Kyle admired his bare chest in the mirror. Slim and lithe, he had a perfect teen body and he did his best to keep it looking that way. When he arched his back, his ribcage became barely visible beneath his smooth, soft skin, but in a normal posture he had just enough meat on his bones not to be scrawny. His chest, hairless but for a faint peach-like fuzz, displayed his small but erect nipples proudly on the slight mounds of his pecs.
His torso narrowed only a little as his flat, silky belly descended to his waist. Beneath that, a flaxen, tangled mass of pubic hair formed an almost delicate frame for his cock—six inches and only semi-soft. The upper part of his thighs was firm and almost hairless, much like his abdomen—but there the view stopped. It was the bottom of the mirror.
Sighing happily, Kyle turned away and headed towards his computer. His apartment was small but not squalid; with no space for a computer table, he’d set a laptop on a TV tray in his living room and took it down when needed. But the bedroom opened off the living room and the sink and mirror were out in the bedroom, with toilet and tub only enclosed in a separate room.
It was much like living in a cheap motel. But living alone as he did, Kyle had no way of knowing how long he remained visible in the mirror, how his firm but not overly-developed legs could have been viewed, flexing with each step, his rounded ass, smooth like the skin of fresh fruit pulsing repeatedly.
Then again, he really didn’t need to see it; he knew. It wouldn’t be true to say that he worked hard physically to maintain his physique; it was natural to him. It would probably be more accurate to say that he worked hard not to change it.
Kyle was actually a bit older than he appeared. He’d managed to retain the look of a fifteen- or sixteen-year-old boy at the age of twenty-four. He always took along a photo ID and had needed to produce on most of his sexual encounters. And there’d been a lot.
Kyle wasn’t a whore; he made decent money in telemarketing—but he was completely and utterly a slut. He lived to get fucked.
As he logged in online, he was also dying to get fucked. Tonight, that desire would be fulfilled in ways he couldn’t have possibly imagined.
There was a specific site he went to, a very basic online bulletin board called anonygays. It was solely devoted to gay hookups and postings could be sorted by several different filters. Kyle started with the location filter, working his way out from his zip code.
Nothing worthwhile nearby—the same usual sad old fat fucks he saw daily. But when he expanded his search, he found something in a nearby zip code—one a bit further west.
Top looking now. Passing thru. Young fit only. 32, 170, muscled, six foot four.
Might be worth hitting him up, Kyle thought. He shot back a reply.
“Hey Traveling stud. Willing to take what you can give. Lemme know where to go.
He didn’t bother to send his stats. He simply attached a pic of himself, nude from the waist up.
In his eagerness for a response, Kyle couldn’t sit still. He got up and paced for a minute or two before checking his email.
Sighing impatiently, he turned to the bedroom. This would probably be washout like so many of the others—why was it so hard to find a good top? Even so, he should probably give the dude another couple of minutes. Wouldn’t hurt to get dressed; he’d need to anyway. If it wasn’t this guy, he’d be going out to service someone else tonight. He wasn’t going to bed until he’d had sperm pumped down his throat or up his ass.
Even though he wasn’t a literal whore, Kyle went out his way to dress like one. The white sleeveless tank top, a shiny polyester blend, wrapped his slim torso tightly enough to be nearly transparent while the black shorts he managed to wriggle into cinched off high on his thigh, tightly highlighting his thick cock and his firm bubble butt. He slipped on an expensive pair of black Air Jordans, leaving the hightops untied, tucking the loose bright-red laces down inside next to his white ped socks.
Deciding that he’d waited long enough, Kyle headed back towards the laptop to check messages, only to find that his internet connection had failed. He exhaled impatiently and began pulling up the forum app on his phone while he waited for his modem to reset and his browser to reload.
It was neck and neck for a while, but the app on the phone won out in the end. The little red dot meant he had a new message. He clicked on it and greedily scanned the text.
“Nice. I’ll fill your hole, boy. Imperial Motor Court 3421 SH 128. How long?”
Kyle knew the place. Out on business 128, which used to be the main highway before the bypass was built. A little L-shaped place that had been run for decades by the same couple. They still owned it and still staffed it much of the time, but the night shift had become too much for them. The help they hired didn’t have the same high standards as the owners, which is how Kyle had ended up getting fucked there on at least two prior occasions.
