Joe had been on the clock for five days straight; he’d gotten home near dawn after working twenty hours in a row. He ate, showered, and fell sound asleep. He was exhausted. There had been a problem at work that required a little extra effort. Most of the time they were too surprised by Joe’s stealth approach to fight back.
When he awoke twelve hours later, his dick was stiff and aching. The hardbodied stud grinned in pleasure at the thought that he had some time to kill—because that was exactly what it would be. The sun had gone down, darkness had closed in and it was time to go find a cumdump so he could drain his balls.
He’d manage to pocket the phone of the last cunt he’d snuffed—that little faggot with the poppers—and was scrolling through the hookup apps looking for something interesting. There were several apps; the fairy had evidently been a serious whore…
Joe paused for a moment. A wry grin twisted his hard, handsome face with grim pleasure as he replayed that last snuff in his mind. He was proud of that kill. And the swelling bulge in his crotch showed that other motives had been involved as well.
And now they were back. He needed to find a good n’ worthless homo, a pansy-ass sack of shit that he could enjoy killing. He was looking for one that would give him the satisfaction, not just of a job well done, but of a job worth doing in the first place.
Flipping to the second screen on the phone, he found an app he’d never seen before—“Twinke”. Curious, he opened it and started exploring. It seemed to work by using the phone’s locator function to post messages from within a geographical range set by the user; the current setting was “w/in 10 miles.” The app would post anonymous messages from members in that range, in the order they were received.
Intrigued, Joe scanned the list. Nothing really caught his eye; the most recent message was an hour ago. Must be a slow night. Annoyed, the restless stud was about to close the app when a new message suddenly popped in at the top of the list.
Attached to the message was a photo; an amateur torso pic showing a boy’s chest, the gentle rise of his pectorals smooth and clean up to the peaks of his dark, stiff nipples. There was a faint dark fuzz on the kid’s flat belly; it rippled over the faint hint of ab muscles above the navel. Below was the text:
“NEED A POWER DADDY—
18yo WM, 5’9”, 130 lbs, blond hair blue eyes—I graduate next month and I wanna get my cherry popped before then. Buff older men only, looking for someone who knows when to be gentle. Ain’t gotta ride—you gotta come to my place. 420 friendly. Reply w/ pic for details.”
Joe grinned with wild delight. This one was fresh meat. And Joe could be gentle. He could be so gentle, he’d put the little faggot to sleep. Forever.
The photo he sent back was enough to entice any fairy; it was a torso pic as well, showing every sculpted detail of Joe’s furry chest—the thick mounds of his pecs surmounted by hard, jutting nipples, the waves of wiry dark body hair covering the ripped six-pack abs…
…and below the waist, something special. He’d left his fly partially unzipped, exposing the head of his dick, purple, engorged, glistening with pre-ejaculate. Joe knew he was the first responder to the kid’s post—but even if he hadn’t been, he knew his pic would settle matters in his favor. The virgin fagmeat would be his, to do with as he wanted. And what he wanted was so very cruel…
He got dressed as he waited for the reply. Zipping up his jeans—skin-tight and worn soft as velvet—he sat on the edge of the bed. He grabbed his boots—a pair of Corcoran ten-inch leather field boots with steel toes—and had just laced the left one up around his calf, tucking the leg of the jeans inside, when the phone alerted. The meat had responded.
“Hey man damn ur hot. cum fuck me. parents not home. come to door on left side of house I got basement to myself” This was followed by an address in a working-class neighborhood.
Grinning, Joe laced the other boot up tight. He was gonna need some traction to put this little fucker down right. Standing up, he caught his reflection in the mirror. His heavily-muscled body, hairy and almost visibly oozing with testosterone, was his greatest asset in luring fuckmeat, and he took care of it as ruthlessly as he took care of all his business.
