, and dashed out of the office, leaving Craig
alone with his pain and misery.

				* * *

	Mike's head was pounding, his heart racing like it always did
whenever he had a little boy. He ran back to the entrance, scooping up
his bag of goodies from where he'd left them, and ran back inside.

	He was gone only about two minutes; yet to Mike's amazement,
he found Craig there, hopping slowly and precariously along on his two
bound feet towards the rear of the building! Mike just stood there,
watching in surprise for a moment, then walked over towards the
fleeing boy.

	Craig heard him - he turned and glanced over his shoulder, a
look of anguish on his face; then he began hopping faster. Too fast:
he lost his balance and fell to the floor with a plop. Mike went over
and hauled him up by the arm. "Sorry, Craig," Mike said. "but I'll
have to admit it was a nice try." He returned Craig to the office and
lowered him to the floor.

	Craig lay where he'd been put, struggling a bit, but still not
crying. He did look scared to death, and the pain from his bound penis
- which was now getting even darker in color - was showing on his
face. Mike knew it would be just a matter of time before the kid
cracked - they always did!

	Dropping down next to the kid, Mike slipped an arm around
Craig's shoulders and sat him up. The boy was nude except for his
shirt; Mike had deliberately saved that for last. "That's a nice
shirt, Craig," he cooed, carefully undoing one button and slipping his
hand inside. "Mmm, nice, smooth little boy chest. I like that."

	He slid his tongue along one side of Craig's neck. "Mmm...
little boy. A little dirty, but tasty." He continued to lick and kiss
Craig's neck for several minutes, his hand under Craig's shirt
pinching and caressing the boy's nipples. One by one, he undid each
shirt button, moving his hand lower and lower each time, then he
leaned Craig back and began to kiss his chest, licking at his bare
skin as he undid each button slowly.

	He pulled the shirt open finally, exposing Craig's naked
little body. It was a nice body, in Mike's opinion, not fat but not
horribly thin, either - just right. He had an "outie" belly button,
which Mike thought was pretty cute.

	"Hey, look at that, a baby hardon!" Mike laughed, kissing the
little outie belly button, licking it with his tongue.

	He could feel Craig shiver - with revulsion or fear, he didn't
know or care which - and raised his face, grinning at the boy.

	"Ready to have some fun, Craig?"

	Wrapping his arms around the boy, Mike climbed on top of him
and sealed his mouth over Craig's lips, kissing him deeply. He held
the kiss a long time, his tongue shoving into Craig's mouth and
rasping over the boy's tongue. Craig squirmed a bit, but couldn't
dislodge him.

	He drew away, smiling at the boy. "You liked that, didn't you
Craig? You want some more, huh?"

	He flipped the boy over then, pinning him with one knee as he
undid the rope on the boy's wrists. Grasping the collar of Craig's
shirt he yanked on it, nearly pulling the boy's arms out of his
sockets in an effort to get it off. As it came free Craig tried to
move his arms forward - trying to escape, perhaps? - but Mike was too
fast. He caught the boy's wrists and quickly re-bound them.

	"Nice try again, but no escape for you, Craig!" Mike laughed,
and realizing suddenly what position he had the boy in, pressed his
knee into Craig's buttocks. The boy let out a sharp gasp as his sore,
engorged penis was ground against the cold, hard concrete floor,
coupled now with the pain of Mike's knee against his ass!

	It was all too much for Mike. The boy was squirming furiously
- hurting himself even worse, no less - but still not crying; yet the
sight and feel of it was getting to him.

	Keeping Craig pinned down, he yanked down his own pants and
underwear, his massive hardon springing out of its cotton prison.

	Mike slid his hands over the youngster's naked body, his
fingers kneading the soft young flesh. Craig lay squirming, still
trying to relieve the pain in his engorged penis where it grated
against the hard concrete.

	Wrapping his arms around Craig's waist, Mike hoisted the boy
up, pushing his knees under him so his ass was now spread nice and
wide, ready for entry...

