John's Power


By Sedan Elgar

Best accompanied John on a round of the bars that Saturday. John had been in a strange state of mind all that week: cranky, demanding, capricious. He would begin fucking someone in the laundry room only to drop them in mid-coitus to leap upon someone else. He roamed the streets in a variety of costumes--leather man, beach boy, denim boy, disco faggot--looking for random tricks. He fucked people he normally would have ignored. Best was with him on one such excursion when he encountered a group of teenage ballet dancers gossiping outside a local arts school and fucked all of them behind a dumpster in the alley. He invited them all to a party at the residence and they had all attended. Some of them tried to stay, but John knew better to fall afoul of their parents, more annoying Little People.

His decision to go cruising that night was announced in the middle of a prolonged session with Kevin and Carson. He dropped the two of them on the floor and strode into the bathroom to get cleaned up. Two fuck zombies climbed into the tub with him and scrubbed every square inch of his body. Two more selected his attire and dressed him.

John went from club to club with Best in tow, searching the crowds for... what? Best could not guess and he knew better than to pump John for information. Withholding data was one of the ways John controlled.

The ended up at the Iceberg around 1:00 am. It was an appropriately named place, a veritable microwave oven of chrome and dark iron packed to overflowing with some of the most beautiful--and most arrogant--pretty-boys Best had ever encountered. Coming to LA had been a culture shock for Best. He was used to being the most desired boy in the room, but here he was nothing special, perhaps even second rate. The number of his sexual liaisons was undiminished, but there seemed to be another stratum of sexual expression above his, a place accessible only to men of such beauty that it addled the mind. This was what John had come there for.

John commanded Best to acquire refreshments, which Best dutifully did. As he paid, he wondered how long it had been since John had handled money or even a credit card. He came back to where he had left him and found him staring intently across the dance floor like a knight of the Round Table having a vision of the Grail. Best sat and watched him watch something else for a minute and then spoke:


"Look at him, Best."

Best tried to follow his line of site across the immense, crowded room. "Who?"

"By the speaker. Red track shorts, no shirt, towel over his shoulder."

Best spotted him at once. Whatever else you could say about John, his taste in men was unsurpassed. The person in question was blinding in his radiance: bronzed, dark-haired, slim-hipped, with round, perfectly proportioned muscles of unusual size. His face was a work of art. Best could see even at such a distance that his ass was exceptional, almost as good as John's. He was the kind of person you looked at and then had to look at again to assure yourself he was real and not an audioanimatron. He can't be an actual person, people would think when they saw this man. With the endless ebb and flow of gorgeous bodies in the residence, Best had become rather jaded about beauty. Beautiful men seemed to be a dime a dozen. But this guy was something special, a once-in-a-lifetime fuck. Clearly, they were not the only people who had noticed him as he was surrounded by the best-looking men in the bar.

John walked though the crowd like it was a field of grass. People leaped to get out of his way. Those who didn't got hit hard. Several of them fell to the ground cursing. John walked on, oblivious. They were ordinary people and not worthy of his notice. Best followed in the wide swath he cut. He stepped through the crowd of admirers around his target and stood face-to-face with him, and chest-to-chest.

"My God," the boy said in a faggoty, accented voice. "You're John Avery."

"And you're beautiful." John took him into his arms and kissed him with romantic ardor.

Best watched the courtship--courtship with John tended to be rather abbreviated--take place over the next hour. John took the boy into the bar where they chatted and laughed, an unheard-of activity for John, and danced with him, pressing their bodies together and staring intently into his eyes. Neither one of them ever stopped smiling.

Best mused that Mr. Perfect, whose name later turned out to be Dieter, had no idea what he was getting himself into. He was stunning and obviously used to the best of the best. He no doubt considered John's attentions nothing more than his due as a member of the aristocracy. He had no idea what was coming. On the other hand, Best didn't have any idea what was coming either. He found John's schoolboy behavior mystifying. He assumed it was the beginning of some new sexual scenario.

Andrew appeared and seated himself next to Best's vantage point. "What is John doing? The whole bar is talking about it."

"If I'm not mistaken, he is romancing that young man."


The two of them swayed erotically on the dance floor, unaware of the crowds around them, or of the time, or of who they even were. They appeared to be in love.

Well, I'll be, Best said to himself. Maybe there's hope for him after all.

He would soon learn how wrong he was.


