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Subject: KIDSNUFF $03 -- "The Ice Cream Cone" (Mm, abduct, nc, rape, sodom, pedo, snuff, pedosnuff).
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===================
KIDSNUFF $03 "The Ice Cream Cone" (Mm,abduct,nc,rape,sodom,pedo,snuff,pedosnuff).
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:::: ##:: ##::::::::::: ##:: ##### $03 "The Ice Cream Cone" #####:: #####::::
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ORIGINAL PUBLICATION DATE: 02:07:47am EDT, Tue., 11-Oct-1994.
FILESIZE (Approximations): 519 Lines, 29,505 Bytes, 28.8K.
ARCHIVE-NAME: KidSnuff.003 is the name under which this file should be
stored by archivists.
CONTENT: This story depicts the forcible abduction, rape and murder of
a young boy by a grown man, and is only intended for consumption by those 18
years of age or older. If you are offended by this material or are underage,
please skip this article NOW.
STANDARD DISCLAIMERS: "The Ice Cream Cone" is *fiction*. All poeple,
places, and events in it are imaginary; any resemblence to reality is
coincidental. NO CHILDREN WERE, NOR HAVE ANY EVER BEEN, HARMED IN THE COURSE
OF WRITING THIS OR ANY OTHER OF THIS AUTHOR'S STORIES.
This story is offered in the hope that it may provide a catharsis for
those hapless individuals -- this author included -- who, whether by random
accident of malicious fate, the dark and capricious decree of a malevolent
God, or otherwise, are cursed with a sexuality which only finds pleasure in
fantasizing about the violent rape, torture, and murder of small boys. It is
this author's hope and intention that such unfortunates will derive their
pleasure from reading this article, and not from other, more destructive
means. THIS TEXT IS *NOT* INTENDED TO PROMOTE OR TO CONDONE THE COMMISSION
OF ANY CRIME!
COPYLEFT: This E-Text may be freely reproduced and redistributed, so
long as credit in authorship is properly given to KidSnuff Incorporated[tm].
FEEDBACK: Comments on this story are welcome, flames will be cheerfully
ignored. Either way, please send them to the current newsgroup; this article
is NOT being posted under a valid return E-Mail address.
-=- -=- -=- -=- -=- -=- -=- -=- -=- -=-
Story #03:
*** The Ice Cream Cone ***
Copyrighted (C) 1994 KidSnuff, Inc.
THE MAN CURSED YET AGAIN OVER HIS MISTAKE. If only it wasn't such a
SERIOUS mistake! By abandoning his Volkswagen, and allowing the Police to
find it, he had left himself without permanent transportation.
Of course there was still the Dellwood Water Company truck he was
currently driving; but it was stolen; it was only a matter of time before
he was pulled over. It also had the Dellwood Water Company logo on it;
anyone seeing it outside of Dellwood would wonder what it was doing so far
from home.
But his luck still held: cautious inquiries revealed that a vehicle
inventory was only done every two days, which meant that they didn't even
know that THIS truck was missing yet! It wasn't surprising, really; this
was a small town. Theft was almost unheard of, and the plant had a high
fence topped with barbed wire. Why should they worry about theft? The idea
that someone might steal one of their trucks had probably never entered
their minds.
But this was a reprieve, not a pardon -- and a lucky one at that, NOT
the sort of thing to be counted upon happening a second time. He would have
to return or abandon the truck, secure permanent transportation, and leave
town -- all by tomorrow! He SHOULD have left yesterday -- he had NEVER
stayed in town after a killing before...!
Bringing the matter of the killing up in his mind, however, brought
to the Man a warm glow of satisfaction. It had been quite an experiment,
and a daring one -- to enter a little brat's house by saying he was a
meter reader, and then rape and kill him in his own bedroom! Little Randy
Thriff, age 12, had been that brat; everything had gone perfectly, and his
penis bulged at the memory of it.
But now the Man sighed, and returned to the problem at hand. He had
already decided that he would have to burglarize some business or other and
leave town the next day by bus. Then, having gone Somewhere Else, he could
use the burglary proceeds to buy a used car from someone. It was NOT a
sequence of events that pleased him, as there were very dreadful risks all
along the way. But if he wanted to get away, he would need a car he could
drive without fear of being stopped. Which was why the the Man was at this
moment cruising -- not for Little Boys, which he would very much have
preferred -- but for burglary sites! It was mid-January, and unusually
mild, even spring-like; really astonishing, peculiar weather for this time
of year. It was a good 68 degrees out; all the ice and snow of the day
before was half-melted, and the streets were a mess, making driving a
menace to one's life.
