M4M Oedipus Sex

Joe was relaxing, at least for the moment.  He sat shirtless on the sofa, his tight jeans hanging open and unbuckled, his feet propped up on the coffee table. He was playing with a cell phone, occasionally swigging from a bottle of beer at his side.

He wasn’t familiar with this kinda phone; it was the one he’d taken off the bitch he’d choked.  He’d held on to it for a couple of days while he kept his eye on the news.  There’d been a brief mention of a body found in a motel room, then a flare of attention as the story of the photo surfaced.  The pic of the boy’s corpse had been quickly scrubbed off the internet but public interest was really high.

So it would have to be a particularly stupid—or uncontrollably horny—faggot putting himself out online for sex now, at least in this part of town.  Joe had been planning to write another ad himself, but he didn’t know how much could be traced back to him from the last cunt’s computer.  And anyway, his curiosity had gotten the better of him.  There were several hookup apps on the kid’s phone and he wanted to see what was out there.

He didn’t have to search long.  The first app he looked at allowed anonymous postings; within the first two pages, he found what he wanted.

“NEED MY DADDY TONIGHT

My daddy is out and I’m home alone.  18, 122, 5’8”.  Daddy’s a SWAT officer—can you fill his boots and my hole?  Don’t have a car so I gotta host, lol.

–Daddy’s Boy”

Joe’s dick was so hard it hurt.  Damn.  He hoped no one had gotten to this boy yet.  He wanted daddy?  Joe could do that.

Deep in thought, he was unaware of the evil leer that twisted his handsome but somehow cold face.  Oh yes, he could do that.  He could be a very good daddy—or a bad one, depending on the definition.

“Boy—

You wanna get dicked down by daddy?  Let’s roll.  32, 170, 6’4”.  Got some fatigues I can wear.

–Powerdriver”

He never used the same screen name twice.  While he waited for a response, he popped off the couch and went into the bedroom, rummaging in the closet briefly until he found his desert camo outfit.  They were the real thing; he’d bought a complete army combat unit—ACU—from an army surplus store.

The sand-colored t-shirt was a couple of sizes too small; it wrapped so tightly around Joe’s muscled torso it looked wet.  He tucked it into the camo-patterned pants before buttoning the form-fitting pants around his slim waist.  He got the jacket on—it was too warm to close it up—and was just slipping on the socks when a chime from the dead kid’s phone alerted him to a message.

So the stupid little fucker was gonna respond, knowing that there was a killer out there?  Joe grinned again as he accessed the app and read the note.

“Damn daddy I want u in me.  What size shoe u wear?”

Joe paused, intrigued.  He responded.  “12—why?”

The reply was immediate.  “Perfect will u wear daddy’s boots when u fuck me? 1280 Stafford Ave/home alone front door unlocked/upstairs 1st door on left/ill be naked on bed waiting”

Still chuckling, Joe sent a message in the affirmative.  There was a perverse thrill in fucking and snuffing the teen while wearing his father’s boots.  Of course, he still needed something to wear on the way there.  He slipped on a pair of short black leather engineer boots; he could quickly remove them when he got there.

He knew the address; a relative had lived around the corner at one point.  It was an upper middle class neighborhood about twenty minutes away.  He considered that it might be some kind of trap, but only briefly; he had too much common sense to think such an elaborate ruse likely.

Of course, he also had too much common sense to take chances; when he got there, he parked on a side street two blocks up, pulling up the last block with his lights off.  As he approached the house, he walked on the grass verge on the far side of the sidewalk to avoid the inevitable thumping his thick-soled boots would cause.

The house was large, with a stone fascia stretching up two stories.  It was also dark; there was no sign that anyone was there, but that was what he expected.  The massive front door, unlocked as promised, was set with two large panes of glass, frosted and worked with lead.

