The Boy in the Blue and Black Sneakers

The guy in 1324 has got himself a rentboy. I can see him out on the balcony, which usually means the deed is done and the tenant is asleep—or passed out, more likely. Dunno why he does that; he’s been ripped off so many times…

He leaves his blinds open and I own an excellent pair of binoculars. I see exactly what goes on over there and he has no idea. He’s never laid eyes on me directly.

The boy, though…he can see me. I’m out on my balcony tonight and we have a clear view of each other across the courtyard. I’d already checked him out with the binocs, of course.

He’s got black hair, a large nose, olive skin—kinda a Middle Eastern look. He’s well-built with smooth, muscular arms shown off by the electric blue sleeveless t-shirt he’s got on. His tight jeans highlight his junk, the long bulge of his tool very visible. His hightops are black and blue, the same bright blue as his shirt—laces, too.

Now that he can see me—and see me looking—he seems to develop an interest in me. He’s rubbing his dick and I think he’s smiling at me. He’s far enough away that I can’t tell for sure.

Well, why not? His john is passed out and nobody would know he was over here. If anyone ever bothers to trace him, the trail will end at apartment 1324.

But nobody bothers to trace the whores. That’s why I like to play with them. When I’ve used them up, I can just throw them away.
He’s on the other side of the courtyard but he sees me beckon. He vanishes from the balcony, and in a couple of minutes I see him emerge from building thirteen, coming towards me. Most of the courtyard is shrouded in deep shadow, the security lights not having been maintained (like much else in this place).
I hear him coming up the stairs and meet him at the door. He’s smiling, eager to get laid and get paid. I’m stripped and ready. He tells me his name, but I don’t care. His name is fuckmeat and he ain’t gonna live long enough to enjoy it.
When he gets his shirt off, I can see his smooth, hard belly and developed pectorals. I’m actually surprised at smooth he is; he’s in his mid-twenties and I had somehow expected him to be hairier. Even his legs are like silk. I wonder what kind of skin treatment he uses—and how much he charges.

Again, not that I really care. Price isn’t an issue. By the time I’m done with the bitch, he’ll be past his sell-by date.

He’s a pro. When he’s down to a jockstrap and socks, he puts the shoes back on. I’m on him the moment he stands back up, throwing him up against the wall face first. As I press against his back, he moans and shudders with pleasure. I force his hands back and slip a zip tie around his wrists before he realizes it.

The fucktoy starts complaining. Wants to charge more for kinky stuff. I slam his face into the wall, stunning him. Kinky? Little fucker has no idea.

I wrap duct tape around his head a couple of times to seal off his mouth. No more complaints. I toss him onto the bed on his back and climb on top of him. He’s just starting to wise up as I plow my dick into his ass. He opens his eyes wide and glares at me, struggling to slide out from under me.

That’s when I pull out the bag.

It’s a plastic bag from the cleaners. It’s perfect. A couple of twists around the head and it’ll cut off all air but I’ll still be able to see his face. I’ll blow my load as I watch him die.

He sees it coming. He squirms away in terror, his cries muffled behind the tape. He knows what is happening here; he’s a professional whore who knows the risks.

He knows he’s in for a long, slow death.

For the first few seconds, he lays there, huge liquid brown eyes staring into mine. Then the little free air he has starts to go bad and the panic sets in. He starts squirming again, trying to kick at me with those long firm legs. I grin at him and give the bag another twist around his neck.

Now he’s really panicking. He’s blindly shaking his head. Inside the bag, the temperature is going up each time the fuckboy exhales. Sweat beads dot the boy’s forehead and cheeks. The bag is now being pulled tight against his face with each attempt to inhale; his nose is profiled in plastic.

I can feel every single time he attempts to breathe. He’s struggling so hard his body goes rigid with the strain and his sphincter tightens around my meat like a cockring. It’s incredible; it’s totally a reflexive action on his part. He has no idea that his dying spasms are giving me the best fuck I’ve had in a while.
So maybe I should let him know. I jerk his head up towards me, shaking him harshly to get his attention.

“Yeah, bitch, that’s it. You know what’s going on, boy. Let go. Let death take you. Let me feel your dying meat jerk the cum out of my dick. Give it up, whore. This ain’t gonna end till you’re dead.”

He’s writhing against me, his skin slick with perspiration, the sweat of extreme bodily crisis—of death. His legs flail aimlessly against my back and my ass. I can feel those black and blue shoes digging at me but he can’t muster up enough force to really hurt me. His brain is starting to shut down and he doesn’t have the coordination.

His beautiful olive-skinned face is much darker now. His mouth is gaping, the plastic bag forming a concave surface over the opening. His muffled grunts have increased in pitch, caused by a combination of fear and lack of oxygen. Even now, though, they are becoming quieter and farther apart. His movements seem to become less deliberate; he’s nearing the point of brain death. I can’t tell if there’s anything left inside the twitching sack of meat that’s jerking me off—but just in case, I thought I’d let it know…

“Die, motherfucker, die on my fucking cock. Come on, you fucking whore, I want to feel it when you kick off. Gonna blow my wad in your worthless dead ass and throw you out like rotting meat. Yeah? Yeah? Ya feel it? Ya feel death coming? Good. Hope it fuckin’ hurts, bitch. I hope this hurts a lot.”

His face is dark and grimaces spasmodically, uncontrollably. Even though I can feel his rock-hard uncut cock against my belly, a pool is spreading across the whore’s own stomach. He’d pissed himself just before the involuntary hard-on.
His rectum seems to flow in waves along the shaft of my dick. Each one is slightly slower and yet slightly more intense than the last. Suddenly, the fuckmeat goes rigid and I realize that he’s in the final moments of life. Somewhere deep inside, he’s accepted what must be and is using his last seconds on earth to earn my seed.
His blackened face clenches in the final physical agony of death. His entire body shudders; the slightest nuance of each quiver is transmitted to the head of my cock by the fuckmeat’s agile colon.

As I spew load after uncontrollable burning load into the dying slut’s hole I yank the bitch’s head up with one hand and start punching him in the face with the other because my orgasm is so intense I’ll start screaming otherwise and wake the neighbors…

A few minutes pass before I’m fully functional again. I’m still hard and still buried deep in the whore’s ass. The meat is still quivering around my dick, but it’s the uncoordinated spasms of the freshly dead. I need to get cleaned up.
I can’t keep this toy around too long; after all, I did steal it from my neighbor. But I might be able to play with it one more time. That gaping mouth looks inviting…

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