As he drove up a short, steep hill -- one of the steepest he'd ever
seen -- the Man was startled to spot an Ice King ice cream stand. It was
his favorite brand; and quite to his amazement, it was actually OPEN! In
January! The Man hesitated; then, with a determined growl, he pulled over
to the curb and parked. He got out, and walked back... and minutes later,
was back in his truck, triumphantly munching a vanilla ice cream cone;
another stood waiting for him on the dashboard. Ice King made such
delicious, really scrumptious vanilla!
Then, as he contentedly munched away, he chanced to noticed a bit of
color in his side-view mirror. Curious, he leaned out and looked back.
There was a small boy trudging up the hill, huffing and puffing the
whole way! He eyebrow raised as he watched with interest...
The boy was about nine or ten years old, and was what in the Man's
day would have been called a "FatStuff" or "Pudge". Not that the kid was
FAT exactly; but he was small, very stocky, and more than a little pudgy.
Right now he was having a quite a hard time of it, and his weight was
really telling against him. His folks had clearly seen the weather report
for last night, for he was wearing a short-sleeved red shirt with thin,
widely-spaced white horizontal stripes, a pair of black cotton shorts,
white ankle-high tube socks with a double yellow stripe at their top, and
a pair of decrepit black sneakers. On the other hand, faith in the forecast
had not been great, for he was also carrying a thick, heavy winter coat!
In addition to this, he carried a "Jurassic Park" lunchbox, and he wore a
knapsack. Between the heavy coat, the lunchbox, the knapsack (filled with
heavy schoolbooks, to a certainty), the warm weather, and the steepness of
the hill -- to say nothing of his own weight -- the poor kid was really
struggling. His face was a deep red, and he was covered with sweat; his
long, straight brown hair was matted, and wet strands of it kept dropping
down into his face -- oft and again the Man watched as the boy paused to
push the hair from his eyes. Every now and again the boy was compelled to
stop, puffing and blowing, and set things down and rest for a minute or so
before slowly gathering everything up again and trudging wearily onward.
His shirt was pulled partway out of his shorts and hung about untidily,
but he seemed neither to notice nor care. He had hurt himself recently --
there was a scab on his right knee. All told, he seemed to be a rather
dumpy-looking little boy, rather resembling Pugsley Addams.
At length, the boy reached a tree just opposite the Man's truck; here
he dropped his things, and leaned against it to rest, panting heavily.
Then he looked up, and spied the Man!
The look became a doleful stare.
The Man shifted uneasily. What could he want? Absently, he took
another lick from his cone; and then it dawned on him: the boy wanted his
ice cream cone!
This knowledge didn't exactly thrill him. Schools nowadays -- and
parents too, for that matter -- were so depressingly thorough in their
safety education. He couldn't imagine a kid this old falling for anything
so obvious as the old "Ice Cream Lure". Twenty years ago, yes; but not
today. And with another little boy murdered right here in his own home
town just yesterday? The thing seemed impossible.
But then on the other hand, what did he have to lose? The Man
motioned the boy over; and rather to the Man's surprise, the boy gathered
up his belongings and actually came!
Three feet away, the boy suddenly stopped and stared at the second
ice-cream cone, still sitting on the dashboard. "Hey, you got TWO of
them!", the boy said, almost accusingly. "Give me one? Please?", he asked
plaintively.
It was all the Man could do to keep from fainting. << I've GOTTA be
DREAMING >>, he thought to himself; << it COULDN'T be THIS easy! >>. Give
him one?! << Oh, I'll GIVE it to him, all right! Ha! >>
"Sure", the Man said aloud, a little breathlessly. "Here... Just plop
your suff in here and rest awhile." The boy complied gladly, wriggling
out of his knapsack and dumping it, and his other stuff, onto the floor
behind the Man before hopping in himself. As he did so, the Man gladly
reached over and handed the boy his second cone, who, as soon as he was
seated, took it eagerly and began licking at it ecstatically. He was now
seated on the truck's floor, just behind the driver's seat, with his legs
dangling out the open sliding door and swaying contentedly back and forth.