It wasn’t a sleazy, run-down, rent-by-the-hour bordello; it was clean but threadbare. In a year or two, well, that would be another story.
“Be there in 20. What room? What ya into?” was the response he sent back. Waiting for the reply, he turned his attention back to the computer. His browser was up and open; local news was displayed. There had been a fire in a dilapidated apartment complex used for public housing on the south side of town. And a massive drug bust, also on the south side. The third story was about a male prostitute found strangled in a nearby corporate hotel.
Kyle thought for a moment. That was what happened to whores. It was an occupational hazard. Wouldn’t happen to him, he wasn’t out to rip anyone off; he just wanted to give a good time and have one himself.
His phone vibrated—the app was still open. “Room 18. I’m into pounding boyholes. Get yours over here.”
His ass spasmed in anticipation; his cock swelled to an almost painful extent inside his tight shorts. He shut down the machine, killed the lights, and headed for his car.
He leaned back and lit a cigarette. The little fuck was on his way. He shut off the phone and tossed it onto the floor. Untraceable prepaid, or he wouldn’t have used it. Expensive and potentially dangerous; he’d have to find another option soon.
Taking another drag, he settled back in the chair, glancing around the motel room. He didn’t see any ashtrays but the pine-scented cleaner they used in this place hadn’t been able to overpower the smell of stale smoke accumulated over the years. Way too late for them to object to smoking in the rooms now. He tossed the smoke into the half-filled Styrofoam coffee cup he’d left on the tiny circular table placed between the door and the flimsy armchair.
Not like he could open the windows, either—the metal frames and latches of the sliding panes had been painted over so many times that it would take a hammer and chisel to get them to move.
Sighing, he stood up, flexing his long hard body, tightly silhouetted in a white cotton t-shirt which was tucked into his jeans. They were as tight as his shirt and the black leather belt wrapped around his waist emphasized the muscular firmness of his physique. The worn and faded jeans were tucked into the top of an open, unlaced pair of equally worn and scuffed workboots, pale tan with scarred black leather around the ankles.
He admired himself in the mirror for a minute, taking in the reflection of himself as the centerpiece of the clean but worn room. A slight warp in the glass distorted the view, making the worn blond-wood furniture seem curiously elongated. Behind him, to his right, he could make out the stripped bed, the cheap thin polyester comforter on the floor on the far side, in the space between the bed and the wall.
Abruptly, he turned and switched off the light by the door, leaving only the nightstand lamp on. Too dark, but he didn’t want to turn the other light back on, so he stepped into the bathroom and turned on the lights in there. Like the room, it was clean but old and inexpensive—simple white tile, large old porcelain toilet and sink (both very slightly stained) and a bathtub with a semi-transparent shower curtain.
The light refracting back into the room was sufficient; he was happy. Now came the waiting.
He didn’t like waiting. The longer he had to wait, the more his rage built.
If the punk knew what was good for him, he’d better hurry up.
Kyle pulled his 20-year-old Plymouth into the motel parking lot and killed the engine. Sitting in the dark, he lit the last half of his last cigarette. Hopefully this dude would have smokes he could borrow.
Presuming, of course, that he went through with this.
He was nervous. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t like he hadn’t already gotten fucked by dozens of random guys this way.
Room 18. He glanced towards the door, its turquoise paint gleaming dully under the dim parking lot light. Not too far away. And he was horny—so why was he nervous?
Was it that thing with the whore that he’d read about? Naw, that couldn’t be it; Kyle didn’t ask for money, didn’t steal and didn’t do drugs…a lot…
Ah, this was all bullshit. He wanted to get fucked; that was what mattered. Plus this old piece of shit car had no AC and he was already slick with sweat. This stud wouldn’t wanna do him if he got too nasty. He threw his smoldering butt out the window and got out of the car, closing the door quietly.
Kyle’s legs still felt weak and rubbery as he walked the few yards from his parking space to the door. This made no sense, he decided, pausing on the crumbling pavement. He wanted dick. He stepped up and knocked at the door.
A sharp golden triangle of light punctured the darkness on the doorstep. Kyle couldn’t clearly see the man who opened the door; all he could see was the silhouette of a large, muscular man towering over him.
He was in. Nerves or not, he wanted this guy. Didn’t need to know the details.