				* * *

	Bent over, his face shoved into the floor, his abductor's arms
wrapped firmly around his small waist, Craig could could only grit his
teeth and bear down as the man shoved his cock up inside his buttocks
and asshole. Burning pain filled Craig's rectum as the huge, fleshy
member pushed in, parting the constricting walls of his anus like a
missile boring into him.

				* * *

	Despite the pain, Craig refused to give in, to scream or cry,
even as the man's huge cock pushed into his abdomen, each thrust
burning and tearing and pounding hard at his insides. Craig's own
little cock ached beyond all belief, constricted as it was by the wire
wrapped so tightly around it. The little bit of flesh that had gotten
caught up in the twist of wire was really stinging badly; indeed,
Craig couldn't decide which hurt more. Yet he would not give in!

	"Oh yeah, oh yeah kid great fucking ass!" his rapist moaned,
his voice more of a thick grunt than a man's voice now.

	Suddenly, the man stopped, thrusting forward in one great big
heave. Craig could feel his attacker's cock pulsing inside of him,
could feel something thick and warm pouring out into his intestines.
For what felt like hours the man just stayed there, then slowly
withdrew, his cock coming free with a soft pop!

	"Wow," the rapist breathed. "Nice ass!"

	The man lifted Craig up then and sat him back down on the
crate. Craig squirmed and whimpered a bit, his sore, bare ass none to
comfortable against the crate's rough wood surface, especially after
the ass pounding he'd just been given!

	For the first time, Craig got a good, hard look at the man's
huge cock. Craig had seen one before when he'd accidentally saw his
father coming out of the shower, but this one was so much BIGGER and
THICKER!

	"Like it?" the man asked, pulling the boy's gag down and
tossing aside the wad of cloth in Craig's mouth. "All for you,
Craigy!"

	"Open up, Craig," the man ordered, grabbing both sides of the
boy's head in his hands, holding it firmly.

	"No, please, I can't, apfph - "

	Craig gagged as the huge member was shoved into his mouth,
nearly into his throat. "If you even consider biting me," Mike
snapped, "I'll rip out every fucking tooth in your head!"

	Holding the boy's head firmly in his hands, Mike began to jerk
his head back and forth, the boy's lips wrapped around his cock
forming their own little suction seal and driving him wild. Craig was
pleading with his eyes, a sight that nearly made Mike come instantly.
Somehow, he held out.

				* * *

	Craig was hardly able to breathe with the man's penis sawing
in and out of his throat. He choked and gagged and felt vaguely sick,
but he couldn't do anything about it. He started to get dizzy from
lack of oxygen and might have passed out had the man not suddenly
stopped, and a warm, thick stream began to shoot into the back of
Craig's throat.

	The boy choked and swallowed, having no other choice but to do
what he was made to do.

	Finally the man pulled out and Craig began to gasp, taking in
huge gulps of air. He very much wanted to cry then; he hoped it was
all over.

	It wasn't.

				* * *

	Mike pulled his cock free of Craig's mouth and stuffed it back
in his pants. "Not bad for your first time," he told Craig, pulling
the boy off the crate and sitting down next to him, then lowering him
back to the floor.

	"Please, no more," Craig pleaded quietly. "Just let me go,
please, I won't tell. Don't hurt me anymore. Please don't kill me."

	"Maybe I won't kill you," Mike teased.

	As encouraging as this sounded, Craig didn't believe it for an
instant. And, if this man DID kill him, what then?

	Would he hide or bury his body? Craig had seen many television
specials about missing children; he knew that if his body were to be
concealed, the odds of anyone finding it would be remote. His parents
could spend the rest of their lives looking for him, and never find
him! It was not to be thought of.

	"Please, oh please," he said, "if you MUST kill me, at least
leave me someplace where somebody will find me? Please! Don't make my
family suffer with not knowing what happened to me!" Craig pleaded.

