Toby glanced down at Mike’s thick, swollen cock. Turning his long-lashed, emerald green eyes back to Mike’s face, he grinned happily, then lowered his head and began to suck the oozing shaft.
“Fuck,” Mike moaned, running his hands over Toby’s smooth, firm body. He clutched the cocksucker’s arms, feeling the biceps moving under the sleeve of tattoos decorating both arms. One of the things that had attracted Mike to Toby when they met at the gym was the latter’s skater punk look. Not that Toby wasn’t as into working out as Mike; but Mike’s was a more conventional buff fag attractiveness.
If it wasn’t love, it had been immediate lust at first sight for both. Within a month, they’d moved in together; that had been more than nine months ago—and the sex was still as hot as ever.
Mike grunted, his sweat-streaked face twisting into a grimace. “Fuckin’-A, dude, I’m gonna unload in yer mouth,” he panted and Toby, anxious for that hot spurt down his throat, redoubled his efforts.
Neither one of them had any idea they were being watched.
They’d left the blinds open; no reason they shouldn’t have—the window looked out onto a small yard surrounded by a privacy fence. Powerful as he was, Adam had been able to vault himself over the fence and land silently on the inside. Now he crouched outside the window, watching, his muscled body inflamed with desire for the young well-built bodies of the twinks and overwhelming disgust for the pathetic homos having sex in front of him.
Mike and Toby still had a daily routine at the gym, but they varied the times they went. Unluckily for them, two weeks ago, they’d been spotted there by Adam. He’d had an idea, a desire, a need—but he also needed a couple to help him fulfill it, and he felt like he’d just discovered the perfect pair.
The idea of pollution had been building in the back of his warped mind. He’d already accepted that fucking a living fag would tarnish him as a homo himself; he needed to purify the meat by snuffing it first.
Recently, though, he’d worked out his necro philosophy in more detail and decided that there were levels of purity. The meat that suffered the most was the most pure; suffering purged the faggot taint out of whatever boycunt he fucked.
That being said, how could he know how pure the meat was unless he offed it himself? Restlessly, his mind turned back to all the corpses he’d plowed that he hadn’t killed. There was no way to know how much they’d suffered—well, except for that last one, the one in the pool locker room; he’d witnessed that snuff and knew he had nothing to fear there.
And that was when he’d had the idea. It rose up in him, a great urge that had to be satisfied if he was going to feel cleansed again.
He needed to recreate those kills—but this time, he’d be the killer. That was the only was he could purge himself of the infection of faggotry. And this time, he’d make goddam sure the meat suffered.
His first necro fuck had been the two dudes in the condo; the day after coming to this conclusion, Adam had been on the hunt for a couple of pansies that he could snuff simultaneously. And the day after that, while finishing up some squats at the gym, his eyes lighted on Mike and Toby, the former doing some bench presses and the latter spotting him.
At one point, Mike had set the barbell back on the rests and, glancing around to see if anyone was looking, reached his hand up the leg of Toby’s shorts and fondled the smaller dude’s cock for a moment. Despite his careful scoping, Mike never caught sight of Adam’s eagle-eye stare; from then on, he and Toby were marked for death.
They appeared to be about the same age—Mike was twenty-three and Toby twenty-one—but Mike was the larger and better-built of the two, by quite bit. At six-foot-one and a hundred and sixty pounds, he certainly wouldn’t have been Adam’s equal in any physical contest, but he was still muscular enough to turn some heads. His short strawberry-blond hair capped a broad, good-natured face which lodged a pair of deep, emotive brown eyes, a short straight nose, smooth cheeks and full, red lips.
Toby was more of a twink at 5-foot-nine and just over a hundred and forty. His long brown hair was straight and shoulder-length; beneath his green eyes and slightly humped nose (evidence of a skateboard mishap that had broken it), he sported a soul patch of thick brown fur on his chin.
After that, Adam started tracking them, stalking the two fags as his prey. He managed to catch them in the locker room a couple of times, giving him the chance to get a better look at the meat he wanted to fuck. The skater punk maintained him image; the writhing patterns and designs of both tattooed arms continuing over his shoulders and down to the tops of his pecs, leaving his small brown nipples free. There was a very faint brown haze of body hair on his flat belly that vanished under his waistband, but otherwise, his lean, lithe body was smooth. Despite the elaboration of the tattooed sleeves, Adam was amused to note that a single open star had been rather inexpertly inked on the back of Toby’s right calf.
Mike’s muscled body was almost as smooth; his bulging pecs and ripped six-pack glistened with sweat under the gym’s fluorescent lights. The size of his hog was obvious in the skimpy shorts he chose to wear, as was his near-constant state of semi-erectness. Again, Toby followed him in this, but the skaterboy’s six inches couldn’t compare with his buff buddy’s long, thick cock.
And again, Adam smirked contemptuously. Neither one of them had a dick as big as his—but then, that was only to be expected from faggots. Might as well put ‘em outta their misery and put their meatsacks to some good purpose.
All of which was why Adam was crouched outside their rented condo. He wasn’t going in tonight; he’d simply been taking a look at the layout and hadn’t actually expected them to be home—they usually went out on Thursday nights. And Adam wanted them both together in the bedroom they shared, not down here. But despite having to watch their vile homo sex, the evening hadn’t been a total washout; the sick necro killer had learned that none of windows looking into the private fenced yard were kept locked. When he was ready, he wouldn’t have any problems gaining access to the interior of the unit.
Two days later, he was ready.
Mike and Toby had plans to go clubbing with some friends on Saturday night but the moment they’d paid their cover charge, Tyler had gotten into a bitchfight with his latest trick and it was easier to just split than listen to the squabbling. Besides, Mike would have preferred to stay home and lay pipe up Toby’s ass all night anyway; it was the latter who’d wanted to go out.
At any rate, they were home by about eleven that night. Half an hour later, both were in the bedroom. Mike was seated on the unmade bed wearing nothing more than a pair of American Eagle boxer briefs and a pair of Nike Vandal hightops. Both the kicks and the briefs were gray; the latter had a thick black waistband that stretched tautly around Mike’s narrow waist and black seams down the front that outlined the muscle twink’s huge package.