Kyle glanced around the room—cheap and dimly-lit but clean, as he expected. It was warm, though; the AC unit embedded in the wall under the window was running but not doing much more than pushing around the smoke- and cleaner-scented air.
He relaxed a little and turned his gaze back to his hookup. The dude stood over him, somewhat backlit by the light spilling in from the bathroom. His muscles glistened slightly with sweat and Kyle felt his dick growing stiff again; his tight shorts didn’t give him much room to hide the fact.
The man turned, allowing Kyle to catch a glimpse of his strong jaw in profile before he saw the stud’s face, an unshaven shadow darkening his cheeks. Smoldering black eyes glinted dangerously below his hooded lids; his short, carefully-groomed hair was black as well. His eyes drifted down to Kyle’s crotch and a grin spread across his hard face.
“Like what ya see, huh?” he rumbled, his baritone voice vibrating deep within Kyle’s scrotum. “Name’s Joe.”
“K-kyle,” the boy stuttered. “Nicetameetcha. Hey, you gotta smoke I can bum?”
Joe’s grin deepens. “Sure. Let’s see what ya got first, though. C’mere.”
Kyle stepped closer to the well-built man. He inhaled deeply as Joe reached towards him. As the older man grasped Kyle’s shirt and pulled it up over his head, the boy exhaled slowly, shuddering in anticipatory pleasure.
As Joe placed his large strong hands on the kid’s smooth, slick chest, Kyle looked up eagerly into the stud’s face, finding his cocky grin erotic. His hands fumbled at the man’s firm waist, seeking the bottom of his tight white t-shirt.
“C’mon, punk, pull it off, strip me,” Joe muttered. He bent over and raised his arms; Kyle had the shirt off immediately.
They stood close, each running his hands over the other’s firm, sweat-slicked chest—Kyle tangling his fingers in the tight curly fur on Joe’s broad pecs while Joe’s hands circled Kyle’s smooth, lithe torso.
Joe broke away. He turned to the dresser and retrieved a pack of Camels. Shaking a couple of cigarettes out of the hard box, he proffered one to Kyle before sticking one in his mouth and lighting it. He handed the lighter to the boy, letting his gaze rove over the punk’s smooth teen body as it was illuminated in the flash of flame.
Kyle’s blond hair glowed momentarily like a halo before sinking back to dull yellow as he took a drag and handed the lighter back to Joe. He stood close to the older, larger man, inhaling his scent of sweat and male pheromones along with the smoke. The combination made him feel a little high, as if lust was disorienting him slightly. Well, that would be about right…
Joe looked down at the kid, exhaling smoke into the punk’s face. He didn’t wince; good. He’d be wincing plenty later on but for right now, he was horny and wanting to get plowed. And it wasn’t like Joe wasn’t horny himself; the massive ridge of flesh outlined in his groin was proof of that. As he took another drag, he reached out with his free hand and fondled the kid’s chest, squeezing his nipple. Kyle responded in kind, applying rhythmic pressure to Joe’s bullet-hard nip.
They didn’t completely finish the cigarettes; the lust was too over-powering. Kyle was the first to break down. He threw his half-finished cig into the coffee cup on the table and reached forward, grabbing the bulge in Joe’s crotch and massaging it as he dropped to his knees.
The muscled stud stood erect. Looking down at the eager young boy, he tossed his butt aside as well. “Undo my belt and unzip my fly, boy,” he snapped.
Kyle felt an erotic thrill run through him like an electrical shock at the command. Finally, someone who’d top him like the slut he was, someone who’d punk-fuck him like a bitch, filling the empty hole in his soul with cock and cum.
Or so he hoped.
Joe glared contemptuously down at the boy gripping his dick through his jeans. His rage had been kept under control so far; the little fucker was still anxiously horny and wanting to get cornholed. He needed to rein it in just a little bit longer. The cunt wasn’t quite in position yet. But when he was…
Joe grunted. Kyle thought it was due to his handjob. If he’d known the plans running through Joe’s mind—but then, he’d already ignored his intuition in the parking lot.
He plunged headlong towards death with his dick hard and dripping.
Joe’s thick leather belt was easily unbuckled but Kyle’s desire made his hands shake; the button and zipper on the jeans took a bit longer. Before long, though, he was rewarded with a huge thick tube of manmeat flopping out into his face.
