It had been a cloudy day and as the sun set, the twilight lengthened the shadows into a chilly blue gloom. Even after midnight, the temperature remained fairly stable, but the gloom deepened to the point where it seemed to actively absorb light.
Not many people were out at three in the morning on the Saturday after Thanksgiving, but Robbie didn’t have much choice. Until he could save enough to replace the busted fuel pump on his car, he was walking home from work. It wasn’t a long walk—no more than two or three miles, up past the high school and the rec center—but Robbie was still pissed. Greg wouldn’t let him borrow the car—as if Greg himself was gonna stay sober enough to drive—and ever since Ma had married the asshole, she’d let him run the show. And Greg had already said he didn’t like cocksuckers in his home and wouldn’t have his car parked at a fag bar.
Robbie fumed. He was gonna save up his dough and get the fuck outta this place, even if it meant staying up late for overtime. Mack paid him decently—more than minimum wage, at least—and being bar back at the low-rent dive came with some added benefits not available to most nineteen-year-olds in terms of access to alcohol.
And sex. Robbie had gotten his tight ass plowed at (and sometimes behind) the bar on a number of occasions; he was young, handsome, and very fit. And his demeanor and vocabulary immediately pegged him as being from the wrong side of the tracks—which only made him more desirable to a lot of the dudes at the bar.
It sure had tonight. Problem was, despite being a gay bar, Mack’s was a small-time affair in a bad part of town. It had been packed on Thanksgiving (it had seemed to draw a leather crowd that night), but this was Saturday and a lot of the high-end nightclubs were offering discounts and waiving cover charges. Mack’s was full of drunk old trolls. Nauseated from getting pinched and fondled by nasty old men, reeking of booze, Robbie sought refuge in alcohol himself.
All of which explained why he was staggering slightly as he made his way along the dark and deserted streets at three in the morning. The red glare of neon that proclaimed “Mack’s Bar” had faded behind him some time ago as Robbie turned left off of Grand Avenue and began the long trek up 22nd Street, past the rec center.
On his left was what might looked like an older warehouse, remodeled into hip shops and condos—except that it was about six months old, replacing a lot that had sat vacant for years. Robbie paused on the sidewalk for a moment, catching a glimpse of himself where a nearby streetlight reflected his image in a large storefront window.
Short and stocky, Robbie barely reached five-foot-eight, but he was buff and barrel-chested. His arms and legs were thickly muscled; his broad, rounded pecs presented large nipples, obviously erect under a red t-shirt that was too small for him. Over this, the tough-looking twink sported a brown leather bomber jacket, worn unzipped and open.
Beneath his flat abs, his waist narrowed; around it, the drawstring of a pair of jogging sweats was tied into a granny knot. The jogging pants themselves were dark gray, a Chinese knockoff of Under Armor that didn’t get the logo quite right. It didn’t matter—they clung tightly to his firm thighs, the soft material revealing every detail of Robbie’s well-built body—down to the outline of the thick hog lying along his right thigh.
Elastic at the cuffs cinched the sweats off just above the ankle so that Robbie’s ped socks were almost invisible inside his Adidas Stan Smith retro sneakers, white w/ green details. Not that his kicks were visible in the glass, of course; it didn’t go down that far. His face, on the other hand, was vividly clear.
It was broad and smooth, the skin slightly pale but sprinkled with freckles that were visible even in the reflected image. Somehow, Robbie’s face managed to convey a certain innocence; his wide nose and white, even teeth underscored his large, long-lashed eyes of vivid emerald green.
It was his hair, though, that was most noticeable. Robbie was wearing a plain black baseball cap, but it wasn’t enough to conquer an irrepressible mop of red curls. The term red would be somewhat misleading, in fact—the coarse, wiry strands profusely covering his head were a bright, carroty orange.
Robbie shrugged and walked on. He knew well enough what he looked like, and it was good enough to get him laid when he wanted. His active lifestyle kept him firm and fit, and he got noticed. Maybe, one day, it’d get him notice by a sugar daddy and he could finally tell Ma and that fuckhead Greg to kiss his ass.
His physique had certainly gotten him noticed before, in ways Robbie himself didn’t recognize. And if he’d known, he might not have been so pleased with himself. He certainly hadn’t realized that he’d attracted the attention of someone who now knew far more about him than Robbie would have thought possible…
…someone who was even now stalking him.
