Jamie stomped angrily out of the twinkie dance club, his expensive black Nike ball shoes slapping firmly against the pavement. Everything about Jamie was expensive—or so Brad had said. So Jamie, already so drunk his gait was just short of a stagger, had screamed at Brad, right in the middle of the dance floor and stumbled out.
He paused at the corner and turned back. The club’s neon sign lit his face as it was reflected in a puddle left by the sprinklers; he could see ‘Studio 69’ in the murky pool, the words upside down but the numbers just right. The name was as subtle as a coronary thrombosis, but subtlety wasn’t Jamie strong suit.
He was in his early twenties, thin and wiry without being scrawny. There was just enough definition to his lithe, hard body to make him desirable, and he knew it. With his slightly olive complexion, black hair and high cheekbones, he had an ethnic cast. Depending on the lighting and the angle at which they beheld him, some observers had thought he was Hispanic. Others caught something Asian in the tilt of his dark almond eyes. In fact, he was neither, but because of this trick of the light, he had a unique ability to attract all kinds of men.
His boyfriend Brad, a chiseled blond god, as vain and shallow as he was, had the advantage of being rich. He and Jamie had met out of a mutual interest in choking. There was actually no choking involved; Brad would put his hand over Jamie’s mouth, Jamie would flop around a little on top of Brad, getting each other hard, then they’d jack off together. They didn’t really think about why it got them hard, especially since they never cut off each other’s breath long enough to get so much as a headache.
But Brad was getting bored. And Jamie had pricey tastes and no job. Plus, he was a slut; he tried to hide it from Brad since Brad paid the bills, but it was kinda obvious when Brad got home from work to find the freshly-laundered sheets he’d put on the bed last night stiff with cum and he hadn’t had sex with Jamie since they were put on…
It came to a head on the dance floor. And so Jamie was out on the corner, swerving back around to find the car. Fuck Brad. He could take a cab home.
Jamie was wearing a tight sky-blue t-shirt that wrapped firmly around his lean swimmer’s torso—swimming was about the only thing Jamie did regularly; not with the discipline of a sport, of course. But he knew on an instinctive level that he had to keep it up to maintain his desirability. A white leather belt covered in square metal studs wrapped around his narrow waist, holding up a pair of skinny black jeans that outlined each asscheek, cinched up along his taint and wrapped around the thick bulge in his groin.
As he turned the last corner into the parking lot, staggering toward the car and a near-certain death in a fiery drunken wreck, he ran straight into some dude who was walking out of the lot. Jamie grunted in surprise as he bounced off a hard body as if he’d walked into a brick wall.
He stumbled back and looked up—and instantly got hard. The dude was seriously hot. Taller than Jamie himself, the guy must have been six-six or more. He was older, early thirties perhaps. Curly hair like spun gold, he had a broad, muscled chest accented by the dirty sleeveless white t-shirt he wore. Jamie could see a skull tattoo on the dude’s left shoulder. Under the skeletal grin were inked the words “Die, Motherfucker, Die!”
The dude’s jeans were tight and faded, ragged at the hems and torn at the left knee. On his feet were rugged, well-worn construction boots laced tightly above his ankles.
Jamie looked up into the man’s face. The orange glare of the sodium light in the parking lot lit a nimbus of fire in the man’s gold hair. His eyes were ice-blue—and ice-cold. Stubble darkened his lean, hard jaw. He looked down at Jamie with no emotion at all.
Jamie found himself turned on—and scared. There was something about this guy that reeked of sex. Jamie knew, somehow, deep within himself, that this man was capable of giving him the best sex he’d ever had. He didn’t know why he was so certain, but he was. He was, however, also frightened by the dude. There was something about him—he was appraising Jamie with a look of lust that Jamie was very familiar with, but the other emotions that should be there—hope, doubt, desperation—well, there was nothing.
It didn’t matter. Jamie was too drunk to heed the red flags. “Hey, sweetie,” he leered obscenely, “wanna fuck me? We can go back to my place; it’s only a few blocks away.”