He didn’t hesitate. Opening his mouth wide, he swallowed the engorged purple head, sinking the massive, vein-wrapped shaft painfully down his throat, feeling his esophagus stretch with the effort. Suddenly Joe’s hands were on the sides of his head, almost crushing it in a painful, vise-like grip. Kyle realized he couldn’t move his head at almost the exact moment Joe’s cock plugged his throat and cut off his air. He pressed his palms against the older man’s thighs, his heart rate increasing as he realized that he couldn’t force the muscled alpha away. He was pinned in an iron grip, helpless as an enormous dick was plunged down his windpipe…
Then it was gone; in the moment before panic set in, Kyle was able to breathe. There was nothing in his mouth but a trail of salty precum down the center of his tongue. The dripping shaft was bobbing in front of his face.
“Get on the bed, bitch,” Joe growled, “I wanna fuck ya doggie style. Get outta them shorts and on yer hands and knees. Get ready to take it up the ass, boy.”
Kyle hurried to obey. The ice-cold intonation of Joe’s voice sent a brief flash of fear throughout his feverish body, but his lust was too intense and the heat in his belly reignited. He mind in almost a dream state, Kyle stood and wriggled his way out of his tight shorts, standing and turning around, nude but for his hightops and socks. In the back of his mind, as he climbed up and positioned himself in fucking position, was the thought that the Imperial was still using those thin, scratchy sheets…
He bent down, pointing his quivering rose-colored fuckhole up to the open air. Knowing how much this was gonna hurt, he clenched his eyes and fists and gritted his teeth in preparation.
Joe approached the boy on the bed, his huge shaft jutting out in front of him. His jeans and belt hung open, peeled aside to allow him easier access to Kyle’s ass. His construction boots thumped on the thin carpet as he got near enough to start slapping his dripping tip on Kyle’s smooth asscheeks.
“Hey, man, what kinda lube you gonna use?” Kyle suddenly asked.
After a split-second hesitation, Joe’s answer was like the crack of a whip. “None, you cunt.”
And then he was in. He was all the way in.
It was shock, physical shock, that prevented Kyle from screaming instantly. Joe’s gigantic dong was deep into his rectum before he had time to process the sensation. He gasped, trying to fill his lungs for what would have been a shrill shriek.
But just as he was about to release it, Joe’s hand came down on the back of his head, forcing it inexorably into the mattress. Kyle found his outraged scream muffled into an extended groan as he thrashed in agony, mercilessly impaled on the older man’s tool.
“Fuck yeah,” Joe grunted as he relaxed his hard body on top of the boy, keeping his cock plugged up the punk’s ass. Slowly, he lessened the pressure on Kyle’s head, letting the whimpering bitch raise his face and gradually start to breathe again.
Unexpectedly, Joe rose up on his knees, tightly gripping Kyle’s hips and pulling him up as well. Gasping deeply and trying to recover his wits, Kyle came up on his hands and knees.
He was in over his head. He knew that now. He wished he’d heeded his fears in the parking lot…
“P-please, man, enough,” he begged. “I-I’m sorry, dude, but I can’t do this. You’re too much for me, man.”
“I know, cunt,” Joe snapped, “but don’t worry, I can still work your worthless body so I can cum. Now shaddup, you piece a’ shit!”
Lunging forward, he wrapped his hands around Kyle’s throat and began to squeeze.
In retrospect, he decided he needed to remember his victim’s real age; the younger they were, the less able to resist—but that was the actual, not apparent age. This kid looked sixteen, but he was in his twenties and fought like it.
Kyle was able to break free. Joe was embarrassed with himself. His cunts shouldn’t be getting away; this one was pissing him off. That was unfortunate—for the cunt.
As Joe struggled to keep his control over Kyle, his fingers slid over the boy’s smooth, slick skin. Kyle lunged up and to the right, pulling himself off Joe’s dick and onto the nightstand. His slim but muscled arms scrabbled at the lamp and phone as he desperately attempted to escape what he thought was going to be a rape, the hands around his throat notwithstanding.
Joe had other ideas. Grabbing at Kyle’s shoulders, he managed to get the kid back onto the bed, flipping him onto his back in the process. The bedside lamp had fallen to the floor and shattered—the only light illuminating Kyle’s desperate fight was that reflected from the bathroom.
