I first see them leaving the skate park and almost give them a pass; after all, if they were leaving the park, they were probably on their way home, right? And they look like typical teenaged wigger punks; home is probably a nice suburban neighborhood with lots of security cameras.
Fuckin’ cameras ruin a good hunt.
But these boys…there’s something about them, something about the cocky arrogance of their young faces and the lustful wantonness of their hormone-filled bodies. I turn around and pull over, giving them plenty of headway; they’re riding their boards and I don’t want to overtake them until I can figure out their destination.
It turna out to be an improvised skate park in the parking lot of an abandoned warehouse some two miles east. The low buildings of rusted metal are gaunt and desolate in the late afternoon sun. There isn’t anyone for miles, not even any other skaters. I pull quietly to the curb and watch the boys practice their moves, away from prying eyes—so they thought.
I can’t tell if they’re related. They took a smoke break a few minutes back, the dark-haired one offering the ginger punk a Camel. Willing to bet Camel boy is older than eighteen—the legal age for buying cigarettes in this state. It’s just a guess, though; if he is over eighteen, it isn’t by much.
The redhead’s freckled face, squinting in the sunlight, looks younger than that of his companion, but I’m estimating him at seventeen, largely by his outfit. He’s rigged out in full skater punk gear, from the ped socks and Etnies Fader 2 kicks to the shiny black and blue polyester ball shorts and black tank top with the Adidas logo in white, all kinda generic. But like a true douchebag, he’s wearing a flat-brimmed ball cap with the sales tag still dangling from it. It’s dark green with white piping and a white logo; I’m too far away to make out the logo, but I don’t need to. Those colors are the colors of a high school not far from my home. And that big squarish glint of gold on his finger is obviously a class ring.
So gingerboy is a high school senior and his douchebuddy is probably a recent graduate—jobless punk, just fuckin’ around.
Nobody’ll miss him. Nobody’ll miss either of them.
I decide on a tried and true lure. Quietly starting my van, I circle the block away from them. I light up a joint and quickly take a couple of deep hits, making sure that the cab reeks of weed. I then whip a corner and come upon them suddenly, as if I didn’t know they were already there.
“Yo! Dude!” I call out. The older one is closer; he eyes me warily but comes towards me.
“Whatcha need, bro?” he asks cautiously.
His face is smooth except for a very faint haze of new hair growth on his cheeks and chin, and across his upper lip. He’s wearing a gray knit cap pulled down over the tips of his ears, but his black hair is long enough to stick out underneath. I like it. I’ll let him keep his cap on as he dies.
He’s wearing a thin, tight tank top, gray on the front with the words “U Mad Bro?” in black. Below a pair of faded red chino skater shorts, he’s got on a pair of Osiris NYC 83 hightops in brick red. Little fuck thinks he’s stylin’…
“Hey, man,” I call out, an easy grin on my masculine face. Nothing wrong here, motherfucker. “I been drivin’ round for half an hour—where’s the fukkin’ highway?”
“It’s, uh, it’s that way,” the kid mutters, pointing to the left.
“Yeah, well, what I really wanna know is, where can I get some beer?”
Skaterboi becomes a little more enthusiastic about helping a stranger in need.
“Well, yeah, there’s this place…it’s kinda hard to find, though…”
He’s giving me an opening and I take it.
“Wanna show me the way?” I ask. “I’ll getcha high on the way.”
He lights up, his youthful face glowing with pleasure; just looking at him makes my dick hard. But then his expression clouds over and he looks anxiously back at gingercunt.
“Hey, it’s ok,” I grin, “I got enough room—and enough weed for him too. Here, lemme pull into the lot and open up the back. We’ll get good an’ fucked up before we pick up some brewskis.”
Now the kid’s all kinda cheerful and helpful. “Hey, Steve!” he calls out, gesticulating at the redheaded punk, “Getcher ass over here!”
“Whassup?” Steve the ginger says, popping up his board into his hand and heading over.
