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.