The hard-bodied alpha glanced around the room, looking for something else to wear. It was a warm and humid evening; he didn’t want anything too clingy or sticky…
There it was—his leather vest. It’d been a while since he’d worn it, but it’d be perfect for tonight. Add a little dazzle to the teen punk’s last hour on earth, so to speak. Hell, if the schoolboi was a virgin like he claimed, he’d probably blow his load just at the sight of Joe’s hyper-masculine, leather-clad body.
That was ok, though. Joe knew from past experience that teen meat was so full of hormones, its balls would quickly refill with spunk. No matter how hard the little motherfucker shot his wad, the experienced killer knew he’d be able to squeeze more boycum outta the fag when he was finally done with it and ready to blow his own load.
Joe stood up and headed briskly for his car. When he got to it, he had to slide carefully into the driver’s seat—his dick was still hard at the thought of breaking in the schoolboi. The drive itself took about twenty minutes, but after cruising by the given address, Joe took the precaution of parking the champagne-colored Camaro several streets away; it took another few minutes to walk to the house.
The neighborhood was and older one, the houses smaller and less well-kept than those near Joe’s address. Half the streetlights were out, making the walk treacherous; the sidewalk slabs were broken and raised—some by nearly half a foot—by overgrown tree roots. On the other hand, the hardbodied alpha was able to keep in the shadows—his powerful form, so erotically displayed in denim and leather, would have certainly drawn notice if anyone had happened to see him.
When he reached his destination, Joe quickly slipped around the side of the house and found the ground sloped down on that side, exposing enough of the basement wall that only a couple of steps down were needed to accommodate a door. There was a light above the door, but it was off. Joe stepped down and knocked.
The boy was already nude when he opened the door. He stepped back, into the light, and allowed Joe to enter. For a moment the kid said nothing, goggling the hulking stud, his jaw agape. Then he gulped loudly and spoke.
“Fuck, man,” he aspirated breathily. “Goddam, you’re so fuckin’ hot…”
He gave a curiously supplicatory smile. “I, uh, I’m Colby,” the boy said, just barely managing to get the words out.
Colby was slight and slim, but not scrawny. His gold-blond hair was only a few inches in length; the bangs had been styled so they stood up from his face. The look was trendy, but it utterly failed to give him the illusion of being any taller; the top of his head barely reached Joe’s shoulder.
The boy’s face was broad, with smooth, clear cheeks and very pale eyes the might have been light blue or light green, depending on the lighting. His lips were thick and full, giving him a somewhat petulant look; in fact, despite his obvious awe at his guest’s physique, there was an overwhelming impression of arrogant cockiness in the kid’s expression and manner.
“You a virgin, boy?” Joe grunted.
Colby’s silky-smooth chest with its small but erect nipples descended to his flat belly; below that, six inches of boycock jutted from a mass of gold pubes in which his thick, spunk-filled balls nestled like eggs. At the sound of Joe’s voice, the kid’s dick spasmed visibly. The sadistic killer smirked; he didn’t even need to play this one—the fish was already on the hook.
“I sucked dick before,” Colby said, eyeing Joe almost defiantly, as if challenging the stud’s tight to question him. “But I ain’t never taken it up the ass.”
“Then bend over, bitch, an’ I’ll plug yer hole,” Joe jeered.
“Whoa there, sexy,” Colby replied nonchalantly after making a visible effort to overcome his mindless lust, “I want my first time to be special. I want it rough, but that don’t mean it’s gotta be ghetto. Take your time, dude. Do me right.”
“Oh, I’m gonna do you right,” Joe growled, “Don’t worry about that, boy. I’m gonna do ya so right you ain’t never gonna want another man after tonight. I fuckin’ promise.”
Colby grinned, the expression giving his face a mischievous, elfin look. “Fuck yeah, man, that’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout. C’mon in.”
