It began idly enough; Joe was randomly trolling through an online hookup app. Specifically, he was poking around on the same app Andy had had—the Asian punk he’d offed earlier.
Naturally enough, it was dangerous to carry the phone too long; it would be tracked. So before he disposed of it, he hijacked the dead fag’s account, changing the profile and the password. But he still wasn’t gonna access it on his own phone; that’d be stupid. He hadn’t taken anything off the last meat he’d offed—the one in the public bathroom—so he’d gone and gotten a burner phone.
He really wasn’t even looking, just curious what was around, when the ping came, and it was close. Joe glanced around, but there was no one else in the parking lot. It must have come from inside the building.
One of the reasons Joe wasn’t actively hunting at the moment was his proximity to the scene of his last kill. He was at the rec center at the north end of the park where the restroom had been located. He was there for the swimming pool.
The heat had gotten intense lately; so intense, in fact, that Joe had given up on running until cooler weather set in. He’d returned to his gym for the duration of the summer, and while he utilized most of the available equipment, he preferred the pool for a solid full-body workout. Problem was, the pool at his gym had been closed down for long-term remodeling the week before.
His membership allowed him access to the pool at another gym across town, but on weekdays there were all kinda of classes and lessons—things like water aerobics, even swimming lessons. He would be lucky to find an open lane.
On the other hand, the free pool at the rec center was almost always deserted. It really made no sense; it was larger—the only Olympic-sized pool in town, in fact—and very well maintained. Even the locker and shower rooms were kept spotless (the male one, at least; Joe couldn’t vouch for the female side).
He had just pulled into the lot and was sitting in his car, just checking the scene when he got hit on. The altered account now showed Joe’s buff, hairy, toned torso as a profile pic and usually generated some lust among the homos on whom Joe was preying. In this case, the message came almost immediately after the ping.
“Hey, stud,” it read, “Love the muscles. Work out a lot?”
The profile didn’t have a face pic; the avatar was some kind of zodiac thing. All it contained was a name—Cory—and an age—twenty-two.
“Yeah,” Joe replied. He was interested, but only very slightly; he didn’t have enough to go on. The communication proceeded quickly and tersely.
—“U looking now?” from “Cory”.
—“Where r u”
—“Rec center on Kanen rd still in parking lot U?”
—“here too in locker room” This one was accompanied by photos.
Cory turned out to be relatively well-built. Short and slightly smaller than Joe, he was young with straw-blond hair, styled carefully to look like scruffy negligence. He had wide-set green eyes ringed by long lashes, a pug nose, broad smooth cheeks and the blinding, suspiciously easy grin of a natural con man.
The pics weren’t limited to his face, though. One displayed his smooth, toned torso to perfection; another showed half a foot of manmeat jutting proudly from a golden nest of pubic hair.
Joe hadn’t been looking, but he’d found something. “OMW,” he messaged back as he snatched up his gym bag—Speedos, a towel and some grooming items—and got out of the car. Once inside the building, he glanced around the lobby, again noticing how empty the place was. Even for the middle of a weekday, it was deserted.
The pool was down a hall to the left. A set of double doors on the right side opened into the pool area, cavernous and alive with faint obscure echoes. Skittering glimmers of light, reflected from the surface of the water, seemed to make the background shadows dart and scurry furtively. The entire room was empty, but it still seemed occupied.
On the far side of the pool, bracketed by huge signs declaring no lifeguard on duty, were the doors to the locker rooms; the men’s was the closer door. Joe was already familiar with the layout and headed in that direction.
His feet, firmly laced into a pair of black size-11 Puma Tazon kicks with white ped socks just barely visible, padded quietly across the concrete decking. Above, he wore nothing but a pair of low-waist shorts, black with red trim. The shorts were so form-fitting that Joe’s massive cock was outlined like a long black ridge running down his thigh, the head almost peeping out under the hem. There was nothing covering the broad expanse of wiry fur on his rock-hard, sculpted chest
Pushing open the door, Joe strode into the dank locker room. The far back wall of the room was covered with a double row of lockers, an upper and a lower. Set out perpendicularly from the wall were more lockers, forming small “bays”, with wooden benches between them. On the right side of the room was a row of sinks with mirrors above; on the right side were the showers.