The next morning, Best sat on the beach and had his coffee. Callen was absent, downtown committing some felony or other in the service of John's pleasure. The hugely expensive brew, imported from Ethiopia right to John's door, was bitter and bracing. He stared out over the waves and wondered what he would do now. He had begun to think his continued presence here would be unbearable after the deaths of Lamont and Kenny--and John's obscene response to both--but last night seemed to indicate a sea-change overtaking John, a new compassion that had been missing. It might be that this metamorphosis of his, however it had been managed, was an ongoing thing. Perhaps his new form was still evolving, revealing up to now only the baby John, the spoiled brat, the arrogant teenager. He would bide his time and watch.

He saw John striding naked across the beach from the house. He considered ducking out, but there was nowhere for him to go on this broad stretch of sand without being obvious about what he was doing. John came up beside him and sat on a boulder. His presence was like a storm front, a physical pressure that preceded his actual shape. He radiated an aura of sexual energy that affected anyone near him. Best's cock immediately became hard. Neither of them spoke. John obviously had something on his mind.

"The sea is eternal," John said.

"Last time I checked."

"Am I eternal, I wonder?"

"What now?"

"Am I eternal? How long will I live, Best?"

"How long does anybody live?"

"Oh, bad answer. I'm not just anybody. This new body of mine, it doesn't wear out. It doesn't need to be exercised, it doesn't get fat, it rarely gets tired. Is it an immortal thing, do you think?"

"I couldn't say. Where did you get this body?" Best was sly. John had never before referred to his body as "new." Best seized the opportunity.

John was thoughtful. He stared out at the ocean. The wind ruffled his dark hair.

My God, he's beautiful, Best thought, his heart melting. No wonder everyone forgives him everything.

"I've never told anyone about it," John finally said.

"About what?"


"John, remember I told you once that you'd eventually need someone to talk to? Well, it looks to me like the time has come. Wouldn't you like to finally share this with someone?"

John looked pensively out to sea. "You may be right... "

He told Best the story from the beginning. His previous meetings with Mr. Bel, the day of his transformation, all of it. He told of his increasing awareness of his power, the limitless strength of it, the collapse of his inhibitions. As he spoke, a veil seemed to be lifted from Best's mind. Suddenly he was able to remember their previous relationship, remember the cramped, sour, irritable John Avery who nobody wanted because nobody could. He at last regained full access to his memory.

"And this Mr. Bel," Best asked when John was finished, "who is he? Or maybe the better question is what is he?"

"I've never thought about it."

Best sighed with frustration. "You never thought about it? A genie grants your fondest wish, turns you into a gorgeous sexual dynamo bursting with muscle and you don't think about it?"

"Oh, I'm pretty sure he isn't a genie."

"What then? A devil? A fairy? A witch? A Norse god? What the fuck is he?"

"He's a friendly man in an expensive suit who smokes all the time." Struck by the thought, he extracted a pack of cigarettes from a crevice between the rocks and lit one up. Smoking was one of his favorite mannerisms. He thought it made him look tough and sexy. Of course, cancer and emphysema were impossibilities. It didn't even make his breath smell bad.

"What's his agenda?"

John looked perplexed. "Agenda."

"Yeah, what does he want?"

"What makes you think he wants anything?"

"You think he gave you this much power because he liked you? Nobody else in the world liked you, John, why would he?"

The slight passed right by him. "I've never thought about it. He says that 'they' are very satisfied with my progress, whoever 'they' are."

"So, you think that your activities generate some kind of... energy they can make use of?"

"Who knows? Who cares? I'm the hottest man on the planet, and I may be forever. Why question it?"

Because you might be a tool of evil, Best thought. But John wouldn't think of such a thing, of course. His pleasures were all that was important. Underneath the muscle and the power he really was just another dreary, hedonistic queen. Stick a pacifier in his mouth and he's happy.

"I should think you'd want to ask him. Do you have a way of getting in touch with him?" Best was coy.

"I've never needed to. He comes to see me once in a while. He does have a phone number. It was on a card he gave me a long time ago."

"He has a card? Like a business card?"

"Yeah. 777."

"777 what?"

"That's his phone number."

"777 is a phone number?"

"That's what the card said. I suppose. It doesn't matter, any of that stuff, Best. I've got other things to think about."

"Such as?"


"Love... "

He smiled beatifically. "Dieter and I. We're in love."

"Oh. In love. Quick."

"Well... " John laughed, gesturing towards his own body. He had not lost his ego.