Several days after Adam had fucked a corpse and tossed it into a swimming pool, he was still feeling both excited and terrified. He knew what he needed to do, but he just couldn’t bring himself to commit to the act. In a way, it was too enticing. The muscular young man, aware of his powerful strength, was more afraid of getting too carried away, of getting so excited that he’d be careless.
After all, if he was gonna do this, he was self-aware enough to know that he wouldn’t stop. And he wouldn’t want to, so avoiding detection was paramount.
And so he hemmed and hawed, a fierce internal debate not reflected in his outwardly calm behavior. The argument, however, was resolved by the evening news. Adam’s attention was absorbed by the lead story—a state senator’s kid found raped and strangled in a cheap motel room.
Adam was stunned; he’d been so wrapped up in his mental turmoil that he’d forgotten about the other guy. And now that he’d been reminded, his desire to violate the victim flooded back through him, despite the knowledge that this body had already been removed.
And that was what broke down the internal deadlock. Fuck detection, he’d figure something out. He needed to stick his cock into dead boymeat, and he needed it now. But who?
His mind whirled back to the gym—no, not there. Too many of the other dude’s victims were from there. Someone Adam had visited before himself, maybe? The idea had some possibilities. There was that junior high kid two doors down, the fourteen-year-old, but that probably wasn’t a good idea. You don’t shit where you eat. And there were those other two boys—no, dammit, they had ties to that gym too.
Then Adam remembered the kid from the bar. He’d spotted the dude several months ago—short but muscular, the teen looked like he was nearly as strong as Adam himself. The punk had been lugging around bins full of ice; his tattooed biceps were visible under the taut sleeves of a skin-tight black t-shirt.
Adam had followed him home that night, standing outside the kid’s house with his dick hard and throbbing, listening to a virulent screaming match between the young faggot and his drunken stepfather. Later, he crept into the sleeping youth’s room, leaving a wad of cum in the boy’s kicks and taking a pair of socks with him.
Now, tonight, the image of the hot little homo sprang into him mind spontaneously. It was right after Thanksgiving, would the fucker be working? There was only one way to find out.
It wasn’t a long trip by car, but it was a shitty neighborhood to park in. Still he was only gonna be here for one beer’s worth of time—and when it came right down to it, it didn’t even take that long. Adam had just shut the engine off when the short buff dude came out of the bar’s entrance, dragging a sack of garbage to the dumpster around the corner. Not even bothering to get out, Adam restarted the engine and drove home.
When he came back, he’d be on foot. And it’d be much, much later.
Much, much later, Robbie was walking up the low, slow incline past the rec center. It was a dark stretch of roadway, with the park running along one side of the street and the other side taken up by a rest home. No light came through from the park; the greenbelt running along the sidewalk took care of that, so Robbie walked in darkness. The old folks’ home across the street was likewise quiet, the lobby dark and locked up. Even the rec center, when he passed it, had been still, the single car at the far end of the parking lot, seemingly left for the night…
A faint rustle to his right made Robbie turn his head to the nearby underbrush, expecting to catch a glimpse of a raccoon, if he was lucky.
He wasn’t lucky. And what he caught a glimpse of was far larger than a raccoon. The large dark shape seemed to come from nowhere, suddenly filling his field of vision. Then there were vague sensations—a swift motion, a sharp pain—and the dark shape expanded to become everything.
Robbie woke up in motion. His face hurt; dirt and leaves were being ground into it—he was being dragged by his legs through the underbrush, face down. Someone was pulling him away from the street, into the depths of the greenbelt. His head ached and his cap was gone; he must have been hit.
He had a vague, confused idea that there was something sexual about all this, but that made no sense. None of this was making any sense—with his t-shirt now pulled up around his neck, his firm, flat belly was scraping the ground, his smooth skin being scratched by rocks and bits of twig.
Disoriented and aching, Robbie began to struggle. Kicking out unexpectedly with his strong legs, he managed to free himself from his unknown assailant. For a moment, he scrabbled helplessly on the ground, then his loose Adidas kicks managed to get some traction in the dirt.
