CUT: Part 1

 

The phone rang. 

The insistent chirp echoed through the tasteful white walls of the expansive modern farmhouse.

Cass, a blond haired 19-year-old college athlete, paused in the midst of toweling off his chiseled physique. He stood before the expansive, floor-to-ceiling mirror that dominated one wall of his uncle's lavish master bathroom. Steam from his recent shower clung to his sun-kissed skin, highlighting every sculpted muscle and sinew.

At six-foot tall and over 220 lbs of pure, ripped muscle, Cass was the epitome of an adonis His blond hair, still damp from the shower, fell in tousled waves across his forehead. He wore nothing but a thin bath towel around his waist. A prodigious bulge pushed out the front – the blond hunk was exceptionally endowed with an impressive cock. Sweat clung to his musculature, giving a hot sheen to his sun-kissed skin.

His baby blue eyes roamed up and down his golden body. His pectorals, two massive slabs of rock-hard muscle, jutted out proudly from his chest. They were complemented by the taut globes of his ass, barely contained by the flimsy towel wrapped around his waist.

The phone continued to ring. Cass ignored it, turning to the side, admiring the thick mounds of his pectorals that hefted out like a shelf from his chest. They were easily complimented by the globes of his bubble butt. His perfect ass barely contained in the fabric of the towel. He pulled a massive arm overhead and flexed – his abs popping out in extraordinary definition. He felt his cock twitch. The fabric at the front of his towel began to rise upwards. ass's hand drifted down to give himself a teasing squeeze through the towel, his breath catching in his throat as he felt his own impressive size. Fuck, he was so goddamn sexy, he thought to himself, desire already burning hot and fast in his veins. 

The phone stopped ringing. The house was once more filled with quiet. Cass wiped the sweat from his forehead. He unwound the towel from his waist and ran it over his face, chest and arms. His thick, semi-hard cock swinging heavy and free between his muscular legs. Even in it’s softer state, it was still north of ten-inches in length. He turned around. Gripping both ends of the towel, he ran it up and down his back, cleaving it into the crevice of his heavenly ass.

He had to make sure he was squeaky clean for his movie night. His best friend, Sean, was on his way over. The two of them were inseparable at Coxswell  – an all-male prep school in the small New England town of Kellsbro, near Vitalis Bay. Both were top players on the school’s athletic roster – the Falcons United at Coxwell, Kellsbro. Sean was quarterback of the football team, while Cass captained the swim team. 

Tonight, Sean was coming over to watch a scary movie. Of course, this was just a thin cover story. Both musclejocks knew exactly what was going to happen: Sean would come over and slamfuck Cass against the walls for an hour, making the hot blonde musclejock take every inch of his footlong member. Long ago they had bonded over their frustration with their dead-fish girlfriends, and like many Coxswell studs, they decided to take matters into their own hands. It was understandable. At an all-male prep school, with few opportunities for female company aside from some heavy-set heffer townies in the hamlet of Kellsbro, the boys had to make due with themselves.

Cass slapped his ass-cheeks as he wicked away the last of the moisture with the towel. They looked perfectly rounded and tanned. It would be hard for Sean not to savage his hole tonight. The thought got his cock swelling once more. He couldn’t wait. He gave a few strokes to his huge member as he curved his back outwards, pushing his ass up against the cold glass of the mirror. He groaned and closed his eyes, thinking of how Bad-Boy Sean liked to slam his face against the counter as he drove his thick, hard footlong cock into his tight hole.

Then, there was a rustle. Cass’ opened his eyes and looked at the window opposite. He thought he saw the branches move. Was someone watching?

He stood up and approached the window, the glow from moonlight highlighting the rippling muscles of his torso. He felt a chill. He shut it closed and chided himself for being paranoid. It was probably a squirrel. He checked his watch and smirked. Sean would be here soon. He threw on his underwear – a sheer white thong, of course – jeans and a skin tight white cable-knit sweater. He pushed his golden hair back and headed to the kitchen – he had protein shakes to make.

A short while later, he’d just dumped the whey into the blender when the trill of the landline cut through the kitchen. The sound was sharp, too loud in the quiet house. Cass frowned, glancing at the white cordless on the counter. He wiped his hands on his tight bluejeans and picked it up.

