M3M1 Victim POV--M4M4snuff

mayhem

Forum Regular
Joined
May 21, 2015
Messages
78
Location
Dallas Texas USA
ALSO POSTED @ M3MAYHEM.WORDPRESS.COM


“M4M—looking now.

Aggressive top looking for service. 32, built, 170, 6’4”. Can host. Looking for young only. HMU.”



That’s all it says, but that’s all it has to. I’m already hard just reading it. No idea who this dude is, but I want his cum. Thank you, Craigslist.



I reply with my stats:



“Hey man, want your dick. 19, 5’9”, 123 lbs. Blond and smooth. Willing to travel for your load. --teenslutboi”



I navigate the obstacle course of my bedroom floor, littered with piles of dirty laundry, to the tiny bathroom area. The vanity and sink are actually part of the open closet; as I check my look in the mirror, I can see my remaining clean clothes hanging behind me.



What I wear will depend on the reply. Fuck, man, please let him reply. I’m so anxious my hands are trembling when I reach for the phone. I can barely pull up my email account.



Man, I know I’m high, but there must be something else going on; it’s not like I’ve seen a pic of this guy, even. But there’s something about his ad that makes me know I want him.



Fuck, there’s an answer. Please, please, pleasepleaseplease….





“Roehampton Suites, 15th and Park. Reply when you get here and wait for directions.”



I look at the time—it’s about a quarter past eleven. I’m one block off Park and four from 15th. “OMW. Be there by 11:30.”



I know the place; I’ve had hookups there before. The entrance is locked after 10 pm. There is no real lobby, the street door leads to a glass cubicle. From it, the door on the left leads to the check-in desk, which is set so far back it can’t be seen. The door on the right leads to the guest entrance and gives access to the rooms.



He’s gonna have to come down and let me in. If I don’t like what I see, I can always leave. But I think I’m gonna like it.



But that clears up one thing—I can’t dress too much like a slut. Well, I mean, I ain’t gonna cover myself with a burka, but I can’t go full-on whore the way I’d like; this motel ain’t that kinda place.



So I find a clean simple t-shirt of thin white cotton. I’ve shrunk it slightly. My torso is smooth and slim, but the shirt is tight enough to highlight my small but firm pecs. I tuck the shirt into the tightest pair of skinny jeans I have—they’re black, with elaborate designer stitching on the rear pockets, which draws attention to the way they lovingly cradle my firm bubble butt.



I cap it off—literally—with a black ball cap worn backwards, shoved down on my head. Even so, the mirror shows unruly strands of blond hair peeking out underneath.



Just before leaving, I lace my white leather sneakers forcefully around my feet, tightening them almost painfully.



I’m ready to be used.



It actually takes me twenty minutes to get there; I missed a light because of an ambulance going through the intersection at the wrong moment. I send a reply the moment I throw my car into park; I’ve parked on the side of the building out of sight of the entrance.



His response is swift and abrupt; he’ll be at the door in exactly three minutes to let me in. I leave the car and hurry around the corner to be there in time.



Holy fuck, I’m glad I am. He’s there—it has to be him. Jesus Christ, what a fucking stud.



His short hair is dark and slightly curly—and receding slightly at the temples; a sure sign of an overabundance of testosterone. His t-shirt is tighter than mine, stretched tautly across the massive swelling of his chest muscles. It’s the same shade of electric blue as his eyes, coldly appraising me the way I’m appraising him. The cuffs of the sleeves stretch tightly across his large biceps and down the inside of his left forearms is a large tattoo of a winged skull.



His jeans are as tight as his shirt; they aren’t skinny jeans like mine because skinny jeans wouldn’t fit over the massive knots of muscles in his thighs and calves. Under the frayed denim cuffs, I can see he’s got on a pair of worn and scuffed square-toed ropers.



Did I say I could leave? I can’t leave. I have to have him. I crave his cock. I want his sperm so bad, please let him want me too, oh please…



I sigh with relief as he opens the doors and lets me in. He gives me another quick cold glance before turning silently away and striding down the brightly-lit but empty hallway. I follow, almost having to run to keep up with the pace of his long legs.



He arrives at his room and opens the door before I catch up; I manage to slip inside quickly—but realize I never caught a glimpse of the room number. Not that it matters.



The dude turns to look at me calmly. I notice the muscles bunched at the corners of his hard, frim jaw. A heavy scruff of five o’clock shadow darkens the jaw as well as his cheeks. “Well, what ya, waitin’ for, faggot? Strip!” he barks.



I comply; even if I didn’t want to obey this stud, I don’t think I could have resisted his command. There’s something about the scent coming off him—pheromones, maybe—that overrides the smell of bleach and industrial cleaning solvents in the relentlessly clean room and establishes his alpha status.



Sitting on the bed, I start with my shoes, unlacing them carefully before prying them off. The dude stands over, watching, one hand rubbing an almost frighteningly huge bulge in his crotch. He continues to rub himself as I stand up and wriggle out of my skinny jeans, so tight I almost need to peel them out of the crack of my ass.



Once free of the jeans, I jerk the shirt up and off over my head, taking my cap with it. I stand before the dominant stud, nude except for my white ankle socks, my long, thin, vein-wrapped cock standing to attention in front of me.



He smirks at me and I know what he thinks. He thinks I’m just some useless slut who wants his cock—and he’s right. I’m anxious to prove it to him.



Suddenly he reaches down and grabs the hem of his t-shirt. In a much smoother move than mine, he whips it off over his head in one swift motion, revealing his enormous pecs and six-pack abs.



There’s a dusting of dark fur across the stud’s bulging chest which darkens into a clearly-defined trail as it works its way down his firm belly and disappears below the waistband of his jeans. A long, defined ridge in the denim extends outward from his groin; as he rubs his right hand over it, the ridge extends even further.



Holy fuck, what I have I gotten myself into? I want his dick, but I’m not sure I can handle it—it’s literally that big.



But then my eyes are drawn inexorably upwards along the thick fur trail lining his belly, up past his muscular chest, glistening with sweat, his large dark nipples hard and erect like his cock, to his cold, hard, handsome face. I know I’m going to submit. No matter how much it hurts, for him, I’ll submit.



His eyes drift behind me. He grunts and looks back at me. I get it; he wants me on the bed. Without allowing my gaze to shift from his face, I slowly back towards the double bed. I stop when I feel the slick polyester comforter against the back of my calves. Gingerly, I ease my way back up onto the bed. I hadn’t paid any attention to it before; the comforter and blankets, I now realize, have been turned down and soon the thin sheets, stiff with starch, are scraping my bare, smooth asscheeks.



Feeling behind me with one arm, I manage to snag the pillows and get them placed under my head. I finally settle in on my back, my legs spread, my dick rising in front of me like a hood ornament.



I’m ready for him.



Silently, he continues to stare down at me, one hand on his groin, the other rubbing and fondling one of his nipples. I can’t tell if that faint look of contempt on his face is his natural expression or not, but it doesn’t matter. Somehow, it only seems to make him even hotter.



He unzips his fly. He has to reach in with both hands to wrest his monster hog free from the confines of his tight jeans.



Oh fuck, it’s even bigger than I thought it would be—how is that even possible? From here, it looks like a vine-wrapped fireplug. Clear beads of precum glint on the swollen purple head.



A lump forms in my throat; I have trouble swallowing. I cast my eyes downward as I gulp, only to find my gaze pulled irresistibly upwards. His thick-soled ropers planted firmly on the thin carpet, those faded jeans becoming tighter around his legs the further up his thighs my eyes travel, that jutting, bobbing, dripping shaft, his massive chest with its fine haze of fur heaving in anticipation, his eyes—



Oh fuck, his eyes—what is that look? I’ve never seen that kinda look before…



I think he’s more ready for me than I am for him.



He lunges—wait, what? Dude, no lemme prepare myself—no wait stop for fuck’s sake use some lube don’t just hawk up phlegm on my ass get something to—



FUCK STOP IT OH GOD THE PAIN YOU’RE TEARING ME FUCK FUCK THE PAIN



Breathe, just keep breathing, he can’t keep going his cock can’t be that long shit shit shit it feels like I’m getting a spear shoved up my ass FUCK DUDE STOP PLEASE OH PLEASE



There’s nothing else right now, nothing else in my universe but this huge, powerful man fucking me brutally in the ass. The weight of his muscles pressing down on me, his fur scratching me as his body slides over mine on a film of our mingled sweat, the waves of manscent and pheromones exuded by his body as he pins me down and reams out my colon—this is all there is.



But he’s stopped. He’s not driving in any further, oh thank you Jesus. I can’t take any more.



I can’t speak. I’m too full of cock. My sphincter has already collapsed under the onslaught of his shaft, but I’m afraid to move. Fuck oh fuck he’s so huge inside me if he moves at all he’s gonna tear me he’s gonna make me bleed please no dude…



Then he speaks.



“Almost all the way in, motherfucker. Ya likin’ it? I ain’t even started fuckin’ ya yet. And I gotta special happy ending for ya—don’t worry, faggot, you ain’t ever gonna cum harder than you’re gonna tonight!”



What? No, dude, there can’t be more, it already feels like you’re raping my fucking intestines, you gotta be OH FUCK NO CHRIST YOU’RE FUCKING HOLES IN MY GUTS JESUS NO—



It hurts so bad how can I feel anything else but I can



I can feel his denim-covered thighs pumping like pistons as he drives his shaft even deeper into my rectum



I can feel his hard firm six-pack abs thrusting against my smooth flat belly



I can feel his hands gripping my wrists and forcing my arms back above my head on the bed



I can feel his scuffed square-toed shitkickers scraping against my socks and lower calves



I can feel every inch of the hot hard man as he painfully violates my body and I love it I love the fucking and the thrusting and even the pain that sharp spearing agony hurts so fucking good



He sees it. He knows, and I know he knows. Good. He knows I’ll give him whatever he wants for the sake of his load. It’ll make him happy—and I want this hot as fuck stud to be happy.



Except it’s not. What’s wrong? Why is he looking at me like that? The contempt was sexy, but this is—is—what? It’s not hate; it’s too erotic for that; what the fuck is going on?



He lets go of my wrists and rises up somewhat, looking down on me. He’s still pumping my ass, fuck yeah—it hurts, oh god it hurts so bad but I’m falling in with his rhythm. Why is he looking at me like that? What is he



His hands oh shit what the fuck dude get ‘em off I can’t breathe what the fuck are you doing



Dude no get off what the fuck off me let go why are your hands around my throat what what’s that



“Time to die, faggot. You worthless homo bitches always fall for the Craigslist ads and the motel hookups. You stupid piece of shit, you make it so easy. Just another useless queer gettin’ raped and strangled in a motel room. Yeah, you heard me, cunt. You’re dying. I’m gonna kill ya. So c’mon and fight it cocksucker—you’re gonna lose, but your struggle is gonna jack me off so good!”



What the fuck he’s killing me so he can cum what OH SHIT HE’S GONNA FUCKIN’ KILL ME THIS PSYCHO IS GONNA STRANGLE ME TO DEATH



No no no no get the fuck off me I gotta get away gotta get away I can’t his rod is impaling my ass pinning me to the bed like I’ve been speared



air air no air oh my god GET OFF GET OFF I CAN STILL FEEL YOU IN ME FUCK DUDE NO WHY WHY I JUST WANTED YOUR LOAD



it hurts so fucking bad his hands are tightening like a vise I can’t pull them away he’s too strong higher maybe



no his rock hard biceps too strong my hands slipping on sweat over his winged skull tattoo



his chest his hard heaving chest no get off beat against it fuck like beating a brick wall no fuck this can’t be happening oh god oh fuck oh please no beat and slap and thrash just GET THE FUCK OFF OH FUCKING HELL PLEASE OH GOD NO



his face his eyes claw claw make him stop rough steel wool that’s his scruff his stubble on his cheeks oh fuck those cold blue eyes



they’re not cold anymore hot hot with bloodlust he wants me to die



oh shit still on me and in me I can’t break free he fills me utterly



the pain the pressure my throat my chest my head my dick what the fuck why is my dick so hard



he's still squeezing my throat as he thrusts that massive shaft up my colon crunching pain what the fuck



MY WINDPIPE OH GOD OH FUCK HE CRUSHED MY THROAT I FELT SHIT BREAK I HEARD SHIT BREAK IN MY THROAT



NO NO NO BEAT AND FLAIL GET OFF NOW I CAN’T THE PAIN DUDE YOUR COCK SWELLING IN MY ASS OH FUCK MY CHEST



what’s happening was gonna meet a friend for coffee after wasn’t supposed to die tonight just looking for a quick fuck why why



a vacuum I’m trying to breathe in a vacuum fight try harder keep going harder air if I try hard enough I can breathe I know it forget about the man holding you down and traumatizing your colon just breathe asshole you can do it



NO I CAN’T NO AIR PAIN HIS HANDS ARE STILL SQUEEZING I CAN’T PRY THEM OFF HE’S SPTTING IN MY FACE



“Die, you cocksucking faggot, die with my dick up your disgusting homo fuckhole, you worthless fucking cunt, yeah? Huh? Ain’t no one gonna care about yer useless cumslurping ass gettin' offed, huh? Ya like that? C’mon, cunt, fight for it, fight for the air. Work the spunk outta my shaft as you die so your death ain’t a total waste of flesh, you piece of shit!”



what I don’t



AIR OH PLEASE AIR



it’s fading cold and black but the pain won’t fade why please just let me die but the pain won’t go away



my chest fuck it hurts the pain the pressure please let me die



my throat fuck why dude why are you still throttling me I’m dying you’re only doing this so you can keep hurting me



my head the black fireworks the maddening buzz of cicadas such agony



my dick what why so stiff so erect my sack so puckered and shriveled what the fuck is happening



please no don’t do this maybe I can still live please let me live let go



your cock oh shit it’s so big inside me the pain is fading black roses are blooming and I am full of you



no please it feels so good but it means death I know it means death but it’s so good



fuck the burning the boiling in my ass your face is fading but I can still see the snarl that’s your cum you’re cumming in me as I die that’s why



the pain the terrible burning pain in my cock what the fuck im cumming thick ropy strands



fuck feels like my spunk is being ripped outta my cock i didn’t know it would hurt this bad i didn’t know it would hurt this good



oh fuck cold and dark the pain THE PAIN NO IT HURTS TOO GOOD I DON’T WANNA DIE YET IT HURTS TOO GOOD—



seed flowing into me and outta me
 
Really great story. More please
 
Well worth the wait man!! Excellent and effing horny as always. Thanks for sharing again.
 
M4M2

Kyle admired his bare chest in the mirror. Slim and lithe, he had a perfect teen body and he did his best to keep it looking that way. When he arched his back, his ribcage became barely visible beneath his smooth, soft skin, but in a normal posture he had just enough meat on his bones not to be scrawny. His chest, hairless but for a faint peach-like fuzz, displayed his small but erect nipples proudly on the slight mounds of his pecs.

His torso narrowed only a little as his flat, silky belly descended to his waist. Beneath that, a flaxen, tangled mass of pubic hair formed an almost delicate frame for his cock—six inches and only semi-soft. The upper part of his thighs was firm and almost hairless, much like his abdomen—but there the view stopped. It was the bottom of the mirror.

Sighing happily, Kyle turned away and headed towards his computer. His apartment was small but not squalid; with no space for a computer table, he’d set a laptop on a TV tray in his living room and took it down when needed. But the bedroom opened off the living room and the sink and mirror were out in the bedroom, with toilet and tub only enclosed in a separate room.

It was much like living in a cheap motel. But living alone as he did, Kyle had no way of knowing how long he remained visible in the mirror, how his firm but not overly-developed legs could have been viewed, flexing with each step, his rounded ass, smooth like the skin of fresh fruit pulsing repeatedly.

Then again, he really didn’t need to see it; he knew. It wouldn’t be true to say that he worked hard physically to maintain his physique; it was natural to him. It would probably be more accurate to say that he worked hard not to change it.

Kyle was actually a bit older than he appeared. He’d managed to retain the look of a fifteen- or sixteen-year-old boy at the age of twenty-four. He always took along a photo ID and had needed to produce on most of his sexual encounters. And there’d been a lot.

Kyle wasn’t a whore; he made decent money in telemarketing—but he was completely and utterly a slut. He lived to get fucked.

As he logged in online, he was also dying to get fucked. Tonight, that desire would be fulfilled in ways he couldn’t have possibly imagined.

There was a specific site he went to, a very basic online bulletin board called anonygays. It was solely devoted to gay hookups and postings could be sorted by several different filters. Kyle started with the location filter, working his way out from his zip code.

Nothing worthwhile nearby—the same usual sad old fat fucks he saw daily. But when he expanded his search, he found something in a nearby zip code—one a bit further west.

“M4M
Top looking now. Passing thru. Young fit only. 32, 170, muscled, six foot four.
--Travelingman”

Might be worth hitting him up, Kyle thought. He shot back a reply.

“Hey Traveling stud. Willing to take what you can give. Lemme know where to go.
--Holeboy”

He didn’t bother to send his stats. He simply attached a pic of himself, nude from the waist up.

In his eagerness for a response, Kyle couldn’t sit still. He got up and paced for a minute or two before checking his email.

Nothing.

Sighing impatiently, he turned to the bedroom. This would probably be washout like so many of the others—why was it so hard to find a good top? Even so, he should probably give the dude another couple of minutes. Wouldn’t hurt to get dressed; he’d need to anyway. If it wasn’t this guy, he’d be going out to service someone else tonight. He wasn’t going to bed until he’d had sperm pumped down his throat or up his ass.

Even though he wasn’t a literal whore, Kyle went out his way to dress like one. The white sleeveless tank top, a shiny polyester blend, wrapped his slim torso tightly enough to be nearly transparent while the black shorts he managed to wriggle into cinched off high on his thigh, tightly highlighting his thick cock and his firm bubble butt. He slipped on an expensive pair of black Air Jordans, leaving the hightops untied, tucking the loose bright-red laces down inside next to his white ped socks.

Deciding that he’d waited long enough, Kyle headed back towards the laptop to check messages, only to find that his internet connection had failed. He exhaled impatiently and began pulling up the forum app on his phone while he waited for his modem to reset and his browser to reload.

It was neck and neck for a while, but the app on the phone won out in the end. The little red dot meant he had a new message. He clicked on it and greedily scanned the text.

“Nice. I’ll fill your hole, boy. Imperial Motor Court 3421 SH 128. How long?”

Kyle knew the place. Out on business 128, which used to be the main highway before the bypass was built. A little L-shaped place that had been run for decades by the same couple. They still owned it and still staffed it much of the time, but the night shift had become too much for them. The help they hired didn’t have the same high standards as the owners, which is how Kyle had ended up getting fucked there on at least two prior occasions.

It wasn’t a sleazy, run-down, rent-by-the-hour bordello; it was clean but threadbare. In a year or two, well, that would be another story.

“Be there in 20. What room? What ya into?” was the response he sent back. Waiting for the reply, he turned his attention back to the computer. His browser was up and open; local news was displayed. There had been a fire in a dilapidated apartment complex used for public housing on the south side of town. And a massive drug bust, also on the south side. The third story was about a male prostitute found strangled in a nearby corporate hotel.
Kyle thought for a moment. That was what happened to whores. It was an occupational hazard. Wouldn’t happen to him, he wasn’t out to rip anyone off; he just wanted to give a good time and have one himself.

His phone vibrated—the app was still open. “Room 18. I’m into pounding boyholes. Get yours over here.”

His ass spasmed in anticipation; his cock swelled to an almost painful extent inside his tight shorts. He shut down the machine, killed the lights, and headed for his car.

=====================================================================================

He leaned back and lit a cigarette. The little fuck was on his way. He shut off the phone and tossed it onto the floor. Untraceable prepaid, or he wouldn’t have used it. Expensive and potentially dangerous; he’d have to find another option soon.

Taking another drag, he settled back in the chair, glancing around the motel room. He didn’t see any ashtrays but the pine-scented cleaner they used in this place hadn’t been able to overpower the smell of stale smoke accumulated over the years. Way too late for them to object to smoking in the rooms now. He tossed the smoke into the half-filled Styrofoam coffee cup he’d left on the tiny circular table placed between the door and the flimsy armchair.

Not like he could open the windows, either—the metal frames and latches of the sliding panes had been painted over so many times that it would take a hammer and chisel to get them to move.

Sighing, he stood up, flexing his long hard body, tightly silhouetted in a white cotton t-shirt which was tucked into his jeans. They were as tight as his shirt and the black leather belt wrapped around his waist emphasized the muscular firmness of his physique. The worn and faded jeans were tucked into the top of an open, unlaced pair of equally worn and scuffed workboots, pale tan with scarred black leather around the ankles.

He admired himself in the mirror for a minute, taking in the reflection of himself as the centerpiece of the clean but worn room. A slight warp in the glass distorted the view, making the worn blond-wood furniture seem curiously elongated. Behind him, to his right, he could make out the stripped bed, the cheap thin polyester comforter on the floor on the far side, in the space between the bed and the wall.

Abruptly, he turned and switched off the light by the door, leaving only the nightstand lamp on. Too dark, but he didn’t want to turn the other light back on, so he stepped into the bathroom and turned on the lights in there. Like the room, it was clean but old and inexpensive—simple white tile, large old porcelain toilet and sink (both very slightly stained) and a bathtub with a semi-transparent shower curtain.

The light refracting back into the room was sufficient; he was happy. Now came the waiting.

He didn’t like waiting. The longer he had to wait, the more his rage built.

If the punk knew what was good for him, he’d better hurry up.

====================================================================================

Kyle pulled his 20-year-old Plymouth into the motel parking lot and killed the engine. Sitting in the dark, he lit the last half of his last cigarette. Hopefully this dude would have smokes he could borrow.

Presuming, of course, that he went through with this.

He was nervous. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t like he hadn’t already gotten fucked by dozens of random guys this way.

Room 18. He glanced towards the door, its turquoise paint gleaming dully under the dim parking lot light. Not too far away. And he was horny—so why was he nervous?

Was it that thing with the whore that he’d read about? Naw, that couldn’t be it; Kyle didn’t ask for money, didn’t steal and didn’t do drugs…a lot…

Ah, this was all bullshit. He wanted to get fucked; that was what mattered. Plus this old piece of shit car had no AC and he was already slick with sweat. This stud wouldn’t wanna do him if he got too nasty. He threw his smoldering butt out the window and got out of the car, closing the door quietly.

Kyle’s legs still felt weak and rubbery as he walked the few yards from his parking space to the door. This made no sense, he decided, pausing on the crumbling pavement. He wanted dick. He stepped up and knocked at the door.

A sharp golden triangle of light punctured the darkness on the doorstep. Kyle couldn’t clearly see the man who opened the door; all he could see was the silhouette of a large, muscular man towering over him.

He was in. Nerves or not, he wanted this guy. Didn’t need to know the details.

Kyle glanced around the room—cheap and dimly-lit but clean, as he expected. It was warm, though; the AC unit embedded in the wall under the window was running but not doing much more than pushing around the smoke- and cleaner-scented air.

