CUT: Part 7

Hollowface crouched low in the shadowed corner of the master bedroom, black cloak pooling around him like spilled ink. He was perfectly still behind a high-backed leather armchair, the Sunny-mask tilted in silent fascination, silver knife resting lightly against his thigh. The blade caught stray glints from the bedside lamps, but neither man noticed—too lost in each other, too loud in their lust.

Dean Himbro’s massive 6'4 frame loomed like a hairy, mature beast—thick slabs of muscle layered with years of powerlifting bulk, dense fur matting his heavy pecs, gut, and tree-trunk thighs. His beer-can-thick 11-incher throbbed upright, angry-red and slick, jutting from that wiry nest of pubes as he hauled Mason up from his knees with one effortless yank.

The eighteen-year-old bodybuilding prodigy rose like a golden god—6'2, 250 pounds of shredded teenage perfection, every muscle pumped and veined from the gym, skin bronzed and gleaming with fresh sweat. Mason’s bleached-blond hair fell in damp waves across his forehead, blue eyes hooded with raw need as the Dean spun him around roughly, broad hands clamping onto those flawless, striated glutes.

“Fuck, look at this ass,” the Dean growled, voice gravel and hunger. His huge paws kneaded the firm golden cheeks, spreading them wide, thumbs digging into the deep cleft. Mason groaned low, pushing back instinctively, his own 13-inch cock swinging heavy and untouched between his quads, leaking a steady string of precum onto the rug.

The Dean stepped in closer, pressing his hairy chest to Mason’s smooth back, that thick, hairy 11-inch shaft sliding hot and heavy into the boy’s crack. He rutted slowly at first, dragging the veined length up and down the cleft, the fat head nudging against Mason’s tight hole, smearing precum in its wake. Mason’s breath hitched, golden thighs flexing as he braced his hands on the bed.

Dean spat into his palm—loud, wet—and slicked the swollen head of his cock in one rough stroke. Without warning, he lined up and pushed.

“Go slow, Dean—please,” Mason gasped, voice trembling with anticipation, baby-face flushed.

The Dean’s only answer was a dark chuckle. He gripped Mason’s hips with bruising force and drove forward—one merciless thrust, burying every inch to the hilt in a single brutal stroke. Mason’s yell tore through the room—sharp, raw, a mix of searing pain and overwhelming pleasure—his golden body arching, glutes clenching hard around the invasion as his eyes rolled back. 

“Take it, you muscle whore,” the Dean snarled, pulling back only to slam in again, deeper, harder. He bent the younger stud over the edge of the bed, Mason’s ripped torso folding forward, pecs pressing into the sheets as his arms braced wide. The Dean’s hairy mid-section rapped against Mason’s lower back with every punishing thrust, the sound of flesh on flesh echoing wet and rhythmic.

Mason’s moans turned desperate, needy. “Ruin my ass, Dean—fuckin’ destroy it,” he begged, voice hoarse, pushing back to meet every savage drive. “Breed me deep—fill me up with that big daddy load.”

The Dean obliged, pounding relentlessly, his thick muscles flexing and bulging with each thrust—biceps peaking as he gripped Mason’s waist, lats flaring wide, sweat rolling down the deep furrows of his back. Mason’s golden body shuddered under the onslaught, quads and glutes rippling with every impact, his own massive cock slapping untouched against his abs, dripping steadily.

“Fuck yes— gonna… destroy your ass,” the Dean snarled, voice thick with dominance. One meaty hand splayed across Mason’s broad back, pinning the younger stud down, while the other gripped a fistful of bleached-blond hair and yanked his head back, arching that perfect golden torso. Mason’s baby-face twisted in ecstasy—mouth open in a constant stream of guttural moans, blue eyes glassy, drool shining on his plump lips.

“Harder, Dean—fuckin’ wreck me,” Mason begged, voice hoarse and desperate, pushing his ass back to meet every punishing stroke. “Ruin this hole—breed me like the slut I am.”