“Hello?” he said.

“Hello.” A masculine voice, low and rough, like gravel pressed under a boot.

Cass frowned. “Yes?”

“Who is this?” the voice asked.

Cass’s brow twitched. “Who are you trying to reach?”

“What number is this?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose. “I don’t know, man. This isn’t my phone,” he said, and hung up.

He tossed two bananas into the blender, the peels dropping to the counter. The clock over the stove ticked loudly. He crossed to the fridge and grabbed the milk.

The phone rang again.

Cass froze, one hand on the fridge door. The shrill ring echoed in the empty house. He set the milk down next to the blender and rolled his shoulders, the motion stretching the white knit of his sweater tight across his chest and arms. His reflection in the glass backsplash caught his eye— muscles straining, the faintest flush from his earlier workout.

He lifted the receiver again.

“Hello?”

“Why don’t you want to talk to me?” the voice asked. Softer this time. Pleading, almost.

“Who is this?” Cass said, keeping his tone calm, the phone cradled between his shoulder and neck as he poured milk into the blender.

“You tell me your name, I’ll tell you mine.”

“That’s not how this works,” Cass said. He hit the switch, and the blender roared to life, drowning out the silence.

“What’s that noise?” the voice asked.

“Blender.” Cass watched the ingredients whirl, breaking apart into a thick, pale vortex.

“For what?”

“A protein shake.”

“I only drink those when I work out,” the voice said, a smile hidden behind the words.

Cass froze a fraction. So, the caller worked out. The voice had a roughness that set something low in his chest. Its gravelly insistence was kind of appealing. He could almost sense a silhouette to the mysterious caller. Tall. Muscular. Cass’s lips curved slightly into a smile. “Yeah, so do I, but I also like them at home too,” he said.

Phone against his ear, Cass leaned over the counter to tug at the butcher block—his bubble of a butt jutted out as he toyed with the handle of a knife. “You must like to work out,” the voice said, picking up a flirtatious tone. Cass bent forward, one hand on the counter, tugging lightly at a knife in the wooden block. The muscles in his back moved under the fabric, the waistband of his shorts riding low, the T-bar of his white thong exposed.

“All the time.” Cass said.

“What’s your favorite exercise?”

Cass smirked faintly, still toying with the knife handle. “Uh… I dunno. I like hack squats. Really tears up the glutes.”

“Oh yeah?” the voice breathed. It was heavier now. Cass felt a familiar twitch in his shorts.

“What’s yours?” Cass asked, wandering from the kitchen toward the hallway. The cordless phone was warm against his cheek. He passed through the dim hall, the hardwood creaking under his feet. He entered the living room to set up the TV.

“Take a guess.”

“Bench press?” Cass said.

The voice chuckled. “I think that’s everyone’s favorite.”

Cass grinned. “Yeah. I like that one, too. But I need a spotter to get a good pump from it.” His tone dropped, rougher now, playful.

“That so?” The voice purred. “You got anyone to spot you at the gym?”

“Why?” Cass asked, thumbing the remote on the coffee table. “You want to be my spotter?”

A long pause. “Maybe. Do you have a spotter?”

“No.”

“You never told me your name,” the voice said.

“Why do you want to know my name?”

“So I know who I’m looking at right now.”

Cass froze mid-step. The words replayed in his mind. “What did you say?”

“I just want to know who I’ll be spotting,” the voice said again, too quickly.

Cass walked to the glass doors that opened onto the pool deck. He flicked the patio lights on. Mist clung to the surface of the water, rippling faintly in the night breeze. An empty barbeque sat near the bushes to the left. Beyond that—darkness. “I don’t think that’s what you said.” Cass said, trying to clear his mind. “You said you were looking at me right now.”

“What? No. I just wanted to know if you wanted to lift with me, that’s all.”

Cass’s jaw tightened. “Goodbye, bro.”

“DON’T YOU HANG UP ON ME—” The voice cut off with a click.

Cass gripped the phone hard, his heart pounding a little too fast. The blender still roared in the distance, loud and steady. 

He returned to the kitchen. He returned the phone to its cradle and pressed his palms against the counter. The room felt colder now.

He grabbed the milk by the blender and took it over to the fridge, but something gnawed at him. A prank, maybe? Sean had pulled worse.