He was leaning back against the headboard, his left leg drawn up with the sneaker on the sheet and his right leg dangling. With one arm bent back behind his head as a sort of cushion, Mike toked on a freshly-lit joint and ogled Toby, who stood the center of the room.
The slim, tatted skaterpunk had slipped out of all his clothing. Completely nude except for his black Adidas Baseline kicks, he was returning from the attached bathroom, his own dick hard and bobbing in front of him as he approached Mike.
Reaching the bed, he stood next to it. “Here, gimme a hit,” he grinned, reaching out for the joint. Mike relinquished it but reached out himself, grabbing Toby’s shaft and jacking it as the younger punk inhaled deeply.
“That’s it,” Mike said approvingly as Toby exhaled a cloud of fragrant smoke, “Get yourself nice and high. You’re gonna need it before your ass goes off duty for the night.”
“Yeah, I bet,” Toby replied with stoned grin, “I know you’re—”
With a loud crash, the bedroom door was kicked open, a single, powerful kick that literally broke the door in half. A hulking masculine figure, dressed in black, strode into the room, raw power obvious in every step he took.
Adam had given up his usual gym attire for this one. He’d wanted to take the pansies by surprise and anyway their condo wasn’t a public place—he’d have no excuse for being seen near the place, so it was best not to be seen at all.
To that extent, he’d made sure that his long-sleeve t-shirt and tight-fitting cargo pants were matte black, nearly impossible to see under the cover of night. His bright copper hair was likewise covered with a close-fitting black knit cap. And he’d forgone his sneakers. While he’d been able to clear the fence the other night, his feet had nearly slipped; he wanted better traction.
He’d found it in a pair of Magnum Response III tactical boots, custom ordered with steel toes. He’d bought them for another reason, but thought they’d work perfectly for what he had in mind. He’d been right. He planted his big black lace-up boot in the middle of the door and kicked his way into the homos’ bedroom with almost no effort at all.
For Mike and Toby, the violence seemed to explode like a bomb. Their different personalities were obvious by their actions once the “fight or flight” instinct kicked in. Toby shrank back into a corner in fear as Mike leaped off the bed and came at the intruder.
He never stood a chance. Adam, seeing him coming, drew back his powerful arm and swung wide, driving his balled-up fist into Mike’s face with the force of a semi hitting a brick wall. The unlucky faggot spun in a half-circle, staggering back and falling, stunned, against the bed.
Filled with rage and lust, Adam turned to Toby, who crouched whimpering in the corner of the bedroom. Seeing that he’d attracted the intruder’s attention, the lean skater punk began babbling. “No, man,” he whined, holding up his hands, “Whatever you want, dude, just take it—please don’t hurt us, man, please don’t!”
Striding towards him with a homicidal gleam in his eye, Adam laughed coldly. “Yeah, I’m gonna take what I want, you fuckin’ pansy. I’m gonna take the fag right outta you, cunt. When I’m done with you, you ain’t ever gonna suck another cock again, cunt.”
By now, he was standing in front of Toby, looming over quaking homo. From behind, he could hear the long, slow groans of Mike regaining consciousness, but he wasn’t particularly worried about him. He’d handle the stronger fairy when he needed to.
Toby looked up at Adam, trying to understand his words. He was still terrified; this huge, powerful stranger had burst into the room and punched out Mike with a single blow—what the fuck was going on?
“Is-is this some kinda hate crime?” the long-haired punk quavered, his eyes starting to tear up.
“Hah!” Adam spat out, “Lookit the little queerboy, already startin’ to cry. You bet it’s a hate crime, you punk-ass bitch.” And here he reached down, unzipped the fly of his black cargo pants and hauled his enormous, dripping dick out.
Toby gasped at the size of Adam’s member; even Mike, big as he was, wasn’t that well-hung—this dude was some kinda freak. Despite himself, he could feel his own cock respond—limp with fear, it was now stiffening and standing erect.
Adam noticed it too. He laughed coldly. “Ya want it, dontcha? You think you deserve this cock? Fuck you, faggot. You’re fuckin’ scum. You want this shaft, this real man meat, you gotta earn it.”
Reaching down, Adam clamped one large strong hand around Toby’s throat and lifted him bodily off the ground. Holding him out at arm’s length, he chuckled as the skaterboy gagged and jerked, his black Adidas kicks swinging helplessly a foot from the ground.
Looking directly into Toby’s eyes, Adam smiled—a thin smile, sharp as the edge of a knife—and said, “Only one way to earn my cock, faggot—you gotta suffer. And you don’t know the meaning of that word yet, but don’t worry—I’ll teach ya. And yer little fairy boyfriend there too. You’ll both learn how to suffer real good.”
Staring into the cunt’s eyes, Adam caught a flicker of movement. Slamming Toby into the wall and dropping him like a sack of potatoes, the muscular killer wheeled around and caught Mike full in the face with another powerful punch, just as the buff young homo had regained his feet and launched himself for an attack.
With a loud grunt, Mike fell to the floor, bleeding from the corner of his mouth. Dazed by this second impact, he stared dully up at Adam. “Stupid piece a’ shit, aintcha?” Adam sneered. “Don’t know when to stay down, do ya? Here, maybe this’ll learn ya.” Stooping, he punched Mike in the face yet again. This time he was rewarded with the satisfying crunching sound of the faggot’s nose breaking, the cartilage crushed under the force of his fist.
Pausing for a moment, Adam unzipped one of the pockets on the left thigh of his cargo pants and withdrew several long zip ties. “You win the grand prize, you lucky cocksucker,” he smirked. “You get to watch. Pay attention, asswipe, so you’ll know what to expect when it’s your turn.”
The well-built homo was flipped onto his belly; he could feel a thin plastic tie cinch inexorably around his wrists and another around his ankles, but the two powerful blows to his face had rendered him incapable of any physical activity for the moment. By the time he recovered enough to attempt any resistance, it was too late. Strong as he was, Mike wasn’t able to stretch the zip ties so much as a quarter of an inch, much less break them.