“We gotta real bro here, man—he’s gonna get us high an’ then I’m gonna show ‘im how to get over to Wegel’s so we can get some brews!”
Gingerfuck lights up, too. Goddam, this is like shootin’ fish in a barrel. Stupid little asswipes actin’ like they’re big, swinging dicks in the world—lessee how big their dicks are when they’re ridin’ mine.
Having pulled into a space in the lot, I shut the engine off. This neighborhood is as good as any, nice and isolated, but a few random vehicles parked here and there so my van doesn’t stand out. I get out of the driver seat, my big black leather harness boots hitting the asphalt with a loud thump. I make sure the huge bulge of my manhood is visible in the crotch of my skintight but worn jeans. These little cocksuckers are gonna see they’re dealin’ with a real man.
They don’t notice at first, as I slide open the door to the rear of the van; that’s ok. I can wait. They’ll have plenty of opportunity to notice my cock when it’s buried in their asses. “C’mon inside, dudes,” I say jovially; both boys show their eagerness by hustling their lithe, smooth bodies with alacrity. So young, so hot, so stupid—goddam, I can’t wait to off these little fucks.
“Hey, uh—” I call out to gingerfuck.
“Steve,” he hastens to remind me, “And he’s Jeff.” Like I give a shit.
“Here ya go, Steve,” I say, tossing him a hard Marlboro box. “Gotta couple of jays already rolled in there. Y’all help yerselves; I got enough to roll one for me up here.” And with that, I settle into the driver seat, waiting for the Xanax-laced joints to start taking effect. While I wait, I quietly slip a pair of handcuffs out of the center console and into my pocket.
It doesn’t take more than five minutes before the sounds of muttering and giggling fade out in the back. I step back into a thick haze of sweet blue smoke to find both boys stoned out of their fucking minds. They managed to polish off a joint each; Steve it completely blitzed. He’s laying back against the side of the van. He’s grinning so hard his eyes are squinted and his tongue is out; his face is so flushed his freckles have nearly vanished. As I watch, he lolls his head back, knocking off his cap and revealing the short, spiked orange hair on his head.
Jeff is on the other side; his face is heavy and vacant, but he’s still conscious and somewhat lucid. He hasn’t completely finished his joint yet.
“Hey, wanna see something really hot?” I leer at him.
“Yeah, what?” he asks, grinning dopily.
“Here, lemme start with this.” I whip out the handcuffs. Before Jeff has a chance to react, I cinch one cuff around his left wrist and the other through a pair of holes drilled in the van’s body ribbing. Now the punk can’t move more than a few inches from that position.
“Wha?” he grunts, looking foggily at the cuffs.
“Over here,” I say, snapping my fingers and approaching the other punk. “I’m gonna take yer buddy here—”
“Brotha…” Jeff mutters, “He’s m’half brotha…”
“He’s fuckmeat, asshole,” I snap. “I’m gonna stick my dick in him and unload in his ass as he dies and yer gonna watch.”
Jeff stares at me, gape-jawed. It’s difficult to tell how much of his impassivity is due to shock or fear and how much to being drugged, but it doesn’t matter. The drugs will have worn off long before I’m done with the first piece of boymeat. By the time I get to little Jeffie over there, he’ll be plenty awake enough to know what’s going on.
And that’s good. I want him awake and suffering by the time I fuck him. I want to feel his agonized screams as they reverberate in his strong smooth body and vibrate the root of my cock…
First things first, though. Gingerfuck needs a little lesson on his proper place in the world first, just as a little foreplay. Something to get Jeff and me both into the right mood, to get the juices flowing, so to speak.
And where is red-headed skaterboi Steve’s proper place in the world? It’s taking a dirt nap with my manseed coating his guts. Just thinking about it’s already got me hard. Fuck it, I’m goin’ in—need to get those punk threads cut off the fucker.