The dude looked down at him for a moment, considering. In his drunken state, Jamie concluded the guy was a construction worker. Straight to his friends and family. Comes down for a quick fuck on the DL every now and then. Ok by him. Dude had a hot body and anyway fuck Brad! This guy would fuck him without bitching about money and maybe even choke him a little. He’d ask; couldn’t hurt. And if he was better than Brad and had some money—fuck Brad!
Even in his alcoholic stupor, Jamie felt a slight chill down his spine when the dude reacted to his suggestion by staring levelly into his eyes and saying in a monotone, “Yeah, you’ll do.” Jamie interpreted it as a lack of gratitude that a young stud like himself should condescend to make the offer. It was an experience he was not used to; most of the time guys were “generous” to him in every sense of the word, which infuriated Brad.
“C’mon, we’ll take my car,” the dude snapped suddenly, “you’re in no shape to drive. You live alone?”
“No,” Jamie slurred, “but that asthhole won’t be back for long time. He gonna go fuck someone elsh. Like I don’t fuckin’ know what he means when he says ek—exthp—I cost too much, fuckin’ bitsth…”
Jamie found himself strapped into the front seat of a car, not quite remembering if he’d gotten in under his own power. The car was moving. He must’ve passed out for a moment. He hoped they were going home but was just a little too wasted to be able to tell. “Where we goin’, man,” he blurted.
“Your place. That’s what ya said,” the dude replied abruptly.
“How you know where t’ go?”
“Your wallet. Got the address off your driver’s license. Just lay back, James, you’re gonna have a good time.”
“Jamie, dude, name is Jamie. Will you choke me? I don’ mean really choke me, dude, I mean act like it. Y’know, pretend-like. Gets me off, if ya know what I mean.”
The older man let out a deep chuckle. “Yeah, Jamie,” he grinned, “I think I can do that. I can choke ya and make you get off.”
It was a ground floor condo at the back edge of the complex. In the parking lot, Jamie grabbed the dude’s hand and led him to the front door, letting go to unlock it. The unit was dark. Jamie didn’t bother to turn on any lights. Walking straight back into the bedroom, he started to strip.
“When you’re done, put your shoes back on,” the dude said as he walked into the room and pulled his shirt off, exposing his broad chest and rippled abdomen covered with a fine golden haze of fur. “I wanna fuck you while you’re wearing them.” His taut body glistened in the half-light.
As Jamie tightly re-laced his basketball shoes up to his ankles, the older man unzipped his fly. Slipping the elastic band of his briefs under his scrotum, he let his cock and balls flop out, already swollen and purple.
Lying back on the bed, Jamie stared at the dude’s thick tackle and inhaled deeply, shudderingly. “Fuck, dude,” he moaned, “stick it in me. Make me feel it.”
The dude’s cold, icy eyes roved over Jamie’s body like he was appraising a piece of meat—which was exactly what he was doing. The thin, firm, wiry body of the boy was stretched out on the bed. He wrapped his hands under his knees and hoisted his legs, exposing his pink quivering butthole, his black Nike kicks dangling in the air.
The dude approached the bed. Not bothering to remove his boots or his jeans—since his dick was out anyway—he plunged his long, erect member into the boy’s trembling, pale rosebud of a sphincter. Jamie cried out in pain as the thick tool split his ass, impaling him on a rod of hard flesh. He’d been fucked many, many times before, but never quite this ruthlessly.
Somewhere deep in his little pig soul, he loved it and craved more. He looked up into the dude’s face and saw nothing there but contempt. It scared him, and being scared got him harder than ever. So did the dude’s cock. Jamie could feel every ridged inch of it stretching out his already well-worn fuckhole; the guy’s tool was painfully thick.
If Jamie hadn’t been so drunk and angry, he might have recognized some danger signals; he was pretty experienced with random pick-ups. But with his senses dulled, he walked into a bad situation. He was about to make it worse.
“Goddam, dude,” he moaned breathily. He jerked back on his legs, spreading his black sneakers further apart as they hung in the air. “Fuckin’ Brad can’t fuck me like this. Can ya choke me, too? Can ya do that better than him? If ya got some money, I’ll be your bitch, dude. Take care of me and you can bang me all th’ time.”