The nude twink preceded Joe into the dark beyond the entryway, turning on the lights. The basement was large and only half-finished, with carpet and painted cinderblock walls. The overhead lighting was grim and stark, but sufficient to show that the area was partitioned off, not into separate rooms but into bays. One contained a desk with a computer, another had a couple of cheap leather recliners facing a large-screen TV attached to a game console. In the center of the basement, under the light, was a queen-sized bed. The top sheet was intertwined in a pile with the blanket and pillows, but the full design of its gaudy floral pattern could be easily seen on the taut fitted sheet still stretched over the mattress.
Colby strode to the mismatched nightstand on the right side of the bed. There was an ashtray on it; reaching into it, the teen pulled out a small wooden pipe and a lighter. Taking a deep toke form the pipe, the boy sat on the bed, silent for a good thirty seconds before exhaling a thick blue cloud of sweetly pungent smoke. He noticed that Joe was looking at a door in the opposite wall.
“That’s the bathroom, dude,” Colby said in a boastful tone, “And look around that corner—it’s a complete kitchen. Well, the oven don’t work, but who fuckin’ cooks anyway, y’know? Anyway, it’s all my own place. The folks don’t come down here, so I can do what I want. Not like they’re here tonight anyway—some kinda award dinner at Dad’s work. I told ‘em I gotta test tomorrow I gotta study for. I do, but it ain’t no biggie if I fail. Hey, wanna hit?” The boy took another hit from the pipe before offering it to Joe.
“Sure,” Joe said, accepting the pipe, then glancing significantly at the pile of twisted bedding. “So you want it hard, huh? Then clear that shit off the bed, boy—I’m gonna ride you like a fuckin’ bronco.”
The weed was sweet and strong; the little fuck had a good source. While Colby’s back was turned, Joe unzipped his jeans and extracted his long, thick tube of manmeat from down inside his pants leg. When Colby was done—it hadn’t taken him long; all he’d done was shove the bedding and the pillows off the other side of the bed onto the floor—he turned around and was confronted by Joe’s enormous cock, stiffening and throbbing.
“Goddam,” the punk gulped breathlessly, his pale eyes huge. “Jesus, yer hung like a horse—d-on’t, uh, don’t hurt me, okay?”
Joe said nothing.
“So whaddaya want? Want me to start suckin’ ya off?” the kid asked, his arrogance beginning to reassert itself. Joe decided it was time to take control of the situation; he just wanted an opening. That should be easy enough to find with this cocky little faggot.
Slowly shifting his thick muscled arms, Joe shrugged off the black leather vest. He held it in one hand, allowing Colby to take several minutes letting his eyes wander over the older man’s bulked-out chest, tracing the contours of Joe’s massive furry pectoral muscles surmounted by the thick jutting tabs of his nipples. The schoolboy’s gaze slipped down the alpha’s torso, taking in the ripped abs covered with a dark trail of hair that led down to the waistband beneath which his gigantic cock was dripping precum onto his glossy black combat boots.
The little homo was succumbing in awe to the sheer physical power of Joe’s body. The experienced killer smirked and, holding out his leather vest, shoved the kid. “Here,” he said gruffly, “Take care of this for me, dude, and I’ll treat ya right.”
Colby took the vest and wandered to the side of the room as if lost in thought. There was a dresser next to the bathroom door; it was covered with what looked like dirty underwear. The teen tossed the leather jacket casually on top.
It was the opening Joe had been looking for. He waited for Colby to cross back to him.
“That’s yer idea of takin’ care of my fuckin’ leather?” he growled. “Bitch, I’m gonna hafta teach you that you don’t ever disrespect a dude’s leather. Down on yer knees, faggot, and start lickin’ my boots. Put yer useless mouth to work, cunt—now.”
The teen seemed taken aback by the sudden command. Joe didn’t give him time to adjust his emotional bearings; grabbing the boy by the back of his head, the alpha forced him down. “Lick that precum off my fuckin’ boots, boy,” Joe hissed.