Time to start the fun. Crouching in the center of the van—I’m too tall to stand up in here—I unzip my fly and let my huge, throbbing hog flop out.
Both pieces of fuckmeat stare groggily at my engorged rod, but only Jeff has retained enough motor control to speak coherently. Well, kinda.
“Wha…” he mumbles, “Why…whyyerfuckin…dickout…” His dark, heavy-lidded eyes focus on my manhood.
Little redheaded Stevie just giggles. I turn and grin at Jeff. “It’s out cause I’m gonna stick in ya, cunt. But first, I’m gonna stick it in yer brother. Oh, and this, too,” I add, holding up a specialty tool I’ve made by grinding down the head of an eight-inch long screwdriver, leaving a pointed tip on a nearly half-inch diameter steel shaft.
Jeff is inarticulate; he shakes his head wildly, but is unable to speak. I note, in passing, that his knit cap stays in place no matter how vigorous his movements. Wonder if he had an idea he’d die wearing it when he slipped it on today…
I turn to Steve. He’s still lying limply against the far side of the van from his brother, too high to move. I know he heard my words, and I’m fairly certain he understood them, but it doesn’t matter. If he didn’t understand them, he soon will. I bend down and yank of his ball shorts, tugging them down his legs and over his Etnies kicks.
Of course the punk-ass faggot is commando, letting his thick teenaged dick swing free between his legs; it lies, limp but long and veined, against the boy’s smooth inner thigh. His shirt is easier to dispose of; I shove the toe of one boot into an armhole, bend down, and tug. It takes no more than a moment to rip the thin tank top off and leave the meat lying nude but for his sneakers and socks.
“Steve,” Jeff calls out hoarsely, his voice scratchy with effort, “C’mon…gotta wake-wake up…dude’s gon-gonna rape yer ass…”
“Yours too, cocksucker,” I grin at him, “Don’t forget.”
“No…” the ginger youth moans as I force his firm legs apart and knelt between them, my massive tool fully erect and oozing in anticipation of his taut young fuckhole. “Whaddaya mean, no?” I jeered, “Fuck yeah is whatcha mean. Feel this shit, bro.” Leaning over his slim, muscled frame, helpless on the floor of the van, I pressed the pulsing head of my cock against his quivering sphincter and applied pressure. Not a lot—just enough to let him know I was there.
“Ah—ah—no, p-please…” he whimpered, his cocky face twisted with fear. So fuckin’ erotic—but not enough. It needs to be twisted in pain, too.
“Fuck you, skatefag,” I whisper and thrust my hips forward, spearing the punk’s colon with my enormous shaft—dry. I can feel some resistance on the head of my dick, then there’s a parting sensation as something in gingerfuck’s asshole tears open. The meat squeals like a stuck pig and my rod slides home, buried so far deep into the teen skateboi’s guts that my wiry pubes are grinding his smooth buttcheeks.
“Aw, shaddup, cunt!” I snarl and pound my balled-up fist into his face. My blow lands on his chin; his jaws slam shut, driving his teeth through his tongue.
“You goddam asshole!” Jeff sobs, his voice stricken with anguish as he looks on at his brother’s abuse and torment. “Don’t get jealous,” I tell him, grinning. “It’ll be yer turn to enjoy my cock soon enough, bro; let the kid here enjoy it first.” Then I punch Steve again. Fuck, that feels good—I can feel his entire body stiffen and clench my dick in reaction to the impact.
“Goddam, you really are a sick little queerfuck, aintcha?” I jeer into Steve’s swelling, tear-streaked face, “Yer really handlin’ my dick good—yer jest fuckin’ lovin’ it when I hit ya, too, huh? Ok, ya perverted little piece a’ shit; ya like the pain—I can sure as fuck deliver. Buckle up, motherfucker, cause I’m gonna hurt you so fuckin’ bad, you’ll cum in sheer joy!”
