Meat Chronicles 7–Chokin’ a Bitch

Ok, now I know there’s something wrong with me. I shouldn’t be back out this soon; it’s way too dangerous. I just got rid of the last one’s head yesterday. Maybe I need to get some help.

Nah. I’m havin’ too much fun. There’s just so much hot meat out there. But speaking of hot–I need to stay out of the burbs. I’ve over-hunted and need to keep a low profile in those parts of town.

So I’m just north of downtown, ogling the rent boys. One of these guys is gonna be the lucky whore who gets my full attention tonight.

I grin and shift my dick, already hard in my tight jeans. I’ll make sure the meat has a thoroughly entertaining evening before I waste him. Now, let’s see–who looks like he wants my cock?

There are several boys on the street in front of the bars and more in the alley behind them. My sights are set one specific boy, though. He’s trolling for dick, stepping out of the shadows and boldly peering into each passing car. There’s not much traffic back here. I may be able to lure him in without anyone noticing…

He’s in his early twenties and tall; a little over six feet. His swarthy skin hints at ethnic blood–I think he’s Latino. Black hair, short on the sides but a little longer in top, matches the black stubble on his cheeks and chin.

He’s wearing a tank top with dark blue and white horizontal stripes that shows off his muscled brown arms and shoulders. Tight black skinny jeans cling to his ass and legs, showing how far his soft brown leather boots come up his calves. He grins at every potential john, his white teeth highlighted by his black moustache and large brown eyes.

I pull up and see what he’s looking for. As I thought, he’s Hispanic, his English broken and heavily accented. As he climbs into the passenger seat of my van, his hair gleams blue-black for a brief moment under the done light. I gather he’s a laborer, moonlighting for fun and profit.

Well, he ain’t gonna make any profit tonight. As for fun–well, that’s subjective. After all, most of these whoreboys are true deathpigs deep in their festering, rotten cores.

At any rate, I’m damn sure gonna have fun, even if the meat doesn’t.

He’s eager, and very horny. Fucking whore can’t keep his hands off my dick; he’s fondling the hard bulge in my crotch all the way back to the apartment. His other hand is jammed into his own waistband so he can play with himself. Two hard, straining cocks for the ride.

When we get to the apartment, I stop in the living room. He’s not ready for the killing pit in the bedroom yet; I need to prime him a little first.

Actually, he hauls out a small bag of coke and a straw. The coffee table has a glass top; he’s got a couple lines laid out in no time. I decline his offer, so he snorts them both himself. Then he gets frisky.

Seems he’s a kisser. I don’t kiss whores, though; I just kill them. Still, his hard body pressed against me feels good. There’s a strong smell of alcohol on his breath and his cologne doesn’t completely cover the sour tang of sweat wafting from his pits.

He unzips my fly. Pulling my throbbing dick out, he bends downs and starts blowing me. He’s a very talented cocksucker; he does it well and it’s clear he loves doing it. I wrap my hand in his black hair and force his head down in my crotch, plugging his throat with my dick. He gobbles it down for a minute or two, then starts gagging and choking. I keep his head forced down on my groin for another thirty seconds before I let him up, coughing and spluttering.

He wipes the slobber off his soft cumpig lips, lust lighting his eyes as he gazes at my erect shaft. He’s got his own dick out–an impressive piece of meat on its own–and one of his hands is busy sliding along it.

The whore dives back onto my dick, jacking himself furiously. His tongue slides over the head and laps at my leaking precum. It feels good, and he’s a great cock gobbler, but it just isn’t doing it for me. Something is off. It takes me a moment to realize what it is.

He’s taken his shirt off. His smooth chest, with its swelling pectoral muscles and a trail of dark fur leading down from his flat belly, presses against me.

I can hear his heart beating. I don’t like that.

I think it’s time to make it stop.

I’m getting that feeling again, the incredible erotic excitement that comes over me as I’m about to take another man’s life.

“C’mon, puta,” I tell him, grabbing his hair and pulling him up off my cock. “Time to get earn your pay. Let’s see if you like my dick as much when it’s up your ass.”