“What, ya think yer gonna get away from my cock, you fucking slut?” sneered Joe, “Bitch, you’re gonna spend the rest of your life riding my dick—I give ya about another thirty minutes.”
Kyle stared up at Joe’s hard, scruffy face in shock, not fully understanding the import of his words. He understood pain well enough, though, and as Joe brutally shoved his engorged shaft unexpectedly back into Kyle’s torn, traumatized colon, he inhaled instinctively prior to emitting an ear-piercing shriek sure to alert the neighboring rooms.
Except Joe anticipated this. Picking up the landline telephone, Joe waited until Kyle took his deep pre-scream breath, then slammed the inert chunk of plastic and metal into the boy’s face.
Kyle grunted in agony as his head rolled back onto the bed, blood trickling from his broken nose. He jerked and twitched; overwhelmed by the physical imperative to breathe, he utterly abandoned any attempt to cry out.
Joe jerked the phone forward brusquely, yanking the cord out of the wall. Reaching under the phone itself, he quickly unhooked the other end and tossed it aside; it made a faint dinging sound as it bounced once on the bed.
“Thought ya were gonna get away from my cock, you worthless motherfucker?” he snarled into Kyle’s semi-conscious face as the punk moaned incoherently. Grabbing the kid’s smooth, firm legs, he parted them roughly before brutally plunging his throbbing, swollen member into Kyle’s ravaged, pulsating asshole.
In a dark, swirling haze of pain, the new burst of agony in his already-abused fuckhole brought Kyle back to his senses. He regretted it immediately.
He tried to wrap his mind around what was happening, but he couldn’t. He was a horny little twink who’d never considered his own mortality and had no reference now that it was staring him in the face, sneering and spitting at him, telling him what a stupid piece of shit he was.
Which was exactly what Joe was doing.
“Thought you were just gonna get a quick fuck tonight, huh, faggot? Thought you were just gonna get it up the ass? Guess what, motherfucker—you’re gettin’ it up the ass all right, you worthless cocksucker; yer gonna die with a dick shoved up your homo fuckhole!”
Joe grinned down at the boy, savoring his stunned fear and incomprehension. Settling on his knees, his dick still jammed up the bitch’s ass, he wrapped the phone cord around his hands, slowly and significantly, letting the boy see.
Kyle saw but refused to understand. His mind stopped short of the realization of what the cord was for. He lay shuddering, whimpering and terrified, too sunk in inertia to make another attempt to escape. He knew he was gonna get hurt, but his train of thought ran out of steam after that point.
Joe was aware that the fucker had tuned out. He decided it was time to get his attention again. His cock, thick and hard, plugged the little shit’s hole but he wasn’t actively getting fucked.
When Joe suddenly threw himself down onto Kyle, pumping his massive shaft swiftly and brutally into the boy’s torn, damaged rectum, the kid’s eyes widened. Joe grinned again; he’d been right—best way to get the fuckmeat to start responding again was to apply a little pain.
Of course, there was such a thing as too much response. The motherfucker began beating on him, fists hammering against his huge muscled chest with as little effect as if it had been a brick wall.
“Yeah, you worthless piece of shit, that got ya in the mood, didn’t it? Fuck, cunt, if you’re enjoyin’ that, you’re gonna fuckin’ love what’s coming next, you stupid little fucker!”
Kyle heard the words. He didn’t fully comprehend them, but he was filled with terror already and it took little to push him over the edge. This guy was gonna hurt him. He had to get away; he had to get out of this room, he had to get out now NOW—
His lithe body began thrashing violently; somewhere deep inside his mind, some small dark part was aware of the sensation of his slim body rubbing and sliding against that of the older, muscular man on a thin film of sweat. Their bodies writhed together as if lubed with oil.
But Kyle was hysterical, not horny. His ragged breathing became more strenuous; Joe recognized the signs. The slut would start screaming any second now. Time to put a stop to that shit. Time to put the cord to use.
He held it up in front of Kyle’s weeping, snot-smeared face. He knew the kid saw it—and he knew the kid had no idea what it was for. Yet.
Well, time to let the motherfucker in on the secret. Wrapping the ends of the strong plastic and metal cord around his strong hands, he smiled almost gently into Kyle’s face. “I know, I know,” he whispered, “shhh—just take it, cunt. It’ll hurt less.”
