Meat Chronicles 11–Emo Slut

It’s been a while since I’ve been hunting. There was a big fuss when they found my last two. Seems one of the worthless little junkies was related to some suburban alderman. I‘ve needed to lie low a bit.

I’m still staying away from the ‘burbs for a bit. Gonna run down to the ghetto and look for a rentboy; there’s never any outcry when a hustler turns up snuffed.

It’s a hot summer night and there are lots of boys out. Lots of whores, too. Might sound like a kid in a candy shop, but I can’t have any. There are too many witnesses out here on the main drag. I have to turn down the side streets.

I’ve done this before. For some reason, I always turn west off the strip. Tonight, on a whim, I turn east. I haven’t been back here in years; it used to be kinda a rough neighborhood.

It still is. There are more gaps in the rows of crumbling old houses, cut into shoddy apartments. More rubble-strewn vacant lots and fewer streetlights. Otherwise it’s exactly as I remembered it.

The further east I go from the bar district, the fewer people are out on the streets. Within three blocks, I don’t see anyone at all. Goddammit. I need to turn around and head west.

I take the next left and as I make the corner, my headlights swing across a boy on the sidewalk. I pull to the curb. He’s a whore; I can tell just by looking.

He’s wearing a ball cap backwards—looks like it’s made of gray suede. Dangling out from under it is a long fringe of straight black hair, long bangs nearly obscuring his large dark eyes, emo-style.

He isn’t wearing a shirt. He’s slim but with some definition—his torso looks like photos I’ve seen of a certain punk-ass pop star bitch I’d love to spend an hour or two with. It’s humid and beads of sweat glitter in the shadows on his chest and highlight the biceps on his smooth arms.

He’s wearing baggy jeans halfway down his ass. The look has never done anything for me but I can see his skin-tight boxers underneath, the waistband bisecting his flat, firm abdomen a good four inches above his thick but loose leather belt. On his feet are thick-soled skate shoes, large white laces untied and flopping loose.

As he approaches me, I can see a bulge forming in his groin—just below his belt; if his pants were any lower, he could use the waist as a cockring. There’s a streetlight about fifty yards away. It gives enough light for me to catch a twinkle from the studs in his ears. There’s a large, ornate cross tattooed on his left shoulder.

He hocks and spits as I roll down the window. Idly scratching at his dick, he leers in at me. “You can blow me for twenty,” he drawls. “For fifty, I’ll knock ya around. For one fifty, I’ll blow you. ‘Course, I’ll take it in kind, too. Crack or powder. You got black tar, you can do what you want to me. But you gotta gimme some first.”

Wow. Hardcore street cunt. This little shit is flat-out offering to get punkfucked for drugs.

I grin. “Guess it’s a lucky night for both of us. I got some tar back at my place. And I got a J here to get us there.”

His eyes light up and he immediately grabs for the door handle. He doesn’t look like a heroin junkie. Either he hasn’t been doing it long or has trouble getting it; probably a combination of the two. At any rate, he’s excited enough not to question what I’m doing to him until it’s too late for him to get away.

I don’t have any heroin. I won’t need it. The joint I hand him is laced slightly with a ground-up sedative. I think it’ll be enough. He’s a cheap street whore who’s probably had to fight out of some bad situations before, but he’s shorter, smaller, and nowhere near as built as I am. There’s enough to take the edge off him, at least. From there, I’ll have no problems putting the bitch down.

He leans back in the passenger seat. As he tokes away, he pops in earbuds attached to his cheap phone. Soon I can hear the faint sound of gangsta rap bouncing off his deadened eardrums.

He’s already kinda limp when we get back to the killing pit. I still haven’t even decided how I’m gonna off the little cunt and he’s already climbing out of the van and staggering behind me in the treacherous darkness of the sleazy apartment parking lot.

Once we’re inside, he turns to me—actually, it’s more like he swings in a wide half circle. “Where’s the shit, dude?” he says. I’m kinda surprised his speech isn’t more slurred—he must have a higher tolerance than most of the meat I find. But then, I haven’t sunk quite so low on the food chain as this before.