He looks at me and nods, then puts his head back down and puts his full lips around my mushroom head again. He runs his tongue over it one last time, his huge brown eyes gazing adoringly up into mine through long lashes.

He draws back reluctantly and, slowly rising to his feet, braces himself against the wall as he pulls his boots off. As he wriggles out of his skin-tight black jean, I quickly strip myself. After slipping out of my own jeans, I sit back on the couch and put my combat boots back on. The fuckpig watches and, taking his cue from me, puts his own back on. Now that they’re not obscured under his jeans, I can see that they’re brown leather work boots, with thick black soles. They’re worn to the point that they’ve become slouched and soft as suede.

Almost as soft and smooth as the whore’s skin.

I’ve cleaned up the bedroom a bit. Sheets cover the bloodstains on the mattress. This cunt’s hot and ready; I won’t need to bind him. Good thing, too, because I don’t have any restraints out.

The slut climbs on the bed, rolls onto his back and grabs the backs of his knees. He holds his legs apart, boots hanging wide in the air. He wants cock, and he wants it now. He’s buzzing on coke–the pupils in those beautiful brown eyes have shrunk to pinpoints. The long meaty tube of his dick lies limply across his belly; cocaine makes it difficult to get hard.

I may be able to help him with that. I don’t think he’ll appreciate my method, though. Not that I give a shit what the fucker thinks; by the time I blow my load, the cunt won’t be thinking at all.

I start slow, kneeling on the bed and plugging the rentboy’s fuckhole. He moans softly as my rod slides into him, inch by inch. When I bend down over him, getting myself into position to plow his ass, he reaches up with both arms and grasps the back of my head. He pulls at me, wanting me to kiss him.

I push him back and speed up my thrusting. He closes his eyes and lays his head back, a true power bottom whore. He wriggles on my dick like a pig, wallowing in lust. But he still can’t get it up.

I reach down onto the floor beside the bed, feeling around for a moment—I don’t take my eyes of the Latino’s face as I fuck him—before I find what I’m searching for. It’s a two-foot wooden dowel (an old sawed-off broom handle, actually). I lay it on the bed beside the boy’s body, jerking in time with my thrusts. He doesn’t see it; he hasn’t opened his eyes yet.

I slide my hands up his chest, slowly, letting them linger over his nipples before continuing up to his neck. I wrap them around his throat and begin to apply pressure—gently at first. I’m curious how the meat will respond.

I’m not disappointed. He inhales deeply, shuddering with pleasure as he arches his back and presses his belly up against mine.

Little fuck likes to be choked. Let’s see if it’s the real thing or just puppy love.

I pick up the wooden bar. Holding it horizontally with one hand on each end, I press it across the whore’s throat with my body weight.

I’m larger and stronger than the hustler. Between the choking bar across his throat and my cock in his ass, he’s pinned to the bed.

Well, that sure the fuck got his eyes open again. A playful squeeze around the neck might be fun, but a good throttling terrified him.

That’s unfortunate—for him.

“What’s wrong, puta?” I whisper to him. “You expected somethin’ else? A quick bang, you take my load, you take my money and adios? Think again, cunt; I’m gonna kill you. That’s right, you worthless faggot whore, as you die, your convulsions will constrict your rectum and jack me off. Just so you know what’s happening.”

He freaks. I expected this; I pull my head back and to the side as his fingers, hooked into claws, flail frantically at my arms and chest. His eyes, wide with disbelief, stare into mine out of a reddening, panicked face.

I’m forced to duck and bob my head to avoid his clutching hands. Luckily, his nails aren’t long enough to scratch my skin; he must bite them.

Well, not anymore.

He kicks at me, hard. It hurts. His boots are soft and old, but I think he’s had them re-soled. I’m gonna have bruises all over my ass and legs tomorrow. Better remember to find a good spot to dump this one; I don’t want it found until long after I’ve healed.