He relaxed a little and turned his gaze back to his hookup. The dude stood over him, somewhat backlit by the light spilling in from the bathroom. His muscles glistened slightly with sweat and Kyle felt his dick growing stiff again; his tight shorts didn’t give him much room to hide the fact.

The man turned, allowing Kyle to catch a glimpse of his strong jaw in profile before he saw the stud’s face, an unshaven shadow darkening his cheeks. Smoldering black eyes glinted dangerously below his hooded lids; his short, carefully-groomed hair was black as well. His eyes drifted down to Kyle’s crotch and a grin spread across his hard face.

“Like what ya see, huh?” he rumbled, his baritone voice vibrating deep within Kyle’s scrotum. “Name’s Joe.”

“K-kyle,” the boy stuttered. “Nicetameetcha. Hey, you gotta smoke I can bum?”

Joe’s grin deepens. “Sure. Let’s see what ya got first, though. C’mere.”

Kyle stepped closer to the well-built man. He inhaled deeply as Joe reached towards him. As the older man grasped Kyle’s shirt and pulled it up over his head, the boy exhaled slowly, shuddering in anticipatory pleasure.

As Joe placed his large strong hands on the kid’s smooth, slick chest, Kyle looked up eagerly into the stud’s face, finding his cocky grin erotic. His hands fumbled at the man’s firm waist, seeking the bottom of his tight white t-shirt.

“C’mon, punk, pull it off, strip me,” Joe muttered. He bent over and raised his arms; Kyle had the shirt off immediately.

They stood close, each running his hands over the other’s firm, sweat-slicked chest—Kyle tangling his fingers in the tight curly fur on Joe’s broad pecs while Joe’s hands circled Kyle’s smooth, lithe torso.

Joe broke away. He turned to the dresser and retrieved a pack of Camels. Shaking a couple of cigarettes out of the hard box, he proffered one to Kyle before sticking one in his mouth and lighting it. He handed the lighter to the boy, letting his gaze rove over the punk’s smooth teen body as it was illuminated in the flash of flame.

Kyle’s blond hair glowed momentarily like a halo before sinking back to dull yellow as he took a drag and handed the lighter back to Joe. He stood close to the older, larger man, inhaling his scent of sweat and male pheromones along with the smoke. The combination made him feel a little high, as if lust was disorienting him slightly. Well, that would be about right…

Joe looked down at the kid, exhaling smoke into the punk’s face. He didn’t wince; good. He’d be wincing plenty later on but for right now, he was horny and wanting to get plowed. And it wasn’t like Joe wasn’t horny himself; the massive ridge of flesh outlined in his groin was proof of that. As he took another drag, he reached out with his free hand and fondled the kid’s chest, squeezing his nipple. Kyle responded in kind, applying rhythmic pressure to Joe’s bullet-hard nip.

They didn’t completely finish the cigarettes; the lust was too over-powering. Kyle was the first to break down. He threw his half-finished cig into the coffee cup on the table and reached forward, grabbing the bulge in Joe’s crotch and massaging it as he dropped to his knees.

The muscled stud stood erect. Looking down at the eager young boy, he tossed his butt aside as well. “Undo my belt and unzip my fly, boy,” he snapped.

Kyle felt an erotic thrill run through him like an electrical shock at the command. Finally, someone who’d top him like the slut he was, someone who’d punk-fuck him like a bitch, filling the empty hole in his soul with cock and cum.

Or so he hoped.

Joe glared contemptuously down at the boy gripping his dick through his jeans. His rage had been kept under control so far; the little fucker was still anxiously horny and wanting to get cornholed. He needed to rein it in just a little bit longer. The cunt wasn’t quite in position yet. But when he was…

Joe grunted. Kyle thought it was due to his handjob. If he’d known the plans running through Joe’s mind—but then, he’d already ignored his intuition in the parking lot.

He plunged headlong towards death with his dick hard and dripping.

Joe’s thick leather belt was easily unbuckled but Kyle’s desire made his hands shake; the button and zipper on the jeans took a bit longer. Before long, though, he was rewarded with a huge thick tube of manmeat flopping out into his face.

He didn’t hesitate. Opening his mouth wide, he swallowed the engorged purple head, sinking the massive, vein-wrapped shaft painfully down his throat, feeling his esophagus stretch with the effort. Suddenly Joe’s hands were on the sides of his head, almost crushing it in a painful, vise-like grip. Kyle realized he couldn’t move his head at almost the exact moment Joe’s cock plugged his throat and cut off his air. He pressed his palms against the older man’s thighs, his heart rate increasing as he realized that he couldn’t force the muscled alpha away. He was pinned in an iron grip, helpless as an enormous dick was plunged down his windpipe…

Then it was gone; in the moment before panic set in, Kyle was able to breathe. There was nothing in his mouth but a trail of salty precum down the center of his tongue. The dripping shaft was bobbing in front of his face.

“Get on the bed, bitch,” Joe growled, “I wanna fuck ya doggie style. Get outta them shorts and on yer hands and knees. Get ready to take it up the ass, boy.”

Kyle hurried to obey. The ice-cold intonation of Joe’s voice sent a brief flash of fear throughout his feverish body, but his lust was too intense and the heat in his belly reignited. He mind in almost a dream state, Kyle stood and wriggled his way out of his tight shorts, standing and turning around, nude but for his hightops and socks. In the back of his mind, as he climbed up and positioned himself in fucking position, was the thought that the Imperial was still using those thin, scratchy sheets…

He bent down, pointing his quivering rose-colored fuckhole up to the open air. Knowing how much this was gonna hurt, he clenched his eyes and fists and gritted his teeth in preparation.

Joe approached the boy on the bed, his huge shaft jutting out in front of him. His jeans and belt hung open, peeled aside to allow him easier access to Kyle’s ass. His construction boots thumped on the thin carpet as he got near enough to start slapping his dripping tip on Kyle’s smooth asscheeks.

“Hey, man, what kinda lube you gonna use?” Kyle suddenly asked.

After a split-second hesitation, Joe’s answer was like the crack of a whip. “None, you cunt.”

And then he was in. He was all the way in.

It was shock, physical shock, that prevented Kyle from screaming instantly. Joe’s gigantic dong was deep into his rectum before he had time to process the sensation. He gasped, trying to fill his lungs for what would have been a shrill shriek.

But just as he was about to release it, Joe’s hand came down on the back of his head, forcing it inexorably into the mattress. Kyle found his outraged scream muffled into an extended groan as he thrashed in agony, mercilessly impaled on the older man’s tool.

“Fuck yeah,” Joe grunted as he relaxed his hard body on top of the boy, keeping his cock plugged up the punk’s ass. Slowly, he lessened the pressure on Kyle’s head, letting the whimpering bitch raise his face and gradually start to breathe again.

Unexpectedly, Joe rose up on his knees, tightly gripping Kyle’s hips and pulling him up as well. Gasping deeply and trying to recover his wits, Kyle came up on his hands and knees.

He was in over his head. He knew that now. He wished he’d heeded his fears in the parking lot…

“P-please, man, enough,” he begged. “I-I’m sorry, dude, but I can’t do this. You’re too much for me, man.”

“I know, cunt,” Joe snapped, “but don’t worry, I can still work your worthless body so I can cum. Now shaddup, you piece a’ shit!”

Lunging forward, he wrapped his hands around Kyle’s throat and began to squeeze.

In retrospect, he decided he needed to remember his victim’s real age; the younger they were, the less able to resist—but that was the actual, not apparent age. This kid looked sixteen, but he was in his twenties and fought like it.

Kyle was able to break free. Joe was embarrassed with himself. His cunts shouldn’t be getting away; this one was pissing him off. That was unfortunate—for the cunt.

As Joe struggled to keep his control over Kyle, his fingers slid over the boy’s smooth, slick skin. Kyle lunged up and to the right, pulling himself off Joe’s dick and onto the nightstand. His slim but muscled arms scrabbled at the lamp and phone as he desperately attempted to escape what he thought was going to be a rape, the hands around his throat notwithstanding.

Joe had other ideas. Grabbing at Kyle’s shoulders, he managed to get the kid back onto the bed, flipping him onto his back in the process. The bedside lamp had fallen to the floor and shattered—the only light illuminating Kyle’s desperate fight was that reflected from the bathroom.

“What, ya think yer gonna get away from my cock, you fucking slut?” sneered Joe, “Bitch, you’re gonna spend the rest of your life riding my dick—I give ya about another thirty minutes.”

Kyle stared up at Joe’s hard, scruffy face in shock, not fully understanding the import of his words. He understood pain well enough, though, and as Joe brutally shoved his engorged shaft unexpectedly back into Kyle’s torn, traumatized colon, he inhaled instinctively prior to emitting an ear-piercing shriek sure to alert the neighboring rooms.

Except Joe anticipated this. Picking up the landline telephone, Joe waited until Kyle took his deep pre-scream breath, then slammed the inert chunk of plastic and metal into the boy’s face.

Kyle grunted in agony as his head rolled back onto the bed, blood trickling from his broken nose. He jerked and twitched; overwhelmed by the physical imperative to breathe, he utterly abandoned any attempt to cry out.

Joe jerked the phone forward brusquely, yanking the cord out of the wall. Reaching under the phone itself, he quickly unhooked the other end and tossed it aside; it made a faint dinging sound as it bounced once on the bed.

“Thought ya were gonna get away from my cock, you worthless motherfucker?” he snarled into Kyle’s semi-conscious face as the punk moaned incoherently. Grabbing the kid’s smooth, firm legs, he parted them roughly before brutally plunging his throbbing, swollen member into Kyle’s ravaged, pulsating asshole.

In a dark, swirling haze of pain, the new burst of agony in his already-abused fuckhole brought Kyle back to his senses. He regretted it immediately.

He tried to wrap his mind around what was happening, but he couldn’t. He was a horny little twink who’d never considered his own mortality and had no reference now that it was staring him in the face, sneering and spitting at him, telling him what a stupid piece of shit he was.

Which was exactly what Joe was doing.

“Thought you were just gonna get a quick fuck tonight, huh, faggot? Thought you were just gonna get it up the ass? Guess what, motherfucker—you’re gettin’ it up the ass all right, you worthless cocksucker; yer gonna die with a dick shoved up your homo fuckhole!”

Joe grinned down at the boy, savoring his stunned fear and incomprehension. Settling on his knees, his dick still jammed up the bitch’s ass, he wrapped the phone cord around his hands, slowly and significantly, letting the boy see.

Kyle saw but refused to understand. His mind stopped short of the realization of what the cord was for. He lay shuddering, whimpering and terrified, too sunk in inertia to make another attempt to escape. He knew he was gonna get hurt, but his train of thought ran out of steam after that point.

Joe was aware that the fucker had tuned out. He decided it was time to get his attention again. His cock, thick and hard, plugged the little shit’s hole but he wasn’t actively getting fucked.

When Joe suddenly threw himself down onto Kyle, pumping his massive shaft swiftly and brutally into the boy’s torn, damaged rectum, the kid’s eyes widened. Joe grinned again; he’d been right—best way to get the fuckmeat to start responding again was to apply a little pain.

Of course, there was such a thing as too much response. The motherfucker began beating on him, fists hammering against his huge muscled chest with as little effect as if it had been a brick wall.

“Yeah, you worthless piece of shit, that got ya in the mood, didn’t it? Fuck, cunt, if you’re enjoyin’ that, you’re gonna fuckin’ love what’s coming next, you stupid little fucker!”

Kyle heard the words. He didn’t fully comprehend them, but he was filled with terror already and it took little to push him over the edge. This guy was gonna hurt him. He had to get away; he had to get out of this room, he had to get out now NOW—

His lithe body began thrashing violently; somewhere deep inside his mind, some small dark part was aware of the sensation of his slim body rubbing and sliding against that of the older, muscular man on a thin film of sweat. Their bodies writhed together as if lubed with oil.

But Kyle was hysterical, not horny. His ragged breathing became more strenuous; Joe recognized the signs. The slut would start screaming any second now. Time to put a stop to that shit. Time to put the cord to use.

He held it up in front of Kyle’s weeping, snot-smeared face. He knew the kid saw it—and he knew the kid had no idea what it was for. Yet.

Well, time to let the motherfucker in on the secret. Wrapping the ends of the strong plastic and metal cord around his strong hands, he smiled almost gently into Kyle’s face. “I know, I know,” he whispered, “shhh—just take it, cunt. It’ll hurt less.”

He leaned menacingly over the punk’s shuddering, supine form. “Of course, you’re too fucking stupid to listen,” Joe said, an iron edge creeping into his voice, “so your death is gonna end up being agonizing and nightmarish. Tough shit, cunt. Ready to die?”

Before Kyle had a chance to react, Joe had the cord wrapped around his neck; his thick muscled arms had moved with frightening speed. He was talented; his massive shaft had never completely disengaged from Kyle’s mangled colon, the huge purple head plugging the cunt’s ass the entire time.

Joe pulled the cord tight, but not tight enough to completely cut off Kyle’s air. Not that Kyle appreciated the fact; his esophagus was so constricted that he could breathe only with the greatest exertion. He stared up at Joe’s dark, unshaven face, wheezing frantically with effort, his youthful face a mask of horror.

Joe noted it and smiled. The boy’s fear and suffering made his huge cock even harder. He was glad he’d picked out that ad on the bulletin board; this worthless disposable sack of meat was gonna be a good fuck.

“Dude, that sound is real fuckin’ annoying,” he snarled into the terrified youth’s face. “Shut the fuck up, man—oh, ya can’t? Here, motherfucker, lemme help ya!”

From the corners of his eyes, Kyle saw Joe’s huge arms, biceps bulging in strain as he tightened the cord. His fear and horror, strong as those sensations had been, now coalesced into a single point of panic as his air was cut off with crushing agony.

Suddenly, the realization had hit him as an epiphany, a lightning bolt. This dude was gonna kill him. He was gonna die.

It couldn’t happen. He’d never thought it could happen. But the pain, the horrible, horrible pain—he’d thought he was gonna get raped but this—no—no, not happening—

Leaning down, Joe closely examined the meat’s face as the realization of incipient death swept across it. There, fuck, there it was, so fucking erotic as the fucking meatpunk realized he was gonna die…

“That’s it, you fucking faggot cocksucker, that’s it—ya like it? You’re dying, ya like that? Ya better, cunt, cause I’m gonna ream your fucking homo ass while you choke to death and it’s gonna be so fucking hot you’ll cum as you die, you worthless piece a’ shit!”

Again, Kyle heard the words; they hit him like bricks, leaving him battered but not penetrating deeply. The cord was what was penetrating deeply; the horrific crushing pain in his throat was all-encompassing. His hands scrabbled frantically at his throat—he could feel the deep divot where the phone cord had sunk in, but it was so far down he was unable to grasp it, no matter how desperately he clawed at his neck.

Joe sneered and spit into Kyle’s panicked face. The kid’s eyes, already huge with terror, were starting to bulge. Thick wet choking grunts emerged from his closed-off gullet as the skin of his face began to darken.

Kyle was sinking into a universe of agony he’d never suspected could exist; even through the unspeakable nightmare of strangulation, he could still feel the enormous shaft plowing his ass. His head seemed to be swelling uncontrollably; his eyes and his tongue—oh fuck it hurt so bad, he had no idea getting fucked to death would hurt so bad—no, he wasn’t gonna go out like this, not gonna happen!

The dying youth flailed wildly, an almost instinctive attempt to escape. His slim but firm arms thrashed almost uncontrollably against Joe, his fingers clutching reflexively in the alpha’s chest hair. The shuddering punk’s other hand reached out blindly, grasping at the air before falling back on Joe’s face.

By a quirk of synaptic circumstance, the boy somehow managed to stroke his killer’s cheek; his mind, inflamed with terror, still noting the fur on the muscular dude’s scruffy face.

Joe gritted his teeth and held onto the meat, working his violently convulsing body like a rodeo rider controlling a bucking bronco. He was used to riding out the death throes and he liked to let his victims know the fact.

“Fight it, bitch. You’re too fuckin’ stupid to accept your inevitable death, so give it some purpose and milk the cum outta my cock as you go, cunt. C’mon, motherfucker, yeah, fuck, your body feels great thrashing against me as you die, you worthless faggot!”

Kyle’s mind and body both were awash in a flame of agony as his jerking body began to shut down from lack of oxygen. His flailing hands were no long directed; they beat aimlessly at the merciless alpha. He was vaguely aware of the wiry hair in which his fingers occasionally caught but it was a faint sensation compared to the vicious thrusting agony in his torn, ravaged rectum.

As he began the physical process of death, Kyle’s awareness somehow intensified; he felt it all, the nightmarish pain of a slow, excruciating death. The pounding, drumming sound in his head was increasing in both tempo and volume as his face seemed to swell. His tongue was swelling as well; as he gagged and choked, he could feel it move forward, parting his lips. Even as he thrashed and fought, he could feel thick foamy drool leaking horribly down his smooth cheeks.

But the dying boy was especially aware of his traitorously engorged cock, somehow erect despite the terrible pain and fear—even over the pulse of blood in his head, he could hear the thick tube of flesh slapping back and forth between his heaving, sweat-soaked belly and the hard, firm abdomen of his killer.

Snarling down into the twisted, blackening face of the slut convulsing violently beneath him, Joe realized the useless little fuck was on his way out. The kid’s limbs, smooth and strong, still beat against him in futile, despairing resistance, and it was getting annoying.

“Enough, bitch, stop fightin’ it. Yeah, punk, you’re working my shaft real good but not good enough to put up with this shit. You’re dying, you faggot—only things left to decide are how long it’s gonna take and how much it it’s gonna hurt. So stop kicking and take my dick up your ass as you die, cause as bad as it hurts now, if you piss me off, it’s gonna get much worse.”

Joe thrust his face into Kyle’s, looking deeply into the youth’s bulging, terrified eyes, peppered with pinpoint hemorrhages. There was still a light buried within their frantic depths. Someone was still home.

“I know you’re in there,” he whispered sadistically to the suffering youth quivering in his arms, “I know you can hear me. Stop fighting it and I can make it hurt less. Accept it and you’ll enjoy your death. Give it up, cunt.”

Kyle’s psyche had shattered under the strain of being snuffed; his mind, paralyzed in terror, ran in a groove of sheer panic, occasionally illuminated by flashes of remorse for ignoring his hesitation earlier. But these were mere glimpses of lucidity in the cold howling vortex of agony the slut now inhabited.

As his nervous system began to fail, Kyle’s nerve endings became hypersensitive, exposing him to a torture he’d never conceived. As he arced his back convulsively, pressing his torso against that of his assailant, Joe’s belt buckle dug into Kyle’s tender belly flesh; to the punk, it was the sharp pain of a stab wound…

His smooth legs kicked out wildly, scraping across the thin sheets before wrapping tightly around Joe’s sweaty, thrusting flanks. The muscles in his thighs tensed and released swiftly in mortal spasm; as his left foot raked across Joe’s firm, pumping ass, the heel on his black Air Jordan caught and the sneaker flew off, hitting the dresser and falling to the floor. Kyle’s twitching foot, still wrapped in its tight white ped sock, pawed mindlessly at the bed.

The slut’s hands were slow and gentle now; Joe felt them caressing his rough, unshaven cheeks, powerless now to cause any damage. He looked down at the smooth, slim body writhing in agony under him, the bare chest heaving in desperate agony. Foamy spittle still oozed from around the kid’s thick dark tongue, sticking grotesquely out between blue lips. He pressed his lithe, smooth body up against that of his killer’s, his golden pubic hair mingling with the dark hair on Joe’s lower abdomen.

As Joe rode the kid into death, he felt the boy’s thick rod sliding around in his belly fur. The homo’s arms were losing strength, but his legs were still going strong and that one hightop he had left was literally a pain in the ass.

“Stupid cunt,” he snapped, “couldn’t even follow directions to ease your own way out, huh? Now it’s gotta hurt. Die, you worthless faggot. Die on my fucking cock—yeah, you ready? Ready for pain and cum and death? Here ya go, you disgusting piece of shit—your momma’s gonna get told they found your fucked-out homo ass raped and strangled in a cheap hotel—and that you died hard!’”

Joe forced the thrashing punk down onto the bed by the sheer overwhelming size of his hard body. Grunting deeply, he pulled his arms apart, his biceps straining with the effort and tendons bulging on his neck, digging his work boots into the surface of the bed for better traction.

As the cord vanished into his neck, Kyle’s kicking and jerking intensified. This was an instinctive response; what little of Kyle was left was wallowing in the agony of over-sensitized nerve endings. His guts were being impaled; a blazing wire seemed to run down the center of his excruciatingly swollen dick.

Then his esophagus collapsed with a loud crunch. Despite his failing nervous system, Kyle felt the crushing agony. He tensed again, wrapping his arms and legs tightly around Joe’s hard, thrusting body, slick with sweat. His sphincter spasmed and contracted, tightening around the base of the top’s thick shaft just like a cockring.

“That’s it,” Joe grunted, not knowing if Kyle was too brain-dead to hear him—and not caring. “Fuckin’ choke and die, cunt, die on my thick cock, you worthless faggot slut!”

Then he reached his breaking point. Crying out, Joe clamped Kyle in an iron grip and spewed a hot, steady stream of sperm into the punk’s torn asshole.

Kyle was almost gone. Deep within, though, a tiny spark was left—one that was still hooked up to the fading nervous system, still hyperactive at the point of death.

He could still feel. He could feel cold and an all-over, indescribable pain in the quiet darkness surrounding him. Even the drumming sound in his ears had reached a crescendo before it had faltered and faded. But now he could feel something else.

Heat, horrific liquid heat flooding his guts as if lava had been pumped up his ass. His brain was far too damaged to comprehend what caused the sensation, but his body responded anyway.

He’d never known an orgasm could hurt so much. His spunk seemed to be so pressurized that it tore open his dick on the way out. Boiling fluid shot out of him, boiling fluid flooded his guts; somewhere along the line, his life was swept out with the current.

Joe held onto the shuddering corpse, spunking uncontrollably as a geyser of jizz erupted from the cunt’s purple shaft, splashing against the flat belly of his killer and splattering his own quivering body. As Kyle kicked and convulsed, random nerve signals jerked his right leg violently; his other sneaker slipped off, knocked to one side of the bed. His feet, in short ped socks, quivered mindlessly as Joe lay still, feeling the rest of corpse shudder against him as well.

He rose up on his knees, looking down at the tortured, twisted corpse, admiring his brutal kill as he struggled to get his air back after a powerful orgasm. After a moment or two on his knees, Joe felt that he’d regained enough control to stand up. Slowly pulling his still-oozing shaft out of the meat’s bleeding fuckhole, he backed off the bed, his unlaced boots landing solidly on the floor. He stepped into the bathroom and, quickly cleaning himself, tossed the used washrag into the toilet (the water reeked of bleach) before stuffing his massive shaft back into his jeans.

Joe re-entered the bedroom, admiring his handiwork. Kyle was lying spread-eagled on the bed, puddles of his own cum pooling on his flat belly and in the space between his small pectorals. A couple of spots were slowly glazing his black, swollen face.

One black hightop sat upright on the bed, red laces trailing; the other was hidden on the floor on the other side. The corpse was nude except for the white ped socks.