The white cordless phone rang once more. The sudden sound made him flinch.

“Fuck,” he muttered, slamming the milk carton down and snatching up the landline. “Listen up, asshole—”

“NO,” the voice snapped, suddenly sharp and violent. “YOU listen up, PUSSYBOY. You hang up on me again, and I’ll GUT you like a FISH. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

Cass’s throat tightened. He glanced toward the living room windows. “You trying to scare me? That it? Some kind of joke?”

The man laughed. A short, rasping sound. “A game, really. You think you can handle that… blondie?”

Cass’s blood ran cold.

He ran to the front door, threw the deadbolt, then rushed to the patio doors and locked them too. His breathing was loud in his ears. The voice at the other end of the phone laughed.

The jock’s voice was low and steady. “You fucker. I’m two seconds away from calling the cops.”

“They’d never make it in time,” the voice said softly. “You’re out in the middle of nowhere.” It was true. Cass’ uncle lived miles outside of Kellsbro.

“Then what the fuck do you want?” Cass hissed.

“I want to see what your insides look like, muscleboy.”

Cass’s fear snapped into anger. “Fuck you!” he shouted. “You think you can scare me? You see these arms?” He flexed, his thick bicep bulging against the sleeve of his white sweater. He spun slowly in place, facing the windows, shouting into the dark. “I’m jacked as fuck! And you know what else? My gym bro’s coming over any minute—he’s bigger than me. He plays football, and together we will beat the SHIT out of you!”

The line crackled, a low hum before the voice came back, almost purring. “Oh, don’t threaten me with a good time.” A pause. “But your bro…his name wouldn’t be Sean, would it?”

Cass’s stomach turned to ice. “How do you know his name?”

“Turn on the patio lights….again,” the voice said, dark amusement threading through the words.

Cass hesitated. Then, with trembling fingers, he reached for the switch.

The floodlights blinked on.

Cass froze

On the patio, straddling the grill of the barbeque, was Sean.

At six-one and 230 lbs of pure, rippling muscle, Sean was the embodiment of a fitness magazine centerfold come to life. The twenty-year old Adonis' chiseled physique strained against the thick, rough rope that cinched tightly around his tree trunk thighs, securing his legs in a spread-eagle position across the cold, metal bars of the barbecue grill. Beads of sweat matted his chestnut brown curls to his forehead, while his smoldering, obsidian eyes blazed with a crazed, primal fear as they darted frantically towards the patio doors. He screamed through a sock stuffed into his mouth and secured with duct-tape wrapped around his head.

The muscular god was almost naked, save for a flimsy, white jockstrap that struggled valiantly yet futilely to contain the sheer, massive heft of his big cock and the weighty nuts. With his thick legs splayed wide, his vulnerable package was lewdly splayed across the metal bars of the grill.

Cass could see that Sean had been roughly assaulted. A rivulets of blood trickled down from the deep gash above his eyebrow, meandering through the coarse, dark stubble that adorned his rugged, chiseled jawline. One of his piercing eyes was thickened by a grotesquely discolored, eggplant-colored bruise that throbbed in time with his racing heartbeat. His hands were cruelly bound behind his back, forcing his broad, barrel chest to thrust outwards, pecs heaving.

“What the FUCK?! WHAT THE FUCK!” Cass cried out, unlatching the deadbolt for the doors.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you!” The voice spat out. “If you want your little boytoy spared a grisly death, you keep that door closed.”

“Fuck you!” Cass said.

“You keep it closed, then we play a little game.”

“You fucking freak! LET HIM GO! I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!”

“WRONG. ANSWER.” The voice yelled. The patio lights went off. But then, in the darkness, Cass could see light – blue flames licking up from the bottom of the grill.

“But you know what?” The voice said. “I’m a person of integrity. I’ll give you another shot to play along. But you have a time limit now. Once we start, I’m gonna increase that temperature every second until Sean’s little porker is just a crispy hot dog.”

The patio lights shot back on. The barbeque was heating up. Small circles of propane flame pulsed beneath the grill.

Cass clenched his teeth. “Alright you FUCK. What kind of game do you want to play?” He said, his eyes looking at Sean, pleading. Sean squirmed over the grill, his fat package bouncing up and down, his huge muscles straining. He was feeling the heat.