The short, powerful teen regained his feet with a short-lived moment of exultation, then he was blind-sided and slammed sideways into the thick trunk of an ancient tree. The impact knocked the breath out of him and he sank to the ground, peering up at his attacker in the faint kaleidoscopic glinting of distant streetlights that managed to make it through the wind-blown boughs.
From the few details Robbie could make out in the dim, shifting light, the other dude was taller, slightly older and somewhat better built than he was. A brief movement of a branch against the background lighting gave the young homo a silhouette of the well-built man towering over him; even in his pained bewilderment, Robbie felt a straining in his groin as his dick started to stiffen.
Adam had been tense and excited as he waited in the woods for the little homo to walk by; he was hard with excitement, but his palms were slick with nervous sweat. As amped as he had been watching that kid get offed in the locker room, he still wasn’t sure he could do it—after all, once he’d actually killed, there’d be no turning back…
He’d been surprised how easy it was to put the kid’s light’s out; the fucker was short but built like a bulldog with a broad chest and narrow waist; it had been what had attracted Adam in the first place. He’d gotten the limp punk into the underbrush quickly, taking time to fondle the unconscious faggot only when they were both completely concealed. Even so, the street was still too near for Adam’s comfort. He decided to drag his prey deeper into the woods.
This was a stealth kill, and Adam had dressed the part; one of the reasons Robbie had been unable to see his assailant approach was that the latter was dressed all in black. The youthful killer manqué had covered his red-gold hair—much less brazen than that of his victim—as well as his powerful torso in a tight hoodie of black polyester fleece; with the hood tightly drawn over his head, only his face showed in the darkness, and that but vaguely.
Under this, Adam wore a pair of black utility pants, tight around his firm, muscled ass. They had multiple pockets down the thighs but narrowed below the knee where they were bloused into a pair of Army-surplus combat boots with thick rubber soles that let him move quietly and confidently through the undergrowth.
It was the escape attempt the tripped the trigger. Adam never saw it coming; adrenaline surged through his body the moment he realized that the well-built teenager was no longer in his grasp. The moment the cocksucker collected his wits, he’d be screaming for help. Knowing that he had little time to regain control of the situation, the stronger and slightly older stud body-slammed the little sack of shit sideways into a tree and was now standing over him, looking down on the cowering boy…
…and experienced a rush of bloodlust of almost uncontrollable proportions. The hot young teen, huddled at his feet—and at his mercy, ready to be made into vulnerable, fuckable meat—
—oh yeah, he could do this.
And seeing the thick shaft rising like a tent pole from the pansy’s tight but soft sweats, Adam felt a tingling shock run through his body as if he’d touched a live wire. The meat-to-be was just as hard as Adam himself. A brief incident of violence, and already there were two swollen, throbbing cocks.
It made sense—at least to the fledgling sex killer—that more brutality would bring more sexual pleasure. And the testosterone and adrenaline flooding his young, powerful body was not to be denied; as he stepped up and gazed contemptuously at the young faggot cowering between his combat boots, Adam could feel precum flowing freely from the enlarged piss-slit of his massive, pulsating hog.
On his knees in the dirt, Robbie absorbed the pheromones being given off by the dark figure looming over him; the sex-laden atmosphere only added to his sense of unreality. Alone in the dark woods with a hot anonymous dude—it wasn’t the first time he’d been in this situation on his way home from work, but no one had ever hurt him before.
The handsome gay teen from the wrong side of the tracks was about to learn that not only was there a first time for everything, it was also possible for the first time to be the last time, too. He knew instinctively that he needed to move before he succumbed to a kind of paralytic lust that was stealing over him at the thought of what this unknown stud might do to him.
Again, he lunged forward, twigs catching at the knees of his tight-fitting joggers and tearing the material. He jerked towards his assailant’s right, in what he thought was the direction of the street, gasping loudly prior to calling out for help.
He never got the chance, but he never knew how close he came. With a little more experience, Adam might have expected another escape attempt; as it was, he was unable to prevent it, only to end it—which he did, with a swift, brutal kick, driving his steel-toed combat boot into the boy’s lower ribcage, snapping off the floating ribs on the teen’s right side.
Squealing in pain, the queer punk was flipped onto his back. Adam stood over his prey, knowing that he had to take control of the situation once and for all—and finding that the idea made his cock throb even more intensely. The erotic haze filling his head had almost a reddish tinge; it was through this that he saw the large rock lying two feet to the right of the cumpig’s head.