It gets kinda loud in the van for a couple of minutes, between Steve’s cries of pain, Jeff’s helpless invective and the meaty sound of flesh striking flesh. By the time it gets quiet again, gingerfuck is barely conscious and his brother is hanging limply at the side of the van, weeping quietly. It’s warm in here; I take a moment to slip out of my shirt—there. Damn, I’ve been sweating enough to mat down my chest hair…
I leer down into the dazed teen’s face—so young, so beautiful, so punchable—and run my hands down his firm, lithe torso, feeling his smooth skin slick with a film of cold sweat forced out of him by his suffering. His dick is semi-soft and getting stiffer by the second; it’s a reaction to the vigorous prostate massage he’s enjoying.
Unfortunately, he’s going loose on my shaft. I need to fix that. I don’t think he’s going to be enjoying his assrape for much longer—but I’ll give him a chance, first.
“Hey, buttfuck,” I smirk, “You’re failin’, dude. Only reason I’m keepin’ ya around is to get off, an’ here you are, going slack on my hog. Here, I’ll give ya—” here I set the timer on my watch— “thirty seconds to start workin’ my dick good, or I’m gonna make ya work it.”
And I spend the next thirty seconds counting down and plowing his rectum remorselessly. His ass doesn’t get any tighter—I didn’t expect it to—but the increasing panic in his bewildered face is intoxicating.
“…three…two…one! Ok, fuckwad, now it’s my turn.” I show him my pointed steel shank. “See this, bro? This is gonna tighten yer ass up real good.”
I’d been so busy fucking with little Stevie that I’d almost forgotten the second course. A gasp and moan from the side reminds me that I’ve got more meat to tenderize. I hold up the screwdriver so Jeff can admire it too.
“Hey, dude, yer little faggot bro here likes to get fucked, yeah? He likes a good skullfuck? Cool, man—I’m gonna fuck his skull with this.”
I don’t think he’s following me. I know Steve isn’t, but that’s ok. I’ll manage to get it into his head somehow—heh heh heh.
By now the teen fucker I’m rammin’ is panicking. He knows something bad is about to happen, so he’s pawing at my chest. I’m laying across him, feeling that young, strong body writhe in terror beneath me—his legs are wrapped around my waist. His Etnies are drumming on my firm asscheeks; a minor distraction at most. And for all this activity and exertion, the stupid little sack of shit still can’t tighten his sphincter.
“Awright, enough of this shit,” I snarl, “You really are a lousy lay, fuckhead.”
I force his head to the side and plant one of my big hands on it, splayed out and taking all my weight, pinning it to the floor. Then I take the screwdriver and start shoving into Steve’s ear.
Gingerfuck’s howls of pain take on a more intense quality as the sharpened steel punctures his eardrum and starts tearing its way through the delicate structures of the middle and inner ear. Suddenly the skateboi isn’t fighting me any more—he’s clinging to me tightly, desperately, afraid to move, as if remaining completely still will lessen the torture being inflicted on him.
It won’t. Stupid little shit. He’s holding me like a lover, and I’m about to ream his cockpig brain with a homemade shank. His head is still twisted to the side, of course, but when I look down, I can see the wide, shocked edges of his eyes as he tries to peer at me.
“Shh, shh,” I whisper, grinning, and apply more pressure to the screwdriver, “Enjoy the pain asswipe; you’ll be dead in minutes.” There’s a faint moist crunching sound as the sharpened steel shiv punches through Steve’s inner ear and begins tunneling into his cerebellum.
The punk vomits; I’ve destroyed the mechanism that provides his sense of balance and he’s experiencing profound vertigo. He hasn’t stopped holding me, though; as the screwdriver sinks deeper into his skull, Steve clutches me ever more tightly.
I look up at Jeff. “Hey, man,” I call out softly. He turns and looks at me unwillingly, his large dark eyes reflecting his horror and despair. “Watch it, man. Watch me fuckin’ cum up inside yer bro as he dies on my cock. Watch me fuck his brain into hamburger, motherfucker—it’s so goddam hot.” I give him my best shark-like grin. “But don’t worry, dude—I’ll have plenty of spunk left over to hose down yer corpse, too.”
