Trucker 7–Trucker v Street Whore

The wind had died down a little but was still brisk.  It had gotten colder and a heavy mist, just short of being rain, was obscuring the quiet streets.  The Trucker had left the stripper’s apartment hot and hard, still flush with the excitement of the kill, but the raw chill in the air soon sapped both his physical and his emotional heat.  Everything was quiet and dim as he walked back to his rented room.

 

The haze got appreciably thicker the closer he got to the hotel, which was why the Trucker didn’t notice the boy until he was within five feet of him.  The hulking stud had just passed the gay bar (now closed for the night) and rounded the corner, the firm tread of his thick-soled boots muffled in the chill dank mist.  Stepping into the glowing orange ball of fog surrounding a streetlight, he noticed a dark shape just beyond.

 

As he approached it, its features resolved into those of a young man.  Despite the thick, distorting atmosphere of the incoming cold front, it was obvious right away that the youth was on the make.  No one who wasn’t selling his body would be out at this hour dressed like that—little whore must be freezing, the Trucker mused.

 

Tempting as it was, he was no longer in the mood.  Ignoring the street slut, he plodded on through the murk.

 

“Hey, dude, wanna play?” It was a hoarse whisper from off to the side. The Trucker paused, then turned and spoke to the kid.

 

“Naw, bitch, not now.”

 

The boy whined, “Why not, man?  I’m just looking for a hit or two, buddy, I won’t charge much.  Do whatever ya want, forty bucks.”

 

The Trucker snorted derisively.  “Yer flatterin’ yerself, cunt,” he grunted.

 

“Whassa matter, man,” the cheap hustler jeered, “that high-priced cocksucker you picked up in the bar take all your money?”

 

The Trucker froze.  “What?” he snapped, glaring at the youth.

 

“Y’know,” the kid drawled.  “Randy.  Stripper at the Cowboy Lounge back there.  Sure, I know him, I’m from around here—and I know what he charges, fuckin’ whore.  Anyways, I seen ya goin’ up to his place.”

 

As the Trucker processed this information, the boywhore continued to throw shade on his rival.  “Dude, I’m better than that fuckin’ cunt ever could be, and I’ll do it for less money.  Bet he didn’t even drain all yer load…”

 

This, the muscular killer realized, was bad.  He’d never realized there was a witness—was he slipping?  It had been in the backyard of that house, the garage apartment—where had this kid been hiding?

 

Whatever the case was, the Trucker realized he needed to take care of this motherfucker quickly.

 

“Maybe you’re right,” he said curtly.  “He wasn’t a good fuck.  Didn’t get me off.  Think you can?”

 

“Fuck yeah, dude, for forty bucks I’ll suck your cock dry and swallow the last drop of your jizz.”

 

“Ok, cunt, prove it,” the Trucker said in a level voice.  “C’mon, I gotta room a couple blocks over.”

 

The whore’s slim shape trailed in the mist behind him as the hard-bodied alpha made his way back to the motel.  His room was on the ground floor; his key allowed them entry through a side door, bypassing the lobby.  It wasn’t until they were in the room, with the door locked behind them, that the Trucker got his first good look at the street hustler.

 

The boy was just under six feet tall and looked no older than twenty.  His hair was long on the top, swept forward, and cut very short on the sides and back.  The longer part on top was frosted an almost strident strawberry blond that didn’t match the dark, shaved hair on the lower areas.  His green, almond-shaped eyes glittered with the cold greed of the hardcore prostitute.  His high cheekbones added a kind of calculating felinity to his expression.

 

He was wearing what appeared to be a simple unlined denim jacket over a slim-fit t-shirt that emphasized his chest by comparison to his slender waist.  His tight jeans were the same pale, faded blue as his jacket, but they were considerably more revealing.  Not because they clung like a second skin to his long, firm legs—which they did—but because of the ragged slashes deliberately cut across the thighs.

 

With every movement, the material parted, giving a tantalizing glimpse of the smooth pale flesh on the hustler’s inner thigh, an alluring inducement to spending money in order to possess his lithe young body for a few minutes—or a few hours.  The Trucker wasn’t impressed—he’d seen better.

 

He’d snuffed better.

 

The whore stood defiantly, staring at the incredibly well-built stranger he’d accosted.  His arms were crossed and his black and white Nike Air Jordan 5s were planted far apart on the thin, threadbare carpet.  “So,” he drawled, “what up, dude?  You gonna whip yer cock out or what?”

 

The Trucker grinned easily.  This little cunt wasn’t worth his time, but he wasn’t about to take a chance.  “Sure,” he said, slipping his leather jacket off, “but I wanna see yours, too.  Strip your shirt off, man, and haul your dick out.  I like to see what I’m payin’ for.”