He’s hot, though. I’m gonna snuff him in his prime. I wouldn’t give him more than a year before his looks are gone and he’s literally worthless. And since he’s a cheap skank, he’s likely to end up on meth, the bargain-basement of drugs. That shit’ll eat you up from the inside out. If that happens, he won’t last six months. Worst-case scenario—he ends up in an alley, huffing paint behind a dumpster.

So really, I’m doing the little slut a favor. He’d thank me if he knew. But he’ll never know, of course; he’s just a useless little whore without much of a brain, anyway.

“In there,” I reply, nodding towards the bedroom. “But strip out here first.”

He shrugs. “Ok, dude. Tell ya what, you throw in some points and I’ll let you fuck me.” He unbuckles his belt and his jeans fall to the floor. They’re so large he can literally step right out of them.

He stands before me in gray. His cap, his skate shoes, his boxers that (in contrast to his jeans) are so tight they look sprayed on—all are gray. Not only can I see his balls, large gray sacks stretching the material between his legs, I can see some of the veins running along his thick hog; they must be huge.

“Get them off, too,” I snap. “You can keep the shoes.”

“And the cap?” he asked.

“You can keep that, too. Won’t stay on long, anyway, with what I’m gonna do to you.”

He peels off the boxers, his massive dong springing free and bobbing in front of him. I nod towards the bedroom door. He gets it. He goes in and I follow.

The room is dark as he enters and I keep it that way. He’s too fucked up to really care, so he keeps walking until he stumbles into the bed and falls on it. He flounders for a moment before I’m on him, dragging him to the head of the bed and handcuffing him to the headboard. Only then do I turn on the only light in the room and reveal the slaughter room, the blood- and sperm-stained mattress he’s lying on.

He looks around dazedly, trying to figure out what’s going on. His normally sharp street sense, dulled by the drugs, takes a moment to register the surroundings. I can tell when it finally sinks in; his eyes grow wide and the expression of fear is both unmistakable and erotic. He inhales deeply in preparation for a scream. I punch him twice, hard as I can, driving my fist like a jackhammer into the cunt’s firm but unsuspectingly yielding belly, then into his jaw.

He exhales in a mighty grunt, followed by another as the blow to his face registers. Just to make sure, I slam another one into his solar plexus, leaving him writhing in agony on the crusty mattress.

As pain curls him into a fetal position, I slip off my t-shirt. My jeans are tight around my legs and my ass. It fells good and I don’t feel like taking them off or removing my black leather harness boots. I simply unzip my fly, letting my cock flop out like a length of bratwurst, gleaming and oozing with precum at the thought of the suffering I was about to inflict on this slutboy.

As the punk rolls about in pain, desperately trying to breathe, I kneel between his legs and grab his right ankle. Gipping him tightly, I start slipping the thick flat white shoelace free from his jerking skate shoe. The moment it’s out, I grab his left ankle and do the same.
The laces are about ¼’ wide and about 18” long. They’re not really long enough for me to get a good grip, but the laces from his skate shoes are good enough to choke him with. I slip them behind his head and pull them tight.

He bucks and jerks as his air is cut off. My long cock, not yet fully hard, brushes against his taint as his pelvis flails. His arms pull frantically—and vainly—at the handcuffs chaining him to the headboard. He bends his back, thrusting his flat smooth abdomen upwards as his large velvety balls slap against my belly.

Straining his arms, the emo cunt tries to pull himself up towards the headboard, planting his laceless shoes on the bed for leverage. He succeeds in getting enough slack to bend his arms, letting him swing at my head with his elbows.

I’m not taking that shit. I yank violently on the laces. They sink deeper into his neck; his being to bulge—then they snap.

The whore inhales, a deep, sobbing gasp. Angry red lines still twist about his neck where the laces had dug in. He relaxes visibly, the desperation fading out of his struggles. I’m pissed. Grabbing the slut’s ankles, I drag him back into position lower down on the bed. He begins to beg in a ragged, rasping croak.

“Fuck, don’t, man, don’t kill me—oh fuck, please don’t, do whatever you want to me, anything, dude, just please don’t kill—uhh!”

I shut him up with a blow to the face, a piledriver straight from my shoulder into his jaw. After his grunt of shock and gasp of pain, he turns his face to me.