And in the locker bay on the far left, beyond the sinks, a boy was sitting on the slatted wood bench.
It was the same grinning blond kid from the app. He was leaning back on the bench, propped up on one arm, his smooth, taut body almost glowing under the fluorescent lights. His other hand was tucked down inside the tiny bathing suit he wore, stroking his hard dick.
The shorts were electric blue with a black band at the waist. Inside the band was a drawstring, also black, tied in a large but basic bow. The suit was so short that if the bottom edges had been slanted up instead of running horizontally across the thigh, he’d have been wearing briefs.
The only other thing he was wearing was a pair of Nike Free RN sneakers, white with the trademark in black; his well-developed upper body was bare.
“Hey, dude,” he murmured up at Joe with a leer when the latter got close, “Ya lookin’ to play?”
“I might be,” Joe replied, his lips twisted with faint, cold smile. “So how do you play? What do you want?”
The kid stood up. “Dick, man. I want your dick.”
Joe’s smile became deeper, more contemptuous. “Good answer,” he replied, reaching his hand down and pulling his enormous hog up out of his shorts. “So get over here and work it, boy.”
“Cory, man, my name is Cory.”
Joe grinned maliciously. “Your name is cocksucker, you little homo. Now get over here and swallow my shaft!” The strong youth stiffened as if he’d been slapped—but his cock stiffened too; his skin-tight shorts made the fact too obvious to hide. The boy knelt down on the hard cold tiles in front of the larger, more powerful alpha and wrapped his lips around the thick, throbbing head, already oozing precum.
As Cory accepted the huge throbbing rod into his mouth, he felt the top’s hands pressing against his head—and then, in the blink of an eye, he was forced down on the shaft with sudden, irresistible force. Cory hadn’t even had time to inhale before he found himself involuntarily deepthroating the dude.
Joe gripped the punk’s head tightly in his hands, brutally facefucking him as he felt the styling gel the little shit used crunch in his hands. Choking, Cory beat his hands against Joe’s powerful thighs; it was as ineffectual as beating on a tree trunk. Joe grunted with pleasure as he felt the blond boy gagging, the kid’s tongue writhing and scraping against the sensitive rosebud just under the pulsating head…
Finally, with a curse, he abruptly shoved the slut’s head away. Cory fell back, coughing up a huge streamer of drool as he tried to catch his breath. “D-damn,” he gasped, then gagged again. Eventually, he regained control. “Fuck man, that’s a monster cock you got. And yer so fuckin’ strong, dude—ya work out a lot? I mean, I know it’s a lot, but, well, a lot a lot?”
“Yeah,” Joe replied, “Some. Why?”
“Ever get sore, man? Here, hang on…” Cory scrambled to his feet and dived at one of the lockers—an upper one, on the side wall. Swiftly twirling the dial, he opened the heavy steel combination lock and tossed it onto the bench. He opened the locker and partially withdrew a pair of jeans, digging into the back pocket to extract his wallet. As he did so, a balled up pair of socks fell out of the locker. Inside, Joe could also make out some indistinct shapes that seemed to be more clothing, and a pair of loafers—the kid’s post-workout clothing.
The boy turned back, proffering something in his hand that turned out to be a business card. Joe read it with sneering amusement: “Cory Carlisle, licensed massage therapist”—it even had the official license number issued by the state.
The hard-bodied alpha chuckled aloud. “You any good?” he smirked.
“I can show ya—here, lay down on this bench. On yer back, man. I’ll give you and your cock the best massage you’ve ever had.”
“This better be good, boy,” Joe drawled, “I got high standards and I don’t like bein’ lied to by worthless pansies who ain’t got the skill to satisfy me. Ya feelin’ me, boy? You think you got what it takes, you better be prepared to prove it.”
The blond boy flashed his car-salesman grin again, his taut firm body almost wriggling with anticipation. “Shit, dude, you’ll love this. Just lay back.”