 

The hustler paused, then smiled.  “Ok, stud, whatever ya want.  I’m Cody, by the way.  Gonna put my stuff over here, K?”  He turned towards the desk/dresser as he shrugged off the denim jacket.  As he laid it across the desk, the Trucker couldn’t help but notice that the rear of the homo slut’s jeans had been cut as well, sliced under the seat and ripped to show the cunt’s bubble butt, his asscheeks slightly shadowed with soft, sandy peachfuzz.

 

The Trucker grasped his own shirt, pulling the thermal up off his massively-muscled chest.  The dogtags he wore were caught in the olive-green fabric; when they finally pulled free, they jingled as they fell back and bounced off the alpha’s broad pecs.  The whore didn’t notice; he kept his back to the Trucker as he slipped off the black slim t-shirt.  He evidently thought the Trucker was still undressing when he slipped a small glass item out of his pocket and slipped it into the folds of the shirt.

 

The experienced alpha knew a meth pipe when he saw one.  His grin grew broader and more shark-like.  No one was gonna come lookin’ for a faggot meth-head whore. He approached the cunt silently.

 

He could waste the witness and no one would care.

 

When Cody turned back to face his john, he was stripped to the waist, the dim lighting giving his lean torso a soft and almost sultry focus.  His firmly-packed jeans still clung to his legs, his Air Jordans were still tightly laced on his feet with the tongues outside the hem of the jeans.  Like a good whore, he’d complied with his trick’s orders and opened his fly.  He’d worn no belt, so he’d left the button fastened at the waist, but beneath that his long dark cock jutted from an exuberant tangle of brunette pubes.

 

He whirled around to gasp involuntarily at the powerfully-built stud looming over him.  This close, he could see the hard, chiseled angles of the Trucker’s scruffy face—and the sharp, steely light of a predator shining coldly and cruelly from his ice-blue eyes.  Cody wasn’t naïve; as the heady, pungent reek of manscent filed his nostrils, he was alert to all the warning signs.

 

Still, the blow was so swift, he never saw it coming. There was a concussive blast of pain in his face accompanied by a dull, thudding smack, like a sledgehammer striking a side of beef.

 

Dazed, Cody blinked and wondered why he was on his knees; he didn’t remember stumbling back and falling under the impact of the sucker-punch.  The stunned boywhore reached up and poked gingerly at his bruised, swelling cheek.  His green eyes, wide with shock, turned up to the scowling face of his john.

 

Swiftly, the Trucker bent down and grabbed a fistful of the slut’s hair—the long dyed hair on the top of the boy’s head offering an excellent handhold.  “So ya saw me tonight, huh?” he snarled, his face twisted with cold rage.  “I’m gonna make damn sure you don’t see anything else, cunt.”

 

Cody gasped and tried to block the blow.  He was too slow—the Trucker popped him hard on the jaw, driving the slim youth back into the desk and knocking over the chair.

 

The groggy youth struggled back up to his knees.  He was breathing deeply, almost sobbing as he tried to understand what was happening.  His rattled, drug-fogged brain found nothing in the muscled stud’s words to cling to; they made no sense.

 

“Wha—“ he started, then stopped cold.  Kneeling, his eyes were crotch-level to the Trucker, and for the first time, he noticed the alpha’s thick, swinging dick.  Even limp, it was more than seven inches, glistening and wreathed in dark veins.  Bursting out of a black bristling mass of pubic hair, the Trucker’s cock recalled every clichéd snake and python metaphor Cody had ever heard.

 

And just as snakes reputedly hypnotize their prey, the young street whore found himself mesmerized by the massive tube of flesh.  It was several seconds before jagged darts of pain began to push their way through Cody’s consciousness, forcing him to tear his tunnel vision away from that frighteningly huge tool and focus on his imminent danger.

 

“D-dude,” he stammered, “I-I didn’t see nothin’—“

 

The Trucker lunged.  The half-dressed whore squealed in shrill terror and tried to cower under the desk.  It was a futile gesture; the older, stronger alpha had no difficulty dragging the whimpering youth from his inadequate hiding place.

 

Cody was slim, but not scrawny.  The hard life of a street whore had had multiple impacts on his body; he damn sure didn’t work out, but he had developed some muscles.

 

Even so, when the Trucker’s huge hands clamped onto the kid’s upper arms and lifted him into the air, they completely encircled the slut’s biceps with the inexorable strength of iron fetters.

 

The gasping rentboy started mewling in pain as he was lifted; the hulking sadist had squeezed the boy’s arms in slightly before using them to raise him straight up.  His entire body weight was being supported by his shoulder joints—it was excruciating.  Blubbering and sniveling, the helpless young slut kicked his Nikes pointlessly six inches off the floor.

 

The Trucker brought the shuddering kid closer to his face.  “You didn’t see anything?” he hissed.

 

The terrified punk couldn’t speak; wide-eyed, he shook his head desperately.  He was starting to sweat in fear and the long dyed hair on his head was dark with perspiration as the rapid motion of his head made it flutter.