"Everything changes around here, Best. Starting now. From now on I'm not the sex god, I'm the love god. Everything that happens around here will be about love. My videos will be about love. And I want the zombies to love each other, too. We're going to pair them up and have commitment ceremonies for them."

Just like Barbie and Ken, Best thought blackly. "Where is the new squeeze?"

"Asleep, of course. I've been fucking him for hours. My God, what an ass. It's even nicer than yours, Best." He cupped one meaty hand around Best's luscious posterior. Best shook him off.

"I thought we decided we weren't going to do that." He was terrified of losing his objectivity, especially now that he was within reach of his prize.

"Well, maybe I'm thinking something else now. You've been very loyal, Best. And you've done it willingly. You haven't been under my domination. Maybe it's time to reward you."

Best improvised desperately. "John, I told you some time ago that one day you'd need me to talk to. And here we are. Do you really want to turn me into a fuck zombie?"

John said nothing. He stared thoughtfully at Best as if pondering a decision. Then, without a word, he turned and walked back to the house.


Breakfast, served at noon, was a nauseating display of loveydoveyness. Dieter sat on John's lap and picked with birdlike delicacy at his meal. John, as always, ate voraciously. Everything John did was adorable to Dieter. John was cute. He fed John strawberries, a clichˇ that made Best gag.

The main staff--Arnold, Kevin, Carson, Tyrone, Callen, Andrew and Best--were forced to watch. Nobody ate much.

"Oh, Johnny, I just loff you so much," Dieter squealed in his too-adorable German accent.

"I love you too, munchkin," John cooed.

Of course, this quickly became sexual. Dieter slipped off his Speedos and began to rub his anus against John's already-erect dick. "Oh, baby, you mek me so hut. Do me hard."

"Pleasure me with your man-stick," Andrew whispered to Best disgustedly.

"Make me come ropes of glistening sex-sap," Best replied. They amused themselves a while inventing porno story dialog. They had cause to be sarcastic: John's zombies were the best-trained, most-fucked bottom men on the planet. Dieter was an amateur.

Meanwhile, John and his new paramour progressed to full copulation. Dieter hunkered down on John's cock and stretched back onto the dining table. John fucked him with unusual gentleness, but to the same ultimate effect.

"Should we leave?" Best said flatly.

"No! You're to stay. I want you all so see, to witness our love. I want to be a role model for the rest of you." He was caught up at that moment in a gigantic orgasm and threw his head back.

Everyone sighed and sat. John's sexual energy was focused intensely on Dieter, so no one else in the room felt a thing. It was like watching sausages get made.

"Mek me your love-slave!" Dieter cried out.

"Do you think it's his English," Best asked Andrew, "or is he really that unoriginal?"

"I vote for unoriginal. But look at that ass."

They went on for some time, Dieter squealing like a little girl (or a pig) and John burbling to him in ooey-gooey love talk.

At what looked like an appropriate moment to escape, Best said, "I have to make a call." He fled like an American tourist in Iraq.


Mr. Bel answered the phone before it rang.

"This is Bel."

"Mr. Bel. We need to talk."

"To whom am I speaking?"

"My name is Besterton Keynes."

"Do I know you, Mr. Keynes?"

"No. But you should."

"Ah. And how did you get this number?"

"I'm an enterprising little shit, that's how. Also very patient, but I'll tell you about that when I see you."

"I have not agreed to see you, Mr. Keynes."

"I'm a member of John's household. And I have a proposition for you."

"Will Mr. Avery be attending this proposed meeting?"

"Definitely not."

"I see. You intrigue me, young man."

"Than you'll meet with me?"


"Just say when and where."

"When and where will be of my own choosing in my own time."

"How will I know when to expect you?"

"Don't expect me, Mr. Keynes."

And he hung up.


The next few days were, as Best put it, like a really bad episode of Love American Style. John and Dieter cooed and purred all over the residence. The zombies, who usually accepted any behavior from John without judgment, were appalled. The loving twosome gushed with baby talk and rubbed their cocks on each other's stomachs like naughty schoolchildren. John allowed the zombies to stay in the condo but made it clear that their services would now be entirely domestic in nature.

The zombies, who knew him well, watched and waited.

Best hovered around the place, usually in the proximity of a telephone, or so it seemed to the others. Then, one afternoon, he disappeared for a while.