The Dean obliged with a feral growl, pounding deeper, faster, his hairy pecs heaving, sweat rolling down the deep furrows of his thick torso. Veins bulged across his biceps as he manhandled the teenage muscle god beneath him, owning every inch of that flawless golden body.

Unnoticed in the frenzy, Hollowface rose silently from his crouch behind the armchair. The black cloak whispered against the rug as he glided forward, knife held low and ready, the painted Sunny-grin tilted in rapt fascination. He moved like smoke, positioning himself mere feet behind the rutting pair—close enough to smell the musk of sweat and sex, close enough to see the Dean’s thick shaft glistening as it pistoned in and out of Mason’s stretched hole, close enough to watch Mason’s golden glutes bounce and quiver with every brutal thrust.

The killer stood transfixed, head cocked in eerie curiosity, observing every detail: the way Mason’s shredded back flared and flexed, the way the Dean’s hairy balls slapped forward rhythmically, the way both men’s virile bodies gleamed with sweat under the amber light. The knife gleamed in his gloved hand, but he made no move yet—just watched, drinking in the raw, animal display with silent, gleeful intensity, the eternal grin stretched wide as if savoring the perfect moment to strike.

The Dean's pounding reached a feverish pitch, his thick, hairy frame glistening with sweat as he hammered into Mason's golden ass with unrelenting force. Each thrust sent ripples through the teenage bodybuilder's shredded muscles—his glutes clenching like steel cables, quads bulging as he braced against the bed, his own massive 13-inch cock throbbing untouched and leaking profusely onto the sheets. Mason's moans escalated into guttural cries, his baby-face contorted in bliss and strain, plump lips parted as he begged for more. "Yes, Dean—fuck me harder, own this jock hole!" 

“Fuck—take it, boy,” the Dean snarled, voice gravel-rough and animal. His meaty paws dug harder into Mason’s hips, fingers sinking deep into golden flesh, pulling the teenage stud back to meet every savage drive. 

Mason’s entire golden body trembled on the edge, every muscle pumped and straining—lats flaring, pecs bouncing against the mattress, abs contracting into razor-sharp ridges. “Dean—fuck—I’m gonna—” he choked out, voice breaking into a desperate whine. His untouched cock bobbed wildly beneath him, the fat head flushed dark and slick, a thick rope of precum dangling and swaying with every impact.

The Dean’s rhythm faltered for a split second, his own climax roaring up from his balls. “That’s it, you musclefag —milk my load,” he growled, slamming in one final time, burying himself to the hilt. His massive frame locked up, hairy pecs heaving, as his cock erupted deep inside Mason—thick, hot ropes of cum flooding the teenage ass in powerful jets, painting his insides white. The Dean’s roar filled the room, primal and triumphant, hips grinding forward to force every drop deeper.

The sensation of being bred—of that beer-can-thick shaft pulsing and unloading inside him—pushed Mason over the brink. His golden body seized, back arching sharply as his own 13-inch monster cock jerked untouched. With a shattered cry, he came hands-free—spurting thick, heavy ropes of teen cum across the sheets in long, forceful arcs. His glutes clamped rhythmically around the Dean’s buried cock, milking him through the orgasm, while his quads shook and his abs clenched hard enough to etch deeper shadows across his golden skin. Jet after jet shot from his throbbing head, splattering the bed beneath him, his balls drawing up tight as he emptied everything he had.

Hollowface, still unobserved in the shadows, chose that moment to strike. With ghostly silence, the cloaked figure glided forward, knife raised like a conductor's baton. In one fluid, savage motion, he dropped low behind the Dean and slashed—first the left Achilles tendon, then the right. The blade bit deep, severing sinew with a wet, tearing sound, blood spraying in dark arcs across the rug.