Joe found himself on a square of tile surrounded by what seemed like a sea of neutral-colored carpet stretching off into the darkness.  As his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, he became more aware or his surroundings—dining room on the right, huge useless formal living room to the left, hallway straight ahead probably leading to kitchen.  The stairs started in the living room and curved up into blackness.

What a nice expensive house to desecrate with a rape and murder.

He started up the stairs, not caring how much noise he made now—in fact, he made sure the bitch knew he was coming.  The kid needed to be ready.

The kid was ready.  JC was so excited, he was afraid he was gonna cum before the dude got in the room.  He was a horny little fucker and had already jacked off twice that day, but he was so full of hormones and semen that he was almost literally ready to spunk at the slightest touch.

His dad had been doing yard work.  JC sat at his window overlooking the back yard, watching the muscled older man work his half-dressed body in the afternoon heat, cutting the grass and edging.

As daddy thrusted and flexed his hard, sweaty torso, JC beat his meat frantically, imagining getting brutally fucked by his macho father.

It’d never happen, of course, his father was ex-military and straighter than an arrow.  He was out right now at some strip club with his police buddies; he’d likely bring back a whore to fuck sometime after the place closed—he usually did.

JC’s bedroom was next door; he always liked listening to daddy grunt and pump on the other side of the wall.  Tonight, though, he had other ideas.   Tonight, he was get as close to daddy as he could.

The guy he’d contacted online had the same build and stats as JC’s dad, except for the age.  And he’d said he’d fuck him wearing military gear and daddy’s boots.

So it seemed only logical that he’d get fucked on daddy’s bed.

JC entered his father’s bedroom confidently, knowing he had at least a couple of hours before the titty bar closed.  The room was done in a dark masculine blue, with a black wrought iron metal bed covered with a simple fleece blanket.  JC swept it back, knowing that the linens underneath were high-quality; dad like to fuck his whore on 800-thread count percale—almost as smooth as satin.

The room was dark but there was enough reflected light bleeding through the open blinds from the streetlights outside to allow him to see.  Evidence of daddy was everywhere; combined with the scent of his cologne, it made a heady mix that would have gotten him hard if he wasn’t already.  Happened every time he entered the room.

His father’s black leather boots were on the floor in front of the dresser.  The laces were still tightly tied; the zippers up the sides were undone.  Daddy had put most of his tactical gear in the closet and locked up his gun, as usual, but there were some bits and pieces scattered about.

One of his many pairs of handcuffs was on the nightstand; daddy was probably gonna use ‘em on his whore later.  A belt of webbed black nylon, with a hard plastic clasp, was slung over the headboard of open ironwork.  Looking at them, JC felt his dick throb.  Aside from his socks, he was nude; it jutted in front of him, long, erect and dripping on daddy’s thick pile carpet.  The desire to be used like a slut swept over him; the horny teen decided he’d ask his hook-up to use the handcuffs.

He was in his own home, in his cop father’s bedroom.  The thought that he was in any kind of danger never crossed his lust-filled mind.

Sweeping back the blanket, JC climbed onto the bed.  He gathered up the pillows, propping them under his head so he could lie back at an inclined angle.  Sighing with comfort, he stretched out on his back on the expensive sheets, reflecting that even the bed smelled like daddy.  The idea tripped his raging hormones into overdrive—where was the guy?

There—in the silent house, he could hear the front door open, quickly followed by heavy footsteps across the foyer.  JC eagerly tracked the footfalls up the stairs.

He was right outside the door.  It was gonna happen.  JC was gonna get fucked in daddy’s bed by a hard dude in military gear and daddy’s boots.

JC wasn’t a virgin, but he had never hooked up with an anonymous stranger before and he’d never had sex in his own home before—much less in daddy’s bed.  The excitement was intense.  He closed eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to slow his racing heart.  If he didn’t calm down, he’d blow his wad before the guy was in the room…

Joe paused at the door at the top of the stairs.  It was about halfway open, the ambient lighting giving a faint glow to the darkly-hued walls.  He could make out a figure recumbent on the bed, moving slightly.