Joe wanted to remember this moment—and he had an idea how to immortalize it. The faggot’s clothes were still in a pile on the floor. Digging through the shorts, Joe quickly found Kyle’s cell phone in a pocket. Quickly accessing the camera, he stood at the foot of the bed and took a photo of Kyle’s sprawled, abused corpse.

He’d hang on to the phone for a little bit, anyway—not long, just long enough to lure in another cocksucker.

Reviewing the pic, Joe realized he’d caught himself in the shot; the angle he’d chosen had revealed him in the bathroom mirror. Normally this would be reason to not only delete the image but destroy the phone as well, but in this case he wasn’t worried. The flash had gone off and obscured the upper part of the shot; the pic revealed only a small reflection of a well-built man from the neck down—a muscled hairy chest descending to tight jeans and boots, but no identifying features.
The corpse, on the other hand, was crystal-clear. Furthermore, some of the swelling had gone down. Kyle’s face was still blackened and twisted, but was now more recognizable as the hot blond youth he’d fucked to death.

An evil idea crossed Joe’s mind like an electric shock. Going back to the menu on the boy’s phone, he opened the punk’s Facebook account. Sure enough, the stupid little shit hadn’t bothered to use a password on the app—Joe could access anything he wanted.

So he posted a photo of Kyle’s splayed corpse to the boy’s own wall.

Chuckling evilly, he pulled his t-shirt back on. He disabled the locator on the dead boy’s phone, but took it with him.

He’d use it to lure the next one.

Swiftly leaving the room, Joe heard the door latch behind him. He headed towards his pickup, his boots thumping heavily on the pavement as he worked out the phrasing for his next online ad.
 
M4M Oedipus Sex

Joe was relaxing, at least for the moment. He sat shirtless on the sofa, his tight jeans hanging open and unbuckled, his feet propped up on the coffee table. He was playing with a cell phone, occasionally swigging from a bottle of beer at his side.

He wasn’t familiar with this kinda phone; it was the one he’d taken off the bitch he’d choked. He’d held on to it for a couple of days while he kept his eye on the news. There’d been a brief mention of a body found in a motel room, then a flare of attention as the story of the photo surfaced. The pic of the boy’s corpse had been quickly scrubbed off the internet but public interest was really high.

So it would have to be a particularly stupid—or uncontrollably horny—faggot putting himself out online for sex now, at least in this part of town. Joe had been planning to write another ad himself, but he didn’t know how much could be traced back to him from the last cunt’s computer. And anyway, his curiosity had gotten the better of him. There were several hookup apps on the kid’s phone and he wanted to see what was out there.

He didn’t have to search long. The first app he looked at allowed anonymous postings; within the first two pages, he found what he wanted.

“NEED MY DADDY TONIGHT
My daddy is out and I’m home alone. 18, 122, 5’8”. Daddy’s a SWAT officer—can you fill his boots and my hole? Don’t have a car so I gotta host, lol.
--Daddy’s Boy”

Joe’s dick was so hard it hurt. Damn. He hoped no one had gotten to this boy yet. He wanted daddy? Joe could do that.

Deep in thought, he was unaware of the evil leer that twisted his handsome but somehow cold face. Oh yes, he could do that. He could be a very good daddy—or a bad one, depending on the definition.


“Boy—
You wanna get dicked down by daddy? Let’s roll. 32, 170, 6’4”. Got some fatigues I can wear.
--Powerdriver”

He never used the same screen name twice. While he waited for a response, he popped off the couch and went into the bedroom, rummaging in the closet briefly until he found his desert camo outfit. They were the real thing; he’d bought a complete army combat unit—ACU—from an army surplus store.

The sand-colored t-shirt was a couple of sizes too small; it wrapped so tightly around Joe’s muscled torso it looked wet. He tucked it into the camo-patterned pants before buttoning the form-fitting pants around his slim waist. He got the jacket on—it was too warm to close it up—and was just slipping on the socks when a chime from the dead kid’s phone alerted him to a message.

So the stupid little fucker was gonna respond, knowing that there was a killer out there? Joe grinned again as he accessed the app and read the note.

“Damn daddy I want u in me. What size shoe u wear?”

Joe paused, intrigued. He responded. “12—why?”

The reply was immediate. “Perfect will u wear daddy’s boots when u fuck me? 1280 Stafford Ave/home alone front door unlocked/upstairs 1st door on left/ill be naked on bed waiting”

Still chuckling, Joe sent a message in the affirmative. There was a perverse thrill in fucking and snuffing the teen while wearing his father’s boots. Of course, he still needed something to wear on the way there. He slipped on a pair of short black leather engineer boots; he could quickly remove them when he got there.

He knew the address; a relative had lived around the corner at one point. It was an upper middle class neighborhood about twenty minutes away. He considered that it might be some kind of trap, but only briefly; he had too much common sense to think such an elaborate ruse likely.

Of course, he also had too much common sense to take chances; when he got there, he parked on a side street two blocks up, pulling up the last block with his lights off. As he approached the house, he walked on the grass verge on the far side of the sidewalk to avoid the inevitable thumping his thick-soled boots would cause.

The house was large, with a stone fascia stretching up two stories. It was also dark; there was no sign that anyone was there, but that was what he expected. The massive front door, unlocked as promised, was set with two large panes of glass, frosted and worked with lead.

Joe found himself on a square of tile surrounded by what seemed like a sea of neutral-colored carpet stretching off into the darkness. As his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, he became more aware or his surroundings—dining room on the right, huge useless formal living room to the left, hallway straight ahead probably leading to kitchen. The stairs started in the living room and curved up into blackness.

What a nice expensive house to desecrate with a rape and murder.

He started up the stairs, not caring how much noise he made now—in fact, he made sure the bitch knew he was coming. The kid needed to be ready.


The kid was ready. JC was so excited, he was afraid he was gonna cum before the dude got in the room. He was a horny little fucker and had already jacked off twice that day, but he was so full of hormones and semen that he was almost literally ready to spunk at the slightest touch.

His dad had been doing yard work. JC sat at his window overlooking the back yard, watching the muscled older man work his half-dressed body in the afternoon heat, cutting the grass and edging.

As daddy thrusted and flexed his hard, sweaty torso, JC beat his meat frantically, imagining getting brutally fucked by his macho father.

It’d never happen, of course, his father was ex-military and straighter than an arrow. He was out right now at some strip club with his police buddies; he’d likely bring back a whore to fuck sometime after the place closed—he usually did.

JC’s bedroom was next door; he always liked listening to daddy grunt and pump on the other side of the wall. Tonight, though, he had other ideas. Tonight, he was get as close to daddy as he could.

The guy he’d contacted online had the same build and stats as JC’s dad, except for the age. And he’d said he’d fuck him wearing military gear and daddy’s boots.

So it seemed only logical that he’d get fucked on daddy’s bed.

JC entered his father’s bedroom confidently, knowing he had at least a couple of hours before the titty bar closed. The room was done in a dark masculine blue, with a black wrought iron metal bed covered with a simple fleece blanket. JC swept it back, knowing that the linens underneath were high-quality; dad like to fuck his whore on 800-thread count percale—almost as smooth as satin.

The room was dark but there was enough reflected light bleeding through the open blinds from the streetlights outside to allow him to see. Evidence of daddy was everywhere; combined with the scent of his cologne, it made a heady mix that would have gotten him hard if he wasn’t already. Happened every time he entered the room.

His father’s black leather boots were on the floor in front of the dresser. The laces were still tightly tied; the zippers up the sides were undone. Daddy had put most of his tactical gear in the closet and locked up his gun, as usual, but there were some bits and pieces scattered about.

One of his many pairs of handcuffs was on the nightstand; daddy was probably gonna use ‘em on his whore later. A belt of webbed black nylon, with a hard plastic clasp, was slung over the headboard of open ironwork. Looking at them, JC felt his dick throb. Aside from his socks, he was nude; it jutted in front of him, long, erect and dripping on daddy’s thick pile carpet. The desire to be used like a slut swept over him; the horny teen decided he’d ask his hook-up to use the handcuffs.

He was in his own home, in his cop father’s bedroom. The thought that he was in any kind of danger never crossed his lust-filled mind.

Sweeping back the blanket, JC climbed onto the bed. He gathered up the pillows, propping them under his head so he could lie back at an inclined angle. Sighing with comfort, he stretched out on his back on the expensive sheets, reflecting that even the bed smelled like daddy. The idea tripped his raging hormones into overdrive—where was the guy?

There—in the silent house, he could hear the front door open, quickly followed by heavy footsteps across the foyer. JC eagerly tracked the footfalls up the stairs.

He was right outside the door. It was gonna happen. JC was gonna get fucked in daddy’s bed by a hard dude in military gear and daddy’s boots.

JC wasn’t a virgin, but he had never hooked up with an anonymous stranger before and he’d never had sex in his own home before—much less in daddy’s bed. The excitement was intense. He closed eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to slow his racing heart. If he didn’t calm down, he’d blow his wad before the guy was in the room…



Joe paused at the door at the top of the stairs. It was about halfway open, the ambient lighting giving a faint glow to the darkly-hued walls. He could make out a figure recumbent on the bed, moving slightly.

He stepped into the room and approached the bed. The teen was stretched out, his smooth, lithe body glistening slightly in the half-light, sweating in the warmth of the night. Joe reached down and switched on the bedside lamp.

The kid had evidently been in the dark for some time; he winced and shielded his eyes. “What’s that for?” he whined.

“I like to see who I’m fucking. C’mon, boy, lemme see your face.”

The kid blinked a couple of times, then rolled back onto his back. Under long, disheveled sandy blond hair, hazel eyes flashed up, now green and now brown, framed by silky black lashes. The young, eager face was shaded with a faint fuzz, noticeable on the upper lip.

His body was slim but not thin; the kid had some muscles. He had firm thighs and calves; his feet were bare except for black ped socks that ended below his ankles. His pecs gave a rise to his chest and his abdomen was smooth and flat. A slight trail of fur started on his lower belly, growing darker and thicker as it merged with his pubic hair. From that curly mass, the teen’s thick cock stood erect. Long and thick (although neither longer nor thicker than Joe’s), it rose stiffly like a pole, the tip glittering with moisture.

Joe grinned. Hot little motherfucker—he was gonna enjoy raping him.

He was gonna enjoy murdering him even more.

JC was even more pleased—damn, this dude looked almost exactly like daddy had in those old photos taken back when he was in the military. He even had a real ACU—JC knew what that was; he’d obsessed on his father’s various uniforms and tactical outfits. Holy fuck. Holy fucking shit, daddy was gonna fuck him…

“Over there,” he muttered breathlessly, nodding towards the dresser. “His boots—please, dude… Fuckin’ fuck me in—“

He was almost incoherent in his lust. Joe’s grin became downright evil, but it didn’t matter, the horny piece of shit probably wouldn’t have noticed if he’d pulled out a weapon—speaking of which, he took a quick glance around the room.

The black combat boots in front of the dresser were clearly what the cunt wanted. Bracing himself against the wall with one hand, Joe kicked off his black engineer boots one at a time. He padded over to the dresser in his socks before snatching them up. He sat at the foot of the bed and slipped them on, zipping them up. Already tightly laced, they encased his feet snugly and firmly.

No matter how much thrusting he did, he’d have plenty of traction.

Quickly rising, Joe stood at the side of the bed, towering over JC. Looking down on the slut coldly and contemptuously, he slowly slipped out of his jacket, revealing his magnificent torso wrapped tightly in the khaki-brown t-shirt. Tucking his hands down below the trouser waist, he grabbed the bottom edge of the shirt and slowly, almost sinuously, peeled it up and over his head, giving JC a view of his bulging pectorals and furry washboard abs.

The teen faggot gasped, his heart skipping a beat. This was gonna be better than he ever imagined. “Th-the cuffs…” he stuttered, gesturing towards the gleaming metal item on the nightstand. “Y-ya wanna put ‘em on me? It’s ok…” As he wallowed in his pig-like lust, he was almost breathless.

Joe snatched up the handcuffs. As he leaned menacingly over the kid, JC reached up, fondling Joe’s chest, twining his fingers in the wiry fur before moving up to feel the bulging biceps, hard as steel.

Joe smirked openly. “What, ya wanna get raped by yer daddy? Is that what you’re lookin’ for, boy? C’mere, bitch, gimme those hands before I have to take ya down!”

JC felt the older man’s overwhelming strength—and his own powerlessness against it—as Joe grabbed his arms, roughly forcing them up over his head. Before he could react, cold steel was tightened painfully around his wrists, the cuffs looped through the open ironwork of the headboard. He was bound to the bed, unable to free himself on his own. These were law enforcement handcuffs of case-hardened steel. The only way out was with the key.

“Fuck me, daddy, c’mon!” JC moaned, lost in a tidalwave of hormone-fueled lust. “Stick your fuckin’ SWAT cop cock up my ass! Show your son how much ya want him, how much ya wanna plow his hole!”

But Joe didn’t move. JC looked up at his surrogate father’s face and felt the first flash of unease as he met the older dude’s ice-cold eyes and expressionless face. Daddy was supposed to fuck him long and hard, telling him how much he loved his boy.

This guy didn’t look like he loved his boy. His disdainful stare left JC uncertain what was happening.

Joe broke the tension of the moment by reaching into his pocket while simultaneously sitting on the edge of the bed next to JC. He’d fished out his pack of cigarettes; JC’s eye grew wide with concern as Joe proceeded to light one up.

“Dude!” he yelled, “You can’t do that! No one smokes in here; my dad’ll smell that sure as shit!”

Joe turned his head slowly. Cold and hard, he gazed down into JC’s concerned face. “So?”

“B-but you’re gonna get me in trouble! C’mon, man, don’t do this to me!”

“You have no idea what I’m gonna do to ya, boy. Get ya in trouble? Bitch, you’re already there!”

Joe’s smile was even colder and harder than his previous expressionless state. An icy thrill ran through JC’s body as the awareness of his vulnerable position slowly percolated through his thick, slow-moving mind.

The terrifying awareness only grew as Joe contemptuously flicked his ashes over both JC and the bed. “Please! Daddy’s gonna kill me when he finds out about this!” the teen begged.

Joe exhaled a cloud of smoke into the helpless boy’s face. As the teen cunt coughed and choked, Joe chortled deeply. “Yeah, daddy’s gonna kill ya, bitch,” he sneered, “and he’s gonna cum in your worthless homo fuckhole when he does.”

JC didn’t react, largely because he was incapable of comprehending what he’d just been told—if he didn’t know better, it sounded like this hot daddy lookalike wanted to kill him. But that was nuts. It couldn’t be right.

“Dude, enough—lemme up! Goddammit, I’m gonna get so fuckin’ grounded when he gets home! Lemme up NOW or I’m gonna call the cops!”

Joe laughed. He bent his head back and laughed loudly and contemptuously. “Ya wanna call the cops, you little motherfucker? Wanna call in your daddy’s friends so they can tell him how his punk-ass queerboy son got scared after lettin’ a dude come over to fuck ‘im? Yeah? C’mon, you stupid cunt, it that what ya want?”

JC’s face went blank. The teen had managed to get by on his looks; his angelic, boyish face had charmed a lot of people. His mental abilities, consequently, were atrophied and nowhere near up to dealing with what was going on. The boy was simply not capable of understanding the situation.

Joe had expected this—they never really believed they could die, not the young, stupid ones. Even as they screamed in the agony of death, they didn’t get it until the very end.

Thank God. Getting them to that final realization of mortality, that moment when they gave up their last vital spurt of semen, was what made dealing with these useless cunts worthwhile.

Joe’s assessment of JC’s mental state was accurate; the kid’s heart was speeding in fear, but it was fear of what his father was gonna do when he got home. He was concerned to the point that he forgot about the sex—but not for long.

Taking another drag, Joe set the cigarette carefully on the edge of the nightstand, noting the way the teen’s worried eyes followed him. Standing over the prone youth, he maintained an icy eye contact as he slowly reached down and unfastened his fly. As soon as his thick hog fell out, the boy broke the contact to gape at the massive tube of meat. Joe chuckled at he picked his smoke back up.

As swiftly obsessed with the smoking as JC had been before, it slipped just as quickly out of his mind as Joe’s enormous cock dangled over him, clear precum dripping on the punk’s smooth flesh. He gasped, struggling in a wave of both fear and lust.

“Oh daddy…” he whispered. Joe stiffened, a cold, tight grin on his face. The cunt had surrendered. Not as if Joe would have given him a choice, the fucker was cuffed to the bed and wasn’t leaving it alive. But he liked knowing that the punk’s desire for him was greater than his fear.

Even though he’d already told the stupid piece of shit he was gonna get snuffed. Goddam. Motherfucker’s gotta want his daddy’s dick bad. Joe decided it was time to oblige.

Leaning forward, he ground his butt out on the smooth varnished surfaced, deliberately provoking a reaction. He liked his victims kicking a little when he penetrated them.

JC squealed indignantly, stunned at the desecration of his father’s bedroom. His attention was still on assessing the damage when Joe’s massive cock was thrust brutally up his ass. There was no warning, no lube, no slow accommodation—there was just an enormous shaft of meat impaling his tender rectum.

He screamed. At least he thought he did; a deafening shriek echoed in him mind. The fact that it never emerged from his mouth was due to the fist that Joe slammed into the kid’s face. The pain was almost unnoticed in the trauma he was already experiencing, the physical assault overwhelmed by the sexual.

Then a pause. Joe was fully inserted, his pubic hair grinding and scraping against JC’s smooth, peach-fuzz-covered asscheeks. The teen lay back, not resisting, gasping and hyperventilating. He was utterly unaware of the bruise darkening the left side of his face, or that his lower lip was split.

This was it. This was daddy sex.

It hurt. It hurt bad. JC was starting to panic; the agonizing sensation of a hard shaft thrust up his ass was so intense, he was unable to catch his breath. Now he could hear himself—he could hear the high-pitched whine he was emitting with his gasping.

The man over him was silent, his eyes cold slits that seemed to hide a glittering rage. JC could feel the hard muscled body pressing him down, see the matted fur on the alpha’s heaving chest. The older man’s musky scent filled the boy’s nostrils as he shuddered in pain, writhing on the smooth sheets.

Joe smirked down at the moaning teen. “Feels good, don’t it, cunt? Yeah? Ya like that, yer gonna fuckin’ love this!”

He began thrusting his hips violently, knowing the boy hadn’t had time to get his tight sphincter accommodated to the huge tool spearing it. He felt his shaft, ribbed with veins, pumping deeply into the kid’s tender, quivering fuckhole as the little slut thrashed his legs, kicking desperately at Joe’s back.

JC’s eyes widened in agony. As he inhaled deeply, prior to letting out a massive shriek, Joe leaned down and grabbed the punk’s throat with one hand, drawing his other back in a fist.

“Lissen up, you cocksucking faggot,” he snarled, “You make one more sound and I’m gonna fuck you up bad. I’ll start by breaking your jaw and just kinda work my way around my face. Ya got me, motherfucker? Ya feelin’ what I’m sayin’? Just take the dick, bitch, like you’re supposed ta.”

Then he leaned down, glaring intently into the youth’s eyes, awaiting the erotic moment when fear overcame pain. It was the way the agonized, frantic light in the cunt’s eyes faded and died. They glazed over momentarily, only to be quickly filled with another light—dim at first, but fated to grow ever more intense until it went out permanently.

JC knew to the depths of his soul that the man fucking him, the man over him and in him, was deadly serious about what he’d said—not that he had any idea how deadly yet. Even so, he was unable to remain completely silent.

“Daddy?” he whispered tearfully, “Please don’t hurt me—please don’t. Y-you can fuck your boy, oh please, d-daddy…I want you daddy, just please don’t hurt your boy…”

The teen boy’s smooth face, pleading and distraught, his large tear-rimmed hazel eyes framed by long dark lashes, would have melted a heart of lead.

Joe’s heart was stone. Stone doesn’t melt. He leaned down slowly, almost gently, before spitting in JC’s face.

“You don’t want daddy to hurt you? What the fuck you think daddy is here for? Shut the fuck up and take my cock, you stupid piece of shit!”

Before the fuckmeat could react, Joe started pumping vigorously, long swift strokes ramming his swollen purple head into as-yet unreached depths of the kid’s colon. And again, taking advantage of the pause as the punk inhaled to get enough air to scream, Joe quickly rabbit-punched the youth, snapping a cheekbone.

“Ya didn’t do what daddy said, you worthless cumsucking homo, so daddy’s gotta make ya. Now lessee—whadda we got to keep daddy’s useless punk quiet?” Joe glanced around and noticed the webbed belt draped over the headboard, easily within reach. Grinning broadly and evilly, he bent down over the helpless boy. “Ya like daddy’s shit, huh? Lessee how much ya like daddy’s belt around your throat, you useless faggot slut!”

Joe was experienced. Under different circumstances, JC might have appreciated the swift smoothness with which Joe, in a single movement, wrapped the belt around both of his broad, strong hands and around the trapped punk’s neck simultaneously.

JC was drowning in a tidal wave of pain, too caught up in trauma to pick up much of what the alpha stud was saying. It felt like a hand grenade had been shoved up his ass and detonated. The rugged material of the guy’s camo pants was scraping and burning the smooth flesh on the inside of his firm thighs; he wasn’t helping matters himself as he frantically flailed his legs. The dude was too big, too strong, for JC to get his legs up under the older man’s ripped torso and push him off.

Joe had had enough; the little slut was pissing him off. “What’s wrong, you stupid piece a’ shit?” he snarled, “Thought ya wanted a daddy to fuck ya! You’re a goddam useless faggot if ya can’t even take daddy’s dick—but don’t worry, motherfucker. I’m still gonna fuck ya—up.”

Bending down over the agonized, terrified teen, Joe spit in his face before whispering “What’s that thing fathers always tell their sons when they’re pissed—‘Boy, I brought ya into this world and I can take ya out’? Well, tonight, let’s pretend I’m step-dad—not there for the first part, but there for the second. I’ll take ya outta this world. You can ride daddy’s dick all the way into your grave.”

He pulled the webbed belt tight around the kid’s neck. There was no hesitation, no chance to comprehend the concept of death. In the depths of an excruciating rape, JC suddenly found himself getting strangled.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. It was worse than he could have ever imagined. There was no air. He didn’t understand what was happening—he’d wanted to get fucked by daddy but daddy was a straight faggot-hating SWAT cop. He’d put himself out for something as close as possible—and he was, this dude looked so much like daddy and was wearing his boots and military gear—it was perfect. How did it go wrong?

Joe could see the helpless bewilderment in the punk’s face. The struggles of the trapped youth were erotic as fuck; he fought for air, he fought to free himself, he fought to stop the violent rape—and it was all utterly useless. His smooth, firm legs thrashed against his assailant’s sweaty flanks, the sound of skin slapping together loud in the half-dark bedroom—louder even than the grunting and choking from JC’s closed-off windpipe.

“You’re dying, you fuckin’ cocksucker—how’s that feel, huh? Ya likin’ daddy’s hard tool now that he’s showin’ ya what he does to worthless faggot boys?” Joe jeered down into the kid’s twisted, swelling face.