 

Still glowering with a brutal rage, the Trucker spat into the boy’s face, then shook him violently.  “So what were ya sayin’ to me when you hit me up, cunt?  Huh?  Answer me, you worthless sack of shit!”

 

Cody’s head hung forward limply.  “R-Randy,” he whispered, barely audible, “y-ya left wi-with him…”

 

“Look at me, whore,” the Trucker said with a tone of cold command.  “Look me in the face.”

 

The trembling hustler obeyed the hard ring of domination in his assailant’s voice.  As his eyes rose, his field of vision was filled first with the Trucker’s hulking, muscled chest, sweat matting the wiry fur.  With each breath the strapping alpha took, the dogtags lying on the dark curls of hair shifted and glinted in the light.

 

Rising higher, his gaze swept up the dude’s thick neck, the tendons showing some of the strain from the effort of keeping him aloft.  Above that was the guy’s face…

 

Cody hadn’t seen it clearly this close.  The strong jaw and firm lips, circled by a black goatee just slightly longer than the scruff darkening the sculpted cheeks entranced him, but the blue eyes, cold and glittering as ice, held his attention intently.

 

Then the Trucker spoke—harshly and gleefully.

 

“Yer little pal Randy?  He’s dead.  I fucked him and snuffed him.  He died squealing in pain and fear like the little faggot pig he was.”

 

He smiled broadly at the gaping youth and spat in his face again.

 

“So ya saw me with that useless homo, huh?  And now he’s dead.  So, whaddaya think I gotta do to you, queerboy?”

 

And with that, he dropped Cody.

 

The street whore fell in a crumpled mound of flesh and denim with his legs curled under him, only the black-and-white Air Jordans showing under his huddled body.  Curled into a fetal ball, the weeping boy tried to understand what was happening.

 

After all, it wasn’t like he hadn’t experienced danger in past.  He was a back-alley whore and drug addict; he’d been beaten, he’d been robbed, he’d even been raped.  And each time he’d gotten smarter and stronger.  He’d been selling his body for cash and drugs for more than five years; now, at the age of twenty-one, he thought of himself as street-smart, able to spot the red flags and handle himself.

 

The Trucker nudged the scared youth with his foot, poking the toe of his boot into the boy’s ribs.  “C’mon, cunt, look up here at me.  Up here, bitch.”

 

Unwillingly, Cody lifted his head and peered at the towering stud through eyelids swollen with tears.  The Trucker stood over him, legs spread and hands on his hips, sneering down with anger and contempt—and that was when Cody saw something that froze his blood.

 

The muscled alpha’s cock wasn’t limp anymore.  It wasn’t fully erect yet, but it was swelling and darkening.  As Cody watched in horror, it started to throb visibly.  He knew why.

 

This buff, strapping older dude was getting hard at the thought of offin’ him.  It was the only answer.

 

As this awareness percolated through his soft, drugged brain, it sparked a deep, feral panic in the heart of the cheap rentboy.  Self-preservation kicked in and, with help from his innate arrogance, overcame his cowardice.  The cowed youth rose up in defiance.

 

It was the worst choice of his short, wasted life.

 

Curling his legs under him, Cody felt his tight Air Jordans gain traction on the thin carpet as he propelled himself upwards, his smooth, lithe body tensed in stress and effort.

 

The Trucker was ready for the whore, naturally.  He’d seen and recognized the gleam of desperation in the hustler’s eyes and was expecting a panicked lunge.  As the kid popped up, the brawny top swung his powerful arm and backhanded the punk in the face.

 

Cody’s rebellion came crashing to the ground as his wiry young body slammed into the dresser.  The slut dropped back to the floor like a sack of potatoes, frantically gasping for the breath that had been knocked out of him.  Clawing his way back to vertical, he threw up his arms to block the Trucker’s lunge.

 

It was useless.  The older, stronger man knocked the hustler’s arms away and wrapped his hands around the boy’s throat.  He squeezed and lifted, raising the slim youth into the air once again.

 

Cody clutched at the vise-like grip on his neck, instinctively and ineffectually trying to pry the Trucker’s fingers free.  His hightops kicked and flailed in pain and panic as his esophagus collapsed under the weight of his entire body, dangling from the alpha’s steel-like grip.

 

The sadistic strongman spat a thick wad of phlegm into the boy’s darkening face.  He grinned in a rage that scintillated with psychotic glee as the struggling youth clawed desperately at his wrists.  “Shoulda kept yer eyes shut, huh, you worthless cumsuckin’ faggot?” he sneered.  “Now I gotta waste ya.  And since I gotta do it anyway, I might as well enjoy myself, right, cunt?  Yeah?”

 

Squeezing his massive paws more tightly around the slut’s throat, he drew the jerking youth in closer to him.  “Y’wanna know what I enjoy?” he hissed, his breath hot and malevolent on Cody’s swelling face.  “I enjoy hurting fags.  I like snuffing homo cunts.  Get it, cocksucker?  The more you suffer, the more I like it.”