He stepped into the room and approached the bed.  The teen was stretched out, his smooth, lithe body glistening slightly in the half-light, sweating in the warmth of the night.  Joe reached down and switched on the bedside lamp.

The kid had evidently been in the dark for some time; he winced and shielded his eyes.  “What’s that for?” he whined.

“I like to see who I’m fucking.  C’mon, boy, lemme see your face.”

The kid blinked a couple of times, then rolled back onto his back.  Under long, disheveled sandy blond hair, hazel eyes flashed up, now green and now brown, framed by silky black lashes.  The young, eager face was shaded with a faint fuzz, noticeable on the upper lip.

His body was slim but not thin; the kid had some muscles.  He had firm thighs and calves; his feet were bare except for black ped socks that ended below his ankles.  His pecs gave a rise to his chest and his abdomen was smooth and flat.  A slight trail of fur started on his lower belly, growing darker and thicker as it merged with his pubic hair.  From that curly mass, the teen’s thick cock stood erect.  Long and thick (although neither longer nor thicker than Joe’s), it rose stiffly like a pole, the tip glittering with moisture.

Joe grinned.  Hot little motherfucker—he was gonna enjoy raping him.

He was gonna enjoy murdering him even more.

JC was even more pleased—damn, this dude looked almost exactly like daddy had in those old photos taken back when he was in the military.  He even had a real ACU—JC knew what that was; he’d obsessed on his father’s various uniforms and tactical outfits.  Holy fuck.  Holy fucking shit, daddy was gonna fuck him…

“Over there,” he muttered breathlessly, nodding towards the dresser.  “His boots—please, dude…  Fuckin’ fuck me in—“

He was almost incoherent in his lust.  Joe’s grin became downright evil, but it didn’t matter, the horny piece of shit probably wouldn’t have noticed if he’d pulled out a weapon—speaking of which, he took a quick glance around the room.

The black combat boots in front of the dresser were clearly what the cunt wanted.  Bracing himself against the wall with one hand, Joe kicked off his black engineer boots one at a time.  He padded over to the dresser in his socks before snatching them up.  He sat at the foot of the bed and slipped them on, zipping them up. Already tightly laced, they encased his feet snugly and firmly.

No matter how much thrusting he did, he’d have plenty of traction.

Quickly rising, Joe stood at the side of the bed, towering over JC.  Looking down on the slut coldly and contemptuously, he slowly slipped out of his jacket, revealing his magnificent torso wrapped tightly in the khaki-brown t-shirt.  Tucking his hands down below the trouser waist, he grabbed the bottom edge of the shirt and slowly, almost sinuously, peeled it up and over his head, giving JC a view of his bulging pectorals and furry washboard abs.

The teen faggot gasped, his heart skipping a beat.  This was gonna be better than he ever imagined.  “Th-the cuffs…” he stuttered, gesturing towards the gleaming metal item on the nightstand.  “Y-ya wanna put ‘em on me?  It’s ok…”  As he wallowed in his pig-like lust, he was almost breathless.

Joe snatched up the handcuffs.  As he leaned menacingly over the kid, JC reached up, fondling Joe’s chest, twining his fingers in the wiry fur before moving up to feel the bulging biceps, hard as steel.

Joe smirked openly.  “What, ya wanna get raped by yer daddy?  Is that what you’re lookin’ for, boy?  C’mere, bitch, gimme those hands before I have to take ya down!”

JC felt the older man’s overwhelming strength—and his own powerlessness against it—as Joe grabbed his arms, roughly forcing them up over his head.  Before he could react, cold steel was tightened painfully around his wrists, the cuffs looped through the open ironwork of the headboard.  He was bound to the bed, unable to free himself on his own.  These were law enforcement handcuffs of case-hardened steel.  The only way out was with the key.

“Fuck me, daddy, c’mon!” JC moaned, lost in a tidalwave of hormone-fueled lust.  “Stick your fuckin’ SWAT cop cock up my ass!  Show your son how much ya want him, how much ya wanna plow his hole!”