Now that the Man could get a good look at him, he could see the boy's
ever-ready grin as he looked gratefully up at him; the sparkle of his soft
brown eyes; the freckles on his cheeks; and the way he tilted his head and
squinted nearsightedly up at him whenever he spoke. As he continued to look
the boy over, the excited thought began to grow within him: << Hey! This
could prove to Fun! >>
The Man waited a decent interval before asking, "So, what's you're
name, kid?".
"Travis Bell", the boy replied. "I'm nine years old and in second
grade. My teacher is Miss Finch. I live three streets over, just past the
top of this here hill. I HATE this hill! It's lots too high." He resumed
munching his cone.
The Man was almost breathless with excitement, but the boy's obvious
innocence troubled him, for the Man only liked to take "naughty" kids --
negligent kids, or carless kids, or kids who broke rules. Little Randy
now, whom he had just killed but yesterday -- HE had qualified, both by
opening the door to him (a stranger), and also by admitting that he was
home all by himself. But THIS boy? He seemed TOO "negligent"; surely no
NORMAL child would volunteer such information to a total stranger as Travis
just did? And CERTAINLY not after yesterday's killing! Surely THIS boy
must be at least slightly retarded?
On the OTHER hand (the Man reflected), if the BOY was not negligent,
his PARENTS certainly were; after what had happened yesterday -- it was
all over the newspapers -- there could be no excuse at all for allowing
so simpleminded a child as this to go about unescorted. His need to
rationalize thus satisfied, the Man faced forward in his seat once more.
"Hey, Travis, tell you what", he said in an offhand manner. "Suppose
I ride you up to the top of the hill? Or even take you to your house? That
way you wouldn't have to climb tha dumb hill at all."
"I don't know," said Travis, a wistful look on his face. "I wish I
could, really," he said, "but Mom gets really mad if I let people take me
places, so I better not."
"Oh, I'm sure she won't mind. After all, it's pretty warm out today.
Maybe I could talk to her and then she won't get mad at you; how would
that be?"
"Well... all right. But only if you PROMISE me that Mom WON'T get mad
at me!"
"Hmmmmm... Well, tell you what, Travis: I give you my solemn promise
that you'll never hear your Mom say a word about it." Now the Man never
made promises to his victims that he didn't keep; but he felt himself on
perfectly safe ground here, for by the time the brat's Mommy saw him next,
he felt quite certain that her precious little Brainless Wonder would
be quite incapable of hearing anything... ever!
The boy considered a moment, and seemed satisfied with this promise.
"Well, all right", he said, and pulled his feet inside the truck. The
Man turned on his swivel seat to close the sliding door, but Travis had
already jumped up to do it himself. The sliding door was a bit too heavy
for him, however; he lost his balance, and fell backwards, right onto the
Man's lap, giggling madly and holding his cone desperately aloft! The Man
laughed along with him, and growled with mock ferocity: "Go on, get back
there!". Travis, giggling still, blithely complied, seating himself on the
floor just behind him. The Man's penis had become VERY hard indeed when
the child landed on top of him; but the little boy never noticed...
There was no back seat, and only the one front seat; almost all the
space was reserved for equipment. The Man started up the truck and lurched
it into gear, while Travis returned to munching his ice-cream cone, now
more than half finished.
As they approached the top of the hill, the Man asked, off-handedly,
"You enjoying your ice-cream cone back there, Travis?" It was in fact
nearly finished by now.
"Yup", came the reply, "it's real good!"
"I'm very glad to hear that", the Man said, softly now, "because it's
be the last one you will ever have."
The little boy, a ring of ice-cream around his mouth, paused in his
eating, tilted his head, and squinted nearsightedly up at the Man
questioningly.
"Never mind", the Man said quietly, glancing back. "Eat."
Travis shrugged and ate. A moment later, he finished his cone.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
When the Man passed the street at the top of the hil, Travis gave a
wail of protest -- "Hey! You passed it!" -- and then become increasingly
uneasy the further the Man drove. Soon Travis was insisting that they turn
around and go back. The Man ignored him; but this did not stop Travis from
protesting the entire way.
Near the outskirts of town, the Man finally came to an empty field.