The older skateboi moans softly, like he’s not really paying attention. That pisses me off. In a couple of minutes, I’ll make goddam sure the fuckin’ faggot is payin’ attention. He’ll be hangin’ on my every word like it’s life or fuckin’ death—but all it’s gonna be is fuckin’ death, heh.
In the meantime, I’ve got the screwdriver halfway into little Stevie’s head. I’m amazed the high school punkboy is still functional; he’s gotta be suffering some pretty serious brain trauma by this point, but he’s still squirming deliberately, which means someone’s still home.
Time for a fuckin’ eviction. My toes curl, digging the soles of my big black boots into the floor of the van as I brace myself and shove the steel shank in up to the hilt.
There’s no resistance; it’s like poking a knife into a mass of scrambled eggs. And scrambled is the right word; as massive brain trauma makes the little bitch’s colon wrap around my thick, pounding shaft like fuckin’ velvet, I slowly start to churn the metal shaft inside Steve’s skull.
I make sure to catch Jeff’s eyes. Huge as they are, they’re easy to catch; huge and round with shock. He stares at the horrific scene unfolding in front of him. Teenaged fear and despair wash off him in waves, his adolescent pheromones filling the heavy, lust-soaked atmosphere in the back of my van—it’s makin’ my cock throb so fuckin’ bad…
“Look at ‘im,” I hiss at Jeff, “I done banged yer little bro so hard I fucked ‘im into a retard, an’ he still ain’t made me cum yet. Worthless fuckin’ faggot—you better get me off, you sack a’ shit, or the pain I put you in will make this look like an owie for mommy to kiss.”
I pull out and stand up, my massive manshaft still glistening with Steve’s ass juices. The young ginger is lying on the floor of the van, his smooth, sweat-lubes body stiff, rigid and trembling. His teeth are clenched, his eyes rolled back in his head—and his cock his hard and dripping. He’s not dead yet; his heart is still beating and he’s still breathing, independently if irregularly.
But I’ve left the screwdriver buried in his head, the orange-and-blue plastic handle protruding incongruously from his ear.
I cross over to Jeff and uncuff him; the hardbodied skateboi sinks blubbering to his knees. As he curls up, I bend down and rip off his shirt, then jerk him up and yank off his shorts. He falls back to the floor as I toss them aside.
“Get up, pansy-ass,” I snarl and give the fucker a swift kick. The impact of my steel-toed boot on his flank elicits a grunt and then—amazingly; I thought the asshole was too scared to speak—a reply.
“I—we ain’t no faggots” Jeff manages to gasp between broken sobs, tears accumulating on his long dark eyelashes. Fuck, that’s so sexy. He needs to cry more. He deserves it, the fuckwad.
“Yeah? Sez who, you?” I chuckle. “Dude, yer gonna be suckin’ yer bro’s dick here in a second.”
“Fuck you!” Jeff yells in an access of fury, spitting at me. A nice sharp backhand gets a yelp from the skatepunk and puts a stop to his pussy little rebellion. “No, no—fuck you,” I reply calmly, “But first, wrap yer fuckin’ lips around your brother’s dick, cocksucker, or I’ll fuckin’ kill yer ass right now.”
There’s a knife I keep stashed in the back, a long, serrated hunting knife that just holding gives me an erection. It’s one of my favorites, although I’m not using it today. Jeff doesn’t know that, though, so when I brandish it, he gets quiet and pale.
“Down on yer knees, fairyboy,” I command and he does it. Stupid fuckin’ asswipe. He’s looking right at his brother’s tool—it’s standing straight up, more than six inches of vein-wreathed cockmeat, pulsing and oozing precum. Still holding the knife, I circle around and kneel down by Steve’s head.