But Joe didn’t move.  JC looked up at his surrogate father’s face and felt the first flash of unease as he met the older dude’s ice-cold eyes and expressionless face.  Daddy was supposed to fuck him long and hard, telling him how much he loved his boy.

This guy didn’t look like he loved his boy.  His disdainful stare left JC uncertain what was happening.

Joe broke the tension of the moment by reaching into his pocket while simultaneously sitting on the edge of the bed next to JC.  He’d fished out his pack of cigarettes; JC’s eye grew wide with concern as Joe proceeded to light one up.

“Dude!” he yelled, “You can’t do that!  No one smokes in here; my dad’ll smell that sure as shit!”

Joe turned his head slowly.  Cold and hard, he gazed down into JC’s concerned face.  “So?”

“B-but you’re gonna get me in trouble!  C’mon, man, don’t do this to me!”

“You have no idea what I’m gonna do to ya, boy.  Get ya in trouble?  Bitch, you’re already there!”

Joe’s smile was even colder and harder than his previous expressionless state.  An icy thrill ran through JC’s body as the awareness of his vulnerable position slowly percolated through his thick, slow-moving mind.

The terrifying awareness only grew as Joe contemptuously flicked his ashes over both JC and the bed.  “Please!  Daddy’s gonna kill me when he finds out about this!” the teen begged.

Joe exhaled a cloud of smoke into the helpless boy’s face.  As the teen cunt coughed and choked, Joe chortled deeply.  “Yeah, daddy’s gonna kill ya, bitch,” he sneered, “and he’s gonna cum in your worthless homo fuckhole when he does.”

JC didn’t react, largely because he was incapable of comprehending what he’d just been told—if he didn’t know better, it sounded like this hot daddy lookalike wanted to kill him.  But that was nuts.  It couldn’t be right.

“Dude, enough—lemme up!  Goddammit, I’m gonna get so fuckin’ grounded when he gets home!  Lemme up NOW or I’m gonna call the cops!”

Joe laughed.  He bent his head back and laughed loudly and contemptuously.  “Ya wanna call the cops, you little motherfucker?  Wanna call in your daddy’s friends so they can tell him how his punk-ass queerboy son got scared after lettin’ a dude come over to fuck ‘im?  Yeah?  C’mon, you stupid cunt, it that what ya want?”

JC’s face went blank.  The teen had managed to get by on his looks; his angelic, boyish face had charmed a lot of people.  His mental abilities, consequently, were atrophied and nowhere near up to dealing with what was going on.  The boy was simply not capable of understanding the situation.

Joe had expected this—they never really believed they could die, not the young, stupid ones.  Even as they screamed in the agony of death, they didn’t get it until the very end.

Thank God.  Getting them to that final realization of mortality, that moment when they gave up their last vital spurt of semen, was what made dealing with these useless cunts worthwhile.

Joe’s assessment of JC’s mental state was accurate; the kid’s heart was speeding in fear, but it was fear of what his father was gonna do when he got home.  He was concerned to the point that he forgot about the sex—but not for long.

Taking another drag, Joe set the cigarette carefully on the edge of the nightstand, noting the way the teen’s worried eyes followed him.  Standing over the prone youth, he maintained an icy eye contact as he slowly reached down and unfastened his fly.  As soon as his thick hog fell out, the boy broke the contact to gape at the massive tube of meat. Joe chuckled at he picked his smoke back up.

As swiftly obsessed with the smoking as JC had been before, it slipped just as quickly out of his mind as Joe’s enormous cock dangled over him, clear precum dripping on the punk’s smooth flesh.  He gasped, struggling in a wave of both fear and lust.

“Oh daddy…” he whispered.  Joe stiffened, a cold, tight grin on his face.  The cunt had surrendered.   Not as if Joe would have given him a choice, the fucker was cuffed to the bed and wasn’t leaving it alive.  But he liked knowing that the punk’s desire for him was greater than his fear.