 

Shaking the lean, shuddering form violently, the Trucker laughed aloud, a cold, harsh sound that was somehow more intimidating that his overt anger had been.  As Cody felt his body flop limply in the air, helpless in the top’s powerful, bulging arms, he could also feel the truth of the stud’s claims.

 

Every time his smooth torso and strong but slender legs swung in towards the dominant killer’s body, some part of him made contact with the dude’s huge, hot cock.  The massive spear of flesh was fully erect by now and Cody realized that it had been getting progressively harder as the psycho dude had been beating him.  As the hard, spade-shaped head impacted the punk’s soft, creamy flesh, it left a smear of clear, slimy precum.

 

The crazy motherfucker wasn’t lyin’—he really did get off on inflicting pain.

 

The Trucker looked the terrified rentboy directly in the eyes as he spoke.  “Tonight ain’t just gonna be the last night of your short life, you unlucky sack of shit—it’s gonna be the worst.  And it’s gonna be worse than you can possibly imagine, you disgusting pansy-ass fairy!”

 

With that, he turned abruptly and hurled the young hustler into the chair and the small round table on the far side of the room, across from the bed.  With a loud crash, the whore’s limp form knocked the furniture aside like bowling pins.  Cody, as a result, impacted several hard objects before his battered and bruised body came to rest on the filthy thin carpet.

 

The young whore twisted and writhed in agony.  He wasn’t mentally capable of understanding the details of the situation; his meth-tweaked awareness was swamped with torment and fear.  He was only vaguely aware of the vibrations of the Trucker’s heavy tread that signaled his approach.

 

He became immediately much more aware of the cruel muscleman’s presence when the Trucker swung his heavy steel-toed engineer boot back and delivered a brutal kick directly to the slut’s vulnerable torso.

 

Cody writhed and convulsed as the devastating blow from the alpha’s thick black boot shattered two of his ribs, sending razor-sharp fragments of bone to rip through the youth’s internal organs.  The whore squealed in horrific agony as his spleen, stomach and left lung were peppered as if by shrapnel.  Reflexively, he rolled onto his right side in an involuntary attempt to escape from the source of pain.

 

“Fuck yeah!” crowed the Trucker triumphantly.  “Now yer feelin’ me, huh, queerboy?  Hope ya like it, motherfucker, cause this rodeo’s just gettin’ started!”  And digging his heel brutally into the young boywhore’s soft belly, he rolled the shuddering, sweating kid onto his back.  “Did ya like that one, whore?  Course ya did, you faggot cumdump, lookitya squirming with pleasure.  Just love a real man puttin’ ya in yer place, dontcha, you sperm-suckin’ homo?  Then yer gonna love my boot in yer face, asswipe.  Enjoy it, you pansy fuckwad!”

 

The Trucker raised his leg and paused.  Flinching, Cody hesitated, then peered up at the thick sole of the boot hanging directly over his face.  It was all the vicious older stud had been waiting for.  Tensing the huge muscles in his bulging, denim-wrapped thigh, he stomped on the cheap slut’s head as hard as he could, driving his booted foot down and feeling it grind squelchingly into the wailing punk’s vulnerable, unprepared face.

 

The sharp, deep tread of the thick rubber sole tore at Cody’s skin as his nose collapsed with a sickening crunch; the tread pattern was pounded so hard into his cheek that it was clearly visible in the bruises.

 

The Trucker drew his leg up again.  For a brief moment, the traumatized whore had a glimpse of his attacker looming over him, about to inflict more pain.  The well-built stud seemed more domineering than ever as he snarled down at the pain-wracked boy, his lips curled in disgust. His broad, hairy chest, shiny with sweat, expanded with each effort-borne grunt torn from the killer by the exertions of his thick muscles.

 

Again, the boot hung over Cody’s face.  The rentboy made a half-hearted motion to dodge it, but the alpha dropped his foot with the speed and force of an industrial piston, catching the slut full on the mouth.

 

This time, the crunching sound was louder.  This time, his black leather boot did much more damage.  And this time, he was rewarded with a loud gurgling shriek as Cody’s lower jaw snapped in three places.

 

The young hustler rolled violently on the floor, squealing and mewling in wordless agony with his arms wrapped about his head.  His flailing Nikes scraped furrows in the thin carpet.  Sweat beaded on his smooth flat abdomen as he rode vast waves of pain and terror.

 

Some part of his cold and calculating street whore mentality was still functional; it had noted that the brutal stud had paused the attack.  Lighting a smoke from the pack on the bedside table, the buff sadist was sitting on the bed and admiring his work.  As he fondled his dogtags idly with one hand, his thick cock jutted like a prow from his crotch, angry and dripping in anticipation.

 

If Cody had a chance to escape, this was it; this was the longest and the farthest he’d been out of his assailant’s reach.  But escape was no longer an option for him.  Not only had his body been stomped and crushed, his mind had been beaten as well.  His street-smart but drugged brain was unable to wrap itself around the events of the last half-hour.