His hands scrabble desperately over my chest and face. It’s seriously annoying. I ease up off his throat for a moment. He inhales deeply as I draw my arm back and drive a roundhouse blow straight from my shoulder to his jaw. He grunts loudly, his head rocking back and bloody spittle flying from his split lips.

I pull back again and aim the next punch directly into his solar plexus. He doubles up, almost sitting directly up, emptying his lungs with a loud whoosh.

I push him flat and slam myself back down on top of him, bar in place across his throat, before he can inhale again. He looks up at me dully, uncomprehendingly, an expression of wounded confusion.

“You don’t get it yet, do you, ya stupid fucking whore?” I snarl at the meat. “You’re dying. I don’t give a fuck who you are or what you want. I want to feel you kick and die with my tool up your ass, you cocksucking cumpig.”

He’s almost there; almost where I want him. He understands part of it, at least—he knows that he won’t survive this. He’s still fighting it, though; he hasn’t reached the point of acceptance.

He will. He’ll submit; they always do. It’s not like they have any choice; they’re gonna die whether they accept it or not. But they always do.

Because in their inner core, this is what they really lust after. They don’t just want to be used—they want to be used up and thrown away.

My brown-skinned fuckmeat hasn’t realized this yet, but he will. And until he does, he’s working my dick well enough.

Despite the obvious futility, he still struggles—not that he has the strength to do any damage any more. His hands bat weakly at my chest as his eyes bulge horribly from his distorted, blackening face. But part of him is starting to respond. Consciously or not, he’s getting hard. I can feel the hot fat tip of his cock poking at my navel as his body slides against mine on a film of musky death sweat. His legs have slowed and his boots now scrape along the outsides of my thighs.

“That’s it, you fucking piece of shit. This is what you’ve been looking for, ain’t it, cunt? Night after night, takin’ load after load, but it’s never enough, never the big one. This is what you’ve wanted; a man who’ll fuck you right out of your misery and put an end to your worthless faggot life in a blast of hot cum. Admit it, bitch, you’re lovin’ this, you fucking cumsucking death pig; that’s why your own fuckin’ tool is drippin’. So die, you fucking cunt!”

I spit in his face and launch myself up; the pressure is off his throat for too brief a time for him to inhale, but it lets me throw myself back down onto him with increased force. Accompanied by a loud crunching sound, the broom handle sinks deeply into the rentboy’s neck. The cartilage of his esophagus shattered beyond repair, the whore instinctively clutches me in a crushing embrace, his arms wrapped tightly around my back and his legs around my own.

His black, shuddering face is inches from my own. I can see spots in the whites of his glazing eyes where blood vessels have burst. Drool pushed out by his dark, swollen tongue has frothed onto his mustache and beard.

His dick slides and pulses between us, a hot, rigid bar slipping along my abdomen. It leaves a snail-like glaze of precum in a trail across my stomach. I force the bar down into the meat’s throat as hard as I can one last time, hearing the faint snapping sound of the hyoid bone breaking. And that’s when the cunt gets it.

He holds me tightly, desperately, passionately, as his hands caress my head and he drags his bootheels up the backs of my calves. I can feel his cock throb as it pumps a steady flow of semen.

“Fuck yeah, now you’re getting’ it, meat! Fuckin’ work my cock, you dying fucking faggot; fuckin’ die and make me cum, cunt…fucking pig…”

I become incoherent in my orgasm as the whore quivers and convulses, squeezing the last few drops of spunk out of his dick and mine. As I tremble in the final seconds of ejaculation, I press on the broom handle again—inadvertently, this time. For the third time, there’s a cracking sound, much louder this time, and the slut’s head lolls forward with the flaccidness of a broken neck.

I pull my still-dripping cock out of the corpse’s ass. I’m pretty pleased; it’s been a while since I’ve had the chance to ream out a whore. And it’s not like the cops are gonna look too hard for missing rentboy; hustlers are a dime a dozen out there and they’re always getting whacked by some sadist or another.

Nice to know there’s a pool of ready-made victims for those times when I’ve had too much fun in the burbs. Now if I can just remember where I was when I noticed that unattended dumpster…

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