The Dean's roar shattered the air—not pleasure, but agony. His massive 6'4 frame buckled instantly, legs giving out like felled trees. He collapsed backward onto the hardwood floor with a thunderous crash, his beer-can-thick cock popping free from Mason's stretched hole in a slick, obscene withdrawal. Cum and lube dripped from the shaft as it slapped against his hairy thigh, still half-hard and twitching. The Dean's face twisted in shock and pain, burly arms flailing as he tried to push himself up, but his feet refused to respond—useless, blood pooling beneath his severed heels. "What the—FUCK!" he bellowed, green eyes wide with confusion turning to terror as he spotted the masked intruder.

Mason, still bent over the bed, whipped around at the commotion—his golden, sweat-slicked body tensing, massive pecs heaving, 13-inch cock bobbing wildly. "Dean? What—" His blue eyes locked on Hollowface, the Sunny-mask's perpetual grin leering back at him. Panic flashed across his baby-faced features, but before he could straighten fully, Hollowface lunged.

The killer's gloved hand clamped around Mason's thick bull neck like a vise, slamming the teenage musclehunk face-first back onto the bed. Mason's ripped arms thrashed, trying to push up—biceps peaking, lats flaring in a desperate flex—but Hollowface was unnaturally strong, pinning him down with one knee pressed into the small of his golden back. The knife hovered teasingly over Mason's flawless skin, the serrated edge glinting under the amber lights.

"Get off him, you psycho fuck!" the Dean snarled from the floor, dragging himself on his elbows, blood smearing the wood in crimson trails. His hairy chest rose and fell in ragged gasps, the heavy slabs of his pecs slick with sweat, but his ruined legs trailed limp and useless behind him.

Hollowface's masked head tilted toward the Dean, the painted grin widening in mock amusement. "Oh, Dean Himbro—look at you down there, all helpless and bleeding out. Big, bad muscle daddy reduced to a worm on the floor." The voice was Sunny's taunting glee. "Bet this isn't how you pictured your night ending. Watching your favorite golden boy get carved up like a Thanksgiving turkey?"

Mason bucked beneath him, golden thighs flexing powerfully as he tried to twist free. "Let me go—fuck, get off!" His voice cracked, a mix of rage and fear, his striated glutes clenching as he struggled.

Hollowface kept his knee on Mason’s back, the teenage bodybuilder’s golden frame sprawling beneath him. Mason tried to push up—biceps peaking one last time in a desperate flex, lats flaring wide as he fought for leverage—but the killer was already astride his lower back, knees pinning those powerful hips to the mattress.

“Look at this perfect back,” Hollowface crooned, voice syrupy and mocking as he traced the knife’s tip down the deep valley of Mason’s spine. “All those hours posing in the mirror, oiling up these wings… and now it’s just a canvas for me.”

Mason snarled through gritted teeth, trying to twist free. “Get the fuck off—”

The first strike came without warning. Hollowface raised the hunting knife high and slammed it downward, driving the full length of the blade straight through Mason’s right shoulder—through deltoid, through muscle, grinding against bone with a sickening crunch. Mason’s scream ripped through the room, raw and animal, his massive arm jerking violently before going slack, fingers twitching uselessly against the sheets.

“AUGHHH! FUCKKK!!! NOO!!!” Mason’s voice cracked, baby-face pressed into the mattress, tears mixing with sweat and blood.

The Dean, still dragging himself across the floor in a trail of crimson, roared in helpless fury. “I’ll kill you—get off my boy!”

Hollowface only laughed, yanking the knife free in a wet spray of red. “Your boy? Cute. Let’s make it a matching set.”

He shifted his weight and plunged the blade into Mason’s left shoulder with equal force—another brutal downward thrust that pinned the muscle like a butterfly to cork. The serrated edge tore through traps and rotator cuff, lodging deep. Mason’s second scream was weaker, choked with shock and agony, his golden torso convulsing once before collapsing fully. Both arms fell limp at his sides, fingers splayed and unmoving, the once-mighty teenage muscle god now utterly helpless—unable to push, unable to fight, reduced to trembling and sobbing into the ruined bedding.

“FUCK!!! MY FUCKING ARMS! ARRGGHH!! PLEASE! STOP!!!” Mason pleaded.