He leaned menacingly over the punk’s shuddering, supine form. “Of course, you’re too fucking stupid to listen,” Joe said, an iron edge creeping into his voice, “so your death is gonna end up being agonizing and nightmarish. Tough shit, cunt. Ready to die?”
Before Kyle had a chance to react, Joe had the cord wrapped around his neck; his thick muscled arms had moved with frightening speed. He was talented; his massive shaft had never completely disengaged from Kyle’s mangled colon, the huge purple head plugging the cunt’s ass the entire time.
Joe pulled the cord tight, but not tight enough to completely cut off Kyle’s air. Not that Kyle appreciated the fact; his esophagus was so constricted that he could breathe only with the greatest exertion. He stared up at Joe’s dark, unshaven face, wheezing frantically with effort, his youthful face a mask of horror.
Joe noted it and smiled. The boy’s fear and suffering made his huge cock even harder. He was glad he’d picked out that ad on the bulletin board; this worthless disposable sack of meat was gonna be a good fuck.
“Dude, that sound is real fuckin’ annoying,” he snarled into the terrified youth’s face. “Shut the fuck up, man—oh, ya can’t? Here, motherfucker, lemme help ya!”
From the corners of his eyes, Kyle saw Joe’s huge arms, biceps bulging in strain as he tightened the cord. His fear and horror, strong as those sensations had been, now coalesced into a single point of panic as his air was cut off with crushing agony.
Suddenly, the realization had hit him as an epiphany, a lightning bolt. This dude was gonna kill him. He was gonna die.
It couldn’t happen. He’d never thought it could happen. But the pain, the horrible, horrible pain—he’d thought he was gonna get raped but this—no—no, not happening—
Leaning down, Joe closely examined the meat’s face as the realization of incipient death swept across it. There, fuck, there it was, so fucking erotic as the fucking meatpunk realized he was gonna die…
“That’s it, you fucking faggot cocksucker, that’s it—ya like it? You’re dying, ya like that? Ya better, cunt, cause I’m gonna ream your fucking homo ass while you choke to death and it’s gonna be so fucking hot you’ll cum as you die, you worthless piece a’ shit!”
Again, Kyle heard the words; they hit him like bricks, leaving him battered but not penetrating deeply. The cord was what was penetrating deeply; the horrific crushing pain in his throat was all-encompassing. His hands scrabbled frantically at his throat—he could feel the deep divot where the phone cord had sunk in, but it was so far down he was unable to grasp it, no matter how desperately he clawed at his neck.
Joe sneered and spit into Kyle’s panicked face. The kid’s eyes, already huge with terror, were starting to bulge. Thick wet choking grunts emerged from his closed-off gullet as the skin of his face began to darken.
Kyle was sinking into a universe of agony he’d never suspected could exist; even through the unspeakable nightmare of strangulation, he could still feel the enormous shaft plowing his ass. His head seemed to be swelling uncontrollably; his eyes and his tongue—oh fuck it hurt so bad, he had no idea getting fucked to death would hurt so bad—no, he wasn’t gonna go out like this, not gonna happen!
The dying youth flailed wildly, an almost instinctive attempt to escape. His slim but firm arms thrashed almost uncontrollably against Joe, his fingers clutching reflexively in the alpha’s chest hair. The shuddering punk’s other hand reached out blindly, grasping at the air before falling back on Joe’s face.
By a quirk of synaptic circumstance, the boy somehow managed to stroke his killer’s cheek; his mind, inflamed with terror, still noting the fur on the muscular dude’s scruffy face.
Joe gritted his teeth and held onto the meat, working his violently convulsing body like a rodeo rider controlling a bucking bronco. He was used to riding out the death throes and he liked to let his victims know the fact.
“Fight it, bitch. You’re too fuckin’ stupid to accept your inevitable death, so give it some purpose and milk the cum outta my cock as you go, cunt. C’mon, motherfucker, yeah, fuck, your body feels great thrashing against me as you die, you worthless faggot!”
Kyle’s mind and body both were awash in a flame of agony as his jerking body began to shut down from lack of oxygen. His flailing hands were no long directed; they beat aimlessly at the merciless alpha. He was vaguely aware of the wiry hair in which his fingers occasionally caught but it was a faint sensation compared to the vicious thrusting agony in his torn, ravaged rectum.