John and Dieter had spent the day in his bedroom dancing romantically to old Barry White albums and consuming large quantities of champagne and chocolate. Dieter was besotted with John, or rather with his cock, which spent more time inserted in his entrails than out of them. No one on the staff had been able to learn anything about Dieter: where he was from, why he was in America, if he had a job (if he did, he'd lost it by now). John had not let go of him for one second.

Best returned from his errand and stood watching them at the door to John's bedroom. John insisted that everything he and Dieter did be in full view of the fuck zombies, for whom he kept saying they were to be a "role model." But the zombies already had their role model, and they wanted him back.

That evening, Best sat at his desk in the library doing the accounts. Dieter sashayed in wearing nothing. Best noted that the front of him was every bit as well-endowed as the back. Dieter looked around aimlessly.

"Seventh inning stretch?" Best said without interest, though he welcomed this opportunity to talk to their new roommate.

"John is in a meeting." His Teutonic lisp was adorable. Sort of a post-pubescent Marlene Dietrich.

"A meeting? Who would John be having a meeting with at this hour?" Best hoped John had decided to fuck a few other people and end this reign of schmaltz.

"Some old man."

Best's head came up from his work. "What old man?"

"I don't know."

"Mr. Bel."

"I don't know. Why do you ask me when I say I don't know?"

Best pondered the situation.

"I guess you boys won't be around much longer, yes?"

"Oh? Is that so?" It occurred to Best that Dieter had not looked at him once since entering the room.

"I have told John I want to be alone with him. I don't want him to have all these... distractions. Besides, from what he tells me, he's had all of you five hundred times."

"And you only a hundred. You think he'll send us away on your say-so, do you?"

"Why not? He's got the best. Who needs the rest?"

This was the closest thing to wit Best had heard from him. "You're mistaken, Dieter. John doesn't want the best. John wants it all. That's what you are: part of the all. That's what we all are. No one person can ever be more than a component in his plans for himself."

Dieter laughed. "That shows how little you know."

He sashayed out as he had sashayed in, his butt wiggling like a Las Vegas showgirl's.

Jeez, what a faggot, thought Best.


"Oh, no reason, dear boy," Mr. Bel was saying. "I was just... passing by, so to speak, and I thought I stop in. Say hello."

"It's always good to see you, Mr. Bel." John radiated love at Mr. Bel. He thought of Mr. Bel as a father figure, a mentor.

"How are things with you, lad?"

"Wonderful. I'm in love."

"Oh, indeed. In love. With whom?"

"His name is Dieter. Would you like to meet him?" He rose to go get his beloved.

"Some other time, I should be delighted. As I said, I am just passing by."

They sat and stared at each other.

"The videos are doing well."

"Yes," John said. "They're on sale all through the Orient now."

"Excellent. A brilliant idea on your part, I must say. John... may I call you John?"

"Of course."

"John, about this love affair. How long do you intend for it to last?"

"Last? Forever!"

"Ah. Forever. You know, John, forever is a very, very long time." He spoke as if from experience.

"I will always love my Dieter."

"Indeed, indeed. I was sad to hear about your friend Lamont. And Mr. Lindisfarne. Kenny was it? It must have been painful."

"Kenny and Lamont both died to show their love for me. Why would that be painful?"

"I see your point. Nevertheless, I wonder if you might have unacknowledged... feelings about their deaths."

John looked bewildered. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, think nothing of it. Just an old man's musings. Someone in your household spoke to me and... "

"Someone in the household! Who have you been talking to!"

"Oh, best not to say. A person of no importance. He thought you might have some unresolved feelings. John, I want you to better understand the nature of our relationship. I suppose I should have had this conversation with you long ago. You see, your activities produce emotional states that are very... useful to us. Very useful indeed. We want you to keep up the good work."

"Dieter and I will do the work together. We'll rule the world for you."

"Of course. I hope your Dieter is up to the task. He lacks your physical attributes."

"I can be strong for both of us."

"Does he understand who he has chosen for his mate?"


"Have you displayed your power to him?"

"I've made Dieter happy."

"Ah, yes. Using the same romantic eroticism you used on Mr. Lindisfarne. An interesting use to which to put your abilities. But I mean, has he tasted your full power?"

John hung his head. "No. No, I'm afraid of what will happen. I want him to love me, not be my slave. All the others, they're my slaves. I'm bored with them."

"Get new slaves, my boy. The world is your shopping mall."

"Dieter loves me. That's all I need."