	Mike stared at Craig, astonished that any child could face
death so courageously. That a kid - ANY kid - should be capable of
making such a plea filled him with amazement. There was no doubt about
it: This kid had GUTS.

	"O.K., Craig," Mike began slowly. "You want me to leave you
here, and you want it so they can find you? All right, I can do that.
But I'll tell you right now that they won't like what they find!"

	He pressed his lips against the boy's mouth again, forcing
more kisses from him. Weird kid, he thought, but fun! A little more,
maybe, and he'd get what he wanted!

	Pushing the boy away, he put his gag back but didn't bother
with shoving the rag back in his mouth first; he wanted Craig muffled,
but not totally silenced. Not for what he had planned!

	Reaching into the duffle bag, he drew out a long, wide leather
strap with twelve notches cut into one end. "See these?" he told
Craig. "One for every little boy I ever had fun with. You get to be
number thirteen." He peered at the belt.

	"Why hey, that's an unlucky number! Especially for you."

	Folding the strap over, he brought it down hard on Craig's
stomach. WHAP! The leather cracked against Craig's skin, making the
boy double up for moment. WHAP! again, this time on Craig's chest.
Again and again it brought it down, slapping the boy's chest, his
stomach, then moving down his legs, finally cracking it hard against
the soles of his feet. Each time Craig jumped and cried out in pain,
his body tense and quivering as he anticipated each blow. Yet he did
not cry, and that pissed Mike off even more!

	He rolled the boy over and cracked the strap down hard across
the backs of his calves, moving up his thighs, then up to his back,
two whacks each time, each part and then moving back to Craig's ass -
where he paused.

	Craig was trembling, shaking, but not yet showing any signs of
giving in. Deep down, Mike had to admire the kid - he had balls. On
the other hand, he was really pissing Mike off to the nth degree!

	WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! Four hard blows across Craig's small
ass, each harder than the last. Craig cried out with each blow,
shaking harder, yet he did not give in.

	Angrily Mike tossed the strap aside and flipped the boy over.
"You're really asking for it kid!" he shouted, slapping Craig hard
across the face. The boy cried out and lay there, dazed.

	Mike had had enough of this. As much as he had tried to
"break" Craig, he realized now that that just wasn't going to happen.
But even so he wasn't finished, not quite yet. He wanted to do one
more thing, mostly for his own personal fun.

	Reaching into his duffle bag, he pulled out a small length of
string. Turning his back to Craig, he sat down on the boy's chest and
cupped Craig's balls in his hand. His badly engorged penis was a dark
purple now, almost black; it looked like it might burst or fall off
any second, it was stretched so tightly. But his balls were still
fine, at least for the moment.

	He began to tie the string around them, or rather, around the
sack, just above the kid's nuts. Tightly, no less, until Craig's balls
were stretched tight against the scrotum sack that held them and the
boy was moaning in pain.

	Pulling the two ends of the string out, he wrapped them around
Craig's penis further up and pulled them tight, forcing the boy's
penis to aim downward. Behind him, he could hear Craig scream out.

				* * *

	Craig was in real pain now. It felt as if someone were ripping
his abdomen apart slowly, stretching the skin beyond belief. He felt
dizzy and faint, the pain washing over him in waves.

	But he didn't get a chance to faint. He felt the belt being
removed from his ankles, and suddenly he was pulled to his feet.
Dizzy, stumbling, the man holding onto his arm, he was led out into
the warehouse proper, hardly noticing the sharp sting of bits of
concrete and other debris against the soles of his sore, bare feet.

	He dropped the boy into a sitting position and told him to
watch. Craig's head seemed to clear a little then, making him all the
more aware of how much pain he was in.

	Craig saw then the man had brought the duffle bag.

	Fighting pain, he watched what the man was doing.