As he began the physical process of death, Kyle’s awareness somehow intensified; he felt it all, the nightmarish pain of a slow, excruciating death. The pounding, drumming sound in his head was increasing in both tempo and volume as his face seemed to swell. His tongue was swelling as well; as he gagged and choked, he could feel it move forward, parting his lips. Even as he thrashed and fought, he could feel thick foamy drool leaking horribly down his smooth cheeks.
But the dying boy was especially aware of his traitorously engorged cock, somehow erect despite the terrible pain and fear—even over the pulse of blood in his head, he could hear the thick tube of flesh slapping back and forth between his heaving, sweat-soaked belly and the hard, firm abdomen of his killer.
Snarling down into the twisted, blackening face of the slut convulsing violently beneath him, Joe realized the useless little fuck was on his way out. The kid’s limbs, smooth and strong, still beat against him in futile, despairing resistance, and it was getting annoying.
“Enough, bitch, stop fightin’ it. Yeah, punk, you’re working my shaft real good but not good enough to put up with this shit. You’re dying, you faggot—only things left to decide are how long it’s gonna take and how much it it’s gonna hurt. So stop kicking and take my dick up your ass as you die, cause as bad as it hurts now, if you piss me off, it’s gonna get much worse.”
Joe thrust his face into Kyle’s, looking deeply into the youth’s bulging, terrified eyes, peppered with pinpoint hemorrhages. There was still a light buried within their frantic depths. Someone was still home.
“I know you’re in there,” he whispered sadistically to the suffering youth quivering in his arms, “I know you can hear me. Stop fighting it and I can make it hurt less. Accept it and you’ll enjoy your death. Give it up, cunt.”
Kyle’s psyche had shattered under the strain of being snuffed; his mind, paralyzed in terror, ran in a groove of sheer panic, occasionally illuminated by flashes of remorse for ignoring his hesitation earlier. But these were mere glimpses of lucidity in the cold howling vortex of agony the slut now inhabited.
As his nervous system began to fail, Kyle’s nerve endings became hypersensitive, exposing him to a torture he’d never conceived. As he arced his back convulsively, pressing his torso against that of his assailant, Joe’s belt buckle dug into Kyle’s tender belly flesh; to the punk, it was the sharp pain of a stab wound…
His smooth legs kicked out wildly, scraping across the thin sheets before wrapping tightly around Joe’s sweaty, thrusting flanks. The muscles in his thighs tensed and released swiftly in mortal spasm; as his left foot raked across Joe’s firm, pumping ass, the heel on his black Air Jordan caught and the sneaker flew off, hitting the dresser and falling to the floor. Kyle’s twitching foot, still wrapped in its tight white ped sock, pawed mindlessly at the bed.
The slut’s hands were slow and gentle now; Joe felt them caressing his rough, unshaven cheeks, powerless now to cause any damage. He looked down at the smooth, slim body writhing in agony under him, the bare chest heaving in desperate agony. Foamy spittle still oozed from around the kid’s thick dark tongue, sticking grotesquely out between blue lips. He pressed his lithe, smooth body up against that of his killer’s, his golden pubic hair mingling with the dark hair on Joe’s lower abdomen.
As Joe rode the kid into death, he felt the boy’s thick rod sliding around in his belly fur. The homo’s arms were losing strength, but his legs were still going strong and that one hightop he had left was literally a pain in the ass.
“Stupid cunt,” he snapped, “couldn’t even follow directions to ease your own way out, huh? Now it’s gotta hurt. Die, you worthless faggot. Die on my fucking cock—yeah, you ready? Ready for pain and cum and death? Here ya go, you disgusting piece of shit—your momma’s gonna get told they found your fucked-out homo ass raped and strangled in a cheap hotel—and that you died hard!’”
Joe forced the thrashing punk down onto the bed by the sheer overwhelming size of his hard body. Grunting deeply, he pulled his arms apart, his biceps straining with the effort and tendons bulging on his neck, digging his work boots into the surface of the bed for better traction.
As the cord vanished into his neck, Kyle’s kicking and jerking intensified. This was an instinctive response; what little of Kyle was left was wallowing in the agony of over-sensitized nerve endings. His guts were being impaled; a blazing wire seemed to run down the center of his excruciatingly swollen dick.