Even though he’d already told the stupid piece of shit he was gonna get snuffed.  Goddam.  Motherfucker’s gotta want his daddy’s dick bad.  Joe decided it was time to oblige.

Leaning forward, he ground his butt out on the smooth varnished surfaced, deliberately provoking a reaction.  He liked his victims kicking a little when he penetrated them.

JC squealed indignantly, stunned at the desecration of his father’s bedroom.  His attention was still on assessing the damage when Joe’s massive cock was thrust brutally up his ass.  There was no warning, no lube, no slow accommodation—there was just an enormous shaft of meat impaling his tender rectum.

He screamed.  At least he thought he did; a deafening shriek echoed in him mind.  The fact that it never emerged from his mouth was due to the fist that Joe slammed into the kid’s face.  The pain was almost unnoticed in the trauma he was already experiencing, the physical assault overwhelmed by the sexual.

Then a pause.  Joe was fully inserted, his pubic hair grinding and scraping against JC’s smooth, peach-fuzz-covered asscheeks.  The teen lay back, not resisting, gasping and hyperventilating.  He was utterly unaware of the bruise darkening the left side of his face, or that his lower lip was split.

This was it.  This was daddy sex.

It hurt.  It hurt bad.  JC was starting to panic; the agonizing sensation of a hard shaft thrust up his ass was so intense, he was unable to catch his breath.  Now he could hear himself—he could hear the high-pitched whine he was emitting with his gasping.

The man over him was silent, his eyes cold slits that seemed to hide a glittering rage.  JC could feel the hard muscled body pressing him down, see the matted fur on the alpha’s heaving chest.  The older man’s musky scent filled the boy’s nostrils as he shuddered in pain, writhing on the smooth sheets.

Joe smirked down at the moaning teen.  “Feels good, don’t it, cunt?  Yeah?  Ya like that, yer gonna fuckin’ love this!”

He began thrusting his hips violently, knowing the boy hadn’t had time to get his tight sphincter accommodated to the huge tool spearing it.  He felt his shaft, ribbed with veins, pumping deeply into the kid’s tender, quivering fuckhole as the little slut thrashed his legs, kicking desperately at Joe’s back.

JC’s eyes widened in agony.  As he inhaled deeply, prior to letting out a massive shriek, Joe leaned down and grabbed the punk’s throat with one hand, drawing his other back in a fist.

“Lissen up, you cocksucking faggot,” he snarled, “You make one more sound and I’m gonna fuck you up bad.  I’ll start by breaking your jaw and just kinda work my way around my face.  Ya got me, motherfucker?  Ya feelin’ what I’m sayin’?  Just take the dick, bitch, like you’re supposed ta.”

Then he leaned down, glaring intently into the youth’s eyes, awaiting the erotic moment when fear overcame pain.  It was the way the agonized, frantic light in the cunt’s eyes faded and died.  They glazed over momentarily, only to be quickly filled with another light—dim at first, but fated to grow ever more intense until it went out permanently.

JC knew to the depths of his soul that the man fucking him, the man over him and in him, was deadly serious about what he’d said—not that he had any idea how deadly yet.  Even so, he was unable to remain completely silent.

“Daddy?” he whispered tearfully, “Please don’t hurt me—please don’t.  Y-you can fuck your boy, oh please, d-daddy…I want you daddy, just please don’t hurt your boy…”

The teen boy’s smooth face, pleading and distraught, his large tear-rimmed hazel eyes framed by long dark lashes, would have melted a heart of lead.

Joe’s heart was stone.  Stone doesn’t melt.  He leaned down slowly, almost gently, before spitting in JC’s face.

“You don’t want daddy to hurt you?  What the fuck you think daddy is here for?  Shut the fuck up and take my cock, you stupid piece of shit!”