His full lips are swollen and bleeding. His straight black hair is plastered to his forehead by a slick film of sweat. His large dark eyes are wide with the awareness of how completely he’s in my control. I can do whatever I want to him and kill him anyway, and he knows it.

Time for him to realize I know it, too.

“Ok, here’s what’s gonna happen, you piece of shit. You’re gonna die tonight like the fucking whore you are, riding my hog as you kick away your last few minutes on earth.” I grin down at him as I lean over, gripping his legs behind the knees and throwing his shoes up on my shoulders. “Ya ready for it, meat? Ready for the last cock you’re ever gonna have slammed up your reamed-out hole? No? Tough shit, you fucking worthless slut, cause you’re getting’ it anyway.”

I hock and spit the same way he’d done when he approached me—except mine was for lube. And it was all the lube there was gonna be. I just wanna make sure I’m comfortable. I could give a shit about the meat; he’s only here to die.

I shove my fat, dripping head in, feeling it push forcibly past his sphincter. His groan rises into a shrill scream. I don’t want too much noise, so I pop him in the face again and he quiets into a subdued moaning. I shove in another inch and he begins to build into a squeal. This time, I bust his nose, feeling it crunch under my knuckles.

I shove in another inch. His moaning and snuffling rises in volume, but not to unacceptable levels. Little bitch is starting to learn his place.

Let’s see how well. Enough inching in. I plunge the rest of my dick into his hole in a long, sustained thrust, feeling his tight asshole being stretched out of shape around the base of my cock, skin splitting, making the whore bleed. And scream.

Good. I punch him again. “Shut up, you useless pussyboy. Take my cock, slut and learn to love it, cause it’s gonna love you to death. When you die, I’m gonna hose your guts with cum.”

I rise up on my knees. His legs remain thrown up over my shoulder; I can feel them trembling. He’s clenched his muscles so tightly in the agony of having his ass split open that his thighs and calves have locked in a cramp. Much as he might want to, he can’t stretch them far enough to get them off of me; he’s stuck there.

I look down at him, his snot- and blood-smeared face, tears trickling down from the corners of his huge eyes—eyes that look so innocent even though they’ve seen every perversion under the sun…

I start unbuckling my thick brown leather belt. “Little piece of shit broke your own laces, huh? Bad move, dude, seriously bad. See, now you’re gonna have to deal with whatever I can improvise and it looks like it’s gonna be my belt. Now, you’da ended up just as dead with the laces, but they’d have hurt less. I’m gonna fuck you up so bad with this belt you’re gonna welcome death as a merciful escape from your own private hell. You think it hurts when I stick my dick in ya? Wait’ll you see what it takes to make me cum, whore.”

I’m a sick and cruel bastard, I know, but this worthless little street tough isn’t worth anyone’s sympathy. And I love raping their minds as much as their assholes.

Which gives me an idea; I may try that literally at some point…

But not now. The kid is where I want him. He lies still, quivering and sweating in physical and mental shock. His hard, lean body is my toy, waiting for me to use it as I wish. Beads of sweat trail across the elaborate cross tattoo on his shoulder. From between his swollen, parted lips comes a faint keening sound, somewhere between a moan and wail.

Grabbing a handful of his hair, I raise his head to slip the belt behind it. He must know what’s coming, but he doesn’t resist. I’m a bit surprised how acquiescent he is; I’d’ve thought a cheap junkie hustler would put up a fight. After all, these types will go into any situation, no matter how sketchy, for the sake of their high. They have to have a certain innate sense of danger to survive long.

Of course, this one won’t survive long. Maybe that proves the point.

I slip the belt back through the buckle, pulling up into a simple loop around the kid’s neck. As I tighten it around his throat, I slip the buckle around to the front so that it’s placed directly over the Adam’s apple.

“Time to get down to business, fuckmeat. Don’t worry, dude you don’t have to do much, just lie there and die in nightmarish pain. And, see, I don’t have to do anything either, cause as you die you’re gonna work my cock like a good little whore. You might even get off yourself, but your brain will probably be too damaged for you to enjoy it. But this way we both win. I get a load of spunk milked outta me by a dying cumpig and you get the death you deserve, you fucking slut.”