Adam kicked the faggot’s prone body viciously, using enough force to roll him onto his back. Much like he’d handled Toby, the hulking, muscle-bound killer bent down and grabbed Mike by the throat, lifting him into the air. Gagging, his Nike Vandals kicking uselessly inches above the carpet, the hardbodied twink was manhandled back to the bed, where Adam tossed him down. Snatching a handful of hair, the sadist dragged Mike upright, propping him into a seated position where he could take in the entire bedroom in a single glance.
Mike was gonna have a perfect view of Adam snuffing Toby.
In the meantime the long-haired fairy had crawled back into the corner, his young face etched with bewildered terror. He’d always expected Mike to defend him if the need arose, but this huge, bulked-out psycho who’d burst in on them so unexpectedly had overpowered Mike like he’d been a little girl. Now the man was rounding on him, and he was helpless. Whatever was gonna happen, there was nothing he could do to stop it.
“Oh God, no,” he sniveled, cowering as Adam loomed over him. Glancing hesitantly up at his attacker, he watched mesmerized as the towering madman unexpectedly gabbed the hem of his own t-shirt and pulled it off over his head in a single, fluid motion, revealing his hard, furry torso that descended in a V-shape from his broad shoulders and firm, rounded pecs to his narrow waist. The knit cap had come off, tangled in the shirt, and revealed a slightly tangled mass of bright, coppery hair.
The dude was a serious stud. Toby felt himself getting hard. But that was despite of his terror, not because of it, and even though he could see a large translucent bead of precum oozing from the piss slit of the intruder’s cock, fear was taking more of his attention at the moment than horniness.
The fear was well-deserved. Adam bent down and grabbed a hank of Toby’s long hair. Wrapping it around his palm he jerked the squalling twink up onto his feet.
“C’mon, faggot, let’s get started,” he growled, grabbing Toby by the throat and hoisting him in the air again, “I gotta load to drain and I can already tell it’s gonna take a while to beat the queer outta a pathetic little homo like you.”
Toby only kicked in Adam’s grip for a moment before his face and his world exploded in pain. Adam punched him vicious in the face, then hurled him across the room. The skater’s lean body slammed into the front of the dresser. The force of the impact rolled him up over the top of it, scattering everything—their cell phones, their wallets, piles of loose change and receipts, all of it went flying as Toby smacked into the wall, then rolled back forward off the dresser and onto the floor.
Groaning in pain, the tattooed twink opened his eyes. To hurt to move, all he could see of his assailant as he approached were his laced-up boots. They came nearer, then one drew back. By the time Toby realized what it meant, it was too late to avoid it. With one single brutal kick from his steel-toed boot, Adam broke Toby’s jaw.
The lean, lithe punkboy spent the next minute or so writhing on the floor, gurgling and mewling in agony as Adam watched him with erect, throbbing satisfaction. The buff killer didn’t get to enjoy the view in peace for long, though—the other faggot began to squawk.
“You sonovabitch!” Mike screamed, “I’m gonna fuck you up! You hurt him, I’m gonna fuck you up bad!”
Adam looked around the room and soon saw what he’d expected to find. Ambling over to a pile of dirty laundry near the closet door, he bent down and picked up a reeking, stained jockstrap, stiff with cum. Turning back to Mike with a grin, he said, “You’ll get yer chance to squeal like a pig yerself later, cunt, for all the good it’ll do ya. In the meantime, keep your fuckin’ trap shut and enjoy watchin’ yer bitch suffer.” Rolling the jock into a ball, he forced it into Mike’s mouth, leaving the muscled top gagging and mute, but still able to see everything that happened.
While Adam’s attention was diverted, an instinct for self-preservation kicked in deep inside Toby’s craven soul. Even though the slightest movement of his head caused him terrible agony, he managed to rise to his hands and knees and crawl. By the time Adam had silenced Mike and turned back to Toby, the latter was halfway to the door.
“Oh no you don’t, asswipe,” Adam growled and headed for him. Toby could hear him approaching from behind; desperate tears leaked from his eyes as he realized he’d never make the door before the powerful psycho had reached him, but he had to keep going, he had to try…
When Adam got to him, he merely stood over the cringing, crawling twink for a moment, chuckling gutturally. Then he delivered another vicious, lightning-fast kick, this one connecting with Toby’s left elbow.
The force behind the steel-toed boot didn’t just dislocate the joint, it snapped the ball end off the humerus, tore the tendons and completely severed the ligaments. Despite the pain in his jaw, Toby screeched involuntarily as he collapsed and rolled onto his left side. Adam walked around the sobbing, trembling punk until he was facing him.
“Didja really think you were gonna get away, you stupid sack of shit? Fuck, dude, here I was tryin’ to make ya worth my dick, and now it looks like I’m gonna hafta kick the dumbass outta ya, you worthless faggot bitch.” Still sobbing incoherently, Toby didn’t even notice Adam raise his foot up.
He damn sure noticed when Adam stomped on his chest, the deep tread of his thick-soled boot grinding into Toby’s soft flesh. The loud snapping sound that accompanied it, like the splintering of a green limb, showed that one of the punkboy’s ribs had caved in under the sudden force—and if it didn’t show it, the sudden, high-pitched squeal forced from between Toby’s split, bleeding lips did.
“Fuck yeah! That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” Adam crowed, his huge, stiff cock pulsing visibly while he drank in the image of the tattooed skate punk writhing in nightmarish agony. He was really getting off on hurting the little homo, seeing the fear and pain in his eyes. And he still had another fucktoy in reserve—tonight was gonna be so fuckin’ hot…
Toby was wrapped in torment like a flaming blanket. Every part of him was throbbing with pain, from the dull ache of bruised flesh to the glassy torture of broken bones. He’d stopped trying to think; he could only endure. An involuntary muscle jerk had pulled his head slightly to the side—from where he lay on the floor, he could clearly see Mike on the bed. The idea that Mike might rescue him was long gone. Mike was on the other side of the room, but he might as well have been on the other side of the world. Toby could see that his boyfriend was crying, but it meant nothing.