Before the fuckmeat could react, Joe started pumping vigorously, long swift strokes ramming his swollen purple head into as-yet unreached depths of the kid’s colon.  And again, taking advantage of the pause as the punk inhaled to get enough air to scream, Joe quickly rabbit-punched the youth, snapping a cheekbone.

“Ya didn’t do what daddy said, you worthless cumsucking homo, so daddy’s gotta make ya.  Now lessee—whadda we got to keep daddy’s useless punk quiet?”  Joe glanced around and noticed the webbed belt draped over the headboard, easily within reach.  Grinning broadly and evilly, he bent down over the helpless boy.  “Ya like daddy’s shit, huh?  Lessee how much ya like daddy’s belt around your throat, you useless faggot slut!”

Joe was experienced.  Under different circumstances, JC might have appreciated the swift smoothness with which Joe, in a single movement, wrapped the belt around both of his broad, strong hands and around the trapped punk’s neck simultaneously.

JC was drowning in a tidal wave of pain, too caught up in trauma to pick up much of what the alpha stud was saying.  It felt like a hand grenade had been shoved up his ass and detonated.  The rugged material of the guy’s camo pants was scraping and burning the smooth flesh on the inside of his firm thighs; he wasn’t helping matters himself as he frantically flailed his legs.  The dude was too big, too strong, for JC to get his legs up under the older man’s ripped torso and push him off.

Joe had had enough; the little slut was pissing him off.  “What’s wrong, you stupid piece a’ shit?” he snarled, “Thought ya wanted a daddy to fuck ya!  You’re a goddam useless faggot if ya can’t even take daddy’s dick—but don’t worry, motherfucker.  I’m still gonna fuck ya—up.”

Bending down over the agonized, terrified teen, Joe spit in his face before whispering “What’s that thing fathers always tell their sons when they’re pissed—‘Boy, I brought ya into this world and I can take ya out’?  Well, tonight, let’s pretend I’m step-dad—not there for the first part, but there for the second.  I’ll take ya outta this world.  You can ride daddy’s dick all the way into your grave.”

He pulled the webbed belt tight around the kid’s neck.  There was no hesitation, no chance to comprehend the concept of death.  In the depths of an excruciating rape, JC suddenly found himself getting strangled.

Oh fuck.  Oh fuck.  It was worse than he could have ever imagined.  There was no air.  He didn’t understand what was happening—he’d wanted to get fucked by daddy but daddy was a straight faggot-hating SWAT cop.  He’d put himself out for something as close as possible—and he was, this dude looked so much like daddy and was wearing his boots and military gear—it was perfect.  How did it go wrong?

Joe could see the helpless bewilderment in the punk’s face.  The struggles of the trapped youth were erotic as fuck; he fought for air, he fought to free himself, he fought to stop the violent rape—and it was all utterly useless.  His smooth, firm legs thrashed against his assailant’s sweaty flanks, the sound of skin slapping together loud in the half-dark bedroom—louder even than the grunting and choking from JC’s closed-off windpipe.

“You’re dying, you fuckin’ cocksucker—how’s that feel, huh?  Ya likin’ daddy’s hard tool now that he’s showin’ ya what he does to worthless faggot boys?”  Joe jeered down into the kid’s twisted, swelling face.

JC was enveloped in a wall of fiery pain; the nightmarish agony of his impaled asshole now joined with the crushing pain in his throat and the mounting pressure in his head and chest.  His ears rang and pounded as he frantically jerked his arms, making the handcuffs clatter loudly against the headboard.  He wrapped his slim but strong legs around Joe’s abdomen, his feet, still in his low black socks, drumming desperately against the alpha’s slick pumping back, able to feel every single thrust between his legs as well as deep in his guts.

Joe loomed over the dying teen, his iron-hard arms jammed straight down into the bed with the black nylon belt wrapped tightly around his hands, forcing the little fucker’s neck so deep into the pillow that he head bent slightly forward, aiming his face directly at Joe’s

Joe watched intently as he grunted and pumped his shaft into the punk’s traumatized colon.  The boy’s beautiful hazel eyes were no longer beautiful, or even hazel.  As they began bulging excruciatingly from their orbits, blood vessels both within and around the eyes began rupturing, stippling the kid’s face with petechial hemorrhages.