JC was enveloped in a wall of fiery pain; the nightmarish agony of his impaled asshole now joined with the crushing pain in his throat and the mounting pressure in his head and chest. His ears rang and pounded as he frantically jerked his arms, making the handcuffs clatter loudly against the headboard. He wrapped his slim but strong legs around Joe’s abdomen, his feet, still in his low black socks, drumming desperately against the alpha’s slick pumping back, able to feel every single thrust between his legs as well as deep in his guts.

Joe loomed over the dying teen, his iron-hard arms jammed straight down into the bed with the black nylon belt wrapped tightly around his hands, forcing the little fucker’s neck so deep into the pillow that he head bent slightly forward, aiming his face directly at Joe’s

Joe watched intently as he grunted and pumped his shaft into the punk’s traumatized colon. The boy’s beautiful hazel eyes were no longer beautiful, or even hazel. As they began bulging excruciatingly from their orbits, blood vessels both within and around the eyes began rupturing, stippling the kid’s face with petechial hemorrhages.

JC thrashed, blindly, violently, doing his damnedest to straight-arm death. He was young and strong, and even though he was overpowered and out-matched, he fought for his life with the desperate strength of panic. Despite the black roses blooming in his mind as parts of his brain began to die, he still believed that he could get out of this situation alive.

Joe was well aware of this; most of these stupid little cocksuckers had no concept of their own mortality. Well, at least not until it was placed in context for them, ignorant pieces of shit…

“Lights out, cunt,” he whispered, bending close to the teen’s swelling, blackening face. “Lookitya, motherfucker, yer chokin’ and droolin’ like a fucking dog. Yer dyin’ with my dick up yer ass and it feels so fuckin’ good, bitch. And ya know who’s gonna find ya? Daddy! That’s right, daddy’s gonna come home and find your fucked-out, choked-out corpse cuffed to his bed. Think he’s gonna beat off over your raped ‘n murdered body? I bet he spits on your disgusting faggot meat and burns the fuckin’ mattress!”

In the depths of JC’s mind, there was a tiny part of his personality left alive in the eye of the electrochemical storm caused by his failing, short-circuiting brain. It still felt pain, and it could still feel and acknowledge humiliation. He was sliding into an icy pit of terror, desperately trying to claw his way with the last of his strength, anything to avoid that, oh please, oh fuck, don’t let daddy find me like this don’t let him find me fucked and strangled in his bed—

Snarling and gritting his teeth, Joe pulled his arms tight, his biceps bulging, sweat and pheromones forced out of his muscular body by the effort of the snuff. His hips were thrusting so swiftly, it felt almost like an automatic reflex, not controlled by conscious thought. As the teen died, his sphincter contracted spontaneously, cinching up on Joe’s thick purple rod, making it even more sensitive to the velvet-like interior of JC’s shredded rectum.

As the punk’s head began shuddering, the older stud realized that the youth was entering the final stretch; brain death was starting to set in. He could feel his spunk boiling up, his huge balls contracting as his scrotum prepared a geyser of semen.

It was time.

One last brutal jerk of his arms and he was rewarded with the dry cracking sound of shattered cartilage as the boy’s esophagus collapsed. His body responded by immediately convulsing in violent death throes; Joe could only hang on to the bucking bronco of dying flesh, letting its quivering colon grasp and stroke his engorged cock.

JC’s face, black and twisted beyond recognition, shuddered as his tongue protruded grotesquely between swollen blue lips, foam oozing down the boy’s twitching cheeks.

Suddenly the teen’s slim, lithe body jerked violently; as his feet kicked convulsively, one black ankle sock was yanked off; it was later found in the corner of the room by CSI.

The boymeat gripped his killer instinctively and uncontrollably; his thick cock started to spurt a steady stream of cum. The dying cunt didn’t just shoot a wad; a fountain of sperm erupted from his rigid shaft as if his death load had to pump out all the genetic material he’d ever produce.

As hot spunk splashed over Joe’s chiseled chest, he lost his control and, pulling the corpse onto his dick by the belt around its neck, flooded the teen’s intestines with his boiling seed. In the back of his mind, he was aware that he was yelling, cursing the useless little faggot, the cumsucking teenager, worthless piece of shit—

He gasped abruptly, coming back to himself, still violating the youth’s corpse but slowing down the frequency of his thrusts as he coated the cunt’s guts with sperm. The kid was still convulsing, his mindless body jerking and shuddering on the semen-soaked sheets, his quivering sphincter still stroking Joe’s engorged, sensitive rod.

Joe grunted and trembled, holding himself still, letting the teen slut’s final death spasms milk the last drops of cum from his dick while a few pearly beads oozed from JC’s cock. The muscles at the root of the boy’s tool clenched in cadaveric spasm, leaving his purple shaft swollen with blood and still hard even in death.

Gripping the youth’s jerking legs tightly so they wouldn’t slip out of his hands, the muscled stud slowly withdrew from the corpse’s torn and ripped asshole. Joe stood up and retrieved his shirt and jacket from the floor where he’d tossed them. He fished his smokes out of the breast pocket on the jacket and lit one up while he relaxed a bit, surveying his work.

It was a striking composition, a very stark tableau. JC was lying on his back, still shuddering. His feet, one still in a black sock, jerked across the smooth dark sheets. A faint rattling sound came from the headboard where the convulsive clenching of the corpse’s fists were shaking the handcuffs against the iron.

The teen’s face was horrifying, head thrown back, eyes and tongue protruding, his skin black and swollen with his distended lips highlighted by the fountain of foam that had seeped from his blocked-off mouth and even now was drying into a scaly crust on his grotesquely dark cheeks.

The condition of the body told the story. The legs spread, blood and cum dripping from the boy’s ass, were clear indications of the brutal rape, the black swollen face and the torn flesh at the wrists were evidence of the punk’s helpless and fear in the face of overwhelming violence. The point was underscored by the black webbed belt, still deeply sunk into the corpse's throat.

As for the spunk glazing the kid’s thighs and crotch and pooled so deeply in the hollows of his flat smooth belly that it hadn’t yet started to thicken, well, Daddy could make up his own mind about that.

Of course, Joe realized, he could always help daddy make up his mind about that. Quickly slipping out of the combat boots, Joe finished putting his own gear back on, occasionally using JC’s dark, congested face as an ashtray.

He finished dressing at about the same time as he finished his cigarette, grinding out the glowing coal on JC’s forehead, leaving a sizzling black scorch mark. Bending down, he retrieved the combat boots he’d worn when fucking the cunt. He slammed them down onto the boy’s belly, splattering the coagulating semen. Putting his weight into it, he ground them down into the boy’s abdomen, leaving deep treadmarks in the skin.

Joe stood back and reviewed the scene. Something was missing. What—ah!

He darted forward and snatched one of the boots, leaving the other on its side on JC’s belly.

Slipping his hand down inside the still-warm boot, Joe smashed his fist into the teen’s staring face, driving the thick sole of the combat boot—still covered in the kid’s own cum—into the corpse’s cheeks and nose, slamming the heel into the swollen mouth and dark forehead.

When he was done, he left the boot upright on the boy’s smashed face.

Picking up the youth’s cell phone off the nightstand, he took a couple of minutes to snap some striking photos of the corpse, both distance and close up. Despite the dimness, the pics were crystal-clear; the phone had a good flash.


Slipping the phone into his pocket, Joe took a last look around to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything. A tiny glint of metal at the corner of the nightstand caught his eye.

Joe grinned evilly as he snatched it up and slipped it into his pocket with the phone. He chuckled as he left the room; when he got to the privacy of his own car, he laughed out loud.

Well, who knows—maybe daddy wanted his boy’s hole. Maybe when daddy got home, he’d fuck his son’s corpse before calling the cops—or maybe he’d be too afraid of contaminating the crime scene. Either way, daddy would have plenty of time to decide, cause it was gonna take a long time to get the little motherfucker off the bed. Those case-hardened steel cuffs were hell to cut through and the little piece of metal sitting in his pocket was the key…

He figured forty-eight hours should do it. By then, the kid would be outta daddy’s life. And daddy would be missing him. That was when Joe would start texting him the pics; that way, daddy would have something to jack off to.

Grinning broadly, Joe started his car. He certainly hoped daddy appreciated his thoughtfulness. But just in case, when he pulled away from the curb, he drove several blocks before turning on his lights.
 
Read both on your Wp site. Amazing stories man. Just thinking how hard you must be writing them - just like us when we are reading them!
 
M4M4Christ

Joe rolled over in bed, his hard, hairy body sluggish in sleep. The phone on the nightstand was beeping an alert. Instantly, he was awake—albeit reluctantly; less than eight hours ago he’d been engaged in vigorous physical activity. But this might be work. In his line, he didn’t have a regular schedule. He was always on call.

Sitting up, he glanced down at the phone and realized it wasn’t his. The details of last night came flooding back to him. The little daddy’s boy faggot he popped. This was that kid’s phone. He’d taken some good shots of the corpse but hadn’t sent them to daddy yet. He’d planned to do that once he got home, but he was so worn out, he’d fallen asleep before he got it done.

Of course, he might have had time to get the pics sent if he hadn’t played around on the cunt’s phone, posting a couple of ads on the fag sex apps the little homo had on his phone. Stupid piece of shit hadn’t even bothered with any passwords, either. Joe was free to post whatever he wanted under the dead kid’s login.

That was what was happening now. There’d been a response. The original post had been a generic “looking for sex” note giving nothing more than physical stats and neighborhood (one a good half-hour from Joe’s actual residence).

Despite Joe’s lack of rest, his dick slowly swelled and jutted as he read the reply.

“hey man i aint been with a dude but I wanna try just turned 18 cant do anything at home HMU if you wanna meet but its gotta be public I don’t want no pervs”

Joe tamped his hypersexual excitement down and sent back a response, asking about the boy’s appearance. The teen sent back a selfie, showing a broad, grinning face with a large nose, big brown eyes with long lashes and curly hair nearly the same shade of brown. Only the top of the kid’s torso was visible, but it showed a smooth chest, lean but broad.

The alpha suggested a meeting in the area he’d mentioned in the post, at a coffee bar he’d passed on occasion. The kid agreed to the location, but asked that they meet that evening.

It seemed that over the holiday break, his parents had enrolled him in a draconian vacation bible school. Any absence would be reported to them. Afterwards, however, he could sneak out…

Joe grunted in frustration. He wanted the tender young cunt now—but there was nothing he could do about it. Stifling his anger, he agreed to meet the boy at ten o’clock that night.

But the little bible-thumping cumsucker was gonna pay for making him wait. In the meantime, he eased the sadistic beast within him by sending SWAT daddy the pics of his raped and murdered son…



Joe was in the parking lot at half-past nine, scoping the place out and waiting for the kid to show up. He wanted to see how the teen arrived—if he came by car, if he came alone—anything to let him know if it was safe to continue with his plans. Based on the punk’s response, Joe expected him to be alone, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

Laying the seat back, the buff alpha lit a cigarette as he waited. He cracked the window and exhaled the smoke, his thick black leather jacket letting him ignore the winter chill. The white thermal shirt stretched tightly across his broad chest helped insulate him as well, but he could feel the cool air descend over his legs. His black jeans were faded and worn, and skin-tight as they were, did little to keep out the cold.

He didn’t care. The heat welling angrily from his swollen crotch was enough.

He shifted his feet, his heavy leather engineer boots making scuffling sounds as the thick soles dragged on the floor mats. As his cigarette dwindled and he lit another, his impatience built. He’d fully expected the kid to show up at least a couple of minutes early, but it was just past ten now and the little piece of shit hadn’t shown up yet.

That didn’t bode well for the cunt’s immediate future.

Joe was just about to light another smoke when he saw the boy, walking quickly as he turned the corner from a side street. He was alone—stupid motherfucker, he was gonna regret that—and wore a gray fleece hoodie zipped up with the hood tightened around his head. Only his face was visible, with a few sandy locks on his forehead, but it was enough for Joe to recognize him.

He couldn’t see what the kid was wearing under the hoodie, but he had a taut pair of skinny jeans below, the pale brown material—almost the same color as his hair—cradling his rounded asscheeks. White, firmly-laced hightop sneakers completed his outfit.

Even from a distance, there was something in the kid’s face—or maybe it was something that wasn’t there…

He got out of the car, his black boots striding quickly across the asphalt as he intercepted the youth before he could get inside the crowded coffee shop. The odd impression of the boy’s face increased as he approached; after a moment, he recognized what he was noticing.

Innocence. The boy was sexually curious, but was utterly inexperienced in sex. The powerful sadist struggled to stifle an evil grin, but was unable to control the enlarging bulge in his groin. He was gonna enjoy destroying the unlucky kid. The punk had no idea what he was about to suffer.

“Hey,” he called out softly, “you’re late. Thought you were gonna be here at ten.”

The boy stopped and sized him up. The kid clearly liked what he saw. His jeans were just as incapable of hiding his erection as Joe’s were in his own case—two hard throbbing dicks visible as they looked at each other. Joe could see lust lighting the twink’s hazel eyes as they followed the contour of the older man’s thick hog, outlined in his crotch in tight denim.

The boy blinked. “Name’s Noah,” he gasped throatily before gulping nervously and holding out his hand.

Joe grinned easily. “I’m Trevor,” he replied. It didn’t matter if the punk new his real name or not, but Joe didn’t want anyone to overhear; there was a couple getting into a car a few feet away.

“Sorry I’m late,” Noah said sheepishly. “We were late getting back from bible study and it took my folks a while to get to sleep.”

“You had to sneak out?” Joe asked, careful to keep the contempt out of his voice.

“Yeah,” Noah admitted, blushing with embarrassment. “See, my folks are real strict and they’re real religious, too. I’m not allowed out alone after nine at night. And Dad takes the car keys with him when he goes to bed, so I had to walk. I mean, they don’t let me have a license, but I can drive.”

Joe chuckled silently to himself. “You couldn’t get a friend to give you a lift?”

Noah was horrorstruck. “Dude, all my friends are in the same church as me—they’d rat me out to my parents in a heartbeat! And if they knew I was meeting a strange man…” He broke off, the thought making him shudder. “Y’know, maybe I shouldn’t do this…”

“C’mon, man, you’re already here and no one knows,” Joe cajoled. “And I damn sure ain’t gonna say anything.”

Noah winced at the curse but seemed to consider the idea. Joe upped the ante. “Besides, I got a room at a motel halfway across town where nobody’s gonna know either of us.”

He had, too. It was a cheap, run-down place out on what had been the highway until the bypass was built. Now it was a rent-by-hour/day/week/month joint that served more as a flophouse to the locals. It was full of whores and drunks—but not, at least, bedbugs.

Before coming to the coffee bar, he’d driven there and given a tweaker forty bucks to rent a twenty-dollar room for the night. After, Joe pocketed the key, secure in the knowledge that the meth addict would take the change and get so wasted that within a couple of hours he’d be unable to remember who gave him cash for a room.

Noah hesitated, glancing uneasily through the window, as if making sure no one inside had recognized him. The kid was deep in the closet and scared as hell. Joe recognized the symptoms. He’d have to coax the little fuck gently, at least for a while. Once they got to the room, he’d have the cunt in his control.

The powerful alpha smiled charmingly at the skittish teen, his rugged, scruffy good looks adding irresistibly to the lure of his muscled body. Noah fought within himself, his fundamental Christian upbringing battling ferociously with his pure pig lust. The hormones pumping through his lithe teen body decided the issue.

“Ok, dude,” he muttered thickly as desire fogged his brain, “If no one’s gonna know, I guess it’s ok. But…but, y’know…I…I ain’t done anything like…well, like this, y’know?”

“It’ll be ok,” Joe grinned cheerfully, “after all, a little fun never killed anybody. C’mon, my car’s over there.”

The parking lot was empty by this time. No one saw the teen in the hoodie and the powerfully-built dude in leather and jeans get into the same car.

As his car headed north, then east through town, the buff sadist was surprised to feel the teen’s hand fumbling between his legs. The boy was anxious to fondle the older dude’s shaft. As Noah gripped the thick, denim-wrapped shaft, he inhaled shakily in lust and amazement; the strapping, mysterious stud was hung like a horse.

The naïve youth was enthralled; he had no actual experience with other men—not even in terms of porn; he’d had no unrestricted internet access. He had little with which he could compare the massive tube of flesh his hands were now massaging; only his own cock seemed adequate.

The latter was smaller, but not by much. Noah wasn’t unendowed himself; his own vein-wrapped tool was almost a good seven inches long and two in diameter. And while Noah hadn’t seen any porn, he’d seen his classmates in the locker room at his private religious school. He’d treasured up the images of smooth naked teen bodies for his beat-off sessions, but he’d also noticed that he was better hung than any of the other boys.

Now he’d met someone even bigger. And even though he knew it was not just disgusting and sinful but downright dangerous, he couldn’t help being drawn in, hoping to be introduced to dark, hidden pleasures he hadn’t dared to fully acknowledge, even to himself.

Joe was already aware of what was running through the boy’s mind; it really wasn’t that difficult to figure out. He reveled in anticipation of his control over the kid’s emotions as he lulled the religious youth into taking his cock before unleashing an explosion of violence.

Noah had been too preoccupied with dick to notice his surroundings, but he looked up as Joe pulled into the motel parking lot. He tightened the drawstring of his hoodie, craning his neck as he looked around concernedly. “Uh, Trevor?” he quavered, “uh, is this place ok?”

Joe chortled deeply. “Yeah, man, it’s safe. No one’s gonna see ya here. C’mon, man, follow me and I promise you’ll blow your most intense load ever.”

Noah’s cock was still erect and pulsing within the tight confines of his skinny jeans; he jumped out of the car, his white hightops padding along silently in the footprints of Joe’s thick black boots. The sadistic alpha had already switched on a light in the room by the time the kid reached the doorway.

The privileged, protected youth looked around at the rented squalor in despair. He’d only ever experienced squeaky-clean households and sanitized thoughts (except for those dark sinful ones that gave him wood).

The room was dim and hazy, still reeking of smoke. Not just cigarettes (he’d recognized that illicit scent on the mysterious stud and it made him start to ooze from his mushroom tip) but the sweet and unfamiliar scents of weed and crack. The rickety furniture was marked with dark lines—burns, actually, spots where cigarettes had burnt down and hot crack and meth pipes had been set down.

The dank, fetid air was being pushed lazily around by an ancient window AC unit that was not in a window but had been placed in a hole cut in the rear wall; it looked like garbage but the heat certainly worked—the room was over eighty degrees. The double bed had a cheap iron headboard and a thin polyester cover; the pillows, also thin, were covered with yellowed, stained linen.

But then he looked back at the bulging muscles of the handsome top and decided to shelve his objections. After all, he’d been right—no one Noah knew could possibly be in this neighborhood. The place was filthy, but so was the act. And the desire. Filthy, all of it.

And he wanted to be so fucking filthy...

“C’mon, boy, lessee what ya got,” Joe smirked as he rubbed the massive bulge in his groin. He leered suggestively at the innocent teen, knowing that the young faggot would have to respond.

He was right. Noah gulped again, his Adam’s apple slipping up and down his smooth neck. His hands shook as he reached for the zipper of his hoodie; they shook not in fear but in excitement. He slipped off the grey jacket, revealing a slate-gray long sleeve button-down shirt tucked into his beige skinny jeans.

At the same time, Joe took off his thick leather jacket, the clinging material of the white thermal shirt revealing the full breadth of his massive pectorals. The shirt was open at the neck, displaying a V-shaped wedge of dark wiry chest hair. Rolled up as they were, the sleeves did nothing to hide the alpha’s muscular, hairy forearms.

Joe stood over Noah and slipped off the shirt, his powerful torso glistening with sweat in the hazy light of the overheated room. The room wasn’t the only thing to get overheated; Noah found himself literally aching with desire as his eyes slid down the stud’s sculpted body, the lower half still wrapped in jeans.

Noah tried amateurishly to add a seductive strip-tease effect as he undressed, but his hands were trembling so much he had difficulty in getting the buttons of his shirt undone. Joe watched and smiled patiently as his rage flared inside at this delay in his gratification. He managed to control the desire to reach out and tear the shirt right off the bitch, buttons popping everywhere. And after all, why not? The kid was right where Joe wanted him…

But just then Noah managed to get the last button undone and slipped out of the shirt. A thin white cotton t-shirt was underneath. The boy smiled hesitantly, still uneasy, as he pulled it off over his head.

Underneath, his young teen body was smooth and slim but not scrawny. Even at a distance, Joe could see the soft, silky texture of the youth’s skin. Tender flesh waiting to be used and tortured—Joe’s lust was getting harder to restrain. He needed to take a moment.

Abruptly turning his back on the slut, he strode across the floor to the table where he’d left his jacket, his leather engineer boots leaving little impression on the soiled, threadbare carpet. Reaching into one of the pockets on the jacket, he fished out his smokes and lit one up, slipping the pack and lighter back into the jacket. He didn’t carry them in the jeans—they were truly skin-tight and would have crushed the pack.

Noah looked on, half in fascination and half in concern. He didn’t know many people who smoked—and those he did, his parents never failed to point out, were going to burn in Hell for various sins, cigarettes only one of them.

The thought of what they’d say if they could see him was strangely appealing. This was forbidden and that made it so much more erotic…

“W-won’t that make my clothes smell?” he asked shakily as he leaned against the bed and crossed one leg over the other so he could untie his sneakers.

“Don’t worry, man,” Joe drawled with a friendly grin. “I got ya covered. Time we’re done here, you won’t need to worry about how your clothes smell, I promise ya.”

Noah nodded mutely. The enormity of what has happening had hit him. He was about to lose his virginity—with an anonymous older man in a motel room. There was no going back after this. Whatever else happened in his life, it would be stained by this night.

But in the battle between piety and hormones, the latter was the natural winner. After all, his young, healthy body was at its sexual peak. Noah rarely jacked off; that was a sin, too—worse than cigarettes, by far. And he had almost no privacy at home anyway.

Lust, aided by the thick musky scents of sweat and smoke, stifled the tritely moralistic murmurings in Noah’s mind. Having pulled off his hightops, he dropped his jeans first. He stood across from Joe, his lithe young body nude except for his thin white briefs and his calf-high athletic socks. Joe took another drag from his cig and leered at the kid’s groin; it looked like he’d stuffed a sausage in his underwear.

Little cunt was hung, that was for sure.

Still keeping the easy-going, charming grin on his handsome, chiseled face, Joe exhaled a bluish cloud of smoke. “Lessee what ya got, boy. Show me your dick.”

Noah looked away, shifting awkwardly. “I-I dunno, man, I ain’t never done anything with-with a guy…”

Joe knew damn good and well the cringing little faggot hadn’t done anything with anybody ever. But tonight, he was playing for effect. Tonight wasn’t just assrape—it was mindrape too. So the cunt had to be cajoled.

And besides, the punk wanted it. “Fuck, dude, don’t back out now. Lookit yer dick, man—even from here I can see how hard it is. You want my shaft, don’t ya, son? It’s ok—you can take my rod up your virgin hole tonight and no one will know.”

Noah moaned in erotic lust as a dark spot appeared on the white cotton briefs. Joe chuckled, noting that it was right at the tip of the slut’s cock. Motherfuckin’ homo was already oozing.