 

What was happening?  He’d followed this hot john back to his room.  He was gonna earn a little money, drain the dude’s balls down his throat, take his forty bucks (and whatever else he could get without being noticed) and go hit up his dealer.  Now—

 

But he couldn’t complete the thought.  As his nervous system handled the unspeakable torment by going into physical shock, his psyche did much the same thing, blocking his panicked thoughts from reaching the logical conclusion.

 

Cody shut down, physically and mentally.  He curled into a ball again, sobbing and wailing, thrashing about in pain as drool leaked from his twisted, misshapen mouth.  The Trucker watched him intently, deeply enjoying the youth’s nightmarish suffering.  He honestly hadn’t expected to get hard again tonight—after all, that last homo fucker had been a real workout—but damn if this smooth hot little faggot didn’t make his junk all stiff.  And, as he’d said, he needed to make the cumsucking shitsack witness into meat anyway—might as well get his money’s worth, so to speak.

 

Leaving his butt to smolder in the ashtray, the Trucker rose and crossed swiftly to the shuddering ball of misery making him so unexpectedly horny.  Swooping down, he snagged a handful of long blond hair and jerked the sniveling youth upright before pulling him excruciatingly to his feet the same way.  The punk shrieked and quickly found his feet, standing up voluntarily to avoid having his scalp ripped open.

 

But the Trucker didn’t want him on his feet, he wanted him on the bed.  Still grasping a fistful of hair, the older, stronger man tightly gripped the lower half of the boy’s face.  With cruel and deliberate sadism, he squeezed viciously, feeling the jagged edges of broken bone grinding together in horrific torture under his relentless handhold.

 

The punk’s eyes rolled back in his head as the pain exceeded his toleration and he trembled on the edge of consciousness.  His eyelashes fluttered as his body twitched limply against the killer’s hard, sculpted mass.  With a swift, graceful twist, reminiscent of a master martial arts move, the Trucker flipped the slim, smooth cunt in an arc that spun him in the air before slamming him down onto the bed.

 

Cody found himself surfacing in a searing pool of sharp anguish.  His breath was coming in jagged, painful gasps.  He had no way of knowing that the splintered remains of his broken ribs had torn his left lung so badly that it was collapsing.  Added to the constriction of his airway caused by his crushed nose and broken jaw, the young hustler quickly learned that the only thing more terrifying than the prospect of being beaten to death was that of suffocation.

 

He croaked and gurgled, clawing frantically at his face and throat.  Each time he pawed uncontrollably at his jaw in a desperate attempt to improve his respiration, he suffered unbearable agony, but the fight for survival took precedence over the mere physical torture.

 

The Trucker watched in malevolent, erotic joy.  Grinning, he approached the bed, his powerful, towering form imposing itself between Cody and the light, casting a huge dark shadow of doom over handsome, unlucky punk.  Even in his hypoxic panic, the cheap drugged-out cunt was aware of the hard, cold killer.

 

As the alpha reached the bed, his erect shaft swam into Cody’s field of vision.  Blurred as it was, it could still make out the dark purple mushroom-like head, visibly pulsing, each throb forcing a trickle of clear precum out to stream down from the tip like string of spit.  Soon the Trucker was close enough that his eager ooze was splattering on the whore’s smooth, silky skin like hot candle wax.

 

The ice-cold, cruel killer looked down at his victim and gave the stunned and bewildered youth a smile so charming and charismatic that even in the depths of his wretched distress, the hardened street fag felt himself drawn in.  For a split second of soft-focus blur induced by oxygen deprivation, Cody felt himself not only forgiving his attacker for the pain he’d endured, but also falling in love with him.

 

Then the Trucker spoke.

 

“Time to die, motherfucker.  Time to take you out, you worthless cumdump.  Before I do, though, think I’m gonna unload in ya.  Might as well, since yer gonna get dumped in the garbage like soiled, cum-soaked underwear when I’m done with ya.  Ain’t like anyone’s gonna care, not about you or your friend—you know, wassisname, the one I offed earlier.  Heh, wonder if the disgusting cumpig has gotten stiff yet.”

 

An evil light of sadistic viciousness sparkled sharply in the Trucker’s blue eyes as he leaned down and whispered to the helpless, frightened, desperate young hustler.   The well-used assfuck whore stretched his battered face into a silent plea for mercy from the stronger, older, more powerful man who now held his future existence in his rough, callused hands.

 

Mercy had never been on the table.

 

Sitting on the bed and spreading his thick, powerful legs, the Trucker snatched a handful of hair and Cody found himself being jerked roughly forward by his scalp yet again.  Still using the better part of his strength just to remain conscious, the youthful slut found his face being used as a towel as the Trucker dragged his bruised and tender cheeks over his strongman’s massive pectorals, the alpha’s wiry, curly chest hair scraping the kid’s damaged cheeks like steel wool.