Pain was the only thing that had meaning for Toby anymore. And Adam knew it.
The relentless sadist sneered at his prey. “Does it hurt, bitch? Yeah? It ain’t enough, you worthless sack of faggot shit; you ain’t hurt anywhere near enough yet to deserve my grade-A manmeat.” He raised his boot again. This time, Toby knew what was happening. As Adam stomped, the fit, lean youth swung his right arm up and knocked the alpha’s foot away with all the force he could muster.
“You stupid pansy,” Adam barked and planted his foot in the middle of the kid’s right forearm, his big black boot covering a large section of inked flesh. With a swift, smooth motion—so casual it almost looked rehearsed—the powerful psycho bent down, grabbed Toby right wrist, and pulled it violently upward. There was a quick double-snap as both the radius and the ulna splintered; when Adam let go, the kid’s arm flopped uselessly back to the floor.
Toby didn’t react to this new source of pain. Deep in sensory overload, he was starting to go into shock. Lying on his back with his smooth chest heaving in shallow, irregular gasps, the tortured twink stared the ceiling, his bright green eyes wide and vacant. His short, thick cock had gone limp, but that didn’t bother Adam. He knew the punk would get hard again by the time he was done with him.
After all, the meat would be even more pure if the worthless fag sperm was drained out of it before Adam fucked it.
“Hey, queer-boy,” Adam called out to Mike, “It’s time. Watch this shit, dude. Watch me waste your cocksuckin’ homo boyfriend.”
As Toby continued to shudder and tremble on the floor, Adam waked around him until he was facing Mike on the bed. With a wide, deliberate grin, he raised his right foot and planted his boot on the young faggot’s neck. The sadistic killer stared directly into Mike’s disbelieving, tear-filled eyes. “Look, ma,” he whispered. “No hands.” The hulking stud slowly began shifting his weight onto the foot on Toby’s neck.
The tattooed skaterpunk could only stare helplessly up at the huge, muscle-bound figure towering over him; there was no way for Toby to defend himself. His broken arms jerked and flopped aimlessly, like dying fish; he had no way reach for the heavy black boot that was slowly—oh, so slowly—crushing his throat. If he kicked, he bent his abdomen, causing his snapped rib to dig agonizingly into his guts, threatening to puncture his lung and pancreas. If he tried to cry out, the jagged ends of his broken jaw ground together, causing hellish pain in his mouth…
Every movement bristled with torture, but Toby’s air was gradually being cut off. He couldn’t keep still. The tread on the killer’s sole was deep and intricate; as it sank into the tender flesh of his throat, what little lucidity the long-haired power bottom still possessed began to melt away in the face of impending asphyxiation.
Adam bent his head and spat in Toby’s face. “Gettin’ harder to breathe, ain’t it?” he chuckled. “See, as you choke an’ die, yer dick is gonna get all hard—and then yer gonna cum. Happens almost every time I choke out a faggot. You perverted little pansies empty your fuckin’ balls every time I waste ya—nothin’ turns ya on like gettin’ put down hard. You wanna suffer even more than I wanna fuck you up. Disgusting sack a’ shit—I gotta squeeze your load out and drain your sick fag seed outta yer meat to make it worthy of my cock. Don’t worry, motherfucker—I’ll fill yer worthless corpse with my sperm. I’ll baptize yer guts with hot manspunk before I leave you to rot. And best of all, your fairy-ass boyfriend gets to watch you die!”
The words hit Toby’s ears like a dull ache, utterly swamped in the rising tide of instinctive terror as his oxygen was cut off. He began to shudder and kick, helplessly flailing his firm, smooth legs and jerking his broken arms aimlessly. Air. He needed air.
And that was when it finally hit the lean twink—the realization that he was gonna die finally sank through the multiple layer of pain that had wrapped him like a cocoon. Panic set in, a terrifying white panic the left him conscious and aware but still unable to control his actions. Smirking, Adam watched Toby lose his shit as the boy choked under the alpha’s booted foot. The pathetic little homo thrashed, his Adidas Baseline kicks carving furrows in the carpet as his inked arms flailed limply and helplessly.
As he struggled, Toby’s long hair became tangled and dark with sweat. His entire body, in fact, was slick with sweat, the cold rank sweat of physical suffering. The brutalized faggot’s smooth firm flesh glistened in the light, even as his face began to swell and grow dark. “Hey, man,” Adam called out to Mike, “Lookit this shit. See how his eyes are bulgin’? That’s cause pressure’s building up in his head. Damn, motherfucker, that’s gotta hurt like shit.”
Staring coldly into Mike’s bottomless brown eyes, the cruel alpha laughed, the sound slashing at Mike’s soul like a knife. “Remember that, asswipe,” Adam hissed viciously. “Dying hurts. It hurts like nothing you’ve ever suffered in your useless faggot life. Remember that when it’s your turn.”
From his position on the floor, Toby found that he couldn’t look away from his killer’s tall, powerfully-built form—quite literally. As Adam had pointed out, his eyes were bulging; he couldn’t close them. Toby had no choice but to stare up at the stud who was snuffing him.
The most immediate part of Adam in Toby’s field of vision was the shaft of his boot, the black leather rising from the bottom of his line of sight—he could clearly see how the extra-long laces circled the top of the shaft and were tied in front. Above it, he could trace the line of the alpha’s thick calf and thigh muscles, outlined in the leg of his cargo pants.
Then there was the cock–the huge, throbbing shaft, jutting arrogantly in from, clear precum oozing in an almost steady stream…but Toby had to block that out, he couldn’t follow the link of pain and death and lust…
Beyond the webbed nylon belt circling his tight waist, the curly, golden fur that rose above the waistband, running up the killer’s ripped abs, spread out lushly on his broad, jutting pecs. Heaving with exertion, Adam’s chest glittered as he moved and beads of sweat caught in his body hair caught the light.