Tentatively, Colby obeyed, sticking out his tongue and lapping up the salty smears of transparent pre-ejaculate. “Keep goin’, ya little homo,” Joe demanded, “I wanna see you work the whole boot.” Doing what he was told, Colby found his dick getting painfully stiff as he worked the older man’s combat boot, feeling the texture of the leather uppers and the nylon laces with the tip of his tongue.
“Fuck, man,” Colby gasped, raising his head, “Dude, I love yer boots.”
“Yeah?” Joe said. He drew his right leg back, then kicked it viciously forward, catching the teen on the right side of his chest, up under the pec. It wasn’t hard enough to do any permanent damage, but it had sufficient power to leave a bruise—and flip the punk onto his back. “How about now?” the sadist jeered, “Ya likin’ ‘em now?”
“Wh-what’d ya wanna go an’ do that for?” Colby whined, blinking and rubbing the sore spot on his side.
“Cause it gets me off. Anyway, you said you like it rough. Whassa matter—you chicken out?”
“This isn’t what I wanted when I said I liked it rough,” the boy bitched, his entitled arrogance creeping back into his voice. There was something about that tone of privileged complaint that set Joe on edge.
And Joe’s edge was razor-sharp.
“This ain’t about what you want, you worthless faggot,” he snarled, looming over the prone youth. Lifting his left foot, he placed his boot in the center of Colby’s chest, right between the low rises of the boy’s pecs, his heel resting on the sternum. Leaning forward very slightly, the older man put just enough weight on his left foot to make it difficult for the lean young punk to breathe.
Colby wheezed and grasped at Joe’s boot, trying to pry it off. He was suddenly and painfully aware that he’d let in an incredibly powerful stranger, someone who might easily hurt him—and he didn’t think he’d be strong enough to stop him. The impression grew much deeper as his eyes ran up the dude’s body.
His gaze had naturally started down at the black leather Corcoran boot that was grinding uncomfortably into his chest, from there it slowly traveled up the left leg. Joe’s firm calf muscle and thick thigh were visible through the skin-tight faded denim. From there, the massive jutting cock, a viscous drop of precum dangling from the tip—
“Aah!” he cried as the hot pearl of manjuice plunged down, splashing into his right eye with a burning sensation. Joe smirked.
“Did that hurt, ya little pansy? Fuck, you ain’t gonna like what I got planned for ya tonight, then. Too fuckin’ bad.”
The alpha lifted his boot. Colby inhaled deeply, feeling a moment of relief before the hardbodied sadist brought the boot back down again, this time on his face. The teen squealed as he felt the deep tread grinding into the right side of his face. His left eye stared frantically upwards, seeking the face of his assailant.
His view was almost vertical now, but past Joe’s narrow waist, the teen could still make out the bulging, fur-lined pectorals of the muscle-bound predator—they were hard to miss, with the large hard points of his nipples protruding. Above, the alpha’s strong, hard jaw was obscured by the shadow of dark facial scruff that spread from cheek to cheek, split in the center by a contemptuously amused grin. The older man’s eyes were lit from within by a sardonically malevolent grin.
Joe was not only enjoying this, he was making his enjoyment obvious to Colby. He put more of his weight on his left foot, sinking the boot deeper into the kid’s face. Colby’s hands scrabbled frantically over the smooth leather boot, trying desperately to pry it off, when there was a loud snap and the schoolboy cried out in pain.
Lifting his foot, Joe bent down to inspect the damage, but the broken cheekbone had left no external mark and hadn’t had enough time to cause swelling yet. Disappointed, the alpha stood back up, considered for a moment, then raised his left foot high and stomped on Colby’s solar plexus, hard enough to leave the details of his tread as a bruise.
The crushing pain seemed to force the air completely out of the youth’s lungs, then lock them up. As he curled instantly into a fetal position and tried desperately to inhale, he could hear Joe speaking, but he didn’t take the words in. He was too busy trying not to pass out.
