Luis Adam Bree
Forum Regular
The car slowly heated up. By the time AKA lifted his head away from
Keith Landon's neck, the windows were completely steamed. The filmy wash of
perspiration covering the young policeman's neck and face and chest seemed to
catch and hold every ambient glint of the eerily glowing interior dashboard
light. The prominently pulsing arteries along each side of the velvety, strong,
and now saliva-slimed neck were a real sight to see! A vampire's wet-dream if
there ever was one! As a kid, AKA had in fact often wished he were a vampire.
AKA examined the cop's shadowed, sweat-polished face. Tears glistened
in the dark hollows of the open, staring, no-longer-quite-so-cool
robin's-egg-blue eyes. Even as AKA gazed, one tear began a slow slide down the
young man's handsomely high-boned cheek.
AKA squeezed the still rampant cock.
Keith Landon was clearly a sensitive type, in every sense of the word.
Yes, thought AKA, this one's not your typically arrogant, hard-assed
cop. All the better.
All the better because the "nicer" the victim was during the course of
THE GAME, the more AKA actually relished the idea of "doing" him at the end. A
paradox, but true. Yes, it was exciting (and then some!!!) to have a guy
struggle and kick for all he was worth during the final, end-game part of THE
GAME. The death-struggle was--let there be no misunderstanding!--the
incomparable, not-to-be-surpassed climax of climaxes!!! But AKA had never liked
a non-stop, hostility-filled fight from start to finish. No. He genuinely
enjoyed getting his victims to relax, to the extent they could. He even enjoyed
building a weird kind of relationship with them, if possible. Then, and only
then, did he give them the greatest gift he could imagine giving: the sexiest
fucking death ever invented by man! The means might be various--Death does
indeed have many doors, as someone once put it--but the ultimate result was
always the same: the forced stifling of the breath, the willed cessation of the
heart, the not-to-be-reversed death of the brain. Fini. Kaput. The true peace
beyond all understanding.
"So let's get a better look at that scrumptious little joystick that
that scrumptious little honey of yours has been sucking on all this time, shall
we?"
"Little" was not the right word, of course. A trim, but impressively
long rod of manflesh was a far more accurate way to describe the cock that AKA
soon released from its stretch-cotton boxer Jockey confines.
AKA tugged the Jockeys down the legs and off and then, just as he had
done with the rest of the officer's clothing, carelessly tossed the underpants
into the back.
Jesus! What a beautifully honed and toned masterpiece this guy was!
AKA was reminded of Michelangelo's David. Keith Landon was every bit as
perfectly, classically, gorgeously sculpted.
AKA stroked the tops of the marble-hard, but far from marble-cold
thighs.
The popsickle dick waved obscenely in the air above the lightly haired,
cum-tight scrotum.
"You know, they called Dean Corll, the Houston serial killer, the Candy
Man. Maybe you've heard of him? I always assumed he got the nickname because
he literally used candy to lure into his house all those poor young kids he
liked to fuck to death. But looking at this"--AKA sent the dick before him
bouncing with a single thump of his finger--" I wonder if the 'candy' involved
wasn't something else altogether."
Flushing with shame at his continued erection, Keith Landon's
night-darkened face darkened even more. AKA could see the black-red blaze of
embarrassment flare.
Well, looked at a certain way, it was rather embarrassing, wasn't it?
Which is why the guy deserved some kind of compensation, right? Something to
balance the scales a little? AKA decided there was nothing for it but to give
him the best kind of compensation he knew.
Thus, without further ado, AKA lowered his head, closed his eyes, and
engorged as much of the long, slim, blood-suffused penis as he could.
Keith Landon immediately rocked back in the seat and gasped "No!
Don't!"
Then he groaned.
There had been a time when AKA had hated giving head. He had been
pretty bad at it, to begin with. But time and experience had educated him into
the pleasure to be gained, even for the one who was engineering the pleasure.
He had improved each time, AKA felt. Thus, as he now began to make his way back
up the tall slim hard smooth shaft, using every trick in the book to increase
the sensation of ecstasy, however unwilled and even (in this case) unwanted that
ecstasy might be, AKA decided that this bout of fellatio was going to be the
best one yet. He wanted young Keith the Cop to compare it to all the other head
he had been given in his life--because even Eagle Scouts got head on occasion,
didn't they?--and find every one of those previous experience wanting.
To intensify the experience, AKA softly, rhythmically tweaked the cop's
balls with one hand while lightly pinching the nickel-round tits on those
perfect Michelangelo pecs with the other.
Silence reigned the while.
If, that is, you didn't count the intermittent sound of AKA's
occasionally slurpy upward (or downward) slide.
Young Keith Landon, in any case, did not groan or grunt or comment
again, but the increasing tension in his body, especially the increasing tension
in his long, smooth, sturdily muscled legs, told the story.
AKA loved making the victim's own body betray him like this. There was
nothing more humiliating, more intensely guilt-inducing for a straight guy than
to cum like a horse when his studly straight-guy's mind was screaming the while,
"I can't the fuck believe this is happening to me!!!" Something on that order
must be going through Keith Landon's violated, upstanding, Boy Scout,
all-American brain right now. But not a single peep of protest or gasp of
pleasure had passed his sensuous, tightly pressed lips since that first,
instinctive, inadvertent outburst.
When Keith Landon came, it was one huge thick rich mouth-filling
explosion of cum, an eruption which was followed at once by a series of
surprisingly wracking full-body shudders that literally made the young man's
teeth chatter in his head.
AKA pulled back and gazed. He had never seen anything quite like it.
"Jesus!" he said, once he got the load of fresh, cream-smooth,
sperm-rich cum down, "do you do that every time?"