“Drop ‘em,” the hulking sadist whispered, pitching his voice seductively low. “Drop yer drawers, boy, and get on the bed.”

Noah trembled, but he obeyed, slipping out of the briefs. His flat belly fell smoothly to his groin where curly sand-colored pubes framed a thick, semi-erect tube of pulsing meat. Clear drops of fluid were dripping out of the dark mushroom tip.

The naked teen backed up onto the bed, his beautiful, lithe body gingerly avoiding the stains on the cheap bedspread. Joe dropped his cigarette and casually crushed it out with his big black boot as he moved towards the bed. The burn was unnoticeable among the others darkening the carpet.

The powerful alpha towered over the punk and leered down at him. Instinctively, the youth cowered in the shadow of the older man, but glanced up immediately when he heard the dude open his zipper. The older man had already unbuckled his belt; the thick leather strap dangled loosely on each side of his denim-bound hips.

The biggest dick Noah had ever seen was his own. That changed now.

Joe pulled out his cock slowly and expertly, appreciating the effect he was having on his prey. The kid gaped openly as inch after inch of the stud’s swollen, throbbing shaft emerged from his open fly. The flesh was so dark, it was almost black, fed by the ropy veins that tightly circled the pulsating rod. The thick dark trail of fur leading down the stud’s muscled chest and over his firm abs seemed to be designed to direct attention to the groin.

Noah gulped in astonishment. He was scared, but not as much as he should have been, even without knowing Joe’s plans for him. He’d never so much as played with his ass before—the boy was impressed with the older man’s penis but had no concept of how much it would hurt jammed up his colon.

Even so, the alpha’s dick was intimidating. “Wh-what ya gonna do with that?” he asked tremulously.

Joe spoke quietly, the deep bass of his voice seeming to vibrate the root of Noah’s cock. “Look at it boy,” he muttered, “look at my dick. You want it, dontcha? G’wan, put it in yer mouth. Do it, boy, you know ya wanna.”

The alpha was right. Noah did wanna. He looked confused and timid, but he leaned forward and took the spongy purple tip into his open mouth, working his tongue over the oozing head and teasing the tender rosebud on the underside. He slurped loudly, enjoying the salty taste of the precum leaking into his mouth.

Joe grinned. “Fuck yeah, dude,” he moaned, “damn, that’s good. Work it, boy, work my hog with your mouth. Slurp it down, cocksucker.”

Noah was both shocked and thrilled with the abuse. Leaning even father forward, he opened his jaw as wide as he could to deepthroat the dominant stranger, his right hand a blur as he jacked his own tool wildly. Even more erotic was the way the muscular stud clamped his hands on the back of the boy’s head and forced it down onto his throbbing tubesteak. Deep in the grip of overwhelming lust, the teen had shed his trepidation and succumbed to his long-suppressed desires.

The top’s thick column of meat slid into the youth’s throat, plugging it thoroughly. The kid gagged and choked as Joe’s dick sealed off his airpipe, anxiety rising in his lust-fogged mind as his breath was blocked. As his eyes started to water, he braced his hands against the alpha’s legs and tried to shove him away. It was like trying to topple a large tree by pushing it over; he could feel the power in the taut denim-covered muscles flexing against his palms.

Then, with a sardonic chuckle too subtle for the horny teen to interpret, Joe pulled out. The hardbodied sadist admired his dick, bobbing in the air and dripping long streamers of boyspit as Noah retched, trying not to puke up the dinner his momma had made him. The shuddering youth coughed up drool that flowed off his chin, straight down onto the engorged head of his own cock.

He’d liked it. It’d been scary—terrifying, for a moment—but he’d liked it. He’d liked how the larger, stronger man had taken control and used his face as a fucktoy. Not that the innocent little faggot virgin would have expressed it in those terms, of course, but the lust motivating his warped pig soul was the same.

The fact that it was a disgusting sin that would instantly damn him to Hell only made it sexier. He was ready to be bad.

Wiping his chin with the back of his hand, Noah looked up at the strapping, broad-chested alpha. He was suddenly entranced with the stranger’s black chest hair, as if noticing it for the first time. Timorously, he extended a hand.

It was only with a great deal of patience and an almost superhuman suppression of rage that Joe allowed the boycunt to touch him. He stood tall and erect next to the bed, letting the punk run his hands over his huge pecs and fondle his nipples before the greedy, desire-driven fingers sank lower down his body and curled in the fur coating his rippled abs.

His anger was expressed through his cock, which pulsed visibly, pumping out a steady stream of clear precum. Noah noticed the effect but had no clue as to the cause.

That thought made Joe’s dick throb even more. Even if the stupid little shit had a clue, there was no way he could conceive the nightmare in store for him.

Then again, maybe he could. There were some imaginative deaths in the Bible. Joe’s grin came back, more evil than ever. He looked down at the teen with a cold, appraising contempt. The cunt would do; he’d be an acceptable meatsack to soak up Joe’s seed.

Time to get biblical on his ass.

He started slow. “Ok, boy,” he said, just a hint of menace in his husky voice, “get on your back. Time to go whole hog.” He grinned and thrust his hips slightly so that his huge dick swung between his legs. “And believe me, punk, you’re gettin’ the whole hog.”

Trembling with both fear and desire, Noah moved back, his smooth skin crawling from contact with the thin polyester bedspread. He managed to wriggle to one side, pushing the cover away, only to find the cheap sheets underneath no more comfortable.

It didn’t matter. Tonight, he was gonna explore his darkest dreams; tomorrow he’d be back to being the good little choirboy his family thought he was. And even if he ultimately went to Hell for it, it’d be worth it.

The slim, handsome youth stretched out on his back and raised his legs in the air, presenting his fuckhole like a bitch in heat. He was gonna get fucked. A little discomfort wouldn’t matter.

The icy gleam in the alpha’s eyes should have been a warning, but the teen had nothing by which to judge it. Legs spread, he waited eagerly for his first—and unknown to him, his last—sexual experience.

Joe climbed on the bed, kneeling between the kid’s smooth, trembling legs. Grasping his huge oozing tube of manmeat, he rubbed his dick across the punk’s ass, smearing it with precum. He smiled gently as he placed the thick purple head of his cock against the boy’s buttcrack, the fine hairs tickling his swollen mushroom tip.

Noah felt the pressure and uttered a nervous, breathy moan. This was it. Everything he’d dreamed of, a hot hard powerful stranger who was gonna fuck the shit outta him.

And then he was gonna go home and pretend it never happened. He was gonna go on with his life and no one would ever know. His folks would never, could never know how he’d spent the night; it was something they were simply incapable of imagining. And that was all to Noah’s benefit. It meant he’d get away with it—so he quashed his anxiety and readied himself for intense physical pleasure.

But that wasn’t what he got.

Joe was ready. He knew the little motherfucker was a virgin and wouldn’t be able to handle his tool; he expected it. He didn’t even need to know the kid’s name to know how the pig would respond. He didn’t start forcefully, though, there was something he was waiting for, something the slut would ask for. So he applied pressure slowly, easing the head of his dick into the youth’s tight, intact fuckhole.

At the start, Noah shuddered with pleasure. As he felt the iron-hard shaft start to penetrate him, he inhaled deeply. The closeness of the muscular alpha flooded his sinuses with sweat and pheromones. The inexperienced teen’s impatience to have the handsome hulking stud buried deep inside him, marking him as his own, outweighed any other concern.

Fuck his parents, fuck the bible, fuck it all. He gave the Joe the invitation he’d been waiting for. The kid was ready to be a complete faggot pig.

“Fuck me, man,” he moaned in a mind-numbing fog of lust. “Do what you want to me, dude, fuck me rough. Make me yours tonight…” His plea trailed off in a gasp of desire.

Joe chuckled malignly. “Ok, cunt,” he sneered, “you asked for it.”

Even in his erotic frenzy, the curt, cold tone managed to cut its way through to the center of Noah’s awareness. By the time it did so, however, there were more pressing matters demanding his attention—like the horrible agony in his ass.

The cruel sadist had jammed the entire length of his massive, blood-engorged cock into the boy’s ass. The phenomenal girth of his member ripped open the youth’s sphincter, making the kid bleed like his cherry had been popped—as it had, brutally.

Noah couldn’t scream. He wanted to, badly, but he couldn’t—fuck, he couldn’t even breathe. It hurt too much. It hurt too much to breathe, to move, to think…

Move. He needed to move. He needed to get of this fucking rod that was impaling his tender rectum, oh fuck he needed to move—

Later, Joe was pissed at himself. He’d let his guard down and it almost backfired on him. Of course, at the time, he’d been more pissed at the little homo teen. And so it was the young cocksucker who took the brunt of his wrath.

At the time, though, Noah thought he was achieving redemption, not damnation, as he clawed his way up off Joe’s enormous dick, kicking and flailing like a wild thing. Joe was momentarily taken aback—not long, but long enough that the writhing punk was able to scramble free towards the head of the bed.

In the next moment, the kid had rolled to the floor and bolted for the bathroom. In a blood-red rage, Joe lunged after his prey, only to have the boy evade him at the last moment and lock himself in.

As Noah slammed the door and turned the lock in the doorknob, he shuddered in relief—and started praying. He’d been wrong. He’d sinned, badly, and he’d been punished. It had hurt; only sinners could want pain like that, Jesus had shown him the way and he wasn’t ever gonna do anything like this again—

And that was when Joe’s big black boot kicked through the flimsy hollow-core door, punching out a huge hole. Squealing with fear, the terrified teenager threw himself on the floor and wrapped his arms around the base of the toilet. He babbled promises to behave to his God, pleading for salvation in air rank with piss.

The enraged alpha had gotten the bathroom door open. Noah kept his eyes squeezed shut; if he didn’t see what was happening, maybe God wouldn’t let it happen. He clung to that belief desperately as he heard the muscled sadist approach.

Joe was done playing. He bent down and wrapped one hand clean around the boy’s upper arm. With a powerful jerk, he pulled the punk free of the toilet and stalked back to the bedroom, dragging the helpless, sobbing youth across the floor behind him. With a swift, brutal yank, he flung the boy onto the bed.

Noah cowered, weeping in abject fear. He wasn’t curious anymore. He wanted to go home, go back to safe quiet bible study and beating off secretly in the bathroom. This—this was too scary, this stud, sexy as he was, was gonna hurt him.

The naïve teen glanced up into the face of his tormentor and flinched instantly. This time, there was no question of mistaking the formidable look of hot rage and cold lust. No, he wanted no part of any of this.

So why was his dick so fucking hard?

It was almost painfully erect, throbbing fiercely. An almost steady stream of clear fluid was leaking out. He didn’t understand. This wasn’t happening.

Then Joe made it happen.

He lunged forward in a lightning blast of violence, driving his fist into the punk’s soft, smooth belly with the force of an industrial piston. Noah gave a deep, loud grunt and instantly curled into a fetal position as a hard ball of pain tore through his midsection. The next few seconds seemed an eternity as the kid clutched his abdomen and writhed, trying to get air back into his lungs.

“Ya made a bad mistake, motherfucker,” Joe hissed, a frightening glint of psychotic glee dancing in his eyes. “I was only gonna kill ya before, you worthless cumsucking fag, but, see, now I gotta make it hurt.”

He sat gently on the bed next to Noah and softly stroked the boy’s tearstained face. Brushing away a lock of the kid’s soft brown hair, he leaned so close that Noah could feel the older man’s facial scruff scratch his ear. As he whispered, his breath was warm on the youth’s neck.

“That means I gotta make it slow…”

Still struggling for air, the closeted churchboy wasn’t able to comprehend what was being said to him; his attention was focused elsewhere, Joe observed with displeasure. Time to reorient the queer-ass bitch.

Joe rolled the kid onto his back and spread his legs. Noah realized what was going on just before Joe slammed the full length of his cock up the teen’s virgin ass. The pressure at the start was tremendous but Joe shoved his rod forward with renewed force, tearing through the kid’s sphincter the way his boot had torn through the door.

It got Noah’s air back. The pain—this was Hell, he was being punished…this kinda pain could only come from Hell…

He shrieked in agony—once. The shrill screech was cut off when Joe balled his fist and sent a piledriver straight from his shoulder into the boy’s face, blackening his eye and snapping his cheekbone. “Shaddap!” he barked gruffly as he gripped the punk’s heaving torso in his huge hands, clamping down to hold the smooth lean body still as he penetrated it further.

Lost in a dark haze of pain, Noah had limited awareness of anything beyond his own suffering. His whole body seemed to be consumed in a flame of nightmarish agony from his ass to his face to his cock…

As his body shuddered under the violent sexual assault, Noah realized that his cock was not only still hard, it was so hard it hurt.

No, this couldn’t be. This couldn’t be him. This was wrong. He had to get away, this wasn’t going to happen to him… As the panic welled up inside the inexperienced teen, his struggles and cries began to intensify.

He hadn’t learned his lesson, Joe realized. Well, that was ok. The little fuck was young and healthy; he’d probably last for a while. Plenty of time for learnin’. But he needed lesson one all over again.

“I said shaddap!” Joe roared, throwing a feral growl into his voice that terrified the youth in the half-second before another donkey-punch landed, splitting his lips. “You keep your goddam mouth shut while I’m fuckin’ ya, you sniveling faggot, ya feeling me? Huh, you pansy bitch? You get what I’m sayin’?”

Noah’s eyes opened wide with shock; even in this nightmare anticipation of Hell, the alpha’s words had sunk in. No, this was wrong…he wasn’t a faggot…please, if he could just get away he’d never look at another dick again, he’d never—

And even as he pled silently, he realized it was a bargain he could never keep. High above the wave of pain swamping his nervous system, the hormone-flooded teen could still feel his own swollen shaft stabbing into the alpha’s rippled abs. An ineffectual weapon of defense, it left trails of clear slimy precum matting the muscled sadist’s dark belly fur.

Suddenly, Joe stopped. He was fully inserted, his long thick rod buried up to the root, his wiry pubes interlocked with the youth’s soft downy fuzz like Velcro. Sweating and gasping, the powerful top loomed over his victim, the helpless teen who was now pinned to the bed like an insect on his assailant’s cock.

The boy opened his eyes hesitantly—at least, he opened his right eye. He was shuddering in pain, barely able to breathe. The left side of his face was black and swelling, with blood leaking from his busted lips.

The image the suffering teenager saw stuck with him for the rest of his life—approximately another thirteen minutes.

The coldly handsome face of the older man hung just inches from his, but the expression on the hard, unshaven face was unlike anything the innocent youth had ever seen. A somehow erotic mixture of contempt, rage, and desire that offered no hope of compassion or common humanity. It was the expression of a sexual sadist.

Noah was too sheltered to have heard of such a thing, but he got an idea when Joe hocked up a huge wad of phlegm, grinned at the boy, and spit it into his face. “Fuckin’ faggot,” he sneered.

It triggered a desperate rebellion in Noah—unfortunately. “No!” he shouted in his mind, the reality being a guttural protest pushed out inarticulately between puffy lips. But it was enough to get the attention of the brawny psychopath.


“Goddam it, you piece a’ shit, you really are fuckin’ stupid, aintcha?” he snarled viciously. “I toldja to shut the fuck up and here ya are tryin’ to whine about somethin’! I said to shut the fuck UP!” As his voice rose in rage on the last syllable, he swung back and delivered a massive roundhouse punch square to the boy’s jaw.

The punk’s head rocked back as his body flailed from the force of the blow. Poised on his knees, Joe grunted in pleasure as the involuntary movements worked the cunt’s guts around the sensitive head of his shaft. The slut’s own tool, violently bobbing with the rest of his body, spattered them both with a fine rain of precum.

The sadist observed with sick erotic pleasure the way the faggot’s eyes rolled back and his eyelids fluttered as he trembled on the edge of consciousness. As the traumatized teen struggled to stay awake, he coughed up a gout of blood; he was too stunned to realize that he’d spat out one of his canine teeth.

When Noah finally came back to himself, he’d had his epiphany. He was saved. He was truly ready to give up sin in all its forms and surrender himself to his Lord. He was convinced of the error of his ways and deeply repentant of them.

Problem was, it was a little too late. Joe made that perfectly clear.

Leaning forward, he wrapped his huge strong paws around the teen’s pale, fragile throat and began to squeeze—slowly at first, but inexorably nonetheless. “G’wan and pray, you useless little bible-thumping faggot—it ain’t gonna help ya, you disgusting cumsucker. Time to die, cunt. You ready to meet yer maker? Cause when ya do, you’re gonna be full of cum!”

In a deep red sea of pain, Noah heard the words but didn’t comprehend them. He was just a soft suburban teen; he hadn’t had the chance to recover from the brutal assault before his air was cut off—utterly and completely.

Instinctively, the lithe punk began to struggle violently, his hands clawing at Joe’s, trying to pry them away from his neck while his slim, firm legs kicked and flailed wildly. His heels drummed on the bed, his flexing feet scraping at the sheets and twisting his white socks.

Noah opened his eyes—well, his right eye; the left side of his face was battered and swollen beyond recognition—and with tears welling out, tried to beg and plead for mercy. He’d never do it again, dear lord, please save me I’ll never look at another boy again I promise…

But no words were coming out. And somewhere in the throbbing drumbeat of torment that had become his world, he was slowly becoming aware of a new pain—that of choking to death.

Now his movements weren’t instinctual. They weren’t necessarily controlled; they were born out of the frenzied panic that seized the little faggot’s soul.

The kid wasn’t heavily muscled, but he was no weakling and the fear of death gave an extra impetus to his desperation. Clawing madly at his own throat, he soon realized the futility of the gesture and began tugging at Joe’s strong, burly arms. As the youth’s legs thrashed, they slapped wetly against the alpha’s pumping, sweat-streaked torso. His left foot caught in the a fold of the fitted sheet and pulled it away from the mattress; as his leg recoiled involuntarily, the sock came off in the fold, leaving the boy’s bare foot exposed, toes curling as he died.

“Yer gonna die on my motherfuckin’ cock, you homo cunt,” Joe growled like a feral beast as he raped and strangled the teen. “How’s it feel? Does it hurt? Huh? Does it, you worthless sack of shit? Go on and pray, little boy, but I’m your God now. I’m the one who decides when you die and how much it’s gonna hurt.”

He paused for a moment to admire the look of stunned shock on the punk’s face (at least, what was left of it). He knew the meat had heard—and more importantly, had understood. He spat another wad of phlegm into the youth’s mauled face and spoke again, this time in a low whisper, cold and sharp like a steel blade.

“Here’s a secret, fag—it’s gonna hurt. A lot. More than you can possibly imagine. And the more it hurts you, the more I’m gonna spunk when you finally die, you useless cumdump. Just so you know, you sick homo scum. Just so you know you’re getting exactly what you deserve.”

And with that, he squeezed harder, feeling the cunt’s flexible esophagus constrict beneath his hands. He dug his fingernails into the tender flesh on the back of the unfortunate boy’s neck, so he could get better traction with which to throttle the punk-ass queerboy.

Noah knew now beyond any doubt that he was experiencing Hell—he was being given a literal foretaste of the torture he’d endure for eternity. The burning in his head, the excruciating visehold on his throat, the pounding anguish in his ass…oh God…he’d wanted to get fucked and was gonna be sodomized by the Devil forever…and worse, he was gonna be found like this!

Everyone was gonna think he was a disgusting pervert, a child-molesting sodomite—Momma, Daddy—oh God, Daddy—even Archie, the youth minister…he’d been at Archie’s today and seen the way Archie’d started at his crotch; oh fuck he shoulda stayed there…

The once-virginal teenage slipped in and out of coherence in his terror, but never slackened his struggle to break free. His frantic, questing hands continually sought some sort of hold on his killer’s rock-hard body in an attempt to have some kind of impact.

Everywhere Noah’s hands landed, though, they slid across sweaty, hard, firm flesh; the only thing the flailing kid was able to grab ahold of was the stud’s thick, wiry chest hair. Without even thinking, Noah snatched a handful and yanked it out in a paroxysm of terror and pain.

“Goddam motherfucker!” Joe howled in pain-ignited anger. Clenching his huge left hand around the boy’s throat, he freed his right hand and drove it three more times into the dying faggot’s face, each blow landing with a wet thudding sound—the last one with a moist crunch when Noah’s nose was broken.

Without missing a single rhythmic stoke of his long shaft, Joe wrapped his hand back around the meat’s neck and kept squeezing. He could feel the head of his dick deep inside the thrashing youth’s guts. The way the slut’s innards had stroked the swollen, sensitive head of his tool while the boy was being beaten had been fantastic.

“Yeah, dude, that’s what ya need, huh? You like it to hurt, huh, you fuckin’ pig? Was that the problem, you weren’t in enough pain to work my cock? Fuck, man ya shoulda said so—we can fix that right now, fuck yeah!”

With that, Joe slowly increased the pressure on Noah’s neck, this time digging his thumbs into the miserable boy’s Adam’s apple. The sadistic stud grinned as he felt the cartilage start to give way under the force he applied.

Noah was beyond thought. He was in a world of physical sensations that had been previously unconceivable to him, as much as he’d heard of the torments of Hell. This pain couldn’t last for eternity; there’d be nothing left of him but a hollow screaming shell. He was being split open from the inside out; he was still aware of the alpha’s cock reaming his rectum, pulling and tearing at his intestines like a plunger. His face was black and swollen; between the beatings and the choking, it looked like a rotten gourd. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it, pulpy and pulsating with pain.

The excruciating agony of his throat was the worst, though. His windpipe was crushed almost completely flat and the way the top’s thumbs were grinding into his vocal cords hurt so bad Noah began convulsing involuntarily as his stomach tried instinctively to retch.

“Oh fuck yeah, cocksucker, that’s it,” muttered Joe in response to the boy’s rhythmic, undulating movements, “that’s it, jack me off as you die, you queer-ass bitch. Yeah, cunt, I know how to keep ya going—just gotta ramp up the pain, huh, you sick fucking faggot scum?”

The grinning sadist tightened his grip yet again as his strapping, powerful body bore down on the helpless teen. The sleazy overheated motel room was redolent with a miasma of sweat, smoke and mansex, making an almost visible haze in the air. The sounds of mansex filled the air, too—the increasing tempo to the creaking of the bed, the swift slapping sounds of hardcore fucking, the deep, vital grunts of two males locked bodily together in intensity and lust.

The fact that one of the males was dying only added to the intensity. And the lust.

Even Noah felt the lust. He felt it as a hitherto-unknown source of agony. His dick had been hard enough to hurt before, but now it was electrifying—it seemed as if a white-hot rod of steel had been jammed up through his ass into his cock, extending it in flaming agony the further it penetrated.

Joe felt the lust, too, both his own and Noah’s He felt the meat’s deathpig lust as the cunt’s thick purple cock slapped against his belly, still leaving a thick trail of erotic slime in his fur, even during the throes of death.

He felt his own lust as the homo’s thick bloodied lips parted, releasing a torrent of foamy drool. He felt it as the choking teen’s tongue, as swollen and purple as his dick, slowly emerged from his blackened, distorted face.

For Noah, there was no heaven, no Hell anymore. There wasn’t even any Noah; too much of his brain had been starved of oxygen for too long. The brain damage was irreversible. Not everything was gone, though.