“Now yer feelin’ me, bitch. See, raw meat like you needs to be tenderized a little. Just lay back and relax, ya stupid cunt, and I’ll make damn sure you’re prepared for a real man’s cock.”
Colby managed to force air back into his lungs with a huge gasp. He hadn’t followed the import of Joe’s words, but he’d vaguely understood the gist. “D-don-don’t w-want—” he mumbled. Joe kicked him in the left flank, hard. Colby, still unable to regulate his breathing, could only moan.
“I already toldja this ain’t about what you want, you stupid fuckin’ fairy,” the alpha snarled. Bending down and clamping a single hand around the kid’s throat, Joe hoisted him, kicking and struggling, into the air. “It’s about what you need. You need to know your place and purpose in this world, you little sack a’ shit, and I’m the man to teach ‘em to ya. Saddle up, motherfucker, cause it’s time to learn.”
With a powerful lunge of his arm, Joe tossed Colby onto the bed. The teen landed flat on his back, coughing and stunned, his long shaft of boycock lying limply between his spread legs. His breath had only been cut off for about forty-five seconds, but it had seemed to be a terrifying eternity; the youth was still in too much pain and shock to process the words that had been spoken.
Colby still wasn’t sure what was happening. The hot older stud had so perfectly suited his fantasy top, right down to the leather vest and the boots, that any premonition of danger that the kid might have had (not that he’d had any) would have been ignored. In his natural arrogance, the teen had presumed that his smooth twink body would be treated with due reverence.
It was obvious that he was wrong; he was just too stupid to realize it until Joe suddenly appeared on the bed, forcibly parting his legs. “W-wait—” Colby moaned, surprised at how much it hurt to speak. He hadn’t realize how badly the right side of his face was swollen.
“I ain’t waitin’ for shit, faggot,” Joe snarled as he grabbed the schoolboy’s ankles and hoisted them into the air. He leaned forward and Colby felt something warm, moist, and very large pressing against his asscheeks. Realizing what was about to happen, he tensed in physical fear.
“N-no, man, don-don’t, not like oh dear fuckin’ god it hurts get it out getitoutGETITOUT!” he screamed as Joe plowed his massive tube of manmeat into the punk’s fuckhole, driving his shaft as deeply into the teen’s guts as he could.
With a vicious swipe of his strong hair forearm, Joe backhanded Colby across the face. “Shaddup,” the older man barked, “This is whatcha fuckin’ wanted, ain’t it, boy? Shaddup and take a real man’s dick, ya whinin’ little faggot!”
Unused to any kind of self-control, the teen kept moaning loudly. The searing sense of impalement, of his tender asshole being torn open, kept virtually all rational thought at bay; the boy was operating on response to stimuli. Every now and then, a fleeting lucid thought was spun up by the vortex of pain and fear that had become his reality. One of them was a quick visualization of himself, seated over at the table, bent over an algebra textbook.
Another was the realization that in spite of everything, his own cock was hard; he could feel it, straining and oozing, slapping wetly against the alpha’s firm furry belly with every deep thrust up his ass. He didn’t know that it was the inevitable result of Joe’s thick tool massaging his prostate—he didn’t need to know. It just was.
Joe knew. He also knew that the punk wasn’t going to be quiet. “You goddam cockpig, I toldja to stop fuckin’ squealin’,” he muttered through ominously clenched teeth, “I swear to fuckin’ God, I’ll give ya something to squeal about. Yer gonna die tonight, right here in yer fuckin’ bed, ridin’ my cock. You feelin’ me here, asswipe? No?”
Again, Colby heard the words, but could only stare blankly into the hard, scruff-covered face of the hardbodied top. He hurt, oh God, he hurt so bad, he was so full of cock…
Then Joe wrapped his hands around Colby’s throat and began to squeeze, and everything changed.
The words Joe had spoken hit home; even the searing agony and psychological trauma of violent rape couldn’t compete with shock of sudden cessation of air. Joe had told Colby he was gonna die; suddenly, Colby comprehended him.