Hollowface twisted the knife slowly, savoring the wet grind against bone, then wrenched it free. Blood poured from the gaping wounds, soaking the sheets in dark, spreading pools.

“There we go,” the killer purred, leaning close to Mason’s ear, the Sunny-mask’s painted grin inches away. “No more flexing for you, Ace. No more double biceps, no more most-muscular. Just a pretty, broken muscle-doll for me to play with.”

He dragged the blade lightly across Mason’s blood-slick lats, carving shallow, deliberate lines that followed the striations—slow, artistic slashes that opened golden skin to reveal raw red beneath. Mason whimpered, body shuddering with each cut, his paralyzed arms twitching uselessly, fingers curling and uncurling in futile spasms.

From the floor, the Dean’s voice broke, thick with rage and despair. “Mason… kid, hold on…please!”

Hollowface glanced down at him, head tilting in theatrical sympathy. “Aww, listen to Daddy Bear. So tough, so virile—crawling in his own blood while his favorite golden fucktoy gets filleted. Bet you loved watching him pose, loved burying that fat cock in this perfect ass. Too bad you’ll never get to again.”

Hollowface’s gloved hand gripped Mason’s hip with iron strength, forcing the helpless teenage bodybuilder to stay face-down and ass-up despite his ruined shoulders. Mason’s golden glutes trembled, blood already streaking down the backs of his massive thighs from the earlier cuts, his paralyzed arms splayed uselessly at his sides.

“Look at this perfect teen ass,” Hollowface purred, voice dripping with theatrical awe as he spread those firm, striated cheeks wide with one hand. The tight pink hole clenched instinctively, still slick and gaping slightly from the Dean’s earlier pounding, cum still spurting out from the big muscledaddy’s potent load. “So pretty, so used… the Dean really opened you up, didn’t he, Ace? Bet you loved every inch of that daddy cock stretching you out. Ever pint of sperm pounded into your hole”

From the floor, the Dean’s blood-smeared face contorted in helpless rage. “Don’t you fucking touch him there—STOP!” His voice cracked, burly arms straining as he dragged his crippled body another futile inch closer. “PLEASE STOP!”

Hollowface only chuckled, low and gleeful. “Oh, I’m touching, big man. Watch close—this is for you.”

Without another word, he positioned the long, bloody hunting knife at Mason’s exposed entrance—the serrated edge kissing the tender ring of muscle. Mason’s entire body tensed, a choked whimper escaping his lips as he realized what was coming.

“Please—no—” the young stud sobbed, voice muffled into the mattress, golden thighs quivering.

In one savage thrust, Hollowface slammed the blade forward—burying half the steel length deep into Mason’s tight hole. The serrated edge tore mercilessly through sensitive flesh, blood spraying in a hot gush as the knife twisted inside him. Mason’s scream was inhuman—a high, shattering wail that echoed off the walls, his golden body convulsing violently, back arching off the bed as far as his pinned hips would allow. His paralyzed arms twitched uselessly, fingers clawing at the sheets, legs kicking weakly as fresh crimson poured down his inner thighs and pooled beneath him.

“AAAAAUUUGHH!! NOOO!! NOT MY PERFECT FUCKING ASS!! NOOO!!!” Mason screamed.

Hollowface held the knife buried for a long, deliberate moment—savoring the way Mason’s ruined body spasmed around the intrusion—before yanking it free with a wet, sucking pop. More blood followed, thick and dark, dripping from the mangled entrance.

“Beautiful,” the killer whispered, almost reverent. “All that tight jock muscle… ruined from the inside out.”

He flipped Mason onto his back with casual brutality, the teenage muscle god’s golden torso now fully exposed—blood-streaked pecs heaving, abs clenching in agony, his once-proud 13-inch cock now half hard and thickly slapping his thigh.

Hollowface straddled Mason’s waist again, pinning him effortlessly. The knife hovered over the boy’s chest, tracing lazy circles around one thick, golden pec.