Joe went to the bench and swept the lock off; it landed on the tile floor and clattered to a stop near the socks. He slipped out of his shorts, standing completely nude except for his black Puma kicks, then lay back on the bench. His erect tool rose above him like a thick, trickling flagpole.
For his part, Cory’s electric blue swimsuit had a large moist circle that darkened to navy blue as it expanded outward from his leaking crotch. “Hang-hang on, m-man,” he stuttered in erotic excitement as he plucked frantically at the knot in the suit’s drawstring. Snatching one loose end, he gave a quick, nervous jerk that not only undid the knot, it also pulled the thick nylon cord halfway out of the shorts altogether. “Damn,” Cory muttered as the shorts slid to the floor. Just like Joe, he was now wearing nothing more than his kicks—the white Nikes—and a swollen, dripping erection.
Joe spread his legs as Cory drew near, exposing a small area of the bench between them. Cory knelt there and then slowly crawled upwards, his silky-smooth skin scraping against Joe’s fur as he slid upwards until he way lying directly on top of Joe and looking down into his face, their throbbing dicks nudging and twitching against each other.
Reaching up, Cory placed his hands on Joe’s broad, bulging pectorals and began rubbing them. The boy pressed down firm on the older man’s muscles, curling his fingers into Joe’s dark, wiry chest hair. Joe himself could feel no benefit from the supposed “massage”, but it was evident Cory did. He slowly moved down Joe’s torso, his hands grasping and exploring the body of the anonymous stud. Joe’s hijacked profile showed no name—and Cory had never asked.
It clearly didn’t matter to the fit, well-built faggot. All he was interested in was dick. Well, he was gonna get plenty.
That wasn’t quite accurate, though—he was also interested in Joe’s rock-hard body. He continued to worship it. He worshiped it with his hands, dragging them through dominant top’s body fur as he felt the iron-hard immobility of the alpha’s ripped abs. He also worshiped it with his tongue—he’d started at the nipples, slurping assiduously, before lowering his head towards Joe’s groin. His tongue was now exploring the musky depths of the stranger’s navel.
Joe could feel the slut working his way down his body; he was waiting for the little homo to get back on his dick. He was considering his options.
Should he let this one go? He wanted to waste the cumsucker; he wanted to hurt the little piece of shit so bad—but it wasn’t wise. Even just having sex here was a bad idea; if they were caught, he’d be an immediate suspect in the other murder in the park. And besides, this didn’t feel bad…
Joe made his mind up. He’d give Cory a fair deal. If the boy could get him off—and he had to admit, the queerboy sure knew how to suck a dick; maybe he’d be good enough—he’d leave it at that.
Cory would walk out alive.
When the slut got to Joe’s groin, he braced himself by placing his palms flat on the alpha’s rock-hard thighs. Kneeling on the end of the bench, Joe’s swollen purple dick towered in front of him. As Cory watched, entranced, the thick shaft pulsed visibly; a glittering bead of translucent fluid oozed from the top and slowly trickled down the side.
The punk’s own tool was already hard; this sight merely stiffened it to nearly the point of pain. Knowing that this anonymous stud liked him gagging, Cory took a deep breath before lowering his head onto the throbbing rod. As he went down, he took time to wrap his tongue around the stranger’s cock, savoring the vein-wreathed length as it filled his throat.
Joe’s arms were raised and bent back, his hands behind his head, holding it up so he could watch the blond pansy suck his dick. “That’s it, cunt,” he sneered, “Lick my dick like a good cocksucker.” He shifted his legs, sliding his black Pumas up so he could leverage his hips and pump his stiff pole into the boy’s greedy mouth.
Even though he’d known it was coming, Cory hadn’t known when; Joe’s sudden thrust completely plugged his airway. At the same time, the muscular, aggressive top clenched his fists in the fag’s hair, the golden, stylized spikes somehow still crunchy with gel. Cory found himself as trapped and immobile as if he’d been strapped into an iron cage.