	Reaching into the bag, he withdrew a neatly bundled coil of
rope. Methodically, with Craig watching, he laid it out end to end,
measuring it from one I-beam to another, then nodding to himself.

	"This'll be a scream," he told the wide-eyed, shaking boy.

	Taking one end of the rope, he tossed it up and over an
overhead beam, making it on the first try. Pulling one end and a good
length toward the far I-beam, he walked back and pulled Craig to his
feet.

	"Over here," he said, pulling Craig after him until the boy
stood even with the rope. Despite his obvious fear, Craig stood silent
and rigid, while Mike took the child's belt and pulled it around his
neck tightly, but not so tightly the boy couldn't breath.

	His fingers hooked in the belt so that if Craig tried to bolt,
he wouldn't go far, Mike tied the end of the rope around the belt
itself, several times to be safe. Then, grabbing the length of it that
hung down from the back of the I-beam, he turned to face Craig.

	"You said you wanted to be found," he told the boy, "and well,
hey, I think that's pretty cool." He chuckled thickly, as if enjoying
this. "Now, any last words?" With that, he reached up and pulled down
Craig's gag.

	"Please, don't kill me, let me go and I promise I'll never
tell anyone, please!" Craig pleaded.

	"Nope. Too late," Mike laughed, and began to pull on the rope.

	"Oh, no, please not that! Please, I umphfff - !"

				* * *

	As his feet, kicking and swinging, cleared the ground, as his
air was cut off and his throat constricted, Craig's thoughts swung
into high gear, and he began to pray. He prayed that that someone,
anyone, would come along to save him; that his family wouldn't suffer
from his death too much; and forgiveness for the mis-choice that had
resulted in this happening to him... Slowly his vision began to
darken; the floor below spun and grew dim... and then the blackness
was total, and Craig was beyond praying. The unhappy life of an
unhappy little boy had come to a tragic and unhappy end.

				* * *

	Mike stood and watched the youngster struggle and thrash about
in the air, his eyes bulging and tongue jutting out as he hung
suspended only a few feet from the floor, his legs kicking and waving,
face turning redder and redder.

	With sudden inspiration, Mike dashed back into the office and
returned carrying the wooden crate. He positioned it next to the dying
child, then stood up on it himself.

	Unzipping his pants, he let them drop, exposing his rock hard
cock. He grabbed the still writhing youngster around the waist, and
thrust himself into the child's rectum and and began to pump wildly,
the thought occurring to him to be GLAD he had thought of tying off
the rope to the I-beam, and GLAD that Craig hadn't died more quickly -
that he was, in fact, dying a very slow, agonizing death...

	And then, as the jerking and twitching in Craig's body slowed
and came to a gradual stop, Mike came, spewing his semen deep into the
child's anal cavity, and he held the boy's naked little corpse against
him snugly in ecstasy, his eyes tightly shut as sexual release
overwhelmed him...

				* * *

	It felt like hours had passed.

	Mike opened his eyes and withdrew, hopping down from his
precarious perch atop the crate, and looked up - looked up at Craig's
lifeless body hanging just a few feet away; looked at the wide,
bulging blue eyes staring down at him, filled with the sudden shock
and horror of sudden death.

	Slowly Mike caught his breath and returned to the office where
he'd raped Craig, gathering up the boy's clothes and other items, then
returning to the spot where the boy had been hanged. He dropped the
boy's stuff in a pile beneath the body, and went back for his duffle
bag, returning with it a few minutes later. Pulling out a clean rag,
he wiped down everything he'd touched, scattering each item in a
circle around Craig as it was wiped clean. Lastly, he reached up and
wiped down the youngster himself; then, almost as an afterthought,
went back and wiped down the office as well.

	Finally done, he glanced at his watch. Nearly three hours had
passed; and time to get moving. If the school had called to check on
Craig, his parents by now were sure to be looking for him, if the
truant officers weren't. It was just a matter of if, and when, they'd
look in here...