Above that, there was a face, a beautiful, cold, contempt-filled face surmounted by red-gold curls like a copper nimbus, but it was too far away. Toby was starting to have trouble seeing; darkness exploded in his sight light the blooms of huge black flowers. His tongue was swelling, causing the dying twink horrible pain as it forced aside his broken jaw, but there was nothing he could do. White, foamy drool leaked from his swelling lips, running down his chin and pooling around the treads of Adam’s utility boot.
The pounding in his heat was swift and intense; Toby could feel that it coincided with his speeding, panicked heart. Despite the pounding and loud ringing in his ears, the slowly choking youth could hear the sadistically mocking words of his killer.
“How’s it feel, dying like a fuckin’ insect, havin’ yer useless life ground out under my boot, faggot? Ya like gettin’ put down like the garbage you are, huh? Fuck yeah, you piece of shit, I toldja you’d get hard again. Disgustin’ little pervert, you just fuckin’ love it when a real man finally ends yer worthless existence. C’mon, homo, time to drain yer sick faggot sperm so I can fuck some clean meat.”
With a snarl, Adam leaned forward, throwing all his weight on his right foot. There was a loud crunch and the steel-toed boot suddenly sank a good two inches into Toby’s throat as the punk’s windpipe collapsed. The young fag’s attention, momentarily diverted to the bizarre phenomenon of his throbbing, painfully erect cock, experienced the blast of horrifying agony that accompanies a mortal injury.
Adam steadied himself as the lean, lithe body beneath his feet began to shudder violently. Toby’s huge green eyes, stained red by numerous ruptured blood vessels, rolled back into his head as he convulsed, his legs drawing up, then straightening as he kicked his life away with such force the Adidas sneaker was pulled off his left foot. The buff alpha knew what was happening; shifting his body to one side, he applied more pressure to the boot embedded in the twink’s neck, twisting his foot sideways.
With a loud cracking noise, Adam snapped Toby’s neck like a dead twig. As the sudden electrochemical shock flooded the dead kid’s nervous system, his erect shaft pulsed visibly and sent a solid stream of boyjizz up in a four-foot geyser. Disgust on his face, Adam managed to dodge the fountain of spunk, letting it splash back on Toby body as it continued to jerk and flail in its death throes.
“Fuck yeah, man, there we go,” the sick top gloated at the dead boy’s sobbing boyfriend. “Once that worthless fag spunk is unloaded, I’ll fill the meat with real manseed. Finally givin’ this useless pansy a purpose—it died so I can have a cumrag.”
Adam stalked across the room, retrieving a chair that was standing behind the closet door. As he did so, Mike, aflame with panic and anger, writhed violently on the bed. Unable to loosen the zip ties binding him, the muscle twink increased his efforts until he managed to rise up vertically on the bed. Once he was upright, though, he had no way of balancing himself and instantly felt himself falling over sideways.
His thick, muscular body hit the nightstand with a crash, causing him to start bleeding again from his already-broken nose. He fell to the floor, accompanied by the lamp. The bulb didn’t break; still lit, the light cast surreal shadows across the room from its low angle on the floor.
Adam had watched it all happen. He wasn’t worried about Mike; there was no way for the meat to break free of its bonds. And the dude had landed on the floor in a great position for a close-up of the next act.
The buff killer placed the chair upright in front of Mike, a few feet away. Then he bent down and grabbed Toby, manhandling the still-quivering corpse until he’d draped it face-down over the back of the chair. Then, without another word, he brandished his huge, dripping cock, grinned at Mike, and mounted the dead kid, his shaft penetrating Toby’s sphincter and sinking deeply into the meat’s guts.
“Fuck yeah, nice and smooth, just like I like ‘em,” Adam smirked as Mike burst anew into hot tears of outrage and terror. The bound punk struggled to protest, but the soiled jock had been shoved too deeply into his mouth for him to be able to force it out; all he could do was watch the violation of his boyfriend’s corpse in silence.
The chair creaked loudly as Adam gripped the meat’s narrow waist and plowed its still-spasming asshole. His furry, sweat-streaked flesh slapped loudly against Toby’s cooling skin as the alpha brutally pumped his shaft into the dead boy’s rectum. As he fucked the corpse, Adam reached up and grabbed a handful of the punk’s long hair and jerked it back, raising Toby’s head.
“Look at him,” the vicious sadist hissed at the crying, struggling boy on the ground, “Look at his face. See the pain and terror he endured? See how the horror of his last few seconds of life are etched into his face? Disgustin’ little faggot deserved to suffer so much more but he was weak. You ain’t. You can take what I’m gonna give ya—and it’s gonna be so much worse than what he went through.”
Adam never missed a single stroke of his brutal necro fuck as he spoke, slamming his gigantic rod into the corpse with a virulent power that was equal parts lust and hatred. Through his tears, Mike watched Toby’s body jerk and flop with every intrusive thrust of Adam’s hips.
Suddenly Adam’s face tightened. He gave a loud grunt, ramming his shaft home as his hulking, muscle-bound form went rigid. There was a loud crack and the chair began a slow-motion collapse under the weight of Adam’s orgasmic thrust. The killer had time to slide one booted foot forward and keep his balance as the chair bent forward and fell to the floor. Toby’s body fell with it, slowly sliding off the alpha’s still-shooting cock. Adam finished up by spraying his load onto the corpse’s back.
Snorting with contempt, Adam glared at Mike. “Fucker was totally worthless. Even dead, he couldn’t take a real man’s load. My balls are still fulla cum, motherfucker—now it’s yer turn. He was just the appetizer—you’re the main course, fuckwad. And I like to linger over my meat. Ready to dance, asswipe? Yer gonna die clawin’ and pissin’ yerself in agony, faggot.”
Mike shook his head frantically, the stained jockstrap protruding from his mouth. His already large brown eyes were huge with stunned shock; the sheer horror of watching his boyfriend’s snuff and necro-rape was reflected in his taut, pale face.