"To be sure. Love is all anyone needs. But take my advice: show him who his lover is. He should know the full range of your magnificence. Think what a gift it would be for him, a token of your love."

"Maybe you're right," John said. "Mr. Bel, how long will I live?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"This new body of mine. How long will it live?"

"Oh... a very long time, I should think."

"How long?"

"I couldn't say, really."

"But supernaturally long, right? Longer than any human could possibly live."

"That at least."

"But that means everyone will die around me. Dieter will grow old and die. Only I will remain. I'll always be losing people."

Mr. Bel laughed his avuncular laugh. "My dear John, staying young while everybody else grows old and withers away is a very satisfying experience. Several of my clients have the attribute, and they enjoy it immensely."

John couldn't imagine how it would be pleasurable to watch the whole world decay around oneself. He turned to say something else and found Mr. Bel was no longer in the room.

"We have found the suicide club," Andrew announced at the next staff meeting. John was immediately galvanized. The usual group was present along with the clinging Dieter, who cuddled passionately against John.

"They're in Manhattan, as we heard."

"How does it work?" John asked breathlessly.

"They're all fans of your videos. They are such fans that they've realized that no man can ever satisfy them again. So, they choose to die, rather than continue on in a world where the sex they desire is denied them."

John sighed with pleasure.

"Excuse me," Best cut in. John looked at him irritably. "Are you telling me these queens want to die because they think they'll never have good sex again?"

Andrew nodded gravely.

"Faggots," Best muttered.

"Is it the only one?" John asked.

"Oh, baby, you make my pussy hot," Dieter cooed. Poosy hut.

"No talking," Best said disgustedly. John glared at him. Dieter raised his head from John's nipple and glared as well. He did not like Best very much.

"No, there are others. We're tracking them down easily through the Manhattan group. We'll know a lot more by the next meeting."

"How do they do it?" John asked. "Do they just do it at home?"

"Not at all. There is a ceremony, and the suicides are en masse, though method is an individual choice. Also, some of the more creative members choose individual suicides of great ingenuity. A recent death involved a young man festooning himself with still shots of you and detonating himself with dynamite on the Brooklyn Bridge. Another one dressed up in full drag and hanged himself outside the Mine Shaft in Manhattan. Lots of news coverage. Of course, you can expect a visit from the Justice Department sometime soon."

"The Justice Department is handled," Callen said flatly.

John glowed with delight. He would need some sex soon. He looked down at Dieter who was now sucking his cock. Mr. Bel's words had haunted his mind since the night before. Perhaps he was right: perhaps Dieter did deserve to experience him at full power. It was his right as John's lover to know the full extent of his beloved's might.

"Regular fan clubs are up to 10,000 globally, 3,00 more than two weeks ago. Video sales are at twenty-two million for John's Body, twelve million for John's Love, and projected sales for John's Slaves is about thirty million. We're rich, gentlemen."

Everyone laughed and applauded except Best.


John and Dieter fucked all afternoon. They were attended continually by the zombies who poured wine and brought in trays of food and sexual apparatus. John exercised his sexual love techniques on Dieter, drawing out his emotions and magnifying them hugely. Dieter squeaked with ecstasy.

During an interim, Dieter whispered in his ear. "I wish we could be alone for once, Johnny."

"We are alone, my darling."

Dieter reared up. "Alone! These robots of yours have been around us every minutes for a week!"

"They're not really here. They're merely household appliances that you and I use."

"I would like them gone."

"There'll be no one to bring us chocolate." He began to kiss his way down Dieter's chest.

"I'll go get the chocolate. Please, Johnny, a few hours for just us two."

John considered the request and decided it would afford a fine opportunity to remind the zombies of his unquestioned power over them. A new one, a luscious Latino boy named Hortensio, came in with champagne. "Hortensio, get out!" John bellowed.

Hortensio bowed silently and immediately made to withdraw. "No, wait! I don't just mean get out of the room! I mean get out of the house! All the way out! All of you!" He leaped out of bed and went out into the residence. He rousted zombies from their activities in the TV room, the bondage room, the eight bedrooms, the laundry room, the kitchen, the library, and herded them all into the living room. "Get out! I want you all out! Dieter and I need to be alone!" He was forcing them towards the door like the ushers at the Louvre at closing time. Given that half of them were naked, this was hardly practical. Zombies made end runs around him to get clothes from the dressers and toss them to other zombies as they were forced out into the corridor.

"When should we come back, John?" Andrew asked.