Again, he found himself subjected to a violent skullfuck. Despite his deep breath, his lungs were already beginning to ache; he dug his fingertips into the firm flesh of Joe’s inner thighs with as little impact as if they had been steel. Joe noticed and chuckled maliciously. “Havin’ trouble breathin’, ya cumsuckin’ faggot?” he gloated. “Ok, then—but ya gotta be quick, boy, I expect a lot outta my bitches.”
For a brief moment—Joe actually counted out five seconds—he eased his vise-like grip and let Cory pull his head back. Barely; in fact, he could only pull it back an inch and a half. It was enough to allow him to breathe, but it was messy relief. Still choking and gagging, Cory was coughing up white ropy strands of drool, the thick strings of saliva flowing around Joe’s tool—still stuck deep down the cunt’s throat—and down the boy’s chin to stream to the floor.
“Gag on it, you homo cunt,” Joe sneered. “C’mon, boy, get back on my cock!” Cory had just enough time to get another deep lungful of air before his esophagus was rammed full of pulsating manmeat.
The young blond found his face mashed into the alpha’s groin, the tough, wiry pubic hair scraping his cheeks and forehead. A pair of huge, wrinkled balls slapped jarringly at his chin as the domineering alpha reamed the throat of the well-built youth.
This session lasted longer. Cory’s sinuses were clogged and his frantic five seconds of gasping hadn’t allowed much air past the meat tube wedged in his windpipe; he was running out of oxygen faster than he had earlier. And as a result, panic set in sooner.
The cum-hungry boyslut found himself desperately trying to get the alpha’s dick out of his mouth. It was too much; this dude was both too big and too rough. Cory realized he needed to put the brakes on this one or he could get hurt—but would he get the chance to?
He wasn’t sure he could get free. For the first time, a cold shaft of fear penetrated his warm erotic lust. As hard as his own dick was, as hot as the facefuck action was, the crushing pain in his chest was starting to become the focus of his attention. Cory frantically beat his hands on Joe’s legs before planting them firmly and straining to pull himself up so strongly that his biceps bulged almost to the size of Joe’s.
“Whassa matter, boy?” Joe sneered. He could feel the sperm starting to boil in his testicles; he was getting close. “My dick too much for ya? Tough shit, homo—suck it!”
Cory wasn’t having it. Jerking forcefully, he bucked like a bronco, yanking his head back until Joe released him with an angry grunt. Cory instantly went upright on his knees, gasping for air. He bent forward, instinctively placing one hand on Joe’s broad chest to steady himself as he crawled back to full consciousness.
“F-fuck du-dude,” the kid choked out, “T-too much, man, too much. I charge extra for a happy ending…” He trailed off in an extended coughing fit.
Joe went rigid, staring coldly at the slowly-recovering punk. “You want me to pay to cum?” he said slowly and coldly. Cory, clearly not recognizing the suppressed rage in that flat, icy tone, replied with an obnoxious, whining tone, “Fuck yeah, asshole, ya think I give a massage for free? Ya gotta pay to get off.”
“You fucking sack of shit whore,” Joe responded evenly just before he lunged upwards. Jamming his left hand into Cory’s armpit, he shoved the boy up and to the right, into the open locker. At the same time, he brought his right arm up and slammed his forearm flat into the locker door, driving it closed and smashing Cory’s head.
With a loud squawk, Cory fell to the floor, bleeding from both sides of his head where the sharp metal edges of the locker door on one side and the frame on the other had cut into his skin. Sobbing and crying, the boy began to crawl away from his assailant across the cold tile floor.
Sitting up on the bench, Joe looked down at the stupid little fairy squealing and writhing on the floor like a pig and felt his body flood with rage. The whore had actually expected him to pay to cum. He needed to learn what a terrible mistake he’d made—and then Joe saw how to teach him.
Bending down, he scooped up both the balled-up socks and the padlock. It took no more than ten seconds to free a single sock and stick the padlock inside. Once he had, Joe stood up and walked over to Cory.
The young blond homo had actually managed to crawl some distance in the brief time that had passed. Still sobbing and in severe pain, he could hear the footsteps of Joe’s black kicks relentlessly coming for him. “Don’t you fuckin’ touch me, you psycho!” he screeched. “I’m gonna call the fuckin’ cops, you asshole!”