Bending down, Adam wrapped both hands around Mike’s throat. Hoisting the jerking, struggling youth into the air, he slammed him against the wall on the far side of the dresser. The terrified fag had a brief lucid moment to comprehend the sheer power of his assailant as Adam drew his right arm back, keeping Mike pinned with his back to the wall, several inches off the ground, with just one hand—and this with a loose enough grip to allow the beefy punk to breathe.
The he noticed that Adam’s hand had curled into a fist. He saw the dude’s massive bicep twitch—and then his world exploded in pain as Adam drove his fist into the pansy’s face with the force of a steam hammer.
Mike’s head rocked backwards, punching a hole in the drywall as his left cheekbone and the thin bone behind his left eye shattered. His hands, uselessly bound behind him, clawed at the wall, peeling off strips of paint with his fingernails. His loud cry was muffled by the reeking fabric shoved into his throat.
He didn’t need to worry about the gag for long. The bruised, battered homo was so stunned by the blow to his head that he never saw Adam’s thick arm draw back again. He felt it, though; the muscular sadist pounded his huge fist straight into Mike’s solar plexus, at the base of his sternum.
The writhing fag’s diaphragm spasmed, his well-built chest collapsing in as the air in his lungs was expelled violently enough for him to blow the jockstrap out of his mouth; it dropped to the floor in the few inches of no-man’s-land between the vicious killer and his helpless prey. Mike was unable to take advantage of his sudden freedom to speak—his entire attention was focused on being able to breathe. For several terrifying seconds, the buff young queerboy was unable to inhale, his lungs refusing to inflate. His eyes, wide and round, the left one blackening and swelling, were dulled over in sheer panic as he savored a foretaste of suffocation.
Suddenly the bulging groin of his American Eagle boxers darkened. Struggling and terrified, the well-built youth had pissed himself in terror, the yellow urine running down his legs and flowing into his Nikes. His one lucid thought was that however he was gonna die, he didn’t want to choke or suffocate. Anything but this, he begged silently in the dark empty corners of his mind. Anything but this.
Adam read the terror in the kid’s eyes and his grin widened and became shark-like. His thick, swinging dick stiffened as he contemplated the bound, helpless faggot in his grasp. The fucker was his do with as he pleased—and what pleased him damn sure wasn’t gonna please the homo.
Jerking and sweating, Mike suddenly inhaled deeply, managing to force oxygen back into his lungs. With no warning, Adam delivered a brutal gutpunch to the suspended boy, sinking his fist deep into Mike’s firm, flat belly and driving out the air again. This time, he released the kid, letting Mike fall back to the floor, shuddering and gasping like a landed fish dying on the deck of a trawler. As the fag’s face went purple, Adam stood over him, sneering.
“Lookitya, you pathetic piece a’ shit,” he drawled contemptuously. “Got yerself all buff an’ muscular, but yer still a worthless fuckin’ fairy. Your muscles ain’t no match for mine, asswipe; they ain’t gonna help ya now. I’m gonna fuck you up even worse than I did yer pansy-ass little boyfriend. Hey, remember when I did this to ‘im?”
With a swift kick of his powerful leg, Adam’s steel-toed boot smashed into Mike’s flank, shattering two ribs into multiple pieces. Once again, the handsome young homo had just regained his air, only to suffer a brutal impact that drove it back out. This one was worse, though. This one did major damage.
For the rest of Mike’s life—that is, for the next few minutes—the fit young punk desperately tried to breathe, never knowing that bone shards from his broken ribs had punctured his left lung, causing it slowly to deflate. He only knew the creeping terror of slow advancing suffocation—and pain. He became very familiar with pain.
Leaving one boot planted firmly on Mike’s chest, Adam leaned down and casually spit in the youth’s strained, agonized face. “Naw, man, I ain’t gonna kill ya with my feet like I did yer fucktoy,” he jeered. “That was fun, but I got somethin’ more…intense planned for you. But first, I wanna know—did he ever fuck you? Or were you always the top?”
Mike looked up at the alpha, his eyes running from the tightly laced boot on his chest up along the well-fitted black cargo pants to the huge, engorged shaft of manmeat that jutted out in front of Adam. Huge and oozing, it added an emphasis to the sadist’s questions that intimidated the fuck out of Mike. Wallowing in pain, he looked away, gasping and heaving.
“I asked you a question, motherfucker,” Adam said, a cold, hard tone in his voice. “You got three seconds to answer it. One. Two…”
Mike opened his mouth, but in his panic, he could only croak incoherently.
“Three,” Adam concluded, with evident satisfaction. “Ok, fuckwad, guess I gotta beat it outta ya.”
“…no…” Mike gasped faintly.
“What was that, fuckmeat?” Adam grinned. Bending down, he clamped his left hand around Mike’s throat. The bulked-out psycho was strong enough to hoist the buff young homo into the air single-handedly. His windpipe was almost completely closed off this time and his left flank burned with pain where his ribs ground together but the attractive young punk unfortunately managed to remain somewhat lucid. Lucid enough to comprehend the sheer power of the man who had him so completely at his mercy.
He needed a way to fight back. Despite the pain, he needed to fight back or the same thing would happen to him that happened to Toby. Toby—oh fuck, Toby, what the fuck happened…they were just gonna have a fun evening and this fucker showed up…
With a lightning-fast lunge of his arm, Adam snatched at Mike’s piss-soaked briefs and tore them off him, the elastic at the waist snapping back painfully on Mike’s bare flesh. Nude except for his Nike hightops, the queer hunk dangled in mid-air, slowly choking as he struggled and squirmed, causing the zip ties binding his wrists and ankles to dig even deeper into his skin.
“Did that dead piece a’ shit lyin’ over there ever fuck you, asswipe?” Adam demanded. “Ever had a cock up yer boyhole? Answer me, fuckwad!” Adam punctuated his demand with another blow to Mike’s face, this one splitting his lips and knocking out one of the kid’s canines. “Can’t talk, motherfucker? Ok, just nod or shake yer head. Or I’m gonna beat ya to death right fuckin’ now.”