 

The punk’s face stung and burned as the stud’s salty sweat was rubbed into his open cuts; the sharp edges of the dogtags inflicted new slashes for the Trucker’s reeking perspiration to burn.  The muscled alpha dragged the boy’s torn face back and forth across his chest several times before pulling his head back up.

 

“Lookitya, you stinking, disgusting pansy motherfucker.  Time to die like a disgusting faggot worm.  So ya like tellin’ folks what ya seen, huh?  Ya like openin’ yer big fat fag mouth, huh?  Good, cunt.  Open it now.  Open it and choke, you cocksucking piece a’ shit!”

 

The Trucker forced Cody’s head down onto his erect shaft, locking his arms into place behind his back with a single hand, strong as a steel bar.

 

The huge, oozing rod plunged deep into the whore’s esophagus; the large, spongy spear-shaped tip plugging his windpipe with brutal effectiveness.  And that was when the ultimate twist of nightmare came into play—with his jaw broken, Cody couldn’t close his mouth.

 

He couldn’t bite down.  And he wasn’t even remotely strong enough to break free from the powerful sadist’s grip.

 

He couldn’t breathe.  He was choking to death on the dude’s cock.

 

Instantly, a white-hot sheet of panic inflamed his mind.  Slim but strong, the lithe street punk didn’t just struggle, he fought for his life like a feral cat.  He kicked and clawed frantically, managing to work his right hand free.

 

Then he made another bad mistake. Curling his fingers into claws, he flailed his hand until it found purchase in the killer’s curly fur and yanked out a few hairs.

 

Grunting more in anger than in pain, the Trucker knocked the offending hand away.  “You stupid asswipe,” he hissed, “So you like pain, huh?  Motherfuck, I’m gonna make sure you get plenty!”  Glancing around in a blood-tinted rage, the furious savage killer spied a ball-point pen on the nightstand; a cheap promotional giveaway with the motel’s name and address printed on it.

 

In a towering paroxysm of wrath, he snatched up the pen and, wielding it like a knife, stabbed it through the hustler’s back and into his right kidney.  It was blunt; it took a great deal of effort to drive the dull tip through the multiple layers of flesh and muscle until it reached the organ.

 

It took time, too.  It wasn’t quick.  And as the hard plastic was punched through his helpless, splayed body, Cody gagged and foamed on the huge throbbing tool plugging his throat.  The tortured youth was making thick desperate gurgling sounds that didn’t sound human as his straining, tormented body responded to the intense trauma by flooding his bloodstream with hormones.

 

Cody writhed in the Trucker’s lap, his smooth back wet and glistening with a cold film of sweat stinking of adrenaline and testosterone.  His slim, firm legs, still tightly wrapped in his skinny jeans, thrashed violently on the bed, his hightops catching at the sheets.

 

The Trucker left the pen in the boy’s back as he forced the cunt’s head down on his dick.  He didn’t force it all the way down, though.  The cunt had just enough space in his throat to suck down a minimal amount of oxygenated air before vomiting it back up in a frothy mass of drool.

 

“Goddam ass-lickin’ queer!” the powerful alpha grunted.  “Take it, homo, or I’ll stick ya again—and this time I’ll make it hurt.  You kick too much, bitch, and I’m fuckin’ sick of it.  I’m gonna make sure this goes nice and smooth.  Your fuckmeat friend took a lot outta me—drained my balls as he died in screaming agony.  Ain’t gonna fight with you, you cheap faggot whore; you ain’t worth it.  He was better lookin’ and a better fuck, dickbag. Lessee now, what’s a good way to teach you what happens to fuckin’ fag garbage that don’t know its place?”

 

It was probably for the best that Cody was incapable of seeing the Trucker’s face’ the expression alone would have made him lose control of his bowels.

 

“I got it, dude.  Pigs don’t fly, fuckwad.  I’ll clip your wings.”

 

The Trucker had such complete control over the weeping boywhore that by putting his elbow on the back of the slut’s head, he was able to keep his engorged shaft jammed down the shuddering boy’s throat.  With both hands free, he was easily able to bend the kid’s left arm up.  Gripping the arm just below the elbow with one hand and the wrist with the other, he applied pressure.

 

It really didn’t take too much before he was rewarded with a loud double cracking sound as both the radius and the ulna snapped like toothpicks under his bulging biceps.  The unfortunate hustler convulsed in agony, his mind a blank sheet of flaming pain.

 

Next, the Trucker brought up the boy’s right arm.  He stroked the pale, silky-smooth skin for a moment before brutally breaking that arm as well. This one didn’t go as well—at least not for Cody.  The bones shattered into a greenstick fracture, tearing through the skin.

