He says his name’s Derek and he can’t be any older than eighteen.  He’s got glossy black hair and a brownish skin tone that makes me think he’s Latino, but there’s no trace of an accent.  And with that name; well, maybe he’s just really tanned.

 

Whatever.  He’s also completely fucked; he just doesn’t know it yet.

 

I spot him on the side of the road beside an ancient, beat-up Ford Probe.  He’s leaning back against the car, surreptitiously trying to toke on a joint as he eyes the passing cars.  His firm, lithe young body is more than adequately displayed in a navy-blue muscle shirt that shows his smooth bulging biceps.  His long, thick legs are highlighted by a pair of worn and pale jeans, skintight, that he’s tucked into his kicks—an expensively tacky pair of Nike Air Force 1 boots, bright red.

 

Of course I have to pull over.

 

He stubs out the joint shiftily and approaches the passenger side of my van.  I roll down the window.  “Need some help?” I ask, keeping my face open and friendly.

 

He brushes some stray hairs out of his face and grins up at me, his dark eyes bloodshot.  The punk is high as a fuckin’ kite.

 

“Yeah, dude, th’ POS fuckin’ died,” he replies dreamily.  “Was gonna call up some homies to come get me but m’ phone is dead too.”

 

“That’s a lotta shit to die at once,” I riposte with a wicked grin, “Get in and I’ll give ya a lift.  You can re-fire that jay, if ya want.”

 

And that’s all it takes to lure the stoned fuckmeat into my van.

 

He tells me his name and where he’s going—something about picking up booze for a party with his bros, but I’m not listening to the details.  I’m busy maneuvering through traffic towards a certain abandoned warehouse I know of, where I can find the necessary privacy.  Luckily, the teen is too fucked up to notice where we are until I actually pull into the warehouse lot and head for a secluded loading bay.

 

“Hey, man,” Derek says with a cough as he exhales a thick haze of blue smoke, “Where are we?  I was gonna have ya go by Bart’s Liquor over on Adams, it’s kinda my favorite—”

 

“Shut up, motherfucker,” I bark.  He starts, his eyes opening wide.  Then he laughs; a boyish sound, almost endearingly goofy.

 

I pull out my blackjack.  Actually, it’s just a pair of socks, one inside the other, filled with marbles.  He stops laughing and focuses blearily on it.

 

“What-what’s that for?” he asks hesitantly.

 

“It’s to put yer lights out, asswipe.  An’ once I do that, I’m gonna rape yer ass and kill ya.  Yer about to die, cocksucker.”

 

I love this part.  There’s something so erotic about the look of stunned confusion in a teen’s face as he realizes what I’m about to do to him.  And this one is no different—in fact, he’s better.  He’s so stoned it takes him some time to process my words.  I can watch him working it out, his smooth features twisting with the unaccustomed effort of thinking.

 

He’s a stupid little fuckwad.  My dick is so fuckin’ hard at the thought of putting him in pain…

 

He’s finally caught on.  “Wha—wha—wait, wha’d you say?”

 

“Time to die, twinkie.”

 

The blackjack makes a deep, solid “thunk” sound as it connects with his right temple.  Kid’s too fucked up to even flinch.  He goes limp in the seat.

 

I get out of the driver’s seat and slip into the rear to check my gear.  I don’t need much, just a box cutter for access and a pair of thick industrial zip ties.  Then I unbuckle his seatbelt and drag him into the rear—and at that point the transformation is complete.

 

Derek no longer exists.  There’s no more “he”; there’s only an “it” that exists for my pleasure.  And I’m gonna make goddam sure it pleasures me.

 

I could simply pull the clothes off but I like cutting them off.  Well, not fully cutting—I just nick the collar of the fucker’s shirt, then rip it off its smooth torso, rubbing my hands over its pecs, pinching and twisting the large dark nipples…

 

…it starts moaning.  I decide to leave the jeans and boots on.  Quickly rolling the semi-conscious boymeat over, I slice its jeans open—a straight slash down the crack of the ass that I pull wide to reveal two golden globes, covered with a faint peach fuzz and no underwear at all.