Joe continued to approach silently, remorselessly.
“Stay the fuck away from me!” Cory screamed, sobbing uncontrollably. “I-I’ll sue you, m-man, y-yer gonna go to jail!”
Standing over him, Joe swung the weighted sock like a blackjack. On the floor, Cory peered up at him with horror. He could see nothing but implacable anger in Joe’s face. “P-please, man,” he whispered hoarsely, realizing with cold terror that he was looking death straight in the face, “I-I didn’t mean it—don’t, dude, please god no, don’t fuckin’ do this; I’ll do whatever ya want, just lemme live, man, oh fuck oh please—“
Curling his scruffy, handsome face into a contemptuous leer, Joe swung his arm and delivered a vicious blow to Cory’s back. The heavy metal lock smashed directly into a rib, shattering it. The boywhore screamed and writhed like a worm on hot pavement as splinters of bone tore through his innards. “Fuck!” he screeched, scrambling over the tile, “Please god, stop!”
Towering over the crawling faggot, Joe stomped his foot in the middle of Cory’s back, driving the wind out of the unfortunate youth and leaving the tread of his sneaker embedded in the cunt’s smooth flesh as a bruise. Swinging the sock around in his hand like a sling, Joe increased the momentum of the heavy metal lock, then abruptly bent down, his powerful arm circling high above his head as he slammed the improvised weapon down.
Cory knew it was coming and tried to move but Joe’s foot was pinning him to the floor; the best he could do was twist to his right. It turned out to be a serious mistake. The homemade blackjack, instead of hitting center body mass, made contact with Cory’s left arm, halfway between the shoulder and the elbow. The chunk of metal, moving with irresistible force, snapped the humerus like a chicken wing.
Cory shrieked in agony and flailed, his broken arm jerking limply and grotesquely but was unable to get out from under the sadistic alpha. Even in the depths of his fear and pain, the handsome young slut was still aware of his assailant’s erection—he couldn’t have forgotten it even if he’d wanted; Joe’s precum was dripping on his back in burning drops like melted wax.
Oh shit, this dude wasn’t just bashing the fuck outta him, he was gettin’ off on doing it—
Cory’s futile thrashing on the cold tiles became even more intense as his panicked squeals rose in pitch. “Goddam, yer a mouthy little fairy whore, aintcha?” Joe snarled in anger, taking his foot off the kid’s back. Cory’s faint relief at his release was short-lived, though; Joe had merely freed his foot to deliver a vicious kick to the boy’s waist—one strong enough to flip Cory onto his back.
The whore could look directly up into the hard face of his torturer; the rage that he saw there so overwhelmed him with terror that his bleatings and mewlings tapered off into a subdued sobbing. The depths of his abuse and humiliation were obvious—as was his lust.
The little fucker was hard as a rock. As he was getting the living fuck beaten out of him, Cory had remained erect, and the glaze of slime smeared on the head of his dick showed that he’d even dripped out some precum of his own.
“Yeah, ya worthless sack of shit, that’s what I thought,” the muscled alpha panted, his broad furry chest heaving with exertion. “Goddam fag already knows it’s such a useless piece a’ garbage it gets off on bein’ treated like one.”
He knelt down leaning directly over Cory’s face. “Guess what, cunt? If ya liked that, it’s yer lucky day. I’m gonna take you out like the trash you are, bitch—and it’s gonna hurt.” As he bent further down, the prostrate youth, frozen in horror, could smell the mansweat on his killer’s body, laden with adrenaline and testosterone; even in an extremity of terror, his cock responded by swelling and darkening. Joe spit contemptuously in the boy’s face before he stood back up; Cory’s only reaction came from his oozing dick.
“C’mon, ya homo punk, time for shit to get real,” Joe drawled as he rose again, his large shadow stretching ominously across the battered youth cowering at his feet. The words pierced Cory’s mind with a cold shaft of fear. From deep within his soul, the crumbled remains of his arrogance found one last sliver of spirit—just enough to make him protest.