I wrap the belt around my right wrist and place my left hand on the cunt’s jaw. I pull towards me with my right hand and push away from me with my left, maintaining a rhythmic pumping in the whore’s ass the entire time.

The belt tightens instantly, cutting off all sound from the whore. He’s registered his last protest. From now on, he dies in silence; mute, unable to cry out in pain or fear. He can only communicate with his body. And he makes his message clear right away.

He fights, oh my god, how he fights. Fuck acquiescence, this kid doesn’t wanna die, judging by the way his body twists and writhes under me. The loud rattling of the handcuffs testifies to the frantic flailing of his arms. I can feel his belly slide under mine, friction eased by a sheen of slick perspiration.

His agony is beautiful. It gives meaning and purpose to his useless, wasted life. This is his reason for existing, his raison d’etre. He was born just so that I could drain my seed into his corpse.

The steel buckle sinks below the surface of the skin, compressing the larynx into the back of the esophagus. My left hand is clamped over the kid’s face, fingers spread so I can still see the look in his eyes…

He’s in excruciating pain, his eyes swelling and protruding from their sockets. I can see the skin on his face darken with each passing second. I remove my hand from his face, slipping it down to his throat, just above the belt. I continue to apply a string downward pressure, just as I continue to pull up on the belt, as brutally as I can.

“How’s that feel, motherfucker? Hurt enough for ya, bitch? How ya like dying? Feels pretty fuckin’ good to me, cunt, I gotta tell ya. You’re jackin’ me really good, whore. See, this is what all of ya really want; it’s why you’re out there on streets. You want an alpha male to come and fuck ya to death. Well, guess what, you cockpig—it’s your lucky night.”

His face is growing distorted as the pressure builds above the constriction in his throat, but I can still make out an expression of denial and disbelief. He’s getting away from me by retreating mentally. I need to bring him into reality.

I sit up on my knees again. My jeans tighten around my ass as I pull up, but even though my dick pulls back out of the whore’s ass, it’s long enough that the head still stays inside his rectum. I’m far enough down the bed that my boots dangle over the end.

The leather belt is still wrapped around my right wrist. I lean back, pulling my arm tight as I do. The slut’s head rises off the bed, pulled up by his neck as I yank on the belt. His arms, cuffed to the headboard over his head, twist behind him as he rises.

I keep pulling, staring deeply into the boy’s eyes, waiting for the moment he comes back to me. I know it when I see it.

“Fuck yeah, you piece of shit, you don’t get to take an easy way out. Suffer, motherfucker, feel every second of the pain I give you. It keeps your ass tight. As long as you can do that, you live. The moment you stop, you’re useless to me and I make you into meat. Understand, you worthless rentboy scum? Take the pain, bitch, or die. Your choice. I’m willing to bet you’ll take all I can give you and more, just to keep clinging to another second of your wasted life. I hope so; fucks like you always make me cum so hard when you fight the inevitable…”

I violently yank the belt, pulling the meat close to me. There’s a sound like the ripping of gristle as his shoulders pop out of joint and the tendons tear apart. His eyes, even bulging as they are, swell to the size of hubcaps in horror; he’d be screaming in agony if he could push air past his throttled larynx.

“That’s it, bitch, now you’re working my dick like a good little whore. See how easy it is with the right motivation? I can do this all night. Sounds like fun, huh, you slut? Was this what you wanted when you went out tonight to get fucked? Isn’t this what you’ve truly desired in the depths of your disgusting fucking pig soul?”

His face, black and puffy, stares back at me, his protruding, bloodshot eyes locked helplessly onto mine. He can hear me; he knows what I’m saying. I think he’s turned on; at any rate, his cock is erect and glistening. It pokes into my belly; he’s up against me at an angle that makes it stick into my abdomen like a heated metal bar.

His legs thrash violently, slipping off my shoulder to kick aimlessly at the mattress. His physical condition is so extreme that it overrides his leg cramps, tearing muscle tissue in the process. As he flails, the right skate shoe flies off, ricocheting off the far wall and landing in the middle of the floor. The left shoe stays on. It continues to kick at me as his rank right foot, scraping at the mattress, soon frees itself from its reeking sock and I can see his toes curl as he dies.