Keith Landon's neck, the windows were completely steamed. The filmy wash of
perspiration covering the young policeman's neck and face and chest seemed to
catch and hold every ambient glint of the eerily glowing interior dashboard
light. The prominently pulsing arteries along each side of the velvety, strong,
and now saliva-slimed neck were a real sight to see! A vampire's wet-dream if
there ever was one! As a kid, AKA had in fact often wished he were a vampire.
AKA examined the cop's shadowed, sweat-polished face. Tears glistened
in the dark hollows of the open, staring, no-longer-quite-so-cool
robin's-egg-blue eyes. Even as AKA gazed, one tear began a slow slide down the
young man's handsomely high-boned cheek.
AKA squeezed the still rampant cock.
Keith Landon was clearly a sensitive type, in every sense of the word.
Yes, thought AKA, this one's not your typically arrogant, hard-assed
cop. All the better.
All the better because the "nicer" the victim was during the course of
THE GAME, the more AKA actually relished the idea of "doing" him at the end. A
paradox, but true. Yes, it was exciting (and then some!!!) to have a guy
struggle and kick for all he was worth during the final, end-game part of THE
GAME. The death-struggle was--let there be no misunderstanding!--the
incomparable, not-to-be-surpassed climax of climaxes!!! But AKA had never liked
a non-stop, hostility-filled fight from start to finish. No. He genuinely
enjoyed getting his victims to relax, to the extent they could. He even enjoyed
building a weird kind of relationship with them, if possible. Then, and only
then, did he give them the greatest gift he could imagine giving: the sexiest
fucking death ever invented by man! The means might be various--Death does
indeed have many doors, as someone once put it--but the ultimate result was
always the same: the forced stifling of the breath, the willed cessation of the
heart, the not-to-be-reversed death of the brain. Fini. Kaput. The true peace
beyond all understanding.
"So let's get a better look at that scrumptious little joystick that
that scrumptious little honey of yours has been sucking on all this time, shall
we?"
"Little" was not the right word, of course. A trim, but impressively
long rod of manflesh was a far more accurate way to describe the cock that AKA
soon released from its stretch-cotton boxer Jockey confines.
AKA tugged the Jockeys down the legs and off and then, just as he had
done with the rest of the officer's clothing, carelessly tossed the underpants
into the back.
Jesus! What a beautifully honed and toned masterpiece this guy was!
AKA was reminded of Michelangelo's David. Keith Landon was every bit as
perfectly, classically, gorgeously sculpted.
AKA stroked the tops of the marble-hard, but far from marble-cold
thighs.
The popsickle dick waved obscenely in the air above the lightly haired,
cum-tight scrotum.
"You know, they called Dean Corll, the Houston serial killer, the Candy
Man. Maybe you've heard of him? I always assumed he got the nickname because
he literally used candy to lure into his house all those poor young kids he
liked to fuck to death. But looking at this"--AKA sent the dick before him
bouncing with a single thump of his finger--" I wonder if the 'candy' involved
wasn't something else altogether."
Flushing with shame at his continued erection, Keith Landon's
night-darkened face darkened even more. AKA could see the black-red blaze of
embarrassment flare.
Well, looked at a certain way, it was rather embarrassing, wasn't it?
Which is why the guy deserved some kind of compensation, right? Something to
balance the scales a little? AKA decided there was nothing for it but to give
him the best kind of compensation he knew.
Thus, without further ado, AKA lowered his head, closed his eyes, and
engorged as much of the long, slim, blood-suffused penis as he could.
Keith Landon immediately rocked back in the seat and gasped "No!
Don't!"
Then he groaned.
There had been a time when AKA had hated giving head. He had been
pretty bad at it, to begin with. But time and experience had educated him into
the pleasure to be gained, even for the one who was engineering the pleasure.
He had improved each time, AKA felt. Thus, as he now began to make his way back
up the tall slim hard smooth shaft, using every trick in the book to increase
the sensation of ecstasy, however unwilled and even (in this case) unwanted that
ecstasy might be, AKA decided that this bout of fellatio was going to be the
best one yet. He wanted young Keith the Cop to compare it to all the other head
he had been given in his life--because even Eagle Scouts got head on occasion,
didn't they?--and find every one of those previous experience wanting.
To intensify the experience, AKA softly, rhythmically tweaked the cop's
balls with one hand while lightly pinching the nickel-round tits on those
perfect Michelangelo pecs with the other.
Silence reigned the while.
If, that is, you didn't count the intermittent sound of AKA's
occasionally slurpy upward (or downward) slide.
Young Keith Landon, in any case, did not groan or grunt or comment
again, but the increasing tension in his body, especially the increasing tension
in his long, smooth, sturdily muscled legs, told the story.
AKA loved making the victim's own body betray him like this. There was
nothing more humiliating, more intensely guilt-inducing for a straight guy than
to cum like a horse when his studly straight-guy's mind was screaming the while,
"I can't the fuck believe this is happening to me!!!" Something on that order
must be going through Keith Landon's violated, upstanding, Boy Scout,
all-American brain right now. But not a single peep of protest or gasp of
pleasure had passed his sensuous, tightly pressed lips since that first,
instinctive, inadvertent outburst.
When Keith Landon came, it was one huge thick rich mouth-filling
explosion of cum, an eruption which was followed at once by a series of
surprisingly wracking full-body shudders that literally made the young man's
teeth chatter in his head.
AKA pulled back and gazed. He had never seen anything quite like it.
"Jesus!" he said, once he got the load of fresh, cream-smooth,
sperm-rich cum down, "do you do that every time?"