Then his esophagus collapsed with a loud crunch. Despite his failing nervous system, Kyle felt the crushing agony. He tensed again, wrapping his arms and legs tightly around Joe’s hard, thrusting body, slick with sweat. His sphincter spasmed and contracted, tightening around the base of the top’s thick shaft just like a cockring.
“That’s it,” Joe grunted, not knowing if Kyle was too brain-dead to hear him—and not caring. “Fuckin’ choke and die, cunt, die on my thick cock, you worthless faggot slut!”
Then he reached his breaking point. Crying out, Joe clamped Kyle in an iron grip and spewed a hot, steady stream of sperm into the punk’s torn asshole.
Kyle was almost gone. Deep within, though, a tiny spark was left—one that was still hooked up to the fading nervous system, still hyperactive at the point of death.
He could still feel. He could feel cold and an all-over, indescribable pain in the quiet darkness surrounding him. Even the drumming sound in his ears had reached a crescendo before it had faltered and faded. But now he could feel something else.
Heat, horrific liquid heat flooding his guts as if lava had been pumped up his ass. His brain was far too damaged to comprehend what caused the sensation, but his body responded anyway.
He’d never known an orgasm could hurt so much. His spunk seemed to be so pressurized that it tore open his dick on the way out. Boiling fluid shot out of him, boiling fluid flooded his guts; somewhere along the line, his life was swept out with the current.
Joe held onto the shuddering corpse, spunking uncontrollably as a geyser of jizz erupted from the cunt’s purple shaft, splashing against the flat belly of his killer and splattering his own quivering body. As Kyle kicked and convulsed, random nerve signals jerked his right leg violently; his other sneaker slipped off, knocked to one side of the bed. His feet, in short ped socks, quivered mindlessly as Joe lay still, feeling the rest of corpse shudder against him as well.
He rose up on his knees, looking down at the tortured, twisted corpse, admiring his brutal kill as he struggled to get his air back after a powerful orgasm. After a moment or two on his knees, Joe felt that he’d regained enough control to stand up. Slowly pulling his still-oozing shaft out of the meat’s bleeding fuckhole, he backed off the bed, his unlaced boots landing solidly on the floor. He stepped into the bathroom and, quickly cleaning himself, tossed the used washrag into the toilet (the water reeked of bleach) before stuffing his massive shaft back into his jeans.
Joe re-entered the bedroom, admiring his handiwork. Kyle was lying spread-eagled on the bed, puddles of his own cum pooling on his flat belly and in the space between his small pectorals. A couple of spots were slowly glazing his black, swollen face.
One black hightop sat upright on the bed, red laces trailing; the other was hidden on the floor on the other side. The corpse was nude except for the white ped socks.
Joe wanted to remember this moment—and he had an idea how to immortalize it. The faggot’s clothes were still in a pile on the floor. Digging through the shorts, Joe quickly found Kyle’s cell phone in a pocket. Quickly accessing the camera, he stood at the foot of the bed and took a photo of Kyle’s sprawled, abused corpse.
He’d hang on to the phone for a little bit, anyway—not long, just long enough to lure in another cocksucker.
Reviewing the pic, Joe realized he’d caught himself in the shot; the angle he’d chosen had revealed him in the bathroom mirror. Normally this would be reason to not only delete the image but destroy the phone as well, but in this case he wasn’t worried. The flash had gone off and obscured the upper part of the shot; the pic revealed only a small reflection of a well-built man from the neck down—a muscled hairy chest descending to tight jeans and boots, but no identifying features.
The corpse, on the other hand, was crystal-clear. Furthermore, some of the swelling had gone down. Kyle’s face was still blackened and twisted, but was now more recognizable as the hot blond youth he’d fucked to death.
An evil idea crossed Joe’s mind like an electric shock. Going back to the menu on the boy’s phone, he opened the punk’s Facebook account. Sure enough, the stupid little shit hadn’t bothered to use a password on the app—Joe could access anything he wanted.
So he posted a photo of Kyle’s splayed corpse to the boy’s own wall.
Chuckling evilly, he pulled his t-shirt back on. He disabled the locator on the dead boy’s phone, but took it with him.
He’d use it to lure the next one.
Swiftly leaving the room, Joe heard the door latch behind him. He headed towards his pickup, his boots thumping heavily on the pavement as he worked out the phrasing for his next online ad.