The brain stem remained, able to feel sensation and basic emotion. What emerged was the primal submissive beast, submitting to and being marked by the dominant alpha.

The brain-dead teen was convulsing violently, his colon clenching the cruel killer’s shaft in an instinctive attempt to milk out the testosterone and be marked as belonging to the alpha. The hormones flooding the queerboy’s body overstimulated this response.

Joe had never had a dying cumdump stroke his rod so vigorously; he’d been right to go for the virginal churchboy; they always wanted dick in the worst way.

And Joe specialized in giving dick in the worst way.

He held onto the bucking teen like he was breaking a bull, letting the natural rhythms of convulsion and death beat his swollen shaft to orgasm. The young homo’s cock was still erect and visibly pulsing as Joe felt intense, overflowing pressure building in his puckered sack.

He was gonna unload. “Guess you were an ok cumrag, faggot,” he grunted as his body jolted in violent release.

The hulking, muscular killer clenched his hands tightly in his first instinctive reaction to shooting his wad; the loud crunching sound of crushed cartilage filled the room. The quivering boy also reacted involuntarily—it was the final blast of pain needed to override the teen deathpig’s nervous system and trigger an unnaturally prolonged orgasm.

The youth’s overabundant hormones had swamped his body in excess testosterone. It had led him to seeking its release in dangerous situations—and now, it led his dying body to ejaculate for nearly ninety seconds straight, the last spark of his life fading with an awareness of white-hot molten steel flooding his anus and pumping out through his erect shaft; he was merely a conduit for the boiling seed of life...

As thick, ropy strands of semen splashed across Joe’s broad, furry chest, he cried out in rage and hate, pumping his thick, creamy jizz as deep into the worthless kid’s body as he could. Shifting his powerful hands up Noah’s crushed neck, he clamped down again, this time where he could place his thumbs under the angle of the kid’s jaw.

“Ok, motherfucker, time to go,” he grunted. As another orgasm wracked his powerful body, his hands clenched, driving his thumbs upwards.

There was a loud cracking sound as the brawny sadist popped the teen fag’s head off his spine, snapping the topmost vertebra and sending bone shards slashing into the spinal column.

Noah had already emptied his balls and his mind; there was nothing left but a sweaty cum-filled meatsack until the sudden blast of massive trauma to his central nervous system sent random signals thought his taut, shuddering corpse.

One of these hit the scrotum and, even in death, contracted the muscles and caused the young queer’s cock to send up a final jet of spunk, the hot pearly liquid splattering on the underside of Joe’s jaw as the older man grunted and cried out, spewing his last boiling wad into the kid’s torn and slashed rectum.

Even after he’d pumped his last drop of semen into the corpse’s shuddering guts, Joe continued to fuck the quivering body, his massive shaft still erect and tearing into the convulsing pig’s colon. “Fuck yeah, dude, I’m your God now, huh? I gave you everything ya ever wanted, huh, ya faggot? I gave ya hot fuckin’ mansex, I gave ya pain and death—who’s yer daddy now, huh, cunt?”

Spitting in contempt on the twitching corpse, Joe pulled himself out of the boy’s well-worn fuckhole. His dick slid out in a slimy pool of cum and blood that instantly stained the sheets under the slut’s quivering anus; it was obvious that the dead boy had been violently fucked.

Still sweating and shaking with pleasurable exertion, Joe staggered back across the room to his jacket. He fished the smokes and lighter out of the pocket and lit one as he leaned back and took a moment to chill.

On the bed, Noah was chilling too; in fact, he was cooling by the minute. But his corpse was still fresh and limber; random nerves still fired down the mangled spinal column, making the body continue to shudder and twitch. Even now, the toes on the teen’s bare foot continued to curl and spasm in death. The other foot, with the white athletic sock wrapped tightly around it, kicked jaggedly across the rumpled, stained sheets.

The punk’s smooth, flat abdomen still heaved convulsively, smeared with coagulating pools of semen, all his own. Some of it was glazing his grotesquely distorted face. His black, swollen cheeks were stained with a white scum where his foamy panicked drool had dried to a crust as he’d died.

Joe inhaled the nicotine deeply. Even though he’d completely emptied his balls, the teenage faggot’s corpse was so hot, his dick was still throbbing as he looked at it.

He knew he had to go, though. This cunt had made a lot of noise. He needed to get away fairly quickly. Tossing his smoldering butt onto the boy’s smooth chest (where it hissed out in a puddle of jizz), he stepped into the bathroom and cleaned himself up, using a wet washcloth and soap to remove all traces of the dead pansy’s spunk. Tossing the towel he used, along with the washcloth, into the toilet, he returned to the bedroom after fastening up his fly and slipped on his thermal shirt and leather jacket.

He was vaguely aware that the teen homo was still twitching, but he didn’t really give a shit anymore. A quick glance outside showed that no one was around, and he made it to his car and out of the motel lot unseen.

The corpse was found the next morning, but without ID (since Noah parents hadn’t allowed him a driver’s license yet), it went to the city morgue. Later the same day, Noah’s folks frantically reported him missing, out in the suburb where they lived.

It was the better part of a week before anyone connected the reamed-out, cum-soaked corpse found beaten, raped and strangled in a cheap motel with the straight-A bible school virgin Noah. When the connection was made, the outcry in the media was loud and shrill, demanding vengeance from every corner.

By that time, though, Joe had already wasted his next victim.
 
You're a great writer!

I'm wondering though. Your stories are always quite long; is that deliberate? Are you shooting for a particular length, or effect? Or do you just write what occurs to you and not really question it?

I take forever to write, about an hour a paragraph, so I always try to get something out quickly before I get distracted. But that brevity isn't deliberate, I just have no patience.

Regardless, I don't have the experience to comment either way, I'm just curious... And I am keeping in mind the famous "I apologize for the length of this letter; I didn't have the time to write a shorter one." ;)
 
I don't specifically plan the length of my stories; I just end up where the story takes me. I have noticed that over time, my stories have tended to get longer.
 
M4M41(+1)

Andy stood impatiently in the gym parking lot. He’d told the dude when he’d be done working out; in fact, he’d showered much more quickly (though no less thoroughly) so he’d be able to meet the guy on time and not have to stand around waiting.

Andy had gotten a hit on an online hookup app after work, while on his way to the gym. In his late twenties, the well-built young man took good care of his firm, lightly-furred body. He was bi but not a bottom; his broad chest and thick biceps had towered over many dudes who were glad to get on their knees and slurp his hog.

Tonight was gonna be extra fun, if the guy ever showed up. The pic he’d been sent made his dick hard; the thought of that hard, scruffy face chugging his cock…

The youth snapped out of his reverie. It was getting dark, and even though the weather was warm for the time of year, a chill was setting in as the sun went down. Where the fuck was this cocksucker?

The “cocksucker” was actually already there. Parked at the end of the lot, Joe watched the boy carefully, making sure he was alone.

He’d decided to change his MO for a bit, just to change things up. Well, that, and throw off any investigation. Some of his recent kills had attracted attention…

This time, instead of posting an ad and waiting for a response, he’d gone searching actively for a victim. And while he was trolling sluts online, he came across Andy’s profile and he was intrigued.

The pic showed a handsome kid in his late twenties, his almond eyes clearly showing his Asian heritage but the glossy black bangs across his forehead also hinted at something warmer, almost Mediterranean. The boy was fit, with a light dusting of dark hair down his thick, muscled legs and up his smooth, flat belly.

His profile said he was just looking for head, maybe a little foot worship. But it had to be discreet. He was looking for a cumdump on the DL.

Joe chuckled. He’d turn the fucker into a cumdump himself. And then he’d turn him into meat.

He sent a pic of himself, along with a message that he’d love to suck Andy’s dick. After the punk was dead, Joe would be taking his phone anyway. And so, as usual, he’d gotten to the meeting place early and kept a sharp eye out for any red flags. But everything seemed copacetic; his hunter’s senses detected no danger.

He got out of his car and sauntered slowly towards the boy.

Andy heard the heavy footfalls and looked up to see a tall, hulking man approaching. The dude was amazingly buff, and dressed to emphasize it. The strapping older stud was taller and better built than he was—not by much, but enough. Hard to believe a muscular, masculine guy like that was into giving head.

Joe sighted the kid right away; he was still in his workout gear. The hard-bodied youth was wearing a gray t-shirt that fit tightly across his broad chest. Beneath that was a pair of black, knee-length polyester shorts that displayed the muscle punk’s firm, furry calves to perfection. Over all of it, he sported a shiny blue nylon running jacket with the sleeves shoved up past his elbows to let him show off his smooth forearms.

The boy’s legs descended into pair of Nikes, the black and grey zigzag stipes showing that they were Fingertrap Max style. They looked clean and new. His white ped socks were just barely visible below his ankles.

Joe himself had gone with a classic rough-trade look—after all, he was luring in a top this time. The bait needed to be appropriate to the prey; he needed to look like a slut ready to go anywhere private for sex.

After all, in a way, he was.

He was wearing a white wifebeater at least a couple of sizes too small; it wrapped so snugly around his rock-hard torso as to be almost transparent. His tight jeans, cinched with a thick leather belt, were clean but faded and worn, the ragged cuffs tucked into a pair of beige construction boots, laced but untied. Like his prey, he wore a jacket—Joe’s a simple black leather aviator jacket.

Andy grinned with pleasure as the hot older dude came close. “You Kevin?” he asked, using the handle Joe had assumed for this kill.

“Yeah, you Andy?” Joe replied, letting his eyes slide over the boy’s body like a physical caress—making it obvious, luring the punk in. As he did, he noted details—the kid’s black sports watch and his wristband, naturally, but what caught his attention most the thick leather choker the boy wore around his neck.

Joe grinned. It was perfect. Even had an ornamental metal ring in the center.

Andy misunderstood the grin, interpreting it as eagerness. As a cocky young alpha, he went into full swagger mode. “So, man, ya ready to drain my load? Shit, dude, I bet you can’t even take my dick!” Joe grunted and snarled faintly, with just enough restraint that it could be read as submissive.

Andy smiled; throatfucking this stud was gonna be so hot. But he needed to get moving; he’d wasted too much time out here waiting. Jake was gonna finish up soon. “C’mon, man,” he said, “get in your car and follow me. We gotta be quick; once my roommate finishes up his routine and hits the shower, he’s gonna come straight home.”

With that, the boy turned and got into his truck, a red Ford F250. Joe followed him out of the lot in his own car, making sure to hang far enough back that it wouldn’t be obvious to any witnesses that there was a connection between the two vehicles. It wasn’t very difficult to keep the huge fire-engine-red pickup in sight, anyway.

The trip was short; within a few blocks, the truck had pulled of a side street into a parking lot. Behind the lot was a series of low, one-story units stretching back away from the street. Andy waited at the curb as Joe parked. “This way,” he said, leading him deep into the complex.

They were all small condos and seemed to be built with some small variation of floor plan. Their front doors faced each other across the small walkway that extended perpendicularly back from the street. The farther they walked in, the more the sounds of traffic faded.

Andy went right to the end, the last unit on the left. Beyond was a high, impervious wooden fence marking the end of the property. He opened the door and let Joe in.

On the inside, the condo was small. The living room was nicely furnished but the dining area was taken up with a computer desk, with a small two-seat café table shoved into a corner. Beyond the tiny galley kitchen a corridor ran back to the bedrooms; on one side of the corridor was the bathroom. The other side was lined with windows looking out onto a side yard the size of a postage stamp, hemmed in by the blind brick wall of the neighboring unit.

Two small, identical bedrooms in the back completed the set-up. Andy took Joe down the hall to the one on the right. It was furnished with a queen-sized bed, a nightstand and lamp, a dresser and a chest of drawers; there wasn’t room for much else. The muscular punk’s workout gear was scattered around the room; everything from gym shirts and shorts to dumbbells to shoes.

Joe was thrilled. It was almost too easy.

Andy took off his running jacket. Glancing around, he snatched a wire hanger from a pile on the dresser. “Take off your clothes, cocksucker,” he commanded as he turned and opened the closet, using the hanger to dispose of his jacket. “I want ya naked when I skullfuck ya.” Closing the door, he turned back to Joe. “Yeah, you’ll like that, won’t—“

He never saw the blow coming. Joe’s doubled-up fist caught the youth square on the jaw with a swift rabbit-punch, slamming the boy’s head back so hard it punched a hole in the hollow-core door. Andy had just enough time to be aware of a blur before a painful explosion of darkness put his lights out.

The lights came back up slowly, each increment of consciousness accompanied by one of pain. His jaw ached and his arms were twisted painfully above his head; they seemed to be restrained by some sort of thick strap. As Andy became aware if his surroundings, he realized he was tied down on his back on his own bed with his hands bound to the headboard.

Looming over him, the muscled stud leered down at him with an evil grin. There was a hint of such malicious glee in the dude’s handsome, scruffy face that Andy felt the first twinge of fear.

But he damn sure wasn’t gonna let this psycho know about it.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” the youth snarled in anger. “Dude, you made a huge mistake. When I get outta this, I’m gonna fuck you up so bad, you hear? I’m gonna—“

“Yeah?” Joe growled abruptly, cutting Andy’s bluster off mid-stride. “Whaddaya think yer gonna do to me, faggot?”

“I ain’t no faggot!” Andy barked in anger. “I’ll facefuck a dude, but I ain’t never taken a guy’s load, asswipe!”

“You have sex with guys, you’re a fag,” the brawny alpha hissed menacingly, “and as for taking a load, we’re gonna fix that problem right now.” As he spoke, he slipped off his black leather aviator jacket with a shrug of his powerful shoulders, laying it carefully on top of the chest of drawers where it would remain undamaged by the evening’s activities. In the process, the stack of wire hangers was dislodged, falling to the floor.

Andy grunted and kicked. Still fully dressed, his Nikes caught on the sheets, pulling the corners from under the mattress as he struggled frantically to free himself. As his panicked eyes swept over the ominous figure of his crazed online hookup, the boy realized that “Kevin’s” belt was missing. His jeans were still glued tightly to the older man’s thick, bulging thighs, but the belt…

That was what was binding his hands. Andy remembered it; a two-inch thick strap of leather. Strong as he was, he was no chance of breaking it. He wasn’t gonna be able to get free.

As the hulking stranger slowly unzipped his fly and withdrew a massive, throbbing tube of flesh nearly eight inches long, Andy realized on a subconscious level that he was about to get raped and there was nothing he could do about it. He gulped in fear but was still too arrogant to believe that such a thing could happen to him—after all, dudes wanted his dick, not the other way around.

“Get the fuck away from me, you psycho,” he gasped as he jerked his arms in an instinctive attempt to defend himself. “You ain’t stickin’ nothin’ in me, you fuckin’ crazy-ass homo!”

Joe pulled Andy’s shirt up around his neck. Smiling cheerfully, he slammed his fist into the kid’s flat, furry belly like a piledriver. The well-built youth doubled up in pain, his breath forced from him in a loud, agonized grunt.

As his victim writhed surprised agony on the bed, Joe took a moment to position himself between the boy’s legs. With one swift, smooth jerk, he yanked the punk’s gym shorts and black boxers down simultaneously, leaving them around the kid’s ankles. They’d hold his feet together perfectly when Joe got between his legs to fuck him. And it was just about time to get started…

That’s when Joe heard the lock on the front door. “J-jake,” Andy gasped irregularly, “h-he’ll fu-fu-fuck ya up…”

The roommate was coming home. Joe realized he had to act quickly. Standing up, he peeled his tight wifebeater off and, wadding it into a ball, forced Andy’s mouth open and jammed it inside as a gag—little piece of shit wasn’t gonna be able to warn his buddy.

Which wasn’t to say he wasn’t gonna try. Joe was counting on it. Picking up a small 10-pound hex dumbbell, Joe flipped the light switch off and stood silently behind the open door to Andy’s bedroom.

As he went into full hunt mode, his pulsing cock started dripping. The erotic excitement of stalking truly unaware prey was almost overwhelming…

“Andy!” called out a young, strong voice. “Hey, dude, were are ya? I know you’re home, fucker, your car’s outside, so quit tryin’ to play games!”

As Andy heard Jake’s voice, he became more agitated. He kicked and thrashed on the bed, thick, muffled grunts emerging soddenly from his gagged mouth. He was helpless to warn his friend of the impending danger, and he knew it. His only hope was in somehow alerting Jake so his bud could get away and get help—he didn’t know his desperate flailings were only luring Jake deeper into the trap.

As Joe waited silently, a shadow filled the golden rectangle of light spilling in from the open door. A hand reached out and switched on the light as the innocent youth entered the room. “What the fuck, dude!” Jake cried out in the split second before Joe lunged out from behind the door and cracked the boy across the back of the head with the metal weight.

Jake grunted and whirled around. Joe’s attuned killer’s mind flashed an image of the kid’s face—buzz-cut blond hair that grew a little longer on top, turning into a fauxhawk, broad cheeks below large pale blue eyes. His wide, full lips were surrounded by a faint but wiry sandy-blond goatee.

The kid’s body was even more chiseled and defined than Andy’s was. He’d evidently already slipped off a hoodie pullover; it was still in his hand. The cutoff t-shirt he wore did nothing to hide his ripped abs, nor did the metallic gray ball shorts fail to highlight the perfectly-formed legs rising up out of his gray and white Nike Flight Falcon hightops. The young stud had clearly just come home from his own workout.

Joe took it all in with the space of about a second and a half—the length of time it took for Jake’s body to react to the knockout blow. Reaching one thickly-muscled arm to the back of his head with a confused expression in his face, the boy’s eyes rolled back in his head and he crumpled helplessly to the floor.

The faint, subdued moan that emerged from Andy’s blocked mouth was all that was left of his despairing wail at the realization that his friend could no longer save him.

“Fuck yeah, dude,” Joe laughed in pleasure, “I get a twofer. Your buddy is straight? Too bad—sucks to be him.”

With an evil chuckle, the powerful alpha began stripping the strong, brawny youth. “And it’s about to suck even worse…”

With wide, helpless eyes, Andy watched the psycho stranger peel Jake’s body nude. Joe found that the second young man was as tall as he was. He wasn’t quite as muscled, but Joe was still glad he’d gotten the drop on the bitch or there might have been a struggle. Not that Joe was worried about taking down either of these two fuckers in a fight; he just didn’t want the neighbors alerted.

After all, he was gonna be here a while. His plans for the evening had just gotten a lot more detailed.

Jake’s firm, smooth body had only the faintest hint of golden peachfuzz dusting the silky skin stretched tautly over his muscles. Grabbing the waistband of the cunt’s shorts, Joe yanked them off roughly, taking a pair of green and blue striped boxers off at the same time. He pulled them over Jake’s hightops, leaving the kid his Nikes.

Looking around swiftly, Joe noticed the pile of hangers that had been dislodged from the dresser. He reached out and grabbed on, quickly untwisting it to make a long length of wire. Standing over Jake, the sadistic alpha flipped the boy’s limp form on his face and pinned his arms behind his back. With a couple of rapid movements, he soon re-twisted the wire around Jake’s wrists in a simple but extremely effective binding. Now all he needed was something for the feet…

There—draped over the closet doorknob. A jump rope; perfect. In a flash, it was impenetrably wound around the young stud’s legs, just above his gray Nikes.

With a loud grunt, Joe dragged the unconscious boy to the bed. Andy’s queen-sized bed was against the wall on one side; Andy was tied to the other, leaving a space between him and the wall. It took some effort—the buff motherfucker weighed almost 200 pounds—but Joe was able to toss Jake over Andy’s thrashing body. The blond punk hit the wall with a thump, falling limply back onto the bed.

Stripped to the waist, Joe strode to the drawers where his aviator jacket lay. Digging into the pocket, he fished out his pack of smokes and lit one, turning back to the two helpless youths lying bound side-by-side on the bed.

Andy, still fully conscious, stared up at the hulking sadist he’d unwittingly let into his home. A handsome, arrogant punk, he was unable to fully comprehend the implications of his situation; he only knew that he was in serious trouble. What defined “trouble” was something his mind shied away from…

As he jerked vainly on the bed, Andy could feel Jake’s muscled, insensate form next to him. The struggling youth was in a fair amount of discomfort; the wadded-up shirt in his mouth filled his sinuses with the sour tang of his assailant’s sweat while the rough leather belt was cutting into the skin at his wrists.

But the cigarette was what angered him. He didn’t smoke and didn’t want his room polluted. It was a stupid thing to fixate on, given the situation, but the hot young stud wasn’t in a position to think rationally. There was little he could do to stop it, but he did what he could—it consisted of kicking and thrashing as loud grunts of protest emerged thickly from his gagged mouth.

Joe tapped his ash on the boy’s flat, furry belly. “What’s wrong, bitch? Ya not inta smoke?” With that, he exhaled a cloud into Andy’s face and dropped the smoldering butt, grinding it out on the carpet with his heavy construction boot.

The bound youth’s outraged grunting increased in pitch and tempo, tripping a warning in Joe’s killer brain. “Goddammit, faggot, you’re squeakin’ too much—shut the fuck up!” He slammed his fist into Andy’s jaw with wide, roundhouse punch that knocked the kid’s head back. The force of the blow was so strong, it actually knocked the balled-up shirt free of Andy’s mouth.

The young Asian stud coughed violently as his airway was unexpectedly cleared. He blinked in confusion, shuddering in pain from the impact on his jaw. As his vision cleared, the alpha top was standing over him, his incredibly well-sculpted torso outlined by the light in the far corner.

More ominously, the light also illuminated the stranger’s huge, fully-erect dick. As Andy watched in almost hypnotic horror, he could see it visibly throb, forcing small clear drops from the swollen, purple head in a steady stream.

“No…” the trapped boy moaned thickly. “D-don’t, man, k-keep aw-away…p-p-please…”

Joe’s smile became deeper, more shark-like as he climbed on the bed. “So you ain’t had anyone up yer fuckhole yet, huh? What kinda worthless fag are ya, cunt? Gonna fix that for ya right now, dude—after all, ya don’t wanna die a virgin, do ya?”

“What?” Andy yelped. The bald, cold mention of death shocked him to his core.

While he tried to process it, Joe squirmed between his legs. Suddenly, Andy found Joe on top of him, his own legs wrapped around his tormentor’s slick, hard flanks and held in place by the polyester running shorts around his ankles.

When he’d slipped those shorts on that afternoon, he’d had no idea that they’d be used to facilitate his rape later that day.

All thoughts of clothing or his day—or pretty much anything—were driven from Andy’s mind when Joe brutally rammed his thick, erect shaft up the kid’s virgin-tight asshole. The terrible, rending pain in his sphincter, the horrific slashing sensation in his colon, claimed his entire attention.

He couldn’t scream. It was too much, too intense. He tried, inhaling deeply and doing his damnedest to shriek at the top of his voice, but the agony shifted his exertions to overdrive and all he could accomplish was a loud, gurgling wheeze.

Flopping back on the bed and shuddering in excruciating pain, Andy had no choice but to submit to his attacker’s cock. As his body was wracked with violent rape, he somehow became aware of a commotion to his side.

Jake was waking up.