At one time this had been owned by a local farmer, but it had been sold to
some developer or other, and was now the location of a mall construction
site -- empty now, as it was after hours. The Man lurched to a stop, quite
glad finally to be able to silence Travis' constant complaining. He stood
up, reached back, and yanked the boy up by the arm. "Hey--!", he began;
but the Man backhanding him across the face, letting go at the same
instant. The child went sprawling, slammed into the wall of the truck,
and collapsed to the floor, stunned and whimpering.
The Man turned and opened the glove compartment, and took from it
some equipment, including flexible wire to tie the kid up with. Except
that when he turned around, Travis was already back on his feet! "I'm
telling Daddy about you!", he said furiously, and moved to open the door.
The Man stepped in front of him, and the boy yelled out, "Let me
alone!" and gave him a shove that was surprisingly strong for one so
small; the Man, taken off guard, stumbled back against the front seat
with a grunt. Travis actually managed to reach the door, and pulled
at the handle... Brave little boy! Alas, it was not to be.
Up the Man rose with a roar, and flung the youngster forcibly across
the truck; and then the Man was on top of him! Travis fought the Man; he
kicked and screamed and struggled ferociously, and even managed to BITE
the Man's hand, a thing which had never happened to him before in all his
predatory days; the Man let out a loud curse.
But the Man was bigger, and much stronger; he grabbed Travis' wrist
and had bent his right arm agonizingly behind his back and forced him,
still screeching, to the floor. The Man knelt onto the boy's back to hold
him in place, shifted the boy's wrist to his left hand, and then pulled
the child's shirt out and over his head and wrist with his right hand.
Then he shifted the boy's wrist to his right hand, and pulled his shirt
free of his left arm. The boy fought to keep the shirt, which was unusual,
but in his current position his arm lacked both strength and leverage, and
he was readily overcome. The Man tossed the shirt aside.
Then, in an easy maneuver born of long practice, the Man transferred
the boy's wrist back to his left hand, and with three quick, practiced
twists, secured the wire to Travis' right wrist as the boy thrashed
helplessly beneath him, his left arm flailing uselessly. Switch wrist to
right hand, grab other wrist; another few twists -- and Voila! -- Travis
was naked from the waist up, his hands bound securely behind him.
Now the Man pulled forth a sock, containing a roll of gauze, and
shoved it roughly into Travis' mouth. Travis fought this, too, biting the
for the second time that day. The Man cursed again, and backhanded the boy
once again. He re-inserting the gag and reinforced it with a strip of wide
silver duct tape.
From there on, it was simplicity itself. A few quick yanks, and the
kid's sneakers and socks were off; a few quick tugs, and the boy's shorts
and underpants lay on the truck floor as well, and cute little Travis Bell,
age 9, lay before him, bound, gagged, stark naked, and all ready for Fun!
Now the Man stood up, panting a little, to rest from his labors.
All his other boys had been more or less frozen in terror at this point;
but not so with Travis! This was something quite new to him. He wasn't
sure he liked it, but at any rate it was certainly different from all the
other kids he'd done!
Travis rolled awkwardly onto his back to look up at his tormentor.
His legs were splayed wide, leaving his tiny little penis flopping around
in a way that nearly drove the Man crazy; the boy looked up at the Man
with an angry, hurt, betrayed, and "Why-are-you-DOING-this-to-me?" sort
of look on his little face... but not, as yet, with any fear.
"You don't know it yet, Kid, but you're in for quite a time." The Man
knelt down beside the boy as he crooned this. He ran his hand softly and
sensuously over the little boy's smooth, hairless chest and stomach, while
Travis squirmed ticklishly. "I'm gonna rape you, Travis. Do you know what
that means? It means I'm gonna stick my weenie --" here the Man tickled
Travis' penis in illustration "-- deep inside your little bottom, and I'm
gonna squirt deep in your cute little insides. And then I'm gonna beat the
living fuck out you, Travis -- all over your naked little body. And then
Travis, I'm gonna kill you. That's right, Travis -- you're gonna DIE today.
You're never gonna see your Mommy or your Daddy or your brothers or your
sisters or your friends or your teacher or your puppy or your kitty or your
Teddy Bear, EVER, EVER AGAIN! And WHY? Because it's FUN, that's why!" The
Man laughed, and tickled Travis' belly-button as he said this (and noting,
absently, that his cute little victim was an "outie"); Travis squirmed.