 

For the next few minutes, Cody ceased to exist.  It was too much.  The tough, street-smart, fucked-out boywhore who prided himself on being able to take anything his johns imposed on him, sank into a sea of pain.  The kaleidoscopic colors danced in his nightmare of torture and trauma, red and white—and then, finally, black…a dark, cold, fiery, silent, screaming darkness…

 

The Trucker wrapped his hands in the long dyed strands of the punk’s hair, raising his head up just enough so that the kid didn’t pass out with the shaft plugging his throat.  The vicious killer wasn’t done with Cody—yet.

 

He was close, though.  Real close.

 

He hadn’t thought he’d be able to blow another load tonight; the last few days had been—energetic.  Or was the word dynamic?

 

He paused to consider the best adjective to describe his brutal, manic killing spree as the battered and broken youth quivered in unconscious agony.

 

“Hhhuuunnnhhh…” Cody groaned as the pinpricks of awareness slowly intensified into excruciating pain.  The Trucker’s evil smirk grew wider as he felt the whore’s smooth, slim body writhe and struggle in his lap with returning consciousness.  “That’s it, cunt,” he whispered, “come back to me.  Almost over now.  Work for it, bitch, work for my load.”

 

Slowly, he began to force Cody back down, impaling his head a fraction of an inch at a time.  The mangled rentboy was utterly enmeshed in an electric net of pain as his nervous system tried to process his physical agony, but (unfortunately) the nerves still functioned—all of them.  He could feel the massive throbbing head of the alpha’s cock slip down his esophagus on a slick film of drool and precum.  Each tiny motion of his head downward sent a fresh slash of fiery torture from his shattered jaw.

 

“Does it hurt, motherfucker?” the Trucker hissed quietly.  “Toldja ya shoulda kept yer mouth shut—now ya can’t, huh?  So you’re gonna take my dick all the way down, dude.  All the way down into Hell.  Here’s a protip, bitch—the sooner you make me cum, the sooner I’ll end it.  Remember that, when it gets too intense for ya, you useless faggot.  Milk me and I’ll end your pain forever.”

 

Cody understood what was happening; the mind-bending agony would have told him he was gonna die even had the muscle-bound killer’s taunts not laid out his immediate future with cruel glee.

 

He knew he was gonna die but he didn’t know why.  And by now, it didn’t matter.  The shuddering sack of meat that had been Cody was beyond the point of wondering about the motive for his murder.

 

The lean, sexy youth had started that evening using his streetwise skills to lure johns, trading his body for money and the money for drugs.  Now his feral cunning was focused on surviving just a few more seconds.

 

Writhing in unspeakable agony, the punk gasped wetly as the thick pulsing shaft plugged his windpipe with excruciating slowness.  Each panicked breath required more effort to draw—and more effort meant more pain wracking his helpless, half-nude body as the jagged edges of his broken bones tore new wounds inside him.

 

The Trucker felt the smooth, sweat-soaked body tremble in agony.  “Fuck yeah, dude, that’s it,” he muttered softly, sighing with pleasure as the cunt’s esophagus quivered around his swollen mushroom tip.  “Work it, ya pansy shitsack.  Choke on my fuckin’ cock, you worthless faggot whore.  C’mon motherfucker, fight it.  Death is gonna be cold, bitch, so fucking cold.  Keep fightin’ it, cocksucker, your last desperate panic feels so goddam good on my dick…”

 

The dying hustler had no choice but to obey the powerful stud who was now controlling the last few seconds of his life.  The Trucker’s enormous tool was fully inserted.  Wiry pubic hair scraped the slut’s face like steel wool—a mangled face, mashed against the Trucker’s scrotum, increasing the cunt’s misery as the strapping alpha’s huge balls pressed relentlessly into his jaw, grinding the serrated ends of broken bones together.

 

Worst of all, though, was the pain of suffocation.  A huge, pulsating tube of flesh completely filled his throat, the thick blood vessels wrapped around it acting as gaskets, utterly plugging the flow of air.

 

The red, slashing haze of agony that enveloped the kid was thicker than the fog outside—but it all stemmed from the enormous cock choking him.  As the oxygen level in his blood dropped, he began to thrash, desperately seeking more air.  The harder he jerked, the more his wounds opened.  The pen that had been jammed into his kidney slashed its blunt tip through that organ while his broken arms flopped uselessly.  Slow asphyxiation even increased the pain in his crushed nose as the cunt kept trying to fill his sinuses in a vacuum.

 

The only parts of him that still functioned were his legs, kicking and flailing violently as his Air Jordans snagged on the cheap sheets.  The punk’s jerking sneakers tangled in the thin material, though, limiting their usefulness to the dying whore.

 

Actually, though, there were other parts of him that still worked.  His brain was suffering progressive damage from hypoxia, but it was still able to process the input from his screaming nervous system.  The quivering, dying boycunt was beyond all concepts of life and death and was now little more than meat responding to stimuli.

 

One piece of meat that was responding was his dick.  He was face down on the bed, his head clamped immovably in the Trucker’s crotch.  As his lean, lithe body shuddered during his drawn-out agony, it slid and slipped on the cold, rank sweat that was squeezed out of him in his death throes.  His thin but long dick, pressed between the moist sheets and his equally slick, smooth belly, was being rubbed into an involuntary state of erection.

