“Hey, dude, ya got any smoke?”
I sit forward on the bench and take a closer look at the kid. He and his friends had been riding their boards around all afternoon—or at least as long as I’ve been sitting on this bench. This boy has taken a couple of good long looks in my direction but he hasn’t indicated any interest, till now.
Maybe that’s because his friends had left. There’s no one to see what he does now. Which is good for me.
It’s very bad for him, but he doesn’t know that yet.
He’s no older than eighteen, if that. Shoulder-length brown hair, with large dark eyes. He’s about 6 feet tall, but not big—he has more of a swimmer’s build, lean but muscled; not scrawny. He’s wearing tight grey jeans that just cover his ass and a black t-shirt with some band logo on it. On his feet are what look like purple suede hightops, tightly laced…
He’s beautiful. And he’s hoping to get high with me.
Sure, I’ll get him high. And then I’ll put him down like a dog.
“Ya wanna smoke?” I ask him. He nods eagerly. “Sure, I got some weed back at my place. C’mon, we’ll go get high and see what happens. I’m parked over here.”
He follows me back to my van like a puppy; the little fag was eager to “see what happens”. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him massaging his dick with one hand. Horny little fucker thinks he’s gonna get his cock sucked or something.
He’ll get something, all right. I grin at him as he climbs into the seat beside me. Poor little boy grins back. He has no idea what’s in store.
Back at my place, I roll a joint while the kid gets undressed. “What about my kicks?” he asks. “Some guys like watchin’ me jack with ‘em on.”
“Yeah, go ahead and put ‘em back on,” I tell him, wondering how many guys he’s been with. I don’t think it’s been very many. He’s too—oh, how do I put it? Too soft. No rough edges; he’s a sweet but kinda stupid suburban kid whose main interests are clearly getting high and draining the copious amounts of semen his raging teen hormones are producing.
Other guys like watching him cum while he’s wearing his kicks? I’m gonna like watching him die wearing them.
See, I knew it. I tell him I’m gonna fuck him and he gets all nervous. A virgin; at least anally. And he protests too much. “I ain’t no fuckin’ faggot! You wanna suck my dick, fine, but I ain’t lettin’ no dude stick anything into me!”
Of course he wants my thick purple rod up his ass; for all his words, the look on his face and the gleam of lust in his eyes as he stares at my meat show the truth. I push him over onto his back, spread his legs with my arms and plow my cock straight into his tender hole.
He tries to scream. I quickly let go of his legs and clamp both hands over his mouth. Gotta keep the fucktoy quiet for now. He struggles beneath me, the heels of his hightops beating on my asscheeks. I’m reaming him violently, penetrating deep into his rectum with each thrust. His cries emerge as plaintive moans from behind my hands, clenching painfully tight on his mouth.
I spend a good ten minutes ramming his virgin teen fuckhole with no lube but my own spit. Then I let up on his mouth; his cries have tapered off. He’s still moaning, but now it’s in pleasure. He’s a natural little homo all right; he just loves it up the ass.
Shame to have to end it all, now that he’s found out what makes him happy.
It looks like a simple length of white clothesline. It’s just a nylon cord. The skater punk is lying back, eyes closed, a huge happy grin on his face. He never sees it.
I lift him up and gently loop the cord about his neck. Then I pull tight—hard—straining to tighten it as much as possible.
The kid reacts instantly. His eyes wide with horror, he claws frantically at me, at my arms. I’m pressing him down onto the floor with the cord around his neck and my dick still in his ass. I’m dominating him to such an extent that he can’t really move. He gyrates his ass side to side in an attempt to break free but all he’s really doing is massaging my cock.
“Ooh yeah, ya little fuck,” I mutter in pleasure, “that’s it, bitch. Struggle and die. Milk my cock as you kick away your last few minutes on earth. I wanna feel you suffer. C’mon, boy, die for me, let me feel your agony in my dick. Useless fuckin’ skater punk…”
He’s beating and slapping at my face now, but he’s so panicked that he’s not doing any damage. I can see the terror in the kid’s face; the stunned disbelief that this can be happening to him. He’d planned to go to the park, show himself off, maybe get high, get sucked off–he hadn’t known that he’d die today.
But he is dying. He’s dying like a fucking cumdump whore on my cock. He’s thrashing violently, but there’s no concerted effort to escape. He’s in a state of blind panic; his conscious mind is still there, but it’s nothing but a solid shriek of terror. He’s sweating heavily with the strain and the lack of oxygen.
His face darkens from red through purple to a near black color. As it darkens, it swells. His eyes bulge, seeming to stare frantically at me as the tiny vessels hemorrhage.
The boy gags horribly as his tongue swells and protrudes. Drool leaks out both corners of his mouth and his eyes have become so red it looks like he’s gotten higher than his wildest dreams.
Maybe he has. The oxygen deprivation has taken a toll. He’s not fighting me any longer. His movements have slowed, become much gentler. He’s caressing me now. He’s sweat so much his body is covered with a fine oily sheen that slips and slides against my own.
I tighten the cord, brutally. It sinks into the teen’s neck so deeply it can’t be seen. There’s a loud cracking sound as the kid’s hyoid bone shatters. I could release the little shit now; it wouldn’t matter. I’ve crushed his windpipe. He’s dead meat now, no matter what. I’ve wasted the little fucker. From here on out, it’s mindless nerves and dead meat. The punk is toast.
He leans back, in extremis. Suddenly he arcs his body upwards intensely. His smooth, firm chest and belly slide frictionlessly over my body and I feel a sudden warmth blazing against my stomach.
Skater punk has shot his load all over me.
He falls back into the rhythmic convulsions of fatal brain trauma. Oh god, the inside of his little virgin bitch hole feels like velvet as it flutters against the head of my dick in its dying spasms. I can’t control myself.
The last thing I remember, as I unload what feels like a solid quart of spunk into the dying teen’s ass, is that I’m cursing and punching the boy in his face as hard as I can…
It’s very late when I wake up. I’m still on top of the kid and my limp cock is still in his ass. He’s cool to the touch now, but I’ve been out for a while and I think rigor mortis has passed already.
Oh, my poor little skater boy. So alone, so utterly helpless—now he needs me more than ever. And he’s sticky and dirty. There’s blood on his face—he must not have been completely dead when I punched him.
I draw a nice warm bath and get in—not alone, of course; he’s the one who needs it. I lower his body down onto mine as I sit in the tub. I take soap and a washcloth and I gently bathe my boy.
He lies in my lap, so peacefully, so willingly. I clean his beautiful body all over. I wash the scales of dried spunk off his tight, smooth belly. I carefully clean his adorable face, washing off the blood and snot and foamy drool. His thick cock floats limply in the water as I clean it, too.
When we’re done, I dry myself off, then my boy. We lay in bed, together, he and I, and I kiss him deeply, passionately. I force my tongue against his, swollen, bulging, rough, dry. His bloodshot eyes are turning milky in erotic death. He wants to get fucked again and how can I resist such innocent beauty? I slip my swollen tool back into his cool smooth teen fuckhole.
He jerks limply with each thrust of my dick. He’s so pretty, so totally dependent on me, so helpless in the face of my every whim—how can I deny him my seed?
I shudder and cry out as I fill his cold dead guts with spunk.
It saddens me to know that I’ll have to dispose of him soon, but he won’t be fit to keep for much longer. Such a shame; he was so adorable. But there will be others.
There are always others.