Mike’s lucidity was fast drowning in a rising tide of terror; he knew the hulking stud wasn’t kidding. Eventually, he forced himself to shake his head—not very well, but enough for Adam to feel it.
And when he did, he grinned. “Excellent. Ain’t nothin’ sweeter than fuckin’ a virgin corpse.”
Mike would have pissed himself again at the words if he hadn’t already emptied his bladder—and if his dick hadn’t grown unaccountably hard.
Adam noticed it too. “Fuckin’ fag pervert,” he snarled, “Ya like that, dontcha? You want my fuckin’ rod in ya so bad yer willin’ to die to get it, aintcha? Disgustin’ piece a’ shit—see, this is why I gotta waste ya. Doin’ the fuckin’ world a favor, I am, by clearin’ it of sick fucks like you.”
Mike could feel his pulse racing—it pounded in his temples and in his rigid cock. His eyes felt like they were gonna pop right out of his head; tears streamed down his cheeks. Pain and terror fought for control within him and he wondered if he was going to die like this, suspended in mid-air, shuddering and jerking.
And then he was sailing through the air. It happened in the blink of an eye; there was no warning—Adam simply tossed him across the room with no more effort than if he was a rag doll. The buff homo slammed violently into the wooden headboard. It broke in half vertically with a loud crack as a hundred and sixty pounds of muscled boymeat smashed against it and fell back limply onto the tangled pile of sheets covering the bed.
Barely conscious, Mike rolled onto his back and stared blankly up at the ceiling as well as his swollen eyes would allow—particularly the left one. His entire face was bruised and puffed up, aching horribly from the broken bones in his face. It hurt bad, but his side, where the snapped ribs were grinding against each other, hurt worse. His wrists and ankles were raw and nearly bleeding from the way the zip ties had cut into his flesh during his useless struggles. Fuck, it all hurt so bad…and then there was Toby…
The hardbodied young punk was losing his will to live. Mike had endured a ruthless mindfuck. Despite his impressive build, he wasn’t emotionally strong; he simply couldn’t handle the combination of mental and physical trauma he’d been forced to endure. Adam could see it in his eyes; the homo was starting to check out. He needed to move fast.
Suddenly Mike felt a weight on him. Adam was climbing onto the bed—and onto him. His blank stare no longer focused on the ceiling; now his killer filled his field of vision. Seeing the hard face, so cruel and so handsome, topped with copper curls, Mike knew he was looking into the face of the man who was gonna kill him. For the first time, he really knew it.
The power of the muscle-bound sadist was obvious; it was expressed in everything about him from the wiry, sweat-matted fur covering his broad hubcap pecs to the powerful tang of adrenaline and testosterone that was blended in with his musky perspiration. Mike knew he was strong, but he was helpless before this bulked-out hypermasculine stud.
Adam knew the score. He lowered himself down, letting his massive cock make contact with Mike’s flat, smooth belly. The thick, engorged head was oozing precum steadily; it acted as lube, letting the pulsing shaft of manmeat slide up Mike’s abdomen. As Adam lay full-length on Mike, belly to belly, their erect dicks were pressed between them, side by side.
“Look at me, faggot,” Adam whispered quietly, almost seductively, as he wrapped both hands around Mike’s throat. “Look me in the eyes as I put yer worthless ass down. I wanna watch your wasted life drain outta ya. I wanna see death in yer eyes. You feel me, bro? Last thing yer ever gonna see is my grinnin’ face as I wipe yer fag ass off the face of the earth.”
And then he started squeezing.
Mike had panicked as he’d been held up and dangled but Adam hadn’t been trying to strangle him then. This was different. This hurt a fuck of a lot more. He was low on oxygen as it was, his left lung having slowly collapsed over the last few minutes, but Adam was literally crushing his esophagus. The cruel killer had wrapped his fingers behind the boy’s neck but had placed his thumbs in front, right on the larynx. As he clamped his hands down with the force of steel trap, Mike’s voicebox was remorselessly shoved back into his throat, the cartilage deforming past its limits.
It hurt, Jesus, it hurt so fuckin’ bad. But as bad as it hurt, the pain receded into a loud buzzing in the background as white, blinding tide of terror rose within Mike. He was suffocating. He couldn’t breathe. Worse, he couldn’t fight it. He was helpless, pressed under the heavy mass of his killer’s muscles, his hands and legs excruciatingly bound. This was it, oh fuck, this was for real, no, no, he wasn’t gonna die, not now…
Adam knew the faggot was too far gone in fear to pay attention to anything he said. And while that was a good thing—fear was excellent for purifying faggotry—the little (compared to Adam) fuckwad needed to be brought back into the now. Applying some pressure, he swiftly and viciously dug his thumbs in and was rewarded with a loud crack.
Mike instantly stopped thrashing and stared with horror into Adam’s face. His larynx had just been crushed into a useless mass of mangled cartilage.
Adam grinned. “Ya know what, faggot? Yer dick’s still hard. I can feel it. That’s gotta hurt like all fuck. You gotta know yer dyin’ by now, you gotta feel like yer dyin’ by now—but yer dick’s still hard, you sick little fuck.”
As his gorgeous but abused body went rigid in horrific agony, some dark corner of Mike’s mind-raped psyche knew the brutal sadist was speaking the truth. Even in the midst of overwhelming suffering, Mike could feel his own shaft, achingly erect, rubbing against his killer’s ripped, hairy abs.
“Time for lights out, asswipe,” Adam continued. “You’re almost clean enough for my cock. I just need to squeeze the defective homo sperm outta yer nutsack and you’ll be ready to receive the load of a real man. Time to die.” He paused, with a faint chuckle. “Ain’t like anyone’s gonna miss another faggot, anyways. Only one who mighta cared is already dead. And he was a damn lousy fuck.”