“N-no…” the blond boy whispered. “D-don’t. No. Please…”
Then, seeing the rage darkening the cruel alpha’s face, he realized he’d made another mistake. He’d set the psycho off again; he could see the murderous light of wrath building in the towering stud’s eyes and his resistance collapsed immediately. He started weeping uncontrollably, in fear of the inevitable blow—he could already see Joe’s arm moving back for another swing of the blackjack. And so Cory made yet another error in judgment—he seemed to be involuntarily digging his own grave—by raising his right arm to ward off the blow, holding his hand up, palm side out.
This time, Joe crushed the kid’s hand, snapping three of his fingers like twigs.
Cory’s shrill shriek should have echoed off the tile walls of the locker room, but his throat was so hoarse and ragged with screaming that all he was able to emit was a loud, cracking wheeze of agony. The whoreboy lay flat on his back, kicking and trembling in agony as tears streamed down his pain-wracked face. In a reflexive attempt at escape, he flexed his legs, trying to get some traction with the heels of his white Nikes. His arms, of course, were useless now; the punk had been brutally immobilized.
But he still hadn’t lost his hard-on.
Joe noticed and grinned evilly. “Goddam, you queer-ass cunt, you sure fuckin’ loved bein’ treated like the sack of shit you are. Almost as much as I love treatin’ ya that way. Lessee if we can amp that shit up, huh?” And with that, he wheeled and walked back towards Cory’s open locker.
The writhing lump of bruised and beaten flesh that had been a handsome young massage therapist twenty minutes ago still lay gasping and sobbing on the floor. During the brutal assault, he’d managed to crawl along the floor for a good distance; as a result, when Joe strode away, he passed beyond Cory’s line of sight. The suffering punk, shuddering and moaning on the cold floor tiles, had an idea that the buff sadist had bent down to retrieve something. He heard Joe give a very faint grunt of exertion, followed by the sound of fabric ripping.
He had no idea what was happening, though, till Joe returned. In the killer’s big, strong hands dangled a length of cord. It took Cory’s traumatized mind a while to realize he was looking at the draw cord that had been torn out of his own swimsuit.
Some part of him expected his legs to be bound for further torture; he felt a dull sense of surprise when the cord was looped around his neck instead. The cord tightened and Cory, moaning and crying, expected to be strangled instantly.
Instead, he found himself being dragged roughly across the floor by the cord around his throat. His legs kicked and flailed in protest, but his arms were no help. The shattered left arm trailed limply at his side; he could still move his right arm, but the crushed hand, looking like a pale, mangled starfish, was utterly useless. His own inert body weight had caused the cord to squeeze his throat to the point that he was unable to speak, but with extreme effort, he was still able to breathe.
Since he was being dragged by his head, more or less, Cory was unable to see where he was being taken; he could only feel the tiles on his bare skin. Within seconds, though, the dragging had stopped, and was replaced by something worse. He was lifted up off the ground by the noose around his neck briefly before a flat bar dug into his shoulders and started scraping its way down his smooth back. Hearing Joe strain as he jerked on the cord, Cory understood—vaguely, his air was now completely cut off—that the hulking sadistic killer was dragging him backwards up onto the wooden bench.
And then it was done. The constriction around his neck relaxed. His aching, beaten body was lying limply on the bench, his legs spread. His right arm was curled on his smooth, broad chest while his left hung at an unnatural angle over the edge. The pain-twisted, suffering youth coughed up a thick wad of phlegm as he gasped desperately and rapidly.
Cory was too stunned, too beaten down by this point to wonder what was coming next; he could only hope it wouldn’t hurt anymore. Even if it meant death, he wanted to the pain to end.
He was sadly disappointed.
For his part, Joe had kept his eye on the pansy’s cock as he’d dragged the pile of shit across the floor. It had continued to darken, becoming so engorged that it looked like an eggplant. As the buff, toned alpha had tightened his biceps and manhandled the cocksucker up onto the bench, he’d momentarily wondered if the little bitch was gonna cum right there. No matter how much pain he inflicted on the cringing queerboy, the fag seemed to love it.
Now it was time for Joe to get what he’d come for.