	Gathering up his stuff, he sneered at Craig's lifeless corpse.
"Shouldn't've played hooky, kid. See what happens to bad little boys?"

	And just before leaving - he almost forgot! - he reached into
his duffle bag and pulled out the leather strap he'd earlier beaten
Craig with. Digging his pen knife out as well, he cut a small notch
into the leather, next to the others.

	"Unlucky number 13," he said to himself. "But Lucky, at least
for me!"

	Then he left, laughing, satisfied with himself for yet another
day.

	And then he was gone.

	Behind him, a light wind blew softly through the building. It
flapped through the pages of loose-leaf notebooks which never again
would see a little boy's handwriting. It whispered through that lonely
place, rustling the sandy-blond hair of the naked little boy who still
hung, feet dangling just inches off the floor. His eyes wide and
staring, his head lolling grotesquely to one side, mouth gagged, and
hands bound tightly behind him, he swayed gently back and forth in the
cool spring breeze of a world which never again would witness him at
play.

	Slowly, the hours passed...

			       Epilogue

	    School let out at three p.m. that afternoon, the doors
of the elementary school bursting open like the skin of a ripe orange,
letting loose an oozing stream of kids all eager to get home and play
before dinner time.

	Practically at the head of the pack was Jeremy Whiler, aged
eleven. Jeremy's family had only moved here a few days ago, and
already he was itching to explore. While he'd been over some of town
the past few days, one place he hadn't been yet was the old plant at
the edge of town.

	Yanking his bike out of the bike rack, he pedaled away
quickly, waving to the few friends he'd made who all had to go home
and do chores. Through the streets and down the sidewalks he went,
finally skidding to a halt before the huge doors of the plant itself.

	He stared up in awe. This was terrific! Jeremy just loved to
explore old buildings, no matter how many times his parents warned him
it wasn't safe. After all, what did an eleven year old boy care about
safe? He wanted adventure!

	Pushing his bike into some bushes so nobody'd steal it, he
crept inside. Again, he stared in awe at all the space, at the
smaller, darker side offices - and then he saw the body.

	At first, Jeremy didn't realize it was a body; he thought it
was a mannequin, left hanging there by some other kids. He ran over to
it, his eyes quickly going from the mannequin to the pile of stuff
that lay all around it. He saw a wallet amid it all and picked it up,
and discarded it when he found it empty. Looking around, he spotted
what looked like a library card. Picking it up, he examined it
curiously. It bore a name: CRAIG SOMMERS.

	Jeremy scratched his head. Hey, that name was familiar! Craig
Sommers was a kid everybody picked on, a weird loner. Personally,
Jeremy felt a bit sorry for him; but he picked on Craig too, mostly
because everyone else did. Only then did it hit him.

	Lifting his eyes, he stared up at the mannequin. He'd seen
mannequins before, with no clothes on; but they didn't have long,
black things sticking out of them where their private parts should be
- and they DIDN'T have such hideous expressions on their faces...

	Jeremy dropped the card and backed up. This was no mannequin
he was staring at - it was CRAIG SOMMERS! Screaming, the boy tore out
of the plant, forgetting his bike, and ran down the street, still
screaming at the top of his lungs...

				* * *

	They buried little Craig Sommers two days later, dressed in a
brown suit he wore to church every Sunday.

	Nearly the whole town turned out for the funeral, perhaps the
largest gathering in the town's history.

	Craig's parents were devastated. The autopsy had revealed he
died of slow strangulation, and that he'd been raped prior to that.
They were not told the rest, however, like the results of what had
been done to his sexual organs, or the damage he would have suffered
had he survived.

	Even as his parents mourned, the police began the hunt for his
killer. Outraged citizens joined them, searching for the faceless
person who'd violated and taken the young boy's life, vowing mob
justice once they found him.

	By then, of course, it was too late. For Craig. And for
Craig's killer, who'd long ago left them and his crimes behind...

			       The End