 

Having cut myself access to the teen’s fuckhole, I flip it back over.  Just as its eyelids start to flutter, I unzip its fly and pull out the punk’s long tube of dickmeat.  Motherfucker has an impressive cock—nowhere near as thick or long as mine, as it’s about to find out, but not bad.

 

I like a nice stiff piece of meat as much as the next dude.  I place one of the zip ties around the meat’s rod and scrote, tightening it past the pain of pleasure—well into the tissue damage zone.  Instantly, the teen’s shaft begins to turn purple and go rigid.

 

I don’t need any help for my own dick.  I pull off my t-shirt, and whip out my hog—but like the meat, I keep my jeans and boots on.  The treaded soles of my combat boots help me to maintain traction on the floor of the van as I raise the fuckmeat’s legs and expose its ass.

 

It’s just waking up as I plow my swollen, engorged rod into its tight teenage asshole.

 

It starts squealing and squeaking; the meat always does.  Stupid little punks are getting the best fuck of their lives, and they never appreciate it.  At least, not this early on; they need encouragement.  Time to give this kid some.

 

“Shaddap, ya worthless sack a’ fuckmeat,” I snarl and pop it in the face, hard.

 

The impact knocks the breath out of it momentarily; it can only moan and gasp, looking at me with eyes wide with fear and pain.  Well, one eye—the other is already swelling…

 

I plunge my erect cock into the kid’s colon again, the huge purple head probing deep into the fucker’s tender guts.  The virgin asshole feels so goddam good around my hard, unyielding manshaft; I can feel my tool tearing remorselessly at the boy’s fragile innards.

 

The meat shudders and sobs; it’s in fucking agony.  Good.

 

“Ya think that hurts, ya fuckin’ cocksucker?  You ain’t felt nothing yet; by the time I’m done, you’ll be in so much pain you’ll be begging to die!”

 

I lean down closer, letting my rough stubble scrape the fucker’s cheek while I whisper in its ear, “Only, ya won’t have to beg.  See, I’m gonna keep hurtin’ ya till I cum, and the only thing that’s gonna make me cum is watchin’ ya die.  Got it, fuckwad?  Then let’s get goin’; I gotta a huge wad to unload today.”

 

It starts beating at my chest.  It’s so cute, the way the twink’s fists thump helplessly against my massive pecs; it’s almost as if my fucktoy is giving me a nice chest massage.  I laugh in its tear-stained face.

 

Deep inside the red Nike boots propped on my shoulders, I can feel the little cunt’s toes curl in sexual agony as my huge, vein-wreathed manshaft reams its fuckhole like I’m snaking a drain.  The fucker’s shrieks and screams rise in pitch with every deep thrust of my powerful hips; the sound is grating on my nerves.

 

“Why is it every motherfucker I bang ends up bein’ a screamer?” I ask the meat conversationally, then punch it in the face again.  I plowed into the teen’s jaw mid-squeal, slamming its trap shut and causing it to bite its lip.  Its eyes rolled back momentarily in its head; blood trickled down its chin as it moaned groggily.

 

“Fuck, I can feel that shit all the way down on my dick,” I tell the stunned teen, “Goddam, cunt, your fuckhole gets nice an’ tight each time. Ya like that, dontcha, ya sick motherfucker?  Yeah?  Ya like a real man beatin’ yer teen face to a fuckin’ pulp?  Well, why didntcha just say so, asswipe?”

 

Like a coiled spring, my strong bicep flexes three times in quick succession, bashing the adolescent punk viciously in the mouth and nose.  The latter breaks with a wet squelch; the meat coughs up its left incisor and gurgles incoherently.

 

“Ok, cunt,” I tell the heaving teen fuck, “Enough foreplay.  I wanna shoot my load; I got other shit to do today.  Time to die, asshole.”

 

Before it can make another sound, I loop the remaining zip tie around its neck and cinch it tight.  I have to place one hand on the cuntboy’s throat and pull hard—real hard—with the other to get those last few notches through the clasp.