It was clear that the fagmeat was dazed but not totally out—it was gonna start bleating again; he needed to shut it up. Kneeling down, he grabbed the rock and pulled it out of the soil. Ovoid in shape, about six inches on the long axis and four on the short, it fit his hand perfectly.
Robbie blinked confusedly up at the muscular dude crouching over him. A stray beam of light from a distant streetlight lit the stud’s face; even in his pain and fear, the young faggot felt his swollen tool strain painfully at the sight of his attacker’s deep, dark eyes framed by long lashes and the red-gold stubble on his taut cheeks and firm chin.
“W-why?” Robbie asked tremulously, his late-adolescent voice still cracking with surging hormones. He’d have given himself to this hot top voluntarily.
Adam knew what the single word meant. Still holding the large rock in his hand, he grinned at the prostrate teen. “Cause I like my meat cold, man,” he whispered, his voice low with erotic huskiness. “I’m gonna fuck ya, all right, but I want you dead before I stick my dick in ya.”
The expression on the little cunt’s face showed that he’d heard the words, but hadn’t understood them. At least, not at once; it took some time for the perverted, terrifying meaning to sink through. It was obvious when it hit; the kid’s eyes grew as wide as dinner plates.
“Wha-wh-what?” he gasped.
“Time to die, faggot,” Adam replied calmly and slammed the rock into his face.
Robbie was aware of a loud crunching sound that accompanied the overpowering blast of pain in his head; his cry of pain was somewhat muffled when he coughed out the two rearmost molars from the left side of his fractured jaw. Mewling, with blood dripping from his mouth, the gay teen’s nightmare was just beginning.
And so was Adam’s sadistic killing spree. He’d had no idea how good it would feel to have a sexy young queerboy at his mercy and in his control. And what better way to confirm the possession of power over a victim than by making the victim endure something he never would voluntarily?
Something like, say, horrific pain and death.
Had his tight cargo pants not been black, there would have been a large and spreading circle of precum visible in his crotch as Adam raised the rock for another debilitating blow. This was just to teach the homo to shut up, though. His death, the budding sex killer understood, needed to be long and slow, leaving the meat nice and tight to receive his shaft.
After all, the twisted alpha figured as he smashed the chunk of stone into the moaning punk’s face again, the little cumsucking piece of shit didn’t deserve the D while it was still alive.
The second blow crushed Robbie’s nose, split his lips and shattered a cheekbone. His handsome young face now a battered ruin, the boy wallowed on his back in the dirt, squealing and kicking in agony. In his thrashing, he somehow managed to work free of his bomber jacket, leaving it covered in leaves, the brown leather almost invisible in the dark underbrush.
“Fuck yeah,” Adam moaned ecstatically as the sense of power literally rippled through his firm, taut muscles, making his already-engorged cock throb painfully inside his pants. He tossed the rock to one side—he wasn’t gonna need it any more. Reaching out, he grabbed the youth’s t-shirt and yanked his hands on opposite directions, hard. After the briefest resistance, he was rewarded with a brisk tearing sound as the red tee split down the middle, revealing the kid’s smooth, buff torso.
The teen continued to claw at the purple swollen mass that had been his face, the shredded remains of his shirt still wrapped around his bulging biceps, as Adam grabbed at his waistband and pulled the teen’s jogging sweats down to his ankles before ripping them completely off over his white sneakers.
Of course the horny little fucker had been going commando; Adam hadn’t even considered any other possibility, and for good reason. Short, strong Robbie now found himself nude except for his ped socks and retro Adidas kicks, inexplicably shuddering and wailing in agony in the woods, in the dirt, and he had no idea how he’d ended up like this.
Somewhere outside the boiling flood of pain, the gay punk heard another tearing sound, somehow slightly different than when his shirt was stripped—raising his head with great effort, he could see (just barely; his eyelids were swollen almost completely shut) that his well-built and mysterious attacker had ripped the drawstring out of the sweats that had just been so forcibly removed.
Adam stood up and leaned over the brutalized youth, now in shock-induced paralysis. Grinning down at his helpless fuckmeat, the strong buff stud reached down and slowly unzipped the fly of his black utility pants. Instantly, his thick hog flopped out, precum dripping from the engorged purple tip.