“Now put it in yer mouth, cocksucker,” I demand coldly, “Open wide and gulp it down. I wanna see you chokin’ on yer brain-dead bro’s dick.”
Jeff blanches and gags, then swallows heavily. “Get that fuckin’ dick down yer throat now!” I yell and the teen punk holds his breath and deepthroats his half-brother.
I lean forward and shove Jeff’s head down with one hand. With the other, I grab the handle of the screwdriver and start churning Steve’s brain matter into pudding again—only this time, I’m aiming for the mass of cells that control the pleasure center of the brain. It takes seconds to mince that section, shorting out the dying kid’s nervous system and inducing a hyper-extended orgasm that wouldn’t have been physically possible in the course of normal sexual function.
The red-haired skateboi literally floods his brother’s mouth with hot teen spunk. Jeff’s on his knees, between Steve’s smooth, firm, still-twitching thighs, looking right at me as his bro unloads down his throat. As he pulls his head up, gagging and choking, a thick wad of jizz slipping out of his mouth, the brain-dead meat just keeps spewing into the open air. Damn, I’ve triggered a geyser.
I feel like I wanna do the same myself. “Time to saddle up, Jeff, my balls need drainin’ too,” I mutter, rising to my feet, knowing the dark-eyed skaterboi with the knit cap can’t hear me—he’s too busy retching up his brother’s semen. Steve jerks violently as a brief rain of semen falls in the van, then goes quiet–but not quite still.
But I have the other cunt to deal with. Let’s see, what do I wanna use to off this fucker? Lessee—oh yeah. This’ll fuckin’ work.
As Jeff leans forward and, still gagging, gets on his hands and knees to rise, I jump forward and mount him doggie-style, plugging my big thick tube of manmeat up his tight little boyhole before he has a chance to resist. I punch past his sphincter like a jackhammer and am buried balls-deep in his ass, my massive jizz-filled sack slapping against his scrote, before it even registers that he’s been violated.
When it does, he shrieks, and for a moment I devote myself to pure physical pleasure. I wrap my hands around Jeff’s torso from behind, fondling his pecs and nipples, feeling his firm, boyish chest heave in anguish and his smooth skin grow slick with cold sweat squeezed from his youthful frame by pain.
Then I wrap the bungee cord I picked up around his neck and pull it tight, garroting the skatepunk from behind as I fuck him like a bitch.
In his sudden confusion and panic, Jeff collapses. The sudden cessation of air can cause intense focus as a rational man plots his defense. Dumbass faggots like Jeff, though, just kick and die.
And that’s just what the dumbass faggot is doin’ right now, with my cock wedged up his ass.
“That’s it, motherfucker, keep fightin’ it,” I whisper encouragingly into the teen’s ear, “The harder you fight, the better you work my cock.”
Jeff struggles beneath me, his strong, wiry body thrashing violently. It’s more than the usual panic—oh yeah; he’s just realized he’s gettin’ assraped on top of his brother’s corpse. If the little cunt is dead yet, that is. Fucker’s still twitchin’.
I don’t care why; it just feels good. “That’s it—ya like that, huh? Ya like the thought of a real man takin’ yer worthless punk ass out, huh? Fuck, you goddam sack a’ garbage, keep milkin’ my shaft!” The elastic cord stretches in my hands, but from the corners of my eyes, I can see how the tats on my bulging biceps seem to swell as I cinch the cord even tighter around the young boy’s neck. It’s sunk so deep into his flesh it’s barely visible.
He’s trying to talk, the motherfucker. “Gh! Ng! Ng! NG!!” he grunts thickly, clawing at his throat, like that’s gonna do any good. “You stupid fuck,” I laugh at him, ramming my pulsating shaft into his ravaged colon, “Keep tryin’ to pull it away, dipshit, it’ll keep ya busy as ya die.”