He squeezed even harder. Mike’s tongue, already thick, swelled to the point it forced his mouth open. The near-black tip parted the cunt’s blue lips as white foamy drool trickled down the youth’s cheeks. As the weight of asphyxiation crushed his chest, Mike’s tremulous sanity succumbed to remorseless hammering in his head. A screaming pitch-black vortex of sheer terror opened in his mind…
…but he wasn’t too far gone to hear—or to feel—the loud crackling, crunching sound as his trachea collapsed into a bloody mass of gristle under Adam’s relentless, vise-like grip. And in the utter shock of fatal injury, Mike shot a death load of epic proportions. His bulging eyes were looking directly into Adam’s as he felt an agony he’d never know could exist—it felt like his entire self, his life essence, had been violently ripped out and was being expelled in his hot, ropy jizz.
His powerful, sweaty body entwined with that of the dying muscular twink, Adam felt the faggot’s spunk splattering over his abs and soaking into the wiry fur that forested his bulked-out torso. It infuriated him—nasty homo seed contaminating his well-cared-for body. With a roar, he let go of Mike’s neck and grabbed the unlucky pansy’s ankles.
In the last five seconds of his life, Mike suffered one last time from the sadistic stranger’s hate and lust. Enraged, Adam jerked the kid’s legs apart. As ice-cold darkness closed in on him, Mike saw Adam’s huge, sweaty biceps flex awesomely—and then, with a loud snap, Adam broke the zip tie. The thin plastic dug through Mike’s flesh down to the bone, but it finally gave way before the sheer power of the hardbodied killer.
The cuts had severed an artery in Mike’s right ankle, but since his heart had stopped beating almost simultaneously, blood merely seeped from the wound instead of spurting. Adam wasn’t done with his victim, though.
Enraged, the psychotic stud brandished his hard, club-like cock and plunged it into Mike’s fuckhole. Even though the corpse’s sphincter was flaccid in death, it still wasn’t elastic enough to accept a shaft of the size of the one now being brutally rammed into it—Adam tore the dead kid’s ass open. “You worthless queerboy fucker,” he snarled, “Thought you’d make me a fag by squirtin’ yer diseased homo cum on me, huh? You ain’t the first faggot to try it, cunt, but ain’t none of ya ever man enough to turn me!”
His hips thrusting swiftly, Adam nailed the dead kid’s butthole. Sweat trickled down the small of his muscled back as he fucked the corpse, every pump of his cock violently expressing his hate and disgust for the fag he was banging. He became aware that his balls were drawing up as his semen started to boil over. And then orgasm hit him, almost like a violent cramp.
“Fuck!” he screamed, “Fuck!”
It was almost involuntary, the way his right arm drew back and then pumped forward like a steam piston, smashing into the corpse’s face. Adam didn’t try to stop it, though—it felt so fuckin’ right. As his cock swelled and spurted again, his fist shot forward again. And again. With every spurt of hot manseed from his engorged dick, Adam punched Mike’s swollen, blackened face as hard as he could.
This was what Adam had wanted, had hoped for—had worked for. It felt right.
He came a lot. A lot. By the time he was done, Mike was unrecognizable. Adam had beaten his face to hamburger.
With a deep sigh, Adam pulled back and sat on the bed, his dripping cock resting on the tangled sheets. He glanced around the room, noting the position of a couple of items, then got up and headed for the bathroom.
After spending a few minutes cleaning the drying semen off his torso, he tucked his dick back into his cargo pants. Grabbing a clean towel, he headed back to the bedroom. Once there, he used the towel to pry the Nike Vandals off Mike’s feet. They were soaked with the dead kid’s piss, but they could be cleaned.
Then he collected Toby’s Adidas kicks, pulling one off his foot and simply picking the other up off the floor. He’d seen a gym bag on the far side of the dresser; he used it to collect his trophies, picking up his long-sleeve t-shirt and his knit cap as he passed them. It was a cool night, but Adam was still warm and sweaty; he decided not to put either on at the moment.
Bag in hand, he paused at the door and looked back. Toby was still lying belly-up on the floor, his limbs and head all at grotesque angles to the body. Mike, his hands still bound behind him, was also lying belly-up on the bed, his legs spread, white spunk oozing from his ravaged asshole.
It wasn’t complete. He needed to recreate that first necro fuck for it to be right.
Leaving the bag at the door, Adam returned to Toby and rolled him over, off the broken remains of the chair, burying his dead swollen face in the carpet. With a quick step to the bed, the psycho killer grabbed Mike’s corpse under the arms, dragging it over to Toby’s. Tossing it down on top of the long-haired dude’s body like a sack of dirty laundry, Adam bent down and manipulated Mike’s still semi-erect penis into Toby’s ass, then adjusted the legs.
Stepping back, Adam admired his posing. It looked like a perfectly natural fuck. Well, except that Mike’s hands were still zip tied behind his back. And the fact that both punks had suffered major physical trauma. And that both were obviously dead.
As far as Adam was concerned, it was perfect. He’d erased any possible homo contamination from his first necro fuck. Picking up the bag, he headed out the door. Within six minutes, he was off the property, walking bare-chested down the street to where he’d parked his truck a safe distance away.
While he walked, Adam found his thoughts—and his cock—drawn to public restrooms.
5 thoughts on “Adam Anew”
Excellent scenario! I’ve been looking forward to a twofer forever!
I guess Adam’s style isn’t quiet, yeah? I’m curious to know how he’s gonna pull off a bathroom scene with people nearby, hah.
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Matt this is SO HOT, I need a moment for it to sink in. Except that i left my office, went to a bathroom in my building, and JACKED to the image of my favorite psychopathic killer playfully announcing “look mom no hands!” And aw those BOOTS. Thank you Matt – sure to have numerous jack offs on this all week long. Thank you and wishing you a very happy Thanksgiving. -Pete
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Exactly how young fags need to be treated. Except that I would take my time and make their suffering last at least a week, maybe a month.
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Oh my goodness the boot action was unreal. Your amazing
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I just read this all time favourite of mine. Such a shame Adam is no more, he was truly a legend. Nothing is more humiliating and/or dominating that to literally ground ones life under a single rugged boot and the person cannot do a single thing about it. Adam even twisted his booted foot as if he as putting out a cigarette/a fag.. WOW…
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