The dude slipped one hand down to the right front pocket of his jeans. Without breaking the rhythm of his pumping, he grinned into Jamie’s face, his left hand placed in the center of Jamie’s chest, pinning him to the bed. “Don’t worry, bitch,” he whispered. “I’ll take care of you, all right.”
Suddenly, he spit in Jamie’s face. It took a moment for Jamie to realize what had happened; just as he did so, the dude’s right arm came up, biceps bunched in strain, swinging right at Jamie’s face. In the last split-second before it made contact, Jamie could see what looked like a length of braided nylon cord in his clenched fist.
The blow stunned him–it actually wasn’t that strong; just hard enough to split his lips and cause some minor bleeding. But Jamie was still too drunk to put up any kind of coordinated defense, so the impact was out of proportion to the force. He grunted in pain as he felt a hand grip his hair and jerk his head up off the mattress. He was laid back down a moment later, but he could feel that something was different.
He could feel the rope on the back of his neck. Despite the unexpected, terrifying assault, Jamie’s long cock was still erect, slapping against his own lean belly as his body rocked with the purposeful thrusting of the man on top of him. As the dude crossed the ends of the rope over the front of his throat, Jamie’s dick started oozing in anticipation. He had a live one. This guy was gonna fuck him good. And a hard alpha male like him pretending to choke…
And then the dude pulled the rope taut. Jamie’s perspective changed immediately as the cord sank deeply into his skin. Jamie’s eyes widened; Brad had never cut off his air so completely so early. And besides, it hurt like fuck. The dude was gonna have to let up or this was gonna be over real fast.
Jamie tried to cry out, to tell the older man to ease up a bit, but found that his throat was too constricted to be able to make an intelligible sound. He turned his bulging eyes up to the dude’s face and for the first time during the encounter, experienced true fear—just after the nick of time, so to speak.
The dude was bearing down on him, straight-arming the tight cord into his neck. It was the look in the eyes, though, that managed to pierce through Jamie’s alcohol-induced haze and spark true terror in his soul. It was a look of lust, mixed with contempt and rage. Seeing it made Jamie instantly aware of his vulnerable position; a larger, stronger man was holding him to the bed with his huge cock up Jamie’s ass and a cord wrapped tightly around Jamie’s neck.
That’s when he finally realized what was happening. This guy wasn’t gonna let go. He wasn’t pretending. He was gonna take Jamie all the way down that path to the very end.
Jamie panicked. He began flailing wildly, trying to batter his way free. The dude shifted both ends of the cord to one hand, never creating any slack in the process. Jamie still couldn’t breathe, but now the man had one arm free. He drew back and began pummeling Jamie’s face. Bruises bloomed on Jamie’s tan cheeks as a series of roundhouse blows taught him the virtue of accepting his fate.
With each shuddering smack of fist against flesh, Jamie’s colon tightened involuntarily; even in his pain and fear, he could feel it—but he didn’t know what the feeling was. Since he had no way of knowing that his rectum was contracting, he thought the dude’s dick was swelling to completely fill his ass every time he got punched.
This was going way too far. Jamie’s eyes, protruding from the orbits, began to leak tears. He wanted to stop, to get off the ride. He wrapped his lean, strong legs around the dude’s heaving, sweaty flanks in a vain attempt to force him off. His Nike kicks drummed helplessly on the man’s back. His face was beginning to swell and turn red, and he was gagging uncontrollably; if his esophagus hadn’t been closed off, he’d have been vomiting. But it still wasn’t too late. If the cord came off now, it could all still be okay.
That was when he made his fatal mistake. Giving in to utter panic, Jamie clawed and scrabbled furiously at the dude, scraping and scratching along the man’s hard, hairy chest, breaking the skin and clawing out hair.
The dude grimaced and leaned down with his face up against Jamie’s. Jamie could feel the man’s stubble graze his cheek as he hissed, “You’re gonna pay for that, you fucking slut. You marked me. But you’re my bitch, remember? So now I gotta mark you even harder. See, this is how I know you’re my bitch; I’m gonna mark you as my property—for good.”