“Now for the front, pretty boy,” Hollowface cooed. “Let’s make sure the Dean gets a good look at his favorite toy.”

The first cut was slow—across the upper swell of Mason’s right pec, deep enough to part muscle, blood welling instantly and running in rivulets down the golden slab. Mason’s scream came weaker now, hoarse and broken, blue eyes rolling back as his head thrashed side to side.

“STOP! PLEASE! NOOOO!” Mason wailed.

Another slice—mirroring the first on the left pec, carving a bloody X across his chest. Then lower: deliberate lines down the ridges of his famous eight-pack, opening each ab like petals, crimson blooming over the once-perfect grid.

“AAUUUGHH!!! DEAN!!! HELP ME PLEASE! NOOO!!” the staggeringly hot musclejock yelled out.

Hollowface worked methodically, almost artistically—shallow slashes along the V-lines leading to Mason’s groin, deeper stabs into the meat of his quads that made the golden thighs jump and quiver. Every cut drew fresh whimpers from the broken stud, his baby-face pale and tear-streaked, plump lips trembling as blood painted his flawless body in brutal abstract.

“WHYYY? PLEASE!! NOOO!! AAAGGGHHH!!”

The Dean sobbed openly now, his massive frame shaking with helpless fury and grief. “Mason… kid, I’m sorry… fight, please…”

But Mason couldn’t fight. He could only bleed, his golden perfection systematically destroyed under the killer’s blade while Hollowface hummed cheerfully, the eternal Sunny-grin leering down in eternal, painted delight.

Hollowface hovered over Mason's bloodied, golden torso, the knife tracing idle patterns through the crimson rivulets on the teenage bodybuilder's shredded eight-pack. Mason's breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps—his baby-blue eyes glassy and unfocused, plump lips trembling as shock and blood loss dragged him toward the edge. His once-perfect golden skin was a ruined map of slashes: deep gashes across his pecs, crisscrossing his abs, carving into the V-lines of his hips. His 13-inch cock lay limp and blood-streaked against his thigh, the golden quads beneath twitching weakly.

The killer's masked head cocked toward the Dean, who had dragged himself to the foot of the bed, his hairy, muscular frame slick with his own blood, burly arms shaking from the effort. "Look at your golden boy now, Dean," Hollowface taunted. "All that teen muscle, all that swagger—reduced to a whimpering slab of meat. Bet you loved breaking him in, huh? Turning this hot jock stud into your personal whore. But me? I'm gonna give him a makeover he'll never forget."

Mason whimpered faintly, trying to turn his head away, but Hollowface clamped a gloved hand around his jaw, forcing those pretty features still. "Shh, Ace. Time for your close-up."

“MMMPH!!! MMMFFF!” Mason pleaded weakly through his lips.

With deliberate slowness, Hollowface pressed the knife's serrated edge against Mason's forehead, just above the brow line. The blade bit in, drawing a thin red line as he carved horizontally—left to right, deep enough to part skin from skull. Mason's eyes widened in fresh terror, a strangled scream bubbling from his throat as blood cascaded down his face like a curtain. Hollowface worked methodically, the knife sawing through flesh with wet, tearing sounds, extending the cut down the sides of Mason's cheeks, outlining his entire face in a gruesome frame.

“OH GOD! NOT MY FACE!! PLEASE!!” Mason begged.

The Dean's roar was broken, desperate. "No—God, no! Mason, kid—fight it! You motherfucker, I'll rip you apart!"

Hollowface laughed, a gleeful, unhinged cackle. "Rip me apart? With what, big daddy? Those useless legs? Nah, you're gonna watch every second. See this pretty baby-face peel away like a mask. Your Golden Ace—your perfect teen fucktoy—ending up faceless and forgotten. How's it feel, knowing you can't save him? All that virile muscle of yours, wasted on the floor while I play surgeon."

“NO! OH GOD NO PLEASE! AAAAUUGGGH!!!” Mason screamed.