The hot straight boy came to in an unimaginable nightmare. Bound and helpless, he fought his way to consciousness through waves of crushing pain in his head. As he became aware of himself and his surroundings, he realized that he was tied up and on his back on a bed. The next thing that worked into his aching awareness was noise and activity to his immediate right. He could feel hard, muscular limbs thrashing sweatily against him and hear an agonized squealing, like that of a stuck pig.

It took a while for him to register that the source of the sound was his roommate being viciously assaulted. And even then, his mainstream jock mentality was utterly incapable of understanding that Andy was being cruelly raped. Jake knew nothing more than his own helplessness and Andy’s mewling agony.

“Fuck yeah,” Joe growled, spitting into the hot Asian boy’s face, “take my fuckin’ rod, you motherfuckin’ homo cunt!” As his huge tool plowed into Andy’s tender ass, the thick veined ridges on his shaft tore at the unfortunate cunt’s soft fuckhole like barbed wire.

It was too much. Andy shrieked, loud and hard, his vocal cords stretching taut and sending a vibration that echoed through his entire body. Joe felt it and shuddered in pleasure.

Jake felt it and shuddered in terror.

Joe was still pissed. “Goddam queer-ass fag motherfucker!” he snarled in anger, “Shut the fuck up, you worthless sack of shit! Yer makin’ more noise than you’re worth, you little homo cunt—guess I need to stop yer fuckin’ pig squealing, cunt. Lessee now, what’s good to choke off your cumsucking throat…”

His sharp, darting eyes spied a screwdriver on the nightstand. Andy had used it to tighten up a loose screw on his weight set, never imagining the untold horrors in store when, finished with the tool, he tossed it heedlessly aside. Joe seized on it like a gift.

“Oh hell yeah, this work fuckin’ great,” he smirked diabolically. “Dude, you musta wanted this—you damn sure dressed to get snuffed, faggot!”

Slipping the long steel shank of the screwdriver through the decorative ring in the unfortunate youth’s choker, Joe began twisting it like a garrote. Each revolution of the screwdriver drew the thick leather band tighter and tighter around Andy’s neck…

The boy gave a terrified yelp before his air was closed off for good. Jake was still groggy from the blow to the back of his head; he had no idea what was happening, but he recognized the panic and fear in his buddy’s stifled cry. He could feel Andy’s sweaty, muscled legs thrashing in terror; despite his pinned ankles, the bound youth was unintentionally flailing against his trapped roommate in his hysteric frenzy.
And it was a frenzy. It was finally sinking in; the cocky punk was realizing that this was gonna be worse than bad—he could die.

That wasn’t supposed to happen. He’d just met an anonymous hookup online so he could get a quick BJ before his roommate got home.

And now he was tied to the bed, getting raped and strangled—and Jake was bound, nude and struggling, right next to him. Watching him get fucked.

Watching him die.

Clenching his hands into fists, Andy jerked wildly against the rough leather belt wrapped around the metal headboard but all he succeeded in doing was scraping his wrists bloody. He didn’t notice the pain; it was negligible compare the huge shaft tearing into his guts, reaming his colon relentlessly. As his hard body heaved and jerked under the violent sexual assault, his own long cock bounced and slapped against his belly. Much like his wrists, the fact that he was slowly getting erect also escaped his notice.

He was able to experience more than the assfuck, though. His own leather choker was sinking into his throat, gradually and incrementally. The first few turns of the makeshift garrote had been swift, done to cut his air off and shut him up quickly.

After that, Joe was more deliberate. Resting his full weight on that of the warm, furry kid beneath him, the cruel killer took his time with slow half-twists of the screwdriver, watching the black leather band slowly disappear into the puckered skin around it. But then, a distraction—

“What the fuck, man?” Jake squawked, terror giving his voice a high pitch that caused his attempt at a threatening growl to fail miserably. “What’s goin’ on? Andy? Dude? What the fuck is happening?” His voice shook with impending tears.

“What the fuck is happening, dude,” Joe sneered, turning to look Jake straight in his terrified, uncomprehending face, “is that your bud here is gettin’ some dick. And then I’m gonna waste him. Watch close, motherfucker—when I’m done with him, it’ll be your turn.”

Turning back, he hocked up a wad of phlegm and spat it into Andy’s darkening face. “Course, I’ll have already blown a load by then, so I’m gonna have to be a little more…inventive with you. So pay attention, you queer-ass cunt; what’s happenin’ now is just gonna be foreplay to you.”

Jake gasped out loud as the brutal killer grinned and continued to pump his shaft up Andy’s torn hole. As his buddy’s legs flopped raggedly against his own, the well-built boy struggled furiously—but fruitlessly—against the wire that had been wrapped multiple times around his wrists.

He didn’t accept the situation without protest, of course. “You’re a fuckin’ lunatic!” he screamed in pure terror. “I ain’t gay! Andy ain’t gay! We’re just roommates, asswipe; we’ve known each other since high school!”

Joe laughed contemptuously as he reached down and forced Andy’s head roughly to the right. “Look at yer friend, fag,” he hissed into the boy’s swelling, horror-filled face, “lookit him good when he finds out…”

The sadistic alpha whipped his head back round to Jake, beaming with malevolent glee. “You ain’t gay, you cocksucking queerboy? Huh? And this cunt ain’t no cum-gobblin’ homo either, huh? I met him on a gay app, bitch, lookin’ for someone to suck his dick. He’s a faggot; you live with him, so yer a faggot, too. I mean, it only makes sense, right? So quit squealin’ you homo pig, yer gonna die on my cock soon enough.”

With a faint chuckle, Joe hovered close over Andy and spat in his face yet again. “But first,” he chuckled quietly, “I gotta off this motherfucking pervert. Ya look healthy, boy. Too bad. Just means you’re gonna suffer longer.”

Andy heard the words but didn’t process them. He was suffering enough already. A raging fire burned within his broad chest; all the time he’d spent building up his strong pecs had actually increased his ability to retain oxygen. Joe was right, it was gonna take him longer to die—and every second of it was gonna be horrible agony…

The pain in his chest was a hot, fiery pain. The pain in his throat was a cruel, crushing pain. The pain in his head was a pounding, pressurized pain.

The pain in his cock was white-hot and electric.

As his face darkened and his tongue began to protrude, lubed by foamy saliva, his dying brain was swept into a vortex of pain in which his own rock-hard rod played no little part.

“Fuck yeah, cunt,” Joe sighed, his hard, handsome face mere inches from that of his helpless, thrashing victim, “I can feel you dying. Worthless fuckin’ fag, yer gonna die just so you can be my cumdump. Ya like that? Oh hell yeah you do, lookit the way you work my dick as I snuff ya! It ain’t a compliment, you disgusting homo; you’re just battin’ warm-up for your butt-fuckin’ friend over here.”

Jake had watched it all in fascinated horror. It wasn’t a matter of believing Andy was gay or not; this situation was way beyond that point. Andy was getting raped. Andy was getting murdered. Jake had already seen his bud’s face, congested and puffy, turning a terrifying shade of purple. His almond-shaped eyes were almost unrecognizable as they bulged grotesquely, hemorrhages bursting in large red blooms in the whites.

It was the stuff of nightmare. But the physical violence of the sexual assault rammed the reality home in multiple senses.

Joe’s glistening, sculpted torso gleamed in the light as he slowly increased the tempo of his thrusts. Even with the knowledge that Andy was dying and that he was next, Jake still found himself somehow mesmerized by the performance.

And he noticed—he couldn’t help but notice—the way Andy’s tool responded. Motherfucker was gettin’ raped and snuffed—and he was hard.

Maybe he was gay. But Jake wasn’t. He was gonna fight.

Without missing a single thrust of his tempo or a single half-turn of the screwdriver sending his hapless victim into a new wave of convulsions, Joe had managed to follow Jake’s line of thought. Stupid little fuck wasn’t as complicated as he thought. And even if he pretended to be straight to himself, Joe knew he’d be able to squeeze the true faggot pig outta him by the time he died.

His audience in mind, Joe resumed taunting Andy. “Like it, dontcha, cunt? You fuckin’ love havin’ a real man hold you down and put you in yer place, huh, fag? Can’t hide it when ya die, boy, yer hard cock is tellin’ your buddy here how much yer lovin’ this, you useless homo cum dumpster!”

Fighting through his terror, Jake found his voice again. “Stop!” he screeched. “I’m gonna fuck you up so bad when I get outta this, dude—let me up NOW!”

Joe only needed one hand to keep the garrote tightened around Andy’s throat. He used the other to backhand Jake across the jaw. He never took his eyes off Andy’s blackening face. “Yer fuckin’ homeboy thinks he’s gettin’ outta this alive. He’s as fuckin’ dead as you are, only he don’t know it yet. He’ll have to feel it to understand it—like you are now, huh, cunt?”

Somehow, over his pain and fear, Andy was aware of Jake lying next to him. A dim, dying corner of his brain had always fantasized about getting his best bud to suck his cock. Now his best bud’s hard nude body pressed helplessly against him, smooth flesh against smooth flesh.

It was a shame Andy wasn’t able to enjoy the sensation.

As the blood flow to his head was increasingly restricted, the pressure behind his forehead became nightmarish. The hot crushing pain in his chest was fading; his broad pecs quivering with approaching death but no longer rising and falling with vain attempts at respiration.

That horrible spike up his ass, though—he could still feel every detail of that. Every single torturous vein wrapped around the thick shaft was detected by his mangled sphincter and sent a silent shriek up his nervous system to a brain already overwhelmed in agony.

Jake was still recovering, both from the force of Joe’s bitchslap and the implication of his impending murder. He was a young, easy-going straight boy; he simply didn’t have the mental equipment to process the concept of a gay rape/snuff. He grew quiet, his mind going into vapor lock as he watched—and felt—the horrific scene playing out right beside him.

He had a close-up view of his roommate’s suffering. Andy’s handsome face, only inches from his, was almost unrecognizable; swollen, black and spewing foamy drool, it was a grotesque caricature of the boy who’d been his friend since high school.

The bound brawny youth was unable to tear his eyes away from Andy’s face. It was as if the spectacle was hypnotic, cruelly forcing Jake into a kind of tunnel vision on his buddy’s face, compelling him, against his will, to note every detail. Involuntarily, he witnessed Andy’s bulging, bloodshot eyes, frantic and desperate; his purple, protruding tongue swollen horribly between split lips—and all of it moving rhythmically, the dying kid’s head bobbing up and down with a swift pace.

And in his panicked paralysis, Jake understood it was bobbing in time to the rapist’s thrusts. He understood that Andy wasn’t just dying; he was dying with a cock up his ass.

What he hadn’t yet internalized what that it was all gonna happen to him, too. Joe did his best to correct the oversight.

“Watch ‘im, dude,” he grunted as his firm, furry ass flexed with his energetic thrusts, “watch ‘im choke. Fuck, man his dyin’ ass is grippin’ my shaft so tight—the harder I squeeze his throat, the harder he squeezes my dick. Goddam dickpig likes it, yeah? An’ I bet you’ll fuckin’ love it, you worthless cocksucking faggot!”


The older alpha, his heaving, muscled flanks streaked with sweat, continued to pound Andy’s traumatized fuckhole, reaming his colon mercilessly as the younger stud slid slowly and painfully into death. His panicked yanking at the belt binding became less and less coordinated; he somehow managed to slip his left foot out of his shorts, freeing his legs—but he had suffered so much brain damage by this time that the desperate drumming of his Nikes grew was erratic and convulsive.

The hard-bodied Asian youth was past the point of conscious thought. His strong, strapping body was wracked with agonizing convulsions. His head shook violently side to side in a futile, instinctive attempt to break free of the leather choker sunk deeply into his esophagus; all he accomplished was to send a long white string of drool splattering on Jake’s broad chest.

Andy couldn’t think; he could only feel. And what he felt was indescribable. The horrific burning sensation in his chest and his head was fading into the biting cold of incipient death. Only a few searing flashes of heat remained to illumine his last few seconds on earth. One, white-hot and excruciating, was plunging through his shredded rectum; another, like a heated iron ingot, was crushing his windpipe with an inexorable force.

And there was a third that he no longer had the awareness to deny—the bubbling, boiling cauldron of magma seething in his scrotum and surging along the underside of his erect, pulsating cock. His long tool had been slapping against his flat belly during the sexual assault; Joe felt it strike his own abdomen during some of his deeper plunges into his victim’s guts. Now it was as swollen and purple as Andy’s face and was visibly throbbing.

Joe turned and looked directly into Jake’s stunned face, the younger man’s eyes wide and ringed with dark circles of shock. “Holy fuckin’ shit, cunt, this cumpig is close,” he hissed evilly at the terrified youth. “Here’s how I know he’s a fag—see how hard he is? Now watch him blow a load as I fuck him to death, you sack of shit, cause you’re gonna do the same thing when it happens to you, ya homo cumdump!”

Jake watched in horrified silence as Joe twisted the screwdriver forcefully, cinching the thin but strong leather strap even more tightly around Andy’s neck. Encountering a brief resistance, the sadistic top gave a loud grunt of effort which was rewarded with a loud, sickening crunch. Mere inches away, Jake could see Andy’s head shudder and loll in vivid detail as his handsome young roommate’s esophagus collapsed and his neck snapped under the intense pressure of the garrote he’d chosen to wear as a fashion accessory.

Andy himself experienced it differently. For him, it was a shattering bolt of lightning that lit up the devastated landscape of his nervous system, a savage slash of electrochemical agony that tore through every nerve in his thrashing, convulsing body. Splinters of shattered vertebrae ripped through his spinal cord, leaving the transmission of nerves signals mangled but, cruelly, not completely severed.

As Andy’s brain died of oxygen starvation, a few last sensations were able to penetrate the icy darkness. They were sensations of liquid heat; of molten metal flowing into his ass and out of his cock in a steady stream of basic genetic material…

He was dead before he stopped spewing his load; a jet of ropy, pearly semen that splattered over Joe’s wiry, sweat-matted chest hair.

Joe hunched over the corpse, thrusting his cock convulsively into the flaccid dead hole as he cursed and grunted like a rutting animal, filling the punk’s colon with sperm.

And Jake had seen and heard every second of Andy gruesomely sadistic rape and snuff. And felt it—in fact, he was still feeling it. Andy’s muscled right leg had flopped across Jake’s legs. Even now, the dead dude’s Fingermax Traps were quivering and trembling as a death spasm drew the leg up at the knee, dragging the expensive kicks up Jake’s hairy calves.

Shuddering and panting heavily, sweat glistening on his heaving, muscled body, Joe shifted back. The dead boy’s ass involuntarily disgorged his killer’s dick, streaked with blood and cum. The hulking rapist slipped off the bed, standing for a moment while he caught his breath. He reached around and grabbed his smokes, exhaling a huge cloud of nicotine after swiftly lighting up.

Joe glanced around the room with a low, grim chuckle. As he moved, his thick dick, still hanging out of his jeans, swung in great, lazy circles and spattered drops of cum about the room. The buff stud inhaled deeply; his testosterone, sweat and spunk swirled into a fog of manscent that was tinted with the pheromones of the two boys—and vast amounts of adrenaline, pumped out by terror.

The scene on the bed was enough to make sure he didn’t go limp. Andy was still on his back with his arms bound above his head. The handsome youth was bare, his shirt still around his neck, exposing his broad, furry chest and firm flat belly, both glazed with coagulating semen. His left leg was lying along the edge of the bed, his right still stretched across Jake’s crotch with the black shorts twisted tightly around the ankle. Even in the faint light, Joe could see the dead stud’s smooth thigh quiver in death.

He grinned lewdly, knowing Jake must have been able to feel it on his own long rod, hidden underneath. The strapping blond youth, his tightly muscled arms trapped behind his back by the viciously twisted wire hanger, had turned his head to the wall. He seemed to be resisting any acknowledgement of the horrific situation in which he found himself, denial written deeply in his clenched eyes and gritted teeth.

The cruel alpha strode out of the room, leaving behind an atmosphere of fear, pain and death in Andy’s bedroom. For a moment, the only sound in the gruesome stillness was the corpse’s occasional mindless galvanic twitch.

But Joe had only stepped across the hall to the bathroom. A sudden splashing sound abruptly broke the silence. The violent stranger was pounding a steady stream of piss into the toilet and the noise somehow wormed its way into Jake’s numbed awareness. It went on so long that some dim corner of the stunned youth’s mind began to wonder how much the dude could hold—began to wonder, in fact, if the killer was even human.

And that thought, more than anything else, broke Jake free from his torpor. He’d already seen the man’s power and sadism, but he’d had a vague idea that it had all been expended on poor Andy. But if the guy had anything left, Jake was clearly gonna be next.

Whimpering in terror, the painfully bound young man began squirming on the bed in an attempt, if not to free himself from his bindings, then at least to get off the bed and perhaps to a window to call for help. Suddenly, he found himself writhing slowly on top of Andy’s still-quivering corpse. It was too much for Jake; he started blubbering—a very bad move. Joe heard the noise and stormed furiously back into the room.

The callous alpha laughed cruelly when he saw Jake positioned on top of his roommate. “Lookitya, you fuckin’ death pig fag,” he crowed obnoxiously, “I ain’t gone five minutes and yer tryin’ to hump your dead fuckbuddy! Don’t worry, motherfucker, I’ll make sure you get to enjoy his corpse—startin’ now.”

Joe towered over the bed, his broad shadow thrown ominously across the bodies of the two young men on the bed, one living and one dead. His thick hog, still pulsating, dangled over the shuddering youth who cowered beneath him. The blond boy was tall and almost as well-built as his assailant, but brutal mental shock had overwhelmed his physical assets.

He needed more of the same, Joe realized. A little more humiliation—a little more tenderizing.

Maybe a little foot worship. He liked the idea of the hot blond blue-eyed stud working his feet, but he had a better idea.

He repositioned the punk by grabbing his head with both hands and yanking it down to the point he wanted it. Before Jake knew what was happening, Andy’s Nikes were in front of his face—specifically, the left one.

“Take it off him,” he commanded harshly.

Jake was still far too confused to understand. He remained motionless.

“Take his sneaker off, you stupid scumshit, or I will hurt you.”

This registered. Jake blinked twice and shook himself. “Take-what? T-take it off? B-b-but my han-hands…”

“Use your mouth, you goddam pervert. You had worse in there than this homo’s feet anyway, I bet. Do it!”

The situation was so surreal, so disorienting that Jake obeyed the ring of command in the older man’s voice almost without conscious thought. Bending his head down, he took the tip of one of the laces in his mouth, his teeth closing tightly on the plastic aglet at the tip. Yanking his head back, he managed to undo the laces with a single jerk.

“Good bitch,” Joe sneered. “Keep goin’, fag. Get the shoe off, bitch.”

The brutal sadist still had his hands on each side of Jake’s head. To enforce his orders, he began to squeeze. His victim understood the warning; the only way to ease the crushing pain was to submit, to obey.

Jake glanced down at the black and gray Fingertrap Max sneaker. Andy’s foot was turned to the side in death; Jake noticed a loop of fabric at the top of the heel tab. Burying his head by his bud’s still-shuddering kick, Jake took the tab between his teeth and began the long, slow process of working the sneaker off Andy’s foot.

It took several minutes. Every time Jake started to slow his efforts to pull the dead stud’s sneaker off, Joe reapplied pressure to his head, his biceps bulging as he crushed the fucker’s skull. He never said a word; he just applied massive pain whenever his victim seemed to tire. It was several minutes of silent terror, agony, and struggle.

Finally, after unimaginable damage to his psyche—to say nothing of the faint but terrifying cracking sounds from his cranium—Jake managed to work the sneaker off. The moment he did, Joe let go, allowing the kid to shake his head like a dog, tossing the sneak across the room.

Joe allowed Jake a good thirty seconds of gasping recovery before reminding him that he wasn’t done. “Took ya long enough, motherfucker; ya need to do better than that with his sock.”

Cringing in humiliation, Jake had no choice but to comply. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been trying to break free every single moment since this insane nightmare had started; all he’d succeeded in doing was to chafe his ankles bloody with the jump rope and embed the wire hanger into his wrists so deeply that his fists went numb, then began the cold, agonizing ache of nerve death.

The nightmarish nature, the sheer bizarreness of the situation acted on the youth like a fog descending on his brain. He’d been a typical straight boy, not so much stupid as naïve. He had no exit strategy for his current predicament for the very good reason that he’d never imagined that someone like Joe existed.

And now, here he was, feeling the smooth, cooling flesh of Andy’s ankle pressing against his lips as he took the top edge of the dead punk’s ped sock in his teeth and slowly began maneuvering it off the quivering foot. As he slipped it off, his face slid down the slightly rough surface of the sole.

Freeing the sock from the foot, he turned his head away from Andy and spat it out. Rising back up on his knees, he fell back away from the corpse’s feet, his head ending up near Andy’s midsection as the abused boy gasped in despair and painful exhaustion.

The calculating killer was determined to press his advantage. “Lick him, you sack of shit,” he hissed evilly at his sniveling victim, “Lick that spunk off his belly, you fuckin’ cunt.”

The words pierced the fog of terror that had clouded Jake’s mind. The buff blond turned to his tormenter with an incredulous look on his handsome face. “Wh-what?” he quavered, his voice cracking in shock and disbelief. This wasn’t just different than the thing with Andy’s foot—this was horrible, disgusting—and gay. And Jake wasn’t gay.

Joe snarled down into the wide blue eyes staring at him in shock. “Goddamit, I said lick him, you stupid cocksucker!” he barked, backhanding Jake across the face. “Get your tongue out and start slurping up your boyfriend’s cum, you worthless bitch.”

Jake’s head swung under the blow, but he still hesitated, torn between terror and revulsion. Joe next statement was what motivated him. “Suck up that sperm or I’ll kill you right fuckin’ now, you disgusting waste of flesh.”

Slowly, tremulously, the muscled young stud placed his face near Andy’s flat, spunk-glazed belly, still jerking occasionally as random nerves fired in death. He stuck his tongue out tentatively and immediately froze. Suddenly, the killer’s hand clamped across the back of his head like a vice and shoved him down abruptly.

Jake’s mind did not process the events of the next few minutes; the boy didn’t think about what was happening—he only endured as he was forced to clean his dead friend’s semen off his corpse, using only his mouth. Joe, on the other hand, memorized—and took great sadistic pleasure in—every last detail.

He particularly got off on the way he could feel the panicked sweat mat the kid’s short blond hair, and the way Jake’s head bobbed in his hand as the boy gagged and choked with repugnance. “Fuck yeah, show me what a good cumsucker you are and I might let ya live, faggot,” he chuckled quietly.

Not so quiet that Jake couldn’t hear. Shuddering in disgust and fear, he shut off as much of his consciousness as he could and continued to slurp the cold, salty, jellied spooge off Andy’s abdomen, pausing occasionally to spit out one of the dead boy’s wiry body hairs.

And somewhere in the depths of his brain, he cursed his dead buddy. He deflected the psychological trauma by blaming Andy for bringing this sadistic sociopath into their home, goddammit, Andy, if ya wanted dick, I don’t take dick but I’d have given ya mine—


Then he swallowed a thick wad of cum. Horrified, he started coughing violently and retching, his entire body heaving as he desperately tried not to vomit.