He reaches behind himself with one hand, awkwardly trying to reach me; it’s an utter failure, of course. He’s twisting his head violently from side to side like it’s somehow gonna magically give him air; in the process, he dislodges his knit cap, revealing near shoulder-length russet hair, stringy and matted with desperate sweat.
Again, my boots are planted wide for traction. Between them, skatemeat’s Osiris hightops are drumming frantically at the floor of the van. He’s not just twisting his head now, he’s thrashing it, flinging foamy streamers of drool as he kicks and flails and slowly strangles to death.
Just like his worthless brother, Jeff’s brain is dying. I can feel his firm young body become less controlled in its movements at it struggles beneath my hard, muscular form, the teen’s slick, sweat-lubed skin sliding easily against my own furry flesh as the cunt dies with my cock inside him.
“Jeez, ya fuckin’ useless piece a’ meat, ya didn’t get me off either,” I mutter, tightening the cord—and then there’s a loud crunch, and the cord gives way as I crush Jeff’s esophagus into a wad of bleeding gristle.
The reaction is immediate; Jeff’s ass grabs my dick and begins to jack me off like that was its original design. Under me, the docile, brain-damaged skaterboi suddenly erupts into a physical frenzy—motherfucker convulses violently, his young, strong body suffering extended death throes.
It feels so fuckin’ good, the way his dying, oxygen-deprived brain makes his body jerk and flail, as if the whole point of his death is to earn my load. And it is, really. So I give it to him, grunting and beating on his smooth, bare back, as I pump what feels like quart after quart of searing hot manseed into the teenaged faggot’s guts.
I spend a few moments on top of the fagmeat pile, my cock still sunk in Jeff’s ass as Jeff’s corpse drools out onto Steve’s still-trembling form. I need to catch my breath, and it’s warm and moist and cozy up here.
After a bit, I get back up, tuck my still-pulsing manshaft back down the leg of my jeans, and slip my shirt back on. Heading up to the front of the van, I do a quick recon and make sure the coast is clear before dumping the meat.
I dunno if these two fuckers built this place or if they had help, but there ain’t no one else around, and that’s perfect. I open up the back and drag Jeff out.
There’s a halfpipe in the center of the park. I seat him on the ground leaning back against it, his head tilted back into the bottom of the pipe. Then I drag Steve over.
It was seeing all that cum of Steve’s glazing Jeff’s face that gave me the idea. I drape Steve into the pipe facedown and plug his dick in Jeff’s mouth. Retreating five yards, I examine the tableau for effect.
Two teen boys, nude except for their skate shoes—one seated on the ground, legs spread, the other leaning over him into the halfpipe, getting a BJ. It’s perfect. You need to get real close to see that they’re dead. If they are; gingerfuck still seems to be quivering. I thought he’d be goin’ stiff by now.
I’ll toss their clothes and boards into that canal I passed. Think there was enough water and a fast enough flow to confuse things whenever they’re found. I gotta go, but I’m gonna be paying close attention to the news. I love it when they linger on the artistic touches I give to a kill. I not a butcher, for fuck’s sake; I take pride in my work.
News item, dated next day:
Two teenaged youths, half-brothers from the same household, found attacked and sexually assaulted on abandoned property used as skate park by local youths. Jeff Lansing, age nineteen, was reported dead on arrival at Montgomery County Hospital. Steven Lansing, age eighteen, was reported in grave condition upon arrival. Sources report the surviving victim has suffered such severe brain damage that he has been placed on full life support and is not expected to recover.
Immediate response from the authorities has been to demolish the unapproved skate park. A representative from the sheriff’s department told this reporter that…
2 thoughts on “Meat Chronicles 19–Halfpipe in the Park, Full Pipe Up the Ass”
Get ’em while they’re young and nubile. The tableau at the end, superb. Shame when the deputies first picked it up a cock didn’t drop out of someone’s ass. Enjoyed it.
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great fucking story as usual mate! love the half-brother skatepunk victims gettin what they deserved.
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