"When I say so!" John roared. Since none of them would be there to hear him say so, this did not seem like a very adequate answer. But soon, the entire household had been forced out onto the street to find whatever entertainment they could for as long as they needed to.

John returned to Dieter. "We're alone," he said without fanfare.

Dieter squeaked and wrapped his arms around his neck. "Now I know you truly love me."

"You knew it already, snookums," John replied in the most saccharine baby talk.

They fucked for another hour. During that time, John's mind whirled even while his body performed brilliantly. Should he do it? He so longed to unleash his full sexual power again. He had restrained himself for so long! But love required sacrifice, and the voluntary limitation of his erotic capacities was his sacrifice. He wanted him and Dieter to be equals, insofar as that was possible.

In the end, it was not a decision, it was an inevitability. John's pleasure rose. And the pleasure eventually carried him beyond any limits of common sense or self-restraint. Dieter's ass looked delicious and so vulnerable, so ready to receive his gift. John got a little rough. Dieter liked it, so he got a little rougher. By the end of the hour, he was putting Dieter through the same paces as the other zombies, dominating him to the point of utter capitulation, fucking him into total subservience. Dieter showed traces of fear at the beginning as many of John's slaves had done. The realization that their free will was deteriorating caused a feeling of acrophobia, a sense that their world was spinning out of their control. But the pleasure always won out. There was nothing in the outside world, nothing in their little lives that could substitute for the devastating ecstasy of John's cock in their asses. Dieter accepted his own subjugation with cries of joy.

In the back of his mind, far away from the pulsating immediacy of his sex, John knew he was making a mistake, that he would miss Dieter's love when it was gone, that the darkness would come for him again. But he would think about that too late. The feeling of power was what mattered, the joy of his utter domination of the entire world! This is why he was made, to conquer, to destroy! He roared with triumph.

"Oh, Johnny, we can have this forever! Just you and me! We'll rule the world, Johnny!" All this while John was pumping his ass.

What do you think, John said savagely in his mind. You think I'm your private piece of ass? You think I'm on call for you? Me? The fuck god of the world?

It went farther. John was not in the driver's seat now, his cock was. And it was very demanding. He had held back for so long! And now, now he would unleash his fury on the world again, he would crush it beneath his feet, he would devastate it with sex! Dieter was nothing more than a tiny piece of his kingdom! What did Dieter matter at all, except as a receptacle for his jism! He was the event! He was what mattered! He had the power!

He picked Dieter up and, with a savage roar, threw him against the wall. The boy bounced off it and landed at his feet. Of course, no harm came to him.

"Hey!" Dieter shouted, beginning to feel fear again. "Take it easy, Johnny!"

But Johnny was only marginally there. Froth foamed from his lips. With an inarticulate grunt he picked Dieter up like a doll and impaled him on his penis. Dieter cried out with shock and pleasure. He allowed John to pump him.

John's animal passion increased. He pummeled Dieter with sex, bringing him to a point where even his little German slut's sensibilities were shocked. Dieter went from pleasure to apprehension to real fear and then on to ecstasy, ecstasy that made him accept whatever depredations John could invent. He welcomed his own destruction, begged for it. It went on for hours.

John stomped out into the living room with Dieter transfixed on his cock. The boy was now a limp bag of flesh, unresponsive, dead meat. John fucked him joyously in front of the french doors to the balcony.

What the fuck was it with this little cunt! Was he bored! Was he tired! Did he think they were finished when he was satisfied?

"We stop when I stop, you little shit!" He roared with his own power, his body thundered with it. God, this was living! This was fucking!

As another shattering orgasm rumbled up from the center of him, he held Dieter overhead with one hand and turned to the balcony.

"No, Johnny!" Dieter shrieked, for he saw what was about to happen.

John threw him with all the strength in his arm, threw him out the french doors, across the balcony and out into the warm summer night. Dieter screamed as he arced through the air five stories about the ground, screamed as he realized that his life was over, that his beautiful body was about to become an undesirable corpse, that all the plans he had for his future with John were ashes. The vector of his flight took him outside the protective aura of John's power. He hit the pavement with a hideous crunch-squish.

John came spectacularly, the greatest orgasm of his career to date. He ejected buckets of jism, soaking the carpet, the drapes, the walls. He released a roar from deep within his throat, a roar of power and triumph. At last, he had achieved the ultimate fuck, the inevitable culmination of his domination of the world!

He had fucked someone to death. •

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