Travis was crying now -- fear had come to him at last; and the Man
decided that it was time for him to begin. He flipped Travis onto his
stomach and shoved a tube of K-Y jelly up into his rump, squeezing great
enormous gobs of the stuff inside of him as the naked little boy squirmed
miserably on the floor. Next, the Man dropped his pants and underwear --
his penis was by this time enormous, and rock-hard -- and threw himself
atop the child, ramming his penis DEEP into the boy's rectum -- in, out,
in, out! -- while Travis screamed in agony through his gag, writhing and
thrashing ineffectually about. The Man "came" abruptly, spewing multiple
jets of hot semen ferociously into his little victim's anal cavity as the
helpless youngster squirmed futilely beneath him; the Man shuddered with
ecstasy, and moaned with delight.
The Man continued to lay atop the boy for a few minutes as his penis
went slowly flaccid, while Travis sobbed quietly beneath him. At last, the
Man sighed deeply, then got up, flipped the boy over onto his back again,
and pulled the youngster up into a sitting position up against the truck
wall. He removed the gag with a yank, and thrust his penis into the child's
face.
"Suck on it, Travis", the Man said with quiet menace. "And don't
even THINK of biting me, or I'll kill you right here and now!"
The threat proved unnecessary; recent experiences had taken their
toll, and all the fight had gone out of Travis. Even so, he was not ready
for this new torment. "N-no, please", the boy begged, "Please! Oh, please,
just let me go home, please..."
"Suck on it, Travis", the Man insisted. "Pretend... pretend that
you're a really, tiny, little baby, Travis... and you want your bottle!"
The Man advanced on Travis, who screwing his eyes shut, sobbed
loudly, and turned his head away; but the Man grabbed Travis' head and
turned it to face him; then he forced his penis into the little boy's
mouth and down his throat...
Little Travis gagged; he tried to spit it out; but it was too big --
he could hardly breathe! He struggled and thrashed, trying to back away from
it, but he was against the truck wall, there was nowhere he could go. The
Man's penis grew and grew; and now Travis couldn't breathe at all! The boy
thrashed all the harder, and there was terror in his eyes now; but just
then the Man "came" once more, and semen poured down the youngster's
throat. Travis choked and gagged, coughing and sputtering, instictually
swallowing the better portion of it. The Man released the child, who
promptly collapsed to the floor in a fetal position, shuddering with
disgust and crying hysterically.
But the Man wasn't yet finished with his cute little Toy. He pulled
his underwear and pants back on, then replaced Travis' gag. Then he knelt
down beside the boy, who turned away from him, lying on his side. To no
avail: the Man forced Travis onto his back, sat on his chest, and began to
squeeze the youngster's balls -- HARD! Anyone within a thousand yards of
that truck could have heard Travis easily, even through his gag and the
truck wall. Anyone else would have heard screams of agony; but to the Man's
ears, they were like strains of heavenly music... Poor little Travis bucked
and thrashed and writhed and squirmed -- all to no purpose...
Eventually, the Man stopped and stood up, while Travis continued to
moan and writhe and thrash about in residual agony.
Now the Man turned to a toolbox which lay nearby. From this, he took
a tire-iron -- the same tire-iron, in fact, which he had used on little
Randy Thriff just the day before. He gave poor little Travis the exact same
treatment he had given to Randy: he began to savagely beat the child.
Thuds, grunts, and agnonized yelps of pain filled the air once more, as the
child suffered serious internal injuries, any of which would have killed
him, if given time.
But all things come to an end in time, and mercifully enough for cute
little 9-year-old Travis Bell, that time was now at hand.
As was his habit, the Man turned to find the Travis' belt, meaning to
strangle him with it -- and hit a snag: there wasn't any. Travis' shorts
didn't even have belt loops; the wasistband was elastic. The Man scowled
for a moment, and then adopted a strategem used by serial killer William
Bonin. He picked up the youngster's shirt and rolled it up to form a thick,
strong loop of soft cloth. He flipped the naked little boy over onto his
stomach once again, sat onto his back, and slid the shirt up over the
youngster's head and around his neck. Then he inserted his tire-iron...
and began to twist.