Cory moaned slightly as Joe parted his legs, his large hands gripping the soft smooth flesh of the boy’s inner thighs. Semi-conscious at best, the punk was aware of the movement, but little else—
—until Joe shoved the entire length of his gigantic, pulsing rod up Cory’s tender fuckhole in a single, unlubed thrust.
The searing, slashing agony in his anus shifted the homo slut from semi-consciousness to full consciousness in the blink of an eye. His emerald-green eyes widened, huge and round like platters, deeply ringed with shock and physical trauma. He screeched, a high, unpleasant squeaking sound, as his body shuddered and jerked in protest. Instinctively, Cory began beating at his rapist with his right hand; the action made the jagged ends of his broken fingers grind together, intensifying the pain he was in.
“Quit fightin’ me, ya stupid fuckin’ faggot!” Joe barked in fury. Doubling his fist, he drove it into Cory’s jaw with the all the power of a horse’s kick. The boy’s head rocked back, slamming into the bench as his mouth snapped shut with such sudden violence that he bit through his tongue.
Spitting up blood, Cory coughed and squealed in agony and abject terror as Joe roughly pulled his thick hog back up out of the punk’s colon, keeping in only the massive mushroom tip. Joe repositioned his kicks on the floor for better leverage and immediately plunged his shaft deep into the cunt’s soft, squelching guts. Another agonized screech rose from Cory’s swollen, split lips.
“Goddam it, I’m tired of lissenin’ to ya squealin’ like a pig, you worthless cum-guzzlin’ homo!” Joe snarled, “Guess it’s time to make you shut the fuck up!”
Leaning forward, Joe grabbed at the loose ends of the draw cord still draped around Cory’s throat. With a single violent jerk, he pulled it so taut that it immediately sank into the skin. The hard-bodied killer yanked tightly on the cord as he brutally reamed out the kid’s fuckhole. Luckily, it was thirty inches of black woven nylon, well able to stand up to the strain.
Cory, on the other was less able to cope. His frantic gurgling had been cut short and his mangled hand flapped uselessly at his throat. His bulging eyes glittered with highlights of terror and excruciating pain so intense they bordered on insanity. As his hard, firm young body shuddered under the assault, the punk’s dazed brain tried to understand how an offer of a massage and a quick blowjob had turned into rape, nightmarish torture and murder.
Joe pounded his tool into Cory’s torn, bleeding ass, yelling “Fuck! Yeah! Take it, cunt!” with each thrust, the raging lust in his voice enhanced by the swift slapping sound of flesh on flesh. He was pulling the cord with such force that tendons were starting to stand out, first in his neck, then his forearms. The cord itself was so deep in the kid’s throat that it couldn’t be seen.
What it was doing to Cory could be seen very well. The youth’s face was a deep blue, darkening to purple so quickly that it was impossible to tell if any bruises were present—everything was the color of a bruise. Even his huge, panic-struck eyes were blotched with ruptured blood vessels. The only part of him not turning dark was the thick foamy spittle trickling around the sides of his swollen, protruding tongue.
Cory’s hard, tight body jerking and convulsing under him, Joe shuddered with pleasure as the dying fag’s rectum caressed the sensitive engorged head of his cock. The sadistic alpha chuckled maliciously; the stupid little motherfucker had turned out to be a good massage therapist after all—at least, he was good at massaging Joe’s dick in his death throes.
And as Cory twitched and kicked, his thick cock was still erect; in fact, it seemed to stiffer than ever and twitching rapidly in tempo to Joe’s relentless ass-pounding. With each forceful pump of the murderous top’s hips, the boy’s dick slapped against Joe’s ripped abs and sprayed a fine mist of precum over his chest fur.
Cory himself was past sensation at this point; part of him knew that he was dying full of cock and that was the part keeping his dick hard. The rest of him knew that he was dying full of pain and that part wanted to die. There was no more terror, there was almost no more Cory; all that was left was the pain—and the lust.
And at the extreme end of oxygen starvation, even those two primal drives were losing their grip; massive brain damage was sending Cory’s smooth body, muscled and slick with sweat forced from his pores in metabolic trauma, into violently erratic convulsions. He wasn’t quite as large or strong as Joe, but his lithe body was powerful enough that the hard-bodied sex killer had to clamp down and ride Cory into death like he was taming a horse.