Joe could see the comprehension in the schoolboi’s eyes, too—the way they widened, the desperate spark of terror flashing into existence like a newly-lit beacon. “Yeah,” he whispered hoarsely as he bent he face closely to Colby’s, grinning erotically, “Now yer feelin’ me, faggot.”
Then all he had to do was hold on and let the teen do the work. The young ones were always good at this; they fought it hard, their strong bodies milking his shaft vigorously as they struggled vainly to stave off a long, slow death. And as Joe had expected, the virgin cunt was especially talented in this.
Colby was too busy trying to breathe to appreciate his guest’s enjoyment of his body—something that he would have taken great pleasure in, in other circumstances. As it was, the schoolboi was being crushed in the iron grip of claustrophobic panic. He was trapped, inexorably trapped under a heaving, pumping mass of muscle and fur.
The irony was lost on Colby—he’d wanted so badly to be pinned under a hot stud, getting relentlessly fucked, and now that it was happening, he was doing everything within his power to stop it. Problem was, of course, that his power was nothing compared to that of the hot stud’s.
As the strong hands remorselessly crushed his windpipe, the teen boy clawed frantically at Joe’s arms. His nails abraded the strongman’s skin, but did little other damage. Joe merely smirked. “G’wan, ya little fuck,” he jeered, “Keep fightin’ it. Maybe if ya try hard enough, I’ll let ya breathe. If ya make me cum, I might even let ya live. How’s that sound, ya sad little piece a’ shit? Milk a load outta my cock and I might not snuff ya. Whattaya got to lose?”
If the youth had been able to control his fear, he might have tried to take Joe up on his facetious offer. Of course, if the spoiled teen punk had had that kind of self-control, he wouldn’t have been in this situation in the first place. As it was, he continued to thrash violently, his colon spastically clenching Joe’s throbbing shaft.
The sadistic alpha tightened his grip on the kid’s throat, feeling the esophagus bend and distort beneath his fingers as he applied pressure. The deeper his fingers sank into Colby’s airway, the more energetically the kid flailed. His bare heels drummed on Joe’s taut, denim-covered ass, doing little damage but providing a brisk rhythmic beat to his own murder.
“Y’know,” Joe murmured, almost philosophically, “Yer parents are probably gonna be the ones to find your splayed-out, reamed-out corpse. That turns me on, faggot.”
It had been almost two minutes since Colby had last inhaled. He was wracked with pain, but not the pain of the boot-stomping he’d endured or even the pain of brutal assrape; these had faded as the mortal pain of asphyxiation had gained ground. There was a desperate burning sensation in his chest, as if his lungs were being sucked inside-out into a vacuum. The crushing agony in his throat was horrific—worse, the inability to breathe had triggered an uncontrollable urge to retch; his entire torso was wracked with vomitous spasms that ended futilely in his closed-off throat.
The worst, though, seemed to come from two different and widely spaced sensations that somehow seemed inextricably linked. The terrible pounding pain in his head, the jackhammering of his frenetic pulse inside his skull, felt as if it was on the verge of literally blowing his head wide open. And pulsing, swelling and subsiding excruciatingly at the same tempo, the teen’s balls were sinks of unbearable heat that radiated up his aching dick.
As his face darkened and swelled, violent black explosions began to blot out Colby’s field of vision. He didn’t know that blood vessels were rupturing as his large pale eyes bulged grotesquely from their sockets. Sections of his brain were starting to die at an accelerated rate; he could still feel his painfully throbbing cock, but not the drool being forced out past his black protruding tongue.
His frantic, desperate clawing was purely instinctual at this point; he was unaware of the fact that he was slapping ineffectually at Joe’s massive pecs—it was as useless as beating a marble statue. As another section of his brain failed from oxygen deprivation, the teen’s fingers curled and locked involuntarily; he raked them through Joe’s coarse, wiry chest hairs, his nails leaving vivid red streaks on the skin underneath.