The reaction this provoked made the practicing sadist laugh out loud.
“Lookit that shit,” he chuckled, “Goddam, you really are a horny little faggot, aintcha? I beat the fuck outta yer pansy ass and ya still get hard when ya catch sight of my dick—lessee if you can stay hard after you’re dead, cocksucker.”
And with that, he threw himself down onto the teenager. Robbie, spread-eagled nude (but for his sneakers) in the dirt, grunted and coughed out the last reserve of air in his lungs as the hard-bodied killer slammed down on top of him.
As Adam had remarked, the teen homo had indeed gotten even harder than he’d been before at the sight of his assailant’s cock; his fit young homosexual body, so filled with hormones that they wafted off of him in a pheromone-ridden musk, was helpless to do otherwise. As the heavily-muscled form fell on him, violently expelling his breath, some small part of Robbie’s attention was diverted from the pain and fear into noticing the sensation of the older dude’s hard cock, pressing into his smooth flat belly like a heated iron rod.
But even that cockpig section of his brain couldn’t ignore the implication of the drawstring when the anonymous alpha whipped it up and around his throat; he could ignore it still less when the cold-blooded killer yanked the thick strand of braided nylon so tightly that he was unable to inhale. Robbie’s lungs, already achingly empty, began to burn with searing agony from lack of air.
That was when the teenage homo panicked like the trapped animal he was. Instantly, two hard, muscled, male bodies were locked together in a fatal embrace. Despite the cold, the powerful young man slid over the boy’s smooth, writhing body on a thin layer of sweat as he worked to hold the dying punk down.
“Quit fightin’ it, faggot,” Adam grunted, his biceps bulging as he tightened the thin nylon cord around his prey’s neck. “Yer only makin’ it harder, cunt; I’m gonna waste ya no matter what, so settle down and enjoy the ride.”
Robbie was unable to process the words his killer spoke, but physical agony drove the point into his terror-wracked mind. This hot fucker was snuffing him. It didn’t matter why—what mattered was the he couldn’t breathe and it hurt, it hurt so fucking bad…
He reached up, his hands clawing wildly at those of his killer while his thickly-muscled legs wrapped around the stud’s torso and kicked randomly, the white Adidas sneakers thrashing frantically in mid-air. As they struggled together, Adam could feel the teen’s pulsing cock pressed against him, stiffening reflexively as the kid sank deeper into asphyxia. Adam responded in kind; his own thick shaft was leaking precum all over Robbie’s smooth, flat belly.
His dick was one of the only parts of Adam that was exposed; he was still otherwise fully clothed. The desperate youth clutched at his killer’s dark hoodie, but his grip was weakening His eyes bulged grotesquely from his black and swollen face—and somewhere in the pounding pain inside Robbie’s skull there flashed a vague thought the he was gonna die without ever getting a close look at his killer’s face. All he knew was that he was being choked out by a well-built stud with a huge dick.
Adam wanted to make sure he knew something else, too. “Die, faggot,” he hissed, pausing to spit into his victim’s face. The spittle hit the tip of the meat’s protruding tongue and slid down the length of it to be hidden in the foamy drool that frothed over the kid’s parted lips. “Die so I can stick my cock up yer dead pansy ass, homo. You don’t deserve my dick alive, you cumsucker, so hurry up and fuckin’ choke to death, you useless piece of shit!”
Leaning back a bit, the powerful young man wrapped the nylon drawstring one more time around his hands, then jerked it so hard that tendons stood out in his neck and veins on his bicep.
The braided cord sank into the thrashing fuckmeat’s neck so deeply it vanished from sight. The dying teen began to jerk and shake uncontrollably, causing the drool to run down his chin and cheeks in long white streamers. Even in the dim light, Adam could see the whites of the meat’s cat-like green eyes swiftly darken as blood vessels ruptured under the extreme pressure building up in the boy’s head.
Robbie didn’t know who was killing him, but he knew why. He’d heard Adam’s words—they were the last thing he ever heard. He’d passed the tipping point, he’d gone too long without oxygen to recover. As more and more of his brain died off, his struggles became less frantic and less coordinated. He faded from mindless panic to mindless acceptance, his hands stroking his killer’s fleece hoodie as his legs, already encircling the older stud’s waist, locked together behind his back.