“Simple,” the voice said. “A test of fitness knowledge. You like to workout right? This should be easy. We’ll start with a warmup.”

Cass’s hands trembled on the doorframe. “This is sick. What do you want?”

“Name an exercise that targets the pectoralis major,” the voice said, slow.

Cass swallowed so hard his throat clicked. He pressed his palm flat against the glass, watching Sean’s chest rise and fall. “Bench press,” he managed. The answer came out thin, hollow.

“Correct,” the voice purred. “See? That wasn’t so hard.” It said in a light tone that then turned menacing: “Now the real one.”

Cass slammed the phone harder to his ear. “I’m going to fucking kill you!” he hissed.

“Nice heat,” the voice said. “Now — name a compound pull movement that hits both the legs and the back.”

“SQUATS!” Cass spat without thinking. “SQUATS!”

A click, then silence. Cass could hear his own pulse. Then the voice returned, cold and patronizing. “No. Wrong. You lost.”

“What? No—listen to me, I know this. I’ve been lifting forever. It’s squats!”

“Tsk. Muscleboy,” the voice said. “You should know the difference between a pull and a push movement. The correct answer is DEADLIFT.”

Cass felt the blood drain from his face. He looked outside. Sean, the achingly hot football quarterback, was still helplessly straddling the grill of the barbeque, his tree trunk thighs splayed obscenely wide. The low-flame heat was already intense, the flames licking hungrily at the underside of the grill and his overstuffed jockstrap. Desperation and terror filled his brown eyes as he locked his gaze with Cass.

Suddenly, the inferno below erupted into a roaring blaze, the temperature skyrocketing. Sean's massive, tanned muscles rippled and flexed as he screamed through the sock stuffed in his mouth. The skin on his muscular thighs began to bubble and crack, a sickening sound that mingled with the crackling of the flames.

Without warning, his jockstrap erupted into flames, the fabric melting away in seconds. Sean's colossal cock sprang free, slapping against the red-hot grill with a sickening hiss. Smoke began to pour off his sizzling flesh, the stench of burnt skin and hair filling the air as his nuts and shaft cooked before his eyes.

A cloaked figure moved behind him, the shadowy silhouette chillingly menacing. Then, without warning, a glint of silver flashed. A massive knife plunged into Sean's back, erupting from his chest in a spray of blood and gore

The knife carved a vicious path down Sean's muscular torso, slicing through flesh and sinew with ease. His rock-hard abs split open like an overripe melon, exposing the glistening, pulsating organs within. Thick ribbons of steaming entrails spilled out onto the scorching grill, sizzling and popping obscenely as they cooked. Crimson blood gushed from the gaping wound, pouring over his shredded stomach and bubbling onto the inferno below. The knife continued its relentless descent, flaying open his groin and sending his massive, charred cock tumbling to the ground. It twitched and jerked, still half-erect even as it cooled, the head a blistered and blackened mess.

Sean's eyes rolled back in his skull as he choked on his own agony. Then, with a shudder, his body went limp, slumping forward.. The patio lights suddenly clicked off.

Cass stared in frozen horror, breath ragged, tears cutting clean lines through the sweat on his face. His muscles trembled.

“Hey,” the voice said, flat and merciless. “We’re not finished yet.”

Cass’s throat tightened. “What do you want?” he managed, his voice shaking.

“One. Last. Question.” The voice paused, drawing out the words like a knife scraping against metal. “What door am I at?”

“What—what the fuck are you talking about?” Cass snapped.

“It’s simple,” the voice said. “You’ve got two doors to that pretty little house. The patio doors… and the front. Where am I?”

Cass backed down the hallway, keeping his eyes locked on the patio. “Try me FUCKER!” he shouted.

“Your call,” the voice replied, and the line went dead.

Then, with a crash, the entire barbeque – and Sean’s gutted body – were thrown through the glass doors. Cass cried out in horror as Sean’s body got further mangled by the weight of the barbeque slamming onto it. The propane flames lighting the rug on fire, quickly spreading to the couch and furnishings.

Cass sprinted into the kitchen and ran to the butcher block, grabbing a knife. The blender was still on, spurting protein shake across the counter in a frenzy. He saw a figure in a black robe enter in through the patio doors and move through the growing flames. The figure stared at him – it was wearing a white mask that looked like the face of a ventriloquist puppet. 