He didn’t know what the vicious psycho would do to him if he vomited, and he didn’t want to find out. But the effort was overwhelming; his hard body jerked and twitched with the strain, his taut muscles quivering as sweat trickled down his smooth skin.

Joe pulled him up abruptly and angrily. “Keep it down, you fuck, so help me, if you puke that spunk, I’ll fuck you up nice and slow.” But even with this threat, Jake’s gag reflex was kicking in; despite his best efforts, Andy’s salty, slimy load clung to the sides of his throat. His heaving got stronger.

“Holy fuckin’ shit, you really are worthless, aintcha?” Joe sneered in contempt as Jake struggled not to throw up. The punk’s straight blond hair was just long enough for the alpha to grab a handful; he brutally jerked the young man up onto his knees one the bed. “Spoiler alert, dude—I’m gonna skullfuck ya. But I damn sure ain’t gonna get no fag puke on my cock, motherfucker. Guess I’m gonna hafta plug ya up first. Lessee, what’ll work…”

Looking around, Joe spied Andy’s white ped sock, still wet with Jake’s saliva. “Yeah, man, this’ll work,” he said as he balled it up and forced it into Jake’s mouth. Then he held his middle finger up in front of the boy’s stunned blue eyes, smiled, and used the finger to shove the sock into Jake’s throat. “There ya go, asswipe. Go ahead and try to barf that spooge up now and you’ll choke on it.”

The powerful alpha smirked, his dominance utterly unquestionable at this point. The well-built, athletic youth was helpless, utterly within his control. Joe could do what he wanted with Jake.

And what he wanted was so very, very cruel. But he wanted to neutralize the possibility of any injury. He’d notice a ragged piece of cloth on the nightstand, only partially visible behind the lamp. Reaching out for it, he found it to be an old hand towel, threadbare, torn—and stiff.

And reeking of mansex. It was Andy’s cumrag.

With sudden inspiration, Joe tore it in half. He wadded each half up into a small ball of spunk-soaked fabric. “Open your mouth, cunt, or I’ll open it for you,” he said in an even tone of voice that was menacing in its lack of threat. He could, and would do what he said.

Jake had to obey. His soul burned with rage and rebellion—but he had to obey. He had no choice. He opened his mouth wide, but he was determined that he wasn’t gonna submit without some show of resistance. And this motherfucker might just have given him his best shot. Closing his eyes, he awaited Joe’s dick.

What he got, instead, were wads of Andy’s cumrag shoved into the back of his mouth, so deep into the angles of his jaws that he couldn’t close them. Between them and Andy’s sock, he was gagging on his dead bud’s body fluids. He turned his wide blue eyes, now huge with stunned terror, up the powerful older man looming over him.

“You stupid cumsucking piece of shit,” Joe chuckled malignly, “did ya think I was really gonna let ya try to bite my cock? Fuckin’ dumbass faggot, yer gonna pay for that—and it’s gonna hurt so fuckin’ bad, you worthless asswipe!”

Tears began welling in Jake’s eyes. His one plan—his one chance to escape—the alpha had seen through it. He was truly helpless now. This couldn’t be happening. Whatever was going on, whatever he had to endure, he was gonna survive this. He was gonna fight for every last second of his life.

Joe saw it all in the defenseless punk’s face and was very happy. “Good,” he whispered almost inaudibly, “fight me. Work me. Milk me…”

Shifting his heavy, unlaced boots on the floor, the hulking sadist leered menacingly down at the subjugated boy. The seductively innocent, happy-go lucky expression that was natural to Jake had been wrenched into a mask of shock and fear. His silky skin, bulging over his muscles, was slick with sweat. As he gagged and coughed on Andy’s sock, spittle flew from his mouth, painfully propped open by the dead dude’s crusty cumrag.

And as he gurgled in soul-crushing revulsion, Jake saw Joe’s enormous cock coming straight at him like a scene from a 3D movie. The thick, pulsing rod of flesh was oozing clear liquid from its swollen purple head.

Jake, for all his cocky young bravado, was in such terror that he’d have pissed himself if he hadn’t emptied his bladder in the shower in the gym. This was something beyond his imagination; something against which he was helpless simply because it was something of which he was incapable of conceiving. It was a surreal nightmare. The cloth items jammed into his mouth, the salty tang of Andy’s seed on his tongue—it wasn’t real.

Then Joe made it real. Before Jake knew what was happening, his mouth was full of cock. And by the time he did know what was happening, his throat was full of cock too.

The buff young stud coughed and gagged, his eyes watering with the sudden strenuous effort required to breathe around sock and cock. Kneeling on the bed with the killer’s hands on the back of his head, Jake was gruesomely reminded of Andy’s corpse when a random twitch caused the dead punk’s right foot—the one with the Nike still tightly laced on—to faintly, almost caressingly, rub against his leg.

Even as the crushing iron grip of the inexorable alpha relentlessly forced Jake to take more and more of the huge throbbing shaft into his mouth, he was aware of the mesh upper of his roommate’s sneaker slowly scraping him just above the knee. He could feel Andy’s shoe, but not his own; the jump rope was tied around his ankles so tightly that by this time, his numb feet were beginning to ache from extended loss of blood flow. His own Nike hightops were filled with paralyzed lumps of flesh.

Joe was inflicting his gigantic hog on the muscular young man with utter ruthlessness. The deeper he plunged down the fucker’s esophagus, the more it narrowed around his tool, a velvety cylinder lubed with spit that tightly embraced his dick.

“Goddam, cunt, you suck cock good,” he chuckled, a guttural note of pleasure reverberating deeply in his voice. “You musta sucked yer buddy’s cock a lot to get that good, you worthless homo pervert. I bet you swallowed gallons of his cum, huh? Yeah, faggot? Ya fuckin’ queens go get all hot an’ horny at the gym and then come home and suck each other off?”

With the deep growl of an untamed animal, he thrust his fully-erect rod brutally down the bound boy’s throat. “Suck my dick, you pansy-ass motherfucker!” he grunted. A sudden sensation on the fat, mushroom-shaped head of his cock gave Joe a momentary pause before he realized it was the sock he’d shoved into the meat’s mouth to shut it up.

With a truly evil grin, the cruel alpha tensed his bulging biceps and with a quick jerk of his powerful arms, forced Jake’s head all the way down. Unable to close his mouth because of the wadded cumrag shoved in his jaw, the well-built straight boy was utterly helpless as the pulsing, vein-wrapped penis completely plugged his windpipe, forcing the balled-up sock down into the trachea.

In the first few moments of shock and denial, Jake’s mind focused exclusively on the one aspect of his living nightmare that he could somehow understand—the scratching on his face.

Pubic hair. Another dude’s pubes were in his face. What the fuck? How—how had this happened? He’d gone to do his usual routine after work. Andy was at the gym already, as usual, and had left earlier, as usual—then Jake had come home. As usual.

And now Andy was dead, violated and murdered. And some dude’s pubes were in his face. What the fuck?

And then a new imperative arose. His full attention swung from “what the fuck is going on” to “why the fuck can’t I breathe” in an instant. But, while Jake might have been a jock, he wasn’t a dumb jock. It took less than five seconds without oxygen for him to realize what was happening.

The same thing that had happened to Andy.

He wasn’t gonna let it happen. His earlier resolve had melted in terror; sheer physical distress was causing it to recrystallize. He jerked backwards abruptly, trying to pull out of the agonizing iron cage formed by his assailant’s hands.

Joe laughed out loud. “You ain’t getting’ off my cock that easy, faggot,” he chortled in malicious glee. “You stupid queerboy bitches are all the same—ya can’t take my dick, worthless little pansies, huh? Get the fuck back down on my shaft, you useless motherfucker, you ain’t done suckin’ my spunk out yet. C’mon, you piece of shit, quit fightin’—trust me, asswipe, it ain’t gonna matter in a few minutes. In fact, ain’t nothin’ gonna matter to ya in a few minutes, meatsack!”

The muscles in the corner of his hard, firm jaw bunched up as he gritted his teeth and savagely thrust his engorged rod back down Jake’s reamed-out esophagus. The brutal, cold-blooded top grunted with pleasure as he felt the panicked young stud writhing under him, the thrashing movement of the kid’s head massaging him beautifully.

“Fuckin’-A, ya homo cocksucker, that’s it. Work my dick as you die, fuckmeat; lessee if you can milk more cum outta me than your dead butt-buddy here. Yer last sensation is gonna be my spurtin’ sperm floodin’ yer lungs—don’t that sound fuckin’ hot? C’mon, you faggot motherfucker, show me how grateful yer gonna be for my load!”

Jake’s forced-open jaw distorted his broad, handsome face, but it was Andy’s ped sock being rammed down his throat that was making his skin swell and darken. It was as if a white cotton plug was being inserted by a piston—except most pistons weren’t vein-wrapped and throbbing. Or oozing at the tip.

The husky young man was straining his muscles in an instinctual but futile attempt to break his bonds; the effort wrung a steady stream of frantic sweat from his body, giving his smooth skin a pungent, glossy sheen. He was just as unaware of it as he was of the purple, grotesque mask that had once been his face. He was too focused on survival to notice much else.

Deep in the pressurized agony of asphyxiation, Jake could hear his heart beat; his head was pounding in the same wild tempo as his pulse. He was in such pain that adjectives had lost meaning: crushing exploding searing icy—all could, in some way or another, describe what he was experiencing. But then there were NO words to describe the entirety.

And if there were words to describe the sensation in his own dick, he didn’t want to know them—although he already did. He had a hard-on, he’d popped a boner, he was sporting wood.

He was dying with an erection. That-that wasn’t supposed to happen. Ever.

His mind, fleeing from the implication, ran smack into the swollen, dripping cock in his mouth. And even then, some part of his consciousness was acutely aware of his own shaft, bobbing in the open air, itself dripping onto Andy’s cooling corpse. And that’s when his psyche shattered and Jake, the cocky young stud ceased to exist.

All that was left was fuckmeat that could only react to sensations, unable to feel more than pain and some basic animal emotions. In a sense, Jake had already been fucked to death; his body simply didn’t realize it yet.

It’d catch on soon enough. Joe’s huge shaft had lodged the wadded sock so deeply into the cunt’s trachea that the coroner missed it during the autopsy. Even if he pulled out now, Jake was still doomed to suffocation—not, of course, that Joe had any intention of pulling out.

Not when it was getting so good…

“That’s it, faggot, let go. Give up, you scumshit homo, you lost. Go on and die. It feels so fuckin’ good, havin’ ya twitch and kick away yer last few seconds of life on my tool. Yeah, motherfucker, that’s why I’m doin’ all this—just so I can blow my load by makin’ yeah into meat.”

With a deep grunt, he tightened his biceps further, tendons standing out on his forearms as he ground the unlucky boy’s face into his groin, his wiry pubes scraping his victim’s excruciatingly swollen skin like steel wool. “Die, pig,” he barked gutturally, “swallow my sperm and die. You know you wanna, ya queer-ass fuck, yer hard as fuckin’ rock yerself.”

Jake heard the words, but like Andy before him, was too far along the path of brain death to be able to understand. If he had, he might have agreed. Sunk into a cold dark maelstrom of pounding silent agony, he could still feel an even sharper agony, an even more penetrating pounding emanating from his crotch. He was past the point of understanding that he was feeling his own erection, an unnaturally strong physical reaction to his death by oxygen deprivation. He only knew of a white-hot searing sensation in his scrotum accompanied by a piercing sensation running along the length of his straining cock.

Joe could feel heat in his own scrotum. As Jake began to convulse violently, he bobbed his head up and down deeply but erratically on Joe’s massive rod while his esophagus clenched and relaxed in uncontrollable muscle spasms. The buff faggot stud was at the moment of death; it was what the sadistic alpha had been waiting for.

With a curse and a strangled cry, Joe ground Jake’s head viciously into his groin, shoving his cock as far as he could into the helpless youth’s skull. His orgasm seemed to go on forever; he seemed to be spewing a solid pint of semen down Jake’s throat. Shuddering violently, Joe inhaled, renewed his grip—and shot a second stream of cum into the dying homo.

“Fuck!” he screamed, shoving the meatsack away and stepping back, his enormous purple hog throbbing and pushing out pearls of spunk with each pulse. Gasping with exertion, his powerful, sweaty flanks heaving, Joe could see that Jake was still on his knees—and wasn’t quite dead.

And then he died. Joe had just a split-second to recognize what was happening and turn his head as the punk’s beautifully-built body started to writhe and buck like a bronco. In an instant, Jake’s back spasmed brutally, bending his body backwards in an arc. This massive death convulsion was enough to trigger the boy’s orgasm.

It was a shame he was too brain-dead to enjoy it; it was the most intense load he ever shot in his short, wasted life. The physical motion of the body added momentum to the white, ropy fountain of semen that erupted from his painfully tumescent shaft; he ended up spraying cum like a fire hose, spattering Joe’s huge, muscular form with spooge from about waist height—just above his jeans—up to his slightly scruffy cheek, causing his belly fur and chest hair, already matted with sweat, to become even crustier. If the top hadn’t turned away at the last moment, he’d have gotten Jake’s death load right in his face.

Joe turned back, warm, wet seed trickling down his face, to watch Jake’s last five seconds alive. The boy had come bolt upright on his knees. His face was black, with white foamy streaks of drool oozing from the corners of his mouth, long streamers of spit dangling from his chin. His bulging, blood-red eyes seemed to peer out of his gruesomely twisted face with a kind of frantic, desperate appeal—one last attempt to deny the reality of the death that was already taking him down. But the bathos was belied by the vacancy behind the eyes—this wasn’t a plea for mercy; it was an involuntary reaction to random nerve impulses.

Jake was already dead. In the next moment, he went limp, falling sideways like a sack of potatoes.

He fell on top of Andy. Except for the fact that his legs were bent behind him at the knee so that his Nike Flight Falcon hightops kicked at the bare sheets, it looked like the two boys had curled together to comfort each other in death.

Joe looked down at himself. “Fuckin’ disgustin’ fags,” he muttered, “I was too easy on you pieces a’ shit; ya shoulda died harder.”

The fact that he’d left his heavy beige construction boots untied came in handy; he was able to slip the off quickly. Peeling off his socks and jeans, he swiftly crossed to the bathroom.

It took longer than expected for the hot water to come on; he spent the time wandering Andy’s bedroom, having a smoke and poking through the drawers. Just in case there was anything valuable; he wasn’t specifically a thief—but these two motherfuckers didn’t need money no more, that was for damn sure. No sense letting anything go to waste—besides the used-up fuckmeat, that is…

He’d flicked his ashes around the room at random; when he noticed steam coming from the bathroom, he went back in, tossing his butt in the toilet. He didn’t flush until he got back out of the shower though; he didn’t want to disturb the temperature balance of the water.

Once he was done cleaning himself, Joe was surprised to find that he was hungry. Then again, he’d been unusually active tonight. It had been his first twofer—and had been totally spontaneous. It wasn’t as if he’d planned on the second fag showing up.

Still stark nude, he padded though the apartment and found the kitchen. It only took a few minutes of rummaging to find the bread, cheese and lunchmeat. Munching his sandwich contentedly, Joe continued to stroll through the place at his leisure, opening cabinets and closets, doing his best to violate the dead punks’ privacy. Feeling much more energetic after eating, Joe returned to the death room to retrieve his clothing. First the socks, then he wriggled into his jeans.

It was while he leaned against the wall to slip his boots back on that the feeling came over him; something he’d wondered about, but had never actually appealed to him before. But now…

Having gotten both boots on, Joe stood silently, looking at the corpses. Andy was dead long enough to be still, his face only slightly swollen and nearly normal in color, gravity having drained the blood to the back. His hands were still above his head; Joe stepped forward and untied his belt from around the cold, nerveless wrists. The perverted killer threaded the thick leather strap back through the denim loops of his tight jeans as he continued to admire his work.

Andy’s neck was constricted to an almost unbelievable extent, the leather choker sunk so deeply into his throat that it couldn’t be seen. The screwdriver that had been run through the metal ring had ended up propped against dead punk’s chin. The fucker’s head was bent into a disturbingly unnatural position, a result of the shattering of his spinal column.

Andy’s slightly furred legs were no longer twitching; his one remaining Nike lay still—although the toes on his bare foot seemed to curl faintly on occasion.

On top of him, Jake’s body was still learning that it was dead. As the straight boy’s personality dissolved into an electrochemical stew, it churned out random pulses along the dying nerves—Jake was still shuddering in his death throes. His bulging eyes, rolled back to reveal nothing but bloodstained whites, showed clearly that there was no one home inside the quivering sack of meat. His protruding tongue scraped over his dead buddy’s cheek in a move that they both might have enjoyed if they were still alive.

Too late for that now.

Jake had suffered the same cadaveric spasm as Andy; even in death, his well-developed muscles had betrayed him by clenching tight at the base of his cock, already engorged with blood far beyond normal limits. As the muscles stiffened in death, both boys were left with firm, lean corpses with raging hard-ons.

As the blond boy convulsed in his death throes, his long, thick tool slapped repeatedly against Andy’s belly; a loud smacking sound filled the room. The sound of someone getting dickslapped…

It was too much for Joe. He wanted a piece of that action. Elbowing Jake’s shuddering body aside, the powerful, strapping alpha straddled Andy’s chest. The Asian youth was gorgeous even in death; Joe’s semi-hard shaft, so recently emptied, sprang back to full attention as he gazed into the glazed thousand-yard stare in the dead youth’s almond eyes.

Leaning forward, he thrust his swollen member into Andy’s mouth, taking ultimate advantage of a victim who was truly helpless to resist. There was nothing the well-built boy could do to prevent his corpse getting skullfucked. The unfortunate kid had gone online looking for a quick BJ; now, he and his roommate had both been raped and brutally murdered—even their corpses not immune to violation…

As Andy’s dry, swollen tongue scraped the underside of Joe’s huge corpse, the hulking alpha’s oozing precum provided all the lube he needed. But it was the constriction in the body’s throat when he was fully inserted, that felt so good to the evil killer. He knew that he was feeling the crushed cartilage that had killed the queer-ass motherfucker; he was fucking the faggot right in the place that killed him—

With a loud groan, Joe shuddered and unloaded an enormous wad of semen into Andy’s head. He spunked so hard, the cum backed up from the closed-off esophagus and trickled out of Andy’s nostrils like white, pearly snot.

And he was still horny. He still had more seed to unload. Joe couldn’t explain it himself; maybe these two gym rats were pumping out their own pheromones. Whatever—it didn’t matter.

What mattered was that he needed to cum. Again.

Dragging Andy’s cold, stiffening corpse off the bed, he tossed it on the floor like the pile of rotting meat it was. Turning back to Jake’s still-kicking body, he remembered the dead punk’s claim to be straight. Grinning nastily, Joe decided to put it to the test. If he was straight, then Joe’d pop the corpse’s cherry. And if that happened—oh well, stupid cunt just got home at the wrong time.

Joe could live with that, even if his victims couldn’t.

Rolling the warm, pulsing corpse onto its belly, Joe penetrated Jake’s quivering sphincter with a single thrust, moaning with pleasure as the dead boy’s still-trembling colon accepted his throbbing hog with an almost conscious eagerness. There was still a momentary resistance that confirmed his claim to virginity; Joe had torn the cunt’s ass muscle in two separate places.

Stupid piece of shit. Served him right for coming home when he wasn’t supposed to. Got what he deserved, dumb-ass motherfucker; probably was still suckin’ down his ass-bandit roomie’s loads as often as he could.

Jake was a better fag dead than alive; he certainly seemed more intent on milking out Joe’s sperm than he had while he was still in control of himself. Joe smiled. He understood. That was all faggots really needed—someone to control them when they were so obviously unable to control themselves. And the best way to dominate, to prove his control, was to inflict pain to the point of death.

That’s how they knew. That’s how fags knew he was the one to put them down. They loved it, worthless disgusting perverts, every one of them, they always blew a huge death wad as he wrung their useless lives right out of their hot, hard young bodies—

Joe was fucking Jake’s corpse in such a rage, stoked by the way the dead punk’s rectum still managed to pulse and stroke his sensitive, distended mushroom tip, that he felt the heat boiling up from his balls almost before he knew what was happening. At the last moment, he grabbed hold of Jake’s head, the blond boy’s face still horribly black and swollen from suffocation.

And then the rodeo was on.

This was Joe’s fourth orgasm in about forty-five minutes; he was past the point of control himself. He gripped the smooth, firm corpse tightly to brace himself for the physical impact, but even he was unprepared for the intense reaction he had.

The hairy, hard-bodied alpha clenched his muscles with a convulsive brutality as he injected a steady, searing jet of semen into the dead body. Sweating and grunting, he cursed violently, his arms jerking back on Jake’s head. As the lifeless face, still oozing foamy spittle, snapped backward with ruthless force, Joe head a sound like a tree limb fracturing and found himself looking directly into the blond stud’s dull eyes, their bright blue coloring diluted by a certain milkyness.

Fuck. He’d snapped Jake’s neck too. Oh well.

Still shaky with pleasure, Joe slowly withdrew his pulsating shaft from the dead boy. It slid out on a slimy trickle of spunk; the cold-blooded killer looked around and found a jockstrap on the floor next to the dresser. He quickly wiped his glistening member off, tossing the impromptu cumrag into the corner.

Digging his cigarettes out of his pocket, he contemplated the scene in front of him, trying to decide the best way of leaving it. While his DNA might be linked to the other kills, he wasn’t on file—and given his low profile, he wasn’t worried about that aspect of it. Still, it might make it easier if he just started a fire and burned the place down.

But the boys were still so hot, even dead with their necks snapped. Their helpless, well-cared-for bodies were somehow still irresistible. Joe couldn’t quite figure it out—and then he could. Cadaveric spasm hadn’t subsided yet for either of them. The dead fags’ dicks were still hard.

Well, hell—that gave him a sick idea. Two horny homos dying on each other’s cocks? Fuckin’ hot!

Andy had ended up on the floor on his back, pretty much spread-eagled, his impossibly erect shaft towering above his flat, furry belly. He was already perfectly in position; all Joe needed to do was set Jake up. That took a bit longer; the well-built youth had left a heavy corpse.

Joe dragged it off the bed; it slipped from his grasp and tumbled to the floor. “Worthless sack of shit!” he snarled in anger, grinding his construction boot into the bloated, ravaged remains of Jake’s once-handsome face. The enraged alpha drove a few kicks into the torso, shattering a few ribs with the steel toe of his boot, before he’d calmed down enough to pick up the corpse and resume his work.

Spreading Jake’s smooth, muscular legs, he lowered the boy down on top of Andy, aiming the blond stud’s dick right for the Asian’s mouth. Once he had the motherfucker in position, he moved further down the tableau to force the straight boy’s face down onto his roomie’s cold but turgid shaft.

Joe retrieved his wifebeater and leather aviation jacket; he slipped the latter on but merely tucked the former through a belt loop. As he left the death chamber, he couldn’t help but to turn back for one last look at the two buff gym rats, both covered in and pumped full of manseed, locked in an eternal 69.

Joe took a couple of pics—and took Andy’s phone on the way out the door. Who knew what kinda worthless fags that fucker had hooked up with? The twisted sadist was certain he’d stumbled across a treasure trove of hot new meat.
 
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