And throughout the entire ordeal, he continued to buck his hips and clench his sphincter and colon on an increasingly rapid tempo. Joe’s hard muscled body glistened in the bleak overhead light as he held on, feeling his sperm seething in his balls, feeling the dying schoolboy sweating and shuddering beneath him, the way the teen’s smooth skin slid erotically beneath his flesh—
—and tensing his body automatically, he felt a sudden give beneath his hands, accompanied by loud and instinctively satisfying crunch as he crushed Colby’s trachea into a bloody mangled mass of cartilage.
It was as if a switch had been flipped for them both. Too much of Colby’s brain was dead for him to realize consciously that his throat had collapsed and that death was inevitable; even if it hadn’t been, he’d already suffered massive brain damage. There was enough of him left to suffer, though; the nerve endings were still intact, as was the pain center deep in the cerebellum. And there was a tiny corner in which what was left of the teen’s cocky, vain personality screamed into the agonizing darkness.
For Joe, the simmering stew of manseed in his scrotum finally boiled over. Gripping the schoolboy’s throat tightly, he jerked his hands in opposite directions, literally wringing Colby’s neck as he pumped his load into the dying kid’s guts.
As dark fireworks overwhelmed his vision and his mind, Colby felt the heat flowing into him. Despite the fact that he was exiting his short, useless life in a howling nightmare of pain and terror, there was something somehow—satisfying—about the sensation. The dying spark of his craven faggot soul felt a brief sense of relief as his aching, hormone-filled teen balls drained spontaneously, thick ropy strands of boycum erupting convulsively from his jutting cock and spewing wad after wad of teen spunk over his smooth, slick belly and into Joe’s sweat-moistened body fur.
It took Joe a few minutes to regain some composure; after a bit, he stopped shuddering and gasping and was able to pull his still-hard cock out of the teen’s corpse. It had taken him a little longer than usual because the schoolboy’s body had continued to convulse and tremble after death, milking the last drop of manseed from Joe’s engorged member.
Joe stepped into the bathroom and wetted a hand towel at the sink; the bathroom was filthy, but the hand towel didn’t seem to have been used. Based on the state of the bathroom, the lazy little homo probably didn’t even know what it was for. Once he was done with it, he dropped it in the toilet and flushed it. The towel vanished from sight before getting stuck; Joe watched the bowl start to overflow before leaving the room, having already tucked his potent manhood back into his jeans.
Back in the bedroom area, he grabbed his leather vest. As he slipped it on, he admired his kill. The schoolboi was sprawled in the center of the bed, his legs spread wide with a dark stain between them where Joe’s cum had overflowed the slut’s ass. The kid’s belly and chest were covered with his own spunk—it literally looked like quarts of it, already sticky and drying to a glaze—and his ghastly black face, swollen and staring blankly at the ceiling, showed clearly the horrible slow torture of his rape and murder.
It was hot as fuck. He couldn’t help admiring it, even as the carpet under his boots became sodden from water leaking out of the bathroom.
Suddenly there was sound from around the corner. A light appeared there, showing the silhouette of someone standing at the top of a staircase. “Colby?” a woman’s voice called out, “Are you down there? We’re back.”
Joe pressed himself against the wall, keeping silent.
“It’s a shame you couldn’t come, Colby—your dad got a twenty-year service award. It’s a twenty-five dollar gold piece! Once he’s out of his suit, I’ll have him come down and show it to you.”
The door closed. It took Joe no more than thirty seconds to locate Colby’s phone and pocket it, and another thirty to get out of the house by the basement exit.
As he turned onto the highway acceleration ramp, he caught a glimpse of a police car in his rearview mirror, heading in the direction in which he’d left. He grinned—those people would never realize the favor he’d done for them, offing that worthless leech. Oh well, no true artist was appreciated in his own time.