JC thrashed, blindly, violently, doing his damnedest to straight-arm death.  He was young and strong, and even though he was overpowered and out-matched, he fought for his life with the desperate strength of panic. Despite the black roses blooming in his mind as parts of his brain began to die, he still believed that he could get out of this situation alive.

Joe was well aware of this; most of these stupid little cocksuckers had no concept of their own mortality.  Well, at least not until it was placed in context for them, ignorant pieces of shit…

“Lights out, cunt,” he whispered, bending close to the teen’s swelling, blackening face.  “Lookitya, motherfucker, yer chokin’ and droolin’ like a fucking dog.  Yer dyin’ with my dick up yer ass and it feels so fuckin’ good, bitch.  And ya know who’s gonna find ya?  Daddy!  That’s right, daddy’s gonna come home and find your fucked-out, choked-out corpse cuffed to his bed.  Think he’s gonna beat off over your raped ‘n murdered body?  I bet he spits on your disgusting faggot meat and burns the fuckin’ mattress!”

In the depths of JC’s mind, there was a tiny part of his personality left alive in the eye of the electrochemical storm caused by his failing, short-circuiting brain.  It still felt pain, and it could still feel and acknowledge humiliation.  He was sliding into an icy pit of terror, desperately trying to claw his way with the last of his strength, anything to avoid that, oh please, oh fuck, don’t let daddy find me like this don’t let him find me fucked and strangled in his bed—

Snarling and gritting his teeth, Joe pulled his arms tight, his biceps bulging, sweat and pheromones forced out of his muscular body by the effort of the snuff.  His hips were thrusting so swiftly, it felt almost like an automatic reflex, not controlled by conscious thought.  As the teen died, his sphincter contracted spontaneously, cinching up on Joe’s thick purple rod, making it even more sensitive to the velvet-like interior of JC’s shredded rectum.

As the punk’s head began shuddering, the older stud realized that the youth was entering the final stretch; brain death was starting to set in.  He could feel his spunk boiling up, his huge balls contracting as his scrotum prepared a geyser of semen.

It was time.

One last brutal jerk of his arms and he was rewarded with the dry cracking sound of shattered cartilage as the boy’s esophagus collapsed.  His body responded by immediately convulsing in violent death throes; Joe could only hang on to the bucking bronco of dying flesh, letting its quivering colon grasp and stroke his engorged cock.

JC’s face, black and twisted beyond recognition, shuddered as his tongue protruded grotesquely between swollen blue lips, foam oozing down the boy’s twitching cheeks.

Suddenly the teen’s slim, lithe body jerked violently; as his feet kicked convulsively, one black ankle sock was yanked off; it was later found in the corner of the room by CSI.

The boymeat gripped his killer instinctively and uncontrollably; his thick cock started to spurt a steady stream of cum.  The dying cunt didn’t just shoot a wad; a fountain of sperm erupted from his rigid shaft as if his death load had to pump out all the genetic material he’d ever produce.

As hot spunk splashed over Joe’s chiseled chest, he lost his control and, pulling the corpse onto his dick by the belt around its neck, flooded the teen’s intestines with his boiling seed.  In the back of his mind, he was aware that he was yelling, cursing the useless little faggot, the cumsucking teenager, worthless piece of shit—

He gasped abruptly, coming back to himself, still violating the youth’s corpse but slowing down the frequency of his thrusts as he coated the cunt’s guts with sperm.  The kid was still convulsing, his mindless body jerking and shuddering on the semen-soaked sheets, his quivering sphincter still stroking Joe’s engorged, sensitive rod.