“Oh shit–” Cass said. He turned and headed to the main doors, running outside. The figure followed after him.

Cass ran across the dew-kissed grass, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. He had to get to the road and flag down help. He was so close to the driveway. From there it would be an easy sprint to find help.

Just as he reached the edge of the lawn, his toes caught on the coiled garden hose. Cass tumbled forward, arms flailing, and crashed to the ground with a thud. "FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!" he roared, trying in vain to push himself back up. But his ankle screamed in agony, and he collapsed back down.

Suddenly, the dark figure loomed over him, the black cloak whipping in the night breeze like a demonic specter. Cass glimpsed the glint of a wickedly curved blade and felt its cold edge at his throat. Acting on pure instinct, he grabbed for the killer's wrist, his strong fingers digging into the fabric of their sleeve.

The knife sliced downwards, catching on his sweater, and began to tear the garment asunder. Cass heaved with all his remaining strength and sent the attacker sprawling. But the knife's blade ripped through the fabric, leaving his sweater in tatters and his shorts slipping down his muscular thighs.

Naked except for a flimsy white thong that could barely contain his massive, semi-erect cock, Cass stumbled onward. His heart pounding wildly as the pain in his ankle shot through him with each agonizing step. The cool night air kissed his sweat-slicked skin and the tattered remnants of his clothes. His massive cock, barely constrained by the thin thong, slapped heavily against his muscular thigh with each desperate hop. His huge pectorals and bubble butt jiggling in the light of the moon. Sweat and dew clung to his tanned muscles like baby oil, highlighting every hard sinew on the incredible form of the nineteen year old swim captain.

Suddenly, he felt the unmistakable pressure of his assailant pressing against his back, the hard bulge of their arousal grinding into the cleft of his thick ass. Cass's blood ran cold as a searing pain ripped through his torso. The knife plunged into his back, slicing through skin, muscle, and bone, before exiting in a spray of blood from his stomach.

"NOOO!" Cass screamed, staggering forward as his vision swam and darkened at the edges. He could feel his life force draining away, his once-strong body growing weak and cold. With the last of his fading strength, Cass lunged forward, determined to escape his tormentor and survive this nightmare. His bare feet slipped on the dew-soaked grass as he stumbled and fell to his knees, the world spinning around him. He landed on his back.

The cloaked figure straddled Cass's broken body, the dark fabric of their robe billowing in the chill night breeze. They gazed down at the once-mighty athlete with a mixture of disdain and twisted admiration, taking in the sight of his sculpted muscles glistening with sweat and blood under the moonlight. The killer's eyes lingered on the heaving rise and fall of Cass's massive chest, his huge pecs straining with each agonized breath.

With a final, contemptuous sneer, the specter raised the blood-soaked knife high. The curved blade caught the moonlight, casting an ephemeral glint across Cass's face before the dark shape plummeted downwards. The knife plunged into the firm, unyielding flesh of Cass's pecs with a sickening crunch, shattering bone and piercing deep into his muscular torso.

"AAAHHHHHH! NOOOO!" Cass screamed, his voice echoing through the night. The searing pain of the blade tearing through his flesh and cracking his ribs was unimaginable. He thrashed and bucked beneath his attacker, but his strength was fading fast.

The killer clawed the knife downwards, carving a brutal path through Cass's chiseled abdomen. His rock-hard six-pack and the defined V-lines of his lower abs offered no resistance as the blade sliced through them like a hot knife through butter. Gouts of blood sprayed from the jagged red line the killer sawed into Cass's torso. His once-muscular body convulsed and shuddered as the life drained out of him, his eyes rolling back in his head. With a final, rattling breath, Cass's struggles ceased, and he lay still, a broken husk of his former glorious self.

As dawn broke, casting a pale light over the scorched earth and crumbling ruins of the burnt-out house, Cass's uncle, arriving by car, stumbled upon a horrifying sight. There, hanging obscenely from a gnarled tree, was Cass's naked, mutilated body. His head lolled forward, chin to chest, empty eyes staring sightlessly at the blood-soaked ground below. Two words dripping with his nephew's blood were slashed in crimson across his glutes: "HE LOST"