Mason's body convulsed, muffled pleas escaping as blood filled his mouth. Hollowface hooked his fingers under the fresh cut at the forehead, gripping the loose flap of skin. With a savage yank, he ripped downward—tearing the flesh free in one long, agonizing pull. The sound was horrific: wet, ripping velcro mixed with Mason's final, gurgling scream. Skin peeled away from muscle and bone, exposing raw red tissue, eyes bulging in their sockets, the golden boy's features reduced to a skull-like horror. Blood poured in sheets, Mason's body arching one last time before going slack—eyes vacant, chest stilling as life ebbed away in a final shudder.

Hollowface held up the dripping mask of skin like a trophy, the bleached-blond hair still attached at the scalp, dangling it in front of the Dean's horrified face. "Ta-da! What do you think, Dean? Still recognize your boy? Or is he just another one of your faceless sluts now?"

The Dean's sobs turned to guttural howls, his hairy pecs heaving as he clawed at the rug, inches from the bed. "You bastard... I'll kill you... I'll fucking kill you..."

Hollowface tossed the skin aside with a casual flick—it slapped wetly against the wall—then grabbed Mason's lifeless body by the ankle. With unnatural strength, he hauled the golden corpse off the bed, flinging it to the floor like discarded trash. It landed with a heavy thud beside the Dean, blood-smeared limbs splayed, the faceless head lolling toward the older man in a final, mocking accusation.

"Now, for you, big man," Hollowface said, stepping over Mason's body. The killer loomed above the Dean, knife raised high. In a swift downward arc, he plunged the blade deep into the Dean's corrugated abs—straight through the hairy, ridged slabs of muscle, twisting as it sank to the hilt. Blood erupted around the steel, the Dean's roar turning to a choked gasp as his body jerked, hands clutching futilely at the wound.

Hollowface crouched low, the Sunny-mask’s painted grin hovering inches above the Dean’s paling face. “You’re tougher than you look, big man,” the killer crooned, voice light and teasing. “Most guys would’ve checked out already. But you… you wanna stick around for the finale, don’t you?”

The Dean’s eyes burned with fading defiance. “Go… to… HELL…”

Hollowface chuckled, yanking the knife free in a fresh gush of blood. Without pause, he drove it downward again—this time into the heavy slab of the Dean’s right pec, twisting viciously through dense muscle and fur. The older man’s roar turned into a choked gurgle, body arching off the floor in agony.

“That’s for all the nights you put on your little shows,” Hollowface whispered, ripping the blade out and plunging it immediately into the left pec, mirroring the wound. Blood sprayed across the killer’s black cloak. “Flexing in front of those windows like a horny musclebear. Thinking every boy on campus wanted a piece of Daddy.”

Another stab—lower, sinking deep into the thick shaft of his huge cock, almost splitting it in half. 

The Dean’s body jerked violently, a wet cough spraying red across his beard. His burly arms fell slack, strength finally bleeding out.

“And this,” Hollowface said, voice dropping to a satisfied growl, “is for what you do to the ones who come over.” 

He wrenched the knife free one last time and stood. Reaching down, he scooped up the dripping sheet of Mason’s face—skin still warm, bleached-blond hair matted with blood—and dangled it like a grotesque mask.

The Dean’s eyes, dimming fast, widened in final horror.

Hollowface knelt again, pressing the skin directly onto the Dean’s face—cheek to cheek, forehead to forehead, lips to lips. Blood smeared between them as the killer held it there, forcing the Dean to feel every wet, torn inch of his dead golden boy.

“Say goodnight, Dean Himbro,” Hollowface whispered. "Your Ace is waiting for you in hell!"

The Dean’s chest hitched once… twice… then stilled. His eyes glazed over, fixed on nothing.

Hollowface lingered a moment longer, admiring his work—two broken muscle gods sprawled in a lake of red, the room thick with the copper reek of death. Then he rose silently, wiping the knife on the Dean’s discarded towel before tucking it beneath the cloak.

Without a backward glance, the black-cloaked figure glided to the bedroom door, slipping out into the darkened hallway.