 

The more Cody kicked and died, the closer he got to cumming.

 

“Fuckin’-A, fag, die,” the Trucker grunted as his powerful muscles tightened with approaching orgasm.  His entire body, glistening with mansex sweat, shuddered with pleasure, making his dogtags jump and jingle on his huge, furry chest.  “C’mon, you worthless piece a’ shit, take my load and die on my dick.  So close, cocksucker, so fuckin’ close to puttin’ yer lights out for good—FUCK!!!”

 

Cody’s brain had been starved of oxygen too long; it lost control of the voluntary nervous system.  The maimed, damaged cunt convulsed frenetically, twisting his fractured arms into agonizing positions as his legs kicked uncontrollably.  The sheet was still tangled around his sneakers; as his feet jerked violently, the thin, yellowed fabric failed under the strain and tore noisily.

 

It was his head, though, that was responsible for the Trucker’s outcry.  It bobbed up and down as the helpless rentboy contorted in his death throes.  The dying whore spent his last moments alive giving his killer involuntary head; it made the sadistic killer blow his load.

 

The unfortunate Cody had a last hint of what was happening as the final spark of life guttered out in his terror-wracked mind.  It was a final nightmarish impression of drowning, not in water, but in lava…or maybe molten lead…a hot thick smoky liquid searing his lungs…

 

A white-hot bolt of excruciating electricity fired in his groin; the trembling hustler never knew that he’d shot his death load onto the stained mattress, the warm milky wad smearing between the scratchy fabric and his smooth, flat belly.

 

The corpse’s blackened face was all but invisible in the cruel top’s crotch.  The rhythmic convulsions of a dying body were replaced with the random but intense twitching of a body already dead.  Each time the boywhore jerked, thick pearly foam that was equal parts drool and spunk was forced past the swollen, blue lips, matting the Trucker’s pubic hair.

 

The Trucker gasped and shuddered, sending one last powerful jet of semen deep into the faggot whore’s lungs.  The corpse was still quivering, mindless meat with no control, as the Trucker pulled the head up off his sticky, glazed shaft.  Tossing the head away from him like the garbage it was, the Trucker reached over and grabbed another cigarette from the pack on the nightstand.  He leaned back, admiring his own erect cock, still throbbing and oozing from the tip.

 

The dead whore slowly slid halfway off the bed, headfirst, landing with the dark, mangled, spunk-smeared face buried in the filthy carpet.  Up on the bed, the cunt’s expensive kicks were still jerking as the corpse began the long process of cooling and stiffening.

 

The Trucker flicked his ash around randomly; he damn sure wasn’t gonna sleep here now.  He was gonna jump in the shower and head back to his truck.  He was still making plans as he ground out his smoldering butt in the small of the fag’s back, the dead skin sizzling and blackening as the cherry scorched it.

 

Heading into the bathroom, the Trucker had already decided what he needed to do next.  He was tired, but he didn’t have any time to rest.  He needed to put some distance between these dead homos and himself.  Not that he regretted tonight; this last little fucker had taught him a valuable lesson about witnesses.

 

There was a loose end he needed to handle.  He’d get clean, get out—and get that one fuck who could ID him.

 

 

=====================================================================

 

 

By the evening of the same day, the wind had picked up again, blowing the haze away.  The night was clear but cold as Mark raced down the highway towards San Amadeo.  The news of a double killing in the next state had electrified the profiler; he knew, just from the initial reports of the crimes, that it was the serial killer he was tracking.

 

As his government-issued Ford hurtled east, he devoutly wished he’d been able to reach Dan.  These murders had stirred something deep within him.  Viewing the bodies, he’d he been horrified—and aroused.

 

And the things he’d found on that trooper’s phone…

 

He hadn’t reported the texts—the photos—the videos, dear God, those videos—that he’d found stored on the dead cop’s phone.  But as he watched them in his car, he’d felt his cock stiffen.

 

Mark was terrified.  He didn’t know why these gruesome scenes of rape and murder got him hard.  And Dan was on assignment, out of pocket.  Dan could have talked him down.

 

Mark thought that phone sex with Dan was almost as good as the real thing—almost.  It sure would have made him feel better about whatever the fuck he was feeling right now.

 

That wasn’t an option at the moment, though.  And he couldn’t ask were Dan was. Both were so deep in the closet that no one at the FBI realized that either one was gay, much less that they fucked like rabbits whenever they got the chance.

 

So Mark was on his own, chasing a killer with more than just professional interest.  He had personal questions, and this vicious serial killer might have the answers.  He needed to find the dude before anyone else.

 

He put his foot on the floor.  The Ford whined as it accelerated, speeding into the frigid night towards a murder scene.

3 thoughts on “Trucker 7–Trucker v Street Whore

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