Adam was entranced. He was holding the teen faggot right at the edge of the abyss; the sense of power and control was overwhelmingly erotic. “Ya want it?” he whispered quietly—almost inaudibly over the sound of Robbie’s death throes. “Ya ready for my cock, boy? Only one way to get my load—die, motherfucker, die!”
Adam gave one last mighty yank to the cord and was instantly rewarded with a loud crunching sound as the kid’s esophagus collapsed in a ruin of shattered cartilage. The meat reacted instantly; some reflex reaction caused both the arms and the legs to tighten—Robbie held his killer in one last violent but unconscious embrace.
Then the corpse let go and the convulsions began. The fag had been young and strong; his brain was dead but his body hadn’t gotten the message yet. His thick cock was still erect—even in death, it hadn’t found release. Robbie died without cumming.
This was what Adam was waiting for. In a flash, he was up and crouched over the thrashing meat, flipping it over on its belly so he’d have access to its fuckhole. A look of disgust crossed his face; the smooth, muscled back was smeared with dirt and leaves. Looking around, Adam spied the remains of the red t-shirt he’d torn off his prey. Grabbing it, he used it to wipe off the corpse’s heaving back and brush the leaves out of its carrot-orange hair.
Then he was ready.
Rolling the body back over, he parted the smooth, trembling legs and, sliding between them, placed the cunt’s feet, still kicking and tightly laced into the retro Adidas sneakers, up on his shoulders. Placing the huge purple head of his pulsing cock against the boy’s fuckhole and shoved.
The buff killer shuddered in pleasure as he felt the corpse’s sphincter quivering and convulsing along the length of his vein-wrapped shaft. Adam inserted his dick slowly at first, savoring the sensation of his victim’s death throes, but when he was about a third of the way in, his lust took over and he rammed his cock home, penetrating all the way into the dead teen’s guts—and got an unexpected reward.
The moment his sudden deep thrust speared the snuffed fucker’s prostate, the corpse’s still-hard dick stood straight up and erupted in a shower of hot cum. Adam hadn’t thought it was possible for a dead body to shoot a load, but Robbie had been so primed to ejaculate at the moment of his death that getting fucked in the ass triggered a mindless, reflexive orgasm.
Thick pearly wads splattered up Adam’s dark hoodie, right up into his face. As the fuckmeat’s semen splattered in his face, the now-experienced killer felt his own sperm boiling in his puckered sack, now banging intently against the dead kid’s taint. With a loud groan, the muscled necro pervert grabbed the corpse’s shoulders to hold on as he injected what felt like a quart of steaming seed into the murdered kid’s intestines.
Time seemed to freeze as the hot buff stud, still fully dressed, unloaded his spunk into the lifeless form of his victim, holding the cooling, stiffening form to him as he shuddered in violent orgasm. At last, his balls drained and aching, he disengaged from the body, rolling onto his back and gasping for air as his wet, sticky, still-throbbing cock rose straight up into the cold night air.
It took a few minutes for Adam to regain his breath and get back on his feet; even when he did, he was a little shaky. He looked back at the corpse; Robbie was spread-eagled on his back; in his death struggles, he’d created what Adam thought of as a “leaf angel” in the dirt, clearing the area around him a bit.
It had been incredible. It had been the best sex Adam had ever had. He had to do this again, soon—but not like this.
As good as it had been, there had been something unbearably dirty and squalid about it. Adam wanted to feel another faggot die in his arms, but he didn’t want to fuck in the dirt. It wasn’t the way he wanted to enjoy his meat.
Tucking his cum-smeared hog back into his cargo pants, the newly-minted sex killer considered his options as he made his way through the underbrush back to the sidewalk. An idea had occurred to him. His next kill, he decided, would be in completely different circumstances.
It took three days for the body to be found; when it was, there was little concern. Mack’s Bar got a new bar back within a week. Greg, Robbie’s stepfather, let out a huge sigh of relief that that faggot wasn’t gonna be in his house any more. Even the dead teen’s mother seemed indifferent to his fate.
In fact, as the news of the murder played on the evening news as a brief filler before commercial, the only person in town who seemed to have any curiosity about Robbie’s murder was Joe.