Now Travis Bell thrashed about for the last time, soundlessly writhing
and squirming helplessly on his naked little belly on the floor of the
truck, his legs thrashing and beating futilely against the floor; he
heaved and bucked beneath his murderer, struggling desparately, vainly, for
air. Then, by degrees, the youngster's struggles slowly grew more and more
feeble; then finally, the little boy shuddered, convulsed a few times...
and was still. Cute little Travis Bell, age nine, was dead.
The Man inserted the tire-iron through the wires binding Travis'
hands so that he no longer needed to hold it, then got up and gathered up
the boy's belongings. He drew forth a pair of cloth gloves, put them on,
and began wiping off the kid's stuff in all the places where he might have
left his fingerprints. A waste of time, of course: he always left his kids
filled with his semen -- Travis included -- and splattered them with it
afterwards besides; the glove-wiping was just a ritual he had. Not entirely
without utility, however: by the time he had finished, he could be sure
that whatever little brat he'd been playing with was dead.
When he had finished, the Man removed the tire-iron and disentangled
the child's shirt from around his neck, then removed and straightened it
out. Next, he propped the naked little body up next to the sliding door,
opened the panel, and took a careful look around: nobody was present. The
Man gave the boy a small, casual shove, and Travis's tiny, naked little
corpse plopped limply onto the slush-covered pavement. Then, one item
at a time, the Man tossed the little boy's belongings offhandedly out into
the snow: lunch box; knapsack (full); winter coat; shirt; shorts; socks;
sneakers; and underpants. Then the Man stood still in the truck door, and
surveyed his handiwork. The child's body had landed on its back; thanks to
the hands, still tied tightly behind him, the boy's wide, smooth, rounded
belly bulged slightly upwards. The child's tiny, flaccid little penis lay
drooped between the widely-spread legs, which had landed bent outward at
the knees, leaving the dead child in a frog-like position. From here, the
scab on Travis' knee was clearly visible. The youngster's hair, damp with
sweat and slush, was in considerable disorder, and partially obscured the
child's forehead. Travis' eyes were wide open in an unforgettable
expression of terror, pain, and pleading; his mouth was still gagged.
Slowly, the Man brought out his penis, and began to masturbate; a
moment later, he had sprinkled the naked little boy with his semen. Then,
sighing contentedly, the Man zipped himself up, and gave one last, long,
look. "You enjoy you ice-cream, Travis?", he said softly. Pause. "Well,
I'm glad. Bye-bye now!" He chuckled to himself, as at a private joke; then
he shut the door, started the engine, and drove away...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
That night, the Man returned the truck to the Water Company lot. He
knew it would have been reported stolen by that time, and with luck, the
Police would be decoyed to the employee who had used it last. It also
occurred to him that if security was so lax at the Water Company, they
might just be lax enough to keep large amounts of cash on hand as well...
if so, he could kill two birds with one stone. << And why not >>, he
thought to himself, << when I've already killed two KIDS...! >>
The Man's plan worked perfectly.
In fact, he Man's ruse with the truck was more successful than it
deserved to be. Travis' nude little corpse was found the next day by the
mall construction crew; but as the Man's killings had never before occurred
less than two months apart, and NEVER twice in the same town, the Police
at first thought that they had a copycat killing! They did indeed arrest
the employee who had last used the truck used in the killing -- there was
plenty of physical evidence of it -- and in the days to come even managed
to secure an indictment; but their whole case collapsed three weeks into
the proceedings when the DNA tests came back negative. Only then, and
belatedly, did they order a comparison test for their known suspect; ane
when a week later this came back positive, the Police knew too late that
they had been duped. The Man, meanwhile, was enjoying every moment of the
Police's distress!
The Man, of course, had left the next day; but not before burglarizing
the Water Compnay offices the night before. Then, while the Police quizzed
the hapless employee, he'd hopped a bus to a nearby town, and there, using
the proceeds from the burglary and a driver's license (under an alias,
naturally) which he kept for just such a purpose, had bought himself a used
car. It was an old, rattle-trap thing, but it would get him to where he
wanted to go, and was more than suited to his purposes.
Meanwhile, as little Travis Bell was laid to rest (not far from the
grave of Randy Thriff), the people were beginning openly to wonder: Was
ANY child safe? Would the killings ever end...?
Not if the Man had anything to say about it!
***** The End *****