With a deep grunt from the center of his chest, the dude spit into Jamie’s face. Wrapping the ends of the cord twice around his hands to improve his grip, the dude yanked it tight around Jamie’s neck.
After Brad’s play-smother, Jamie was unprepared for the dude’s first true choke. Compared to the intensity of the burning agony around his windpipe now, that first one seemed as benign as Brad’s. His fingers scrabbled frantically at his throat but were unable to find leverage; the cord had sunk in too deeply for him to reach.
Jamie felt the pounding, excruciating pressure increase above the stricture. His head felt like it was being over-inflated; his eyes, his tongue, the very skin of his face, all were swelling. A fire was burning in the center of his chest; he thrashed wildly in an attempt to escape it. Somewhere in the depths of his fear-inflamed mind, he could feel the dude’s cock, like a red-hot shaft of iron shoved up his ass. But the pain in his chest and his head overrode that.
The dude was still, holding himself over Jamie’s thrashing, limber body. He didn’t really need to thrust anymore; he could just stay still and let Jamie’s quivering, flailing hole work his cock for him. He remained poised above the kid’s wiry, convulsing body like a steel cage, one shaft of which held the boy to the bed by his ass.
Jamie couldn’t actually feel his face turning black. He could feel his tongue swelling and forcing his jaws apart, though. He could feel his eyes bulging out to the point that he could no longer close his lids. He couldn’t feel the petechial hemorrhages or the blood vessels rupture in the white of his eyes, but he could see the great bursts and blooms of nothingness as his eyes began to misfire from lack of oxygen.
By the time white frothy drool began to leak down his cheek from the corners of his blue lips, Jamie wasn’t really capable of conscious thought. There was nothing left but a nervous system growing increasingly unstable under progressive brain damage. His long, thin cock, all seven inches, was erect and glistening.
Suddenly, a massive convulsion wracked Jamie’s body. As his muscles tightened involuntarily, cum flew from the end of his dick in thin, ropy strands; it looked like someone stomped on a tube of toothpaste.
The older man shuddered, grunting and groaning as Jamie’s colon sucked out his spunk in a suction created by the death throes of the rectum. Gripping the cord in one hand and a handful of Jamie’s hair in another, he jerked them violently apart. As Jamie’s neck snapped under the strain, sending a last constrictive shockwave through his body and milking that last drop of seed out of the dude’s cock, he gave a last strangled cry, “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” before relaxing his hard, tensed body.
After a couple of minutes, the dude’s breathing returned to normal. He pulled himself out of the corpse’s ass, his boots hitting the floor with a thump. He walked into the bathroom and spent a little time cleaning himself up.
When he came out, Jamie was still lying stretched out across the bed, legs spread, arms still clutching his throat, blood-stained eyes rolled back so that only a tiny arc of the iris was visible. It was too good of an opportunity to miss. The dude’s dick was still hard. He slipped it into the corpse’s mouth, forcing it past the dry, swollen tongue, feeling it rasp against the sensitive bud of nerves on the underside of his dick head. As he pumped his shaft down the dead kid’s throat, he could feel a slight obstruction on his deepest thrusts; it was the crushed section of Jamie’s esophagus.
The dude came so hard it overflowed the corpse’s oral cavity and leaked out onto the face. It took another few minutes in the bathroom to clean up for the second time. The dude left without a look back.
It was another couple of hours before Brad got home. As Jamie had thought, he’d fucked someone else who’d dropped him off afterwards. Brad was stunned and shocked when he turned on the bedroom light and revealed Jamie’s throttled, abused corpse.
Shocked and stunned, yes. Surprised, no. Brad had known that Jamie could be naïve and randy when drunk, so he had always kinda thought this might happen someday. He’d tried to imagine how he would handle it and now he knew.
Much as he wanted to, he couldn’t fuck Jamie’s body; he couldn’t afford to contaminate the evidence.
But he took plenty of photos before calling 911.