Joe grunted and trembled, holding himself still, letting the teen slut’s final death spasms milk the last drops of cum from his dick while a few pearly beads oozed from JC’s cock.  The muscles at the root of the boy’s tool clenched in cadaveric spasm, leaving his purple shaft swollen with blood and still hard even in death.

Gripping the youth’s jerking legs tightly so they wouldn’t slip out of his hands, the muscled stud slowly withdrew from the corpse’s torn and ripped asshole.  Joe stood up and retrieved his shirt and jacket from the floor where he’d tossed them. He fished his smokes out of the breast pocket on the jacket and lit one up while he relaxed a bit, surveying his work.

It was a striking composition, a very stark tableau.  JC was lying on his back, still shuddering.  His feet, one still in a black sock, jerked across the smooth dark sheets.  A faint rattling sound came from the headboard where the convulsive clenching of the corpse’s fists were shaking the handcuffs against the iron.

The teen’s face was horrifying, head thrown back, eyes and tongue protruding, his skin black and swollen with his distended lips highlighted by the fountain of foam that had seeped from his blocked-off mouth and even now was drying into a scaly crust on his grotesquely dark cheeks.

The condition of the body told the story.  The legs spread, blood and cum dripping from the boy’s ass, were clear indications of the brutal rape, the black swollen face and the torn flesh at the wrists were evidence of the punk’s helpless and fear in the face of overwhelming violence.  The point was underscored by the black webbed belt, still deeply sunk into the corpse’s throat.

As for the spunk glazing the kid’s thighs and crotch and pooled so deeply in the hollows of his flat smooth belly that it hadn’t yet started to thicken, well, Daddy could make up his own mind about that.

Of course, Joe realized, he could always help daddy make up his mind about that.  Quickly slipping out of the combat boots, Joe finished putting his own gear back on, occasionally using JC’s dark, congested face as an ashtray.

He finished dressing at about the same time as he finished his cigarette, grinding out the glowing coal on JC’s forehead, leaving a sizzling black scorch mark.  Bending down, he retrieved the combat boots he’d worn when fucking the cunt.  He slammed them down onto the boy’s belly, splattering the coagulating semen.  Putting his weight into it, he ground them down into the boy’s abdomen, leaving deep treadmarks in the skin.

Joe stood back and reviewed the scene.  Something was missing.  What—ah!

He darted forward and snatched one of the boots, leaving the other on its side on JC’s belly.

Slipping his hand down inside the still-warm boot, Joe smashed his fist into the teen’s staring face, driving the thick sole of the combat boot—still covered in the kid’s own cum—into the corpse’s cheeks and nose, slamming the heel into the swollen mouth and dark forehead.

When he was done, he left the boot upright on the boy’s smashed face.

Picking up the youth’s cell phone off the nightstand, he took a couple of minutes to snap some striking photos of the corpse, both distance and close up.  Despite the dimness, the pics were crystal-clear; the phone had a good flash.

Slipping the phone into his pocket, Joe took a last look around to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything.  A tiny glint of metal at the corner of the nightstand caught his eye.

Joe grinned evilly as he snatched it up and slipped it into his pocket with the phone.  He chuckled as he left the room; when he got to the privacy of his own car, he laughed out loud.

Well, who knows—maybe daddy wanted his boy’s hole.  Maybe when daddy got home, he’d fuck his son’s corpse before calling the cops—or maybe he’d be too afraid of contaminating the crime scene.  Either way, daddy would have plenty of time to decide, cause it was gonna take a long time to get the little motherfucker off the bed.  Those case-hardened steel cuffs were hell to cut through and the little piece of metal sitting in his pocket was the key…

He figured forty-eight hours should do it.  By then, the kid would be outta daddy’s life.  And daddy would be missing him.  That was when Joe would start texting him the pics; that way, daddy would have something to jack off to.

Grinning broadly, Joe started his car.  He certainly hoped daddy appreciated his thoughtfulness. But just in case, when he pulled away from the curb, he drove several blocks before turning on his lights.

One thought on “M4M Oedipus Sex

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