As damage from lack of oxygen progressively destroys his brain, the cunt’s ass convulses along with the rest of his body controlled by his increasingly unstable nervous system. I can feel it spasm, the seizures flowing along my shaft like—god, there aren’t words. He’s dying on my dick. These are the last seconds of his life and he’s still working my dick like the fucking cumwhore deathpig that he is.

I stop the mindfuck. He has no mind left to fuck. He’s nothing but spasming, jerking meat, squeezing my cock in his death throes. Drool oozes down his chin and drips onto his chest, forced out of his mouth in a bubbling froth by his thick, black tongue, protruding from between his lips. The tip wriggles in an obscene manner; the fucking piece of shit is such a whore that he’s coming onto me in the extremes of death.

I’m ready to end it—ready to blow my load. But the slut hasn’t earned it yet. He’s worked hard and given his all, but his worthless fucking hustler all wasn’t good enough to deserve my wad. I need one last physical reaction out of his fucked-out meat.

I yank up on the belt as hard as I can. Simultaneously, I bring my left hand up, driving my hand directly back into his face. Fuckin’ A, it’s exactly what the slut needed.

As his head snaps back under the force of my blow, the belt tightens around his neck, jerking forward and rupturing his vertebrae. At the same time, his larynx collapses into his esophagus with a loud cracking sound, like a large tree limb breaking.

It’s massive, fatal trauma to the central nervous system, and his entire musculature reacts in a death agony. As his torn sphincter tightens uncontrollably around the root of my dick like a cockring, his own dick suddenly rises up like a cobra. I can see it spasm visibly as it expels a phenomenal amount of semen in thick, ropy strands, shooting up to splatter and mat the hair on my chest. Before too long, my hard pecs, straining in the effort to waste the whore, are covered in his cum.

At the same time, I can see he finally knows his place by the way his colon vacuums the seed out of my tool like a Hoover. He’s nothing but an emo-style meat sack designed to hold my load and he’s finally realizing that. I had to destroy his brain to show him. It’s a shame that it’s the last thing he learns, but it had to happen at some point. As I fill his rectum with a boiling froth of spunk, I’m giving him the best exit he could have from his wasted life; after all, he’d probably die of an overdose soon enough, after a brief, unpleasant, degrading life.

At least I didn’t lengthen his suffering when I gave him a brief, unpleasant, degrading death. It’s what he’d have wanted, anyway.

Like most guys, I fall asleep after blowing a load. I as I drifted off, I marked the corpse as my territory by leaving my dick in its ass, letting my sperm continue to leak into the colon.
.

After a couple of hours, I woke back up, stiff as a board. There must be something wrong with me; maybe I produce too much testosterone. All I know it that I still wanted to claim the dead whore.

After freeing his hands from the cuffs, I drag him off the bed by the belt, pulling his flaccid body across the floor to the closet. I let the meat slump to the floor as I opened the door, but it wasn’t there long. I lifted it by the belt, grunting in effort, as I looped the thick leather strap over the hanger bar. I pulled the belt back after it crossed the bar, lifting the body up and, in effect, hanging it. I pulled the belt back out the closet door—the body hanging on the other side of the bar, facing away from me.

I’d thought this out beforehand. There’s already a nail hammered into the doorframe. I didn’t know it was gonna work out like this with this particular whore, but I’ve done this before.

Anyway—I pin the belt to the frame by the nail, sticking through one of the holes on the belt. The whoremeat is left dangling. The meat was slightly shorter than me, so his asscunt is right at the level of my hard cock as he dangles several inches off the ground.

I fuck his dead ass for several minutes. As his legs flop limply against mine, his other shoe comes off. His feet, one in an ankle sock and one bare, now kick in the air as I bang the corpse’s hole.

I grip his cold, firm thighs, my nails digging into his helpless, vulnerable flesh as I cry out and spew another load into his slowly stiffening ass.

I pull out, dripping, and stagger back to bed, seeking sleep. The street cunt can hang around like an old salami; I’ll take out the trash tomorrow.

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