As the dying cunt kicked away his last few seconds on Earth, his internal muscles convulsed as well, creating a rippling effect in his colon that almost seemed to draw suction. It was as if Cory’s mindless, flailing body was trying to suck the cum right out of Joe’s rod.
It was working.
Joe could feel his hot sperm starting to bubble in his puckered sack; the thick tube running along the underside of his shaft seemed to tingle with electrical fire. He was close, he was so fucking close…
It was time. He was gonna blow. He was gonna seed this worthless faggot meat. His black Pumas slipped back as he bent forward, his full body, heavy with the weight of his muscled mass pinning the thrashing boycunt under him, still impaled on his cock. As Cody’s swollen, pulsing dick slid moistly between their flat firm bellies, Joe wrapped both ends of the nylon cord around his right hand and placed his left hand flat on the punk’s shuddering forehead.
Then, straight-arming the kid’s forehead, he gave the cord a single, swift yank so brutal it snapped the woven nylon. It also snapped Cory’s neck.
The popping sounds of shattering bone once again echoed in the locker room. It was accompanied with another round of violent physical convulsions in the entwined male bodies on the bench. Cory bucked and spasmed as an electrochemical surge flashed though his nervous system; his arms and legs contracted involuntarily, causing the corpse to wrap its legs around Joe’s waist, white Nikes helplessly kicking in midair. The meat had even swung the broken arm up and around Joe’s back.
At the same time, the release the dying homo’s dick had been craving was finally granted; Joe felt the hot spurts of semen pumped into the fur that lined his sculpted chest. The little motherfucker must have been full of cum; it kept spewing and spewing. Even after Joe had uttered an inarticulate, strangled cry and flooded the kid’s guts with boiling manspunk, Cory’s still-erect shaft was spitting out ropy strands of jizz across his own motionless chest.
The boy’s body had one last wrenching spasm that pulled the last drop of semen out of Joe’s still-throbbing hog. The alpha thought the kid’s phenomenal death load was over; he raised himself up and felt one last warm splash, this one under his chin, caught in his facial stubble.
The heaving, gasping alpha slowly withdrew his still-dripping cock from the corpse. Standing up, he took a moment to catch his breath and to guiltily scope out the situation. He’d given in to his anger, and that was a bad thing; this snuff was way too close—and too recent—to the other one in the park.
On the other hand, he’d needed a workout, and he’d gotten one. Scooping up his gym bag, he padded off to the showers.
Toweling himself off after he got out of the body, Joe redressed and took a glance around. If he hadn’t known how absolutely deserted the place would be, the snuff would have been the height of insanity. The corpse, sprawled on its back with the legs spread, the soles of the white Nikes facing forward, was at least partially visible from the locker room entrance. It was necessary to take a few more steps into the room to get a clearer look, to see the snapped arm or the congested head, now fading to a dusky blue, hanging at odd, impossible angles.
Still, it had all worked out. For Joe, it was a happy ending.
The pool area was quiet, but not silent. Empty, but not motionless, refracted glints of light danced across the walls and faint slopping sounds coming from the water.
And then it wasn’t empty.
The next day, Joe was dressing for work; he’d gotten a call to come in. He’d flipped on the TV in the background, not paying much attention until a certain story attracted his notice.
It was a mention of a body found at the rec center that caught his ear. “The body was that of a young Caucasian male,” the anchor intoned. “The report came in of an accidental drowning but when paramedics pulled the man from the water, he was completely nude. Police aren’t saying much beyond the fact that there were clear signs of physical violence; however, inside sources have hinted that the victim suffered multiple sexual assaults. In light of the death of Bradford DeLaney III, found raped and strangled in a bathroom in the same park, authorities are now saying—“
Joe shut the TV off, then let the remote fall. For the first time in a long time, something had taken the alpha stud by surprise. He tried to reconcile the scene he’d left and the one the TV had described; it simply didn’t compute.
“What the fuck?” he asked the blank screen.