 

When I’m done, it’s so deep, it can’t be seen.

 

I’m kinda surprised; the teen meat reacts right away.  I thought I’d beat it down enough to accept its death and milk me with some nice convulsions, but it begins to struggle with renewed vigor.  The eyes open wide and almost immediately begin to bulge, even the blackened one.  After a few seconds, though, it becomes difficult to tell which eye had been blackened—the entire face is darkening to the same shade.

 

I hadn’t bound its hands; I like feeling my prey struggle.  At the moment, the punk’s clawing uselessly at its throat; even as the cute adolescent visage begins to distort in agony, I can still see the abject terror in the meat’s eyes.  Its smooth chest is slick with an ice-cold sweat squeezed from the pores as the nervous system begins to malfunction.

 

“Yer dyin’, motherfucker,” I jeer, staring hard into the huge dark panicked eyes and watching blood vessels burst into starburst shapes in the straining whites, “Does it hurt?  Didja expect this ta happen today when ya slipped on them expensive kicks and tight jeans—that ya’d be gettin’ fucked and snuffed while wearin’ ’em?  Fuck, dude, I knew I was gonna use yer corpse like a cumrag the moment I laid eyes on ya!”

 

My voice seems to cut through the meat’s mortal torpor.  It seems to focus on me—and then the hands come up, spastic, frantic, desperate.

 

My head bobs and weaves as I dodge the clawing fingers.  Goddamit, I thought I’d busted this fuckin’ bronco, but it keeps tryin’ to throw me.  Looks like it needs re-breaking.

 

Let’s start with the jaw.

 

Now that I’m pissed, my blows land with the force of a sledgehammer.  My build is enough to lure in any fags I wanna snuff, and the dumb cunts never stop and think about how easy it is for me to overcome them and waste their pansy asses.  Now this one is learning that lesson the hard way.  The first slug only knocks two teeth out; it’s the second that gives me that nice satisfying snap that I only get by breaking a bone.

 

It works, at least to an extent; the boymeat clutches my shoulder, wallowing in excruciating pain, a thick, choking, gurgling sound seeping from its misshapen mouth.  Without a clenched jaw to hold it in place, the punk’s swollen, purple tongue, lubed by a froth of drool, begins to protrude from between the twisted blue lips.

 

The motherfucker’s tongue isn’t the only swollen, purple appendage generating its own lube.  The twink’s long dick is not only oozing precum, it’s pulsing visibly and rapidly—it seems to be in sync with the cunt’s pulse, which is speeding as it hurtles towards asphyxia.  It’s hot, too; the kid’s dick feels like a bar of heated iron as it smacks against my ripped abs with each brutal thrust of my cock.

 

“Now yer feelin’ me, bro,” I tell the meat reassuringly, “Ya know it now, dontcha?  Ya know the only thing yer worthless fag ass is good fer is milking out my hot thick potent manseed as you kick and die, yeah?  An’ it’s gettin’ ya hard as a rock.  Stupid faggot teenagers, yer all alike—I gotta beat some sense into ya before you accept the inevitable.  But then, ya like gettin’ beat, right, assfuck?”

 

I’m fairly certain it can still understand me.  It’s taking it a long time to die, and it feels so fucking good on my throbbing shaft—the boymeat is writhing, almost undulating, as it rides me.  The hands are still on my shoulders but the grip is loosening.  The cunt is drooling heavily now; irreversible brain damage is setting in.  It gives me one last despairing look.

 

I punch it in the face again and that’s all the fucker is waiting for.  The convulsion is violent; the orgasm even more so.

 

At some point the teen’s feet had slipped off my shoulders and were now around my waist.  I’d thought nothing about it at the time but now the firm adolescent thighs tighten around my waist in a vise grip.  The arms, with a sudden jerk, encircle my neck, and before I know it the fuckmeat has me in the mindless, intense embrace of violent muscle spasm.

 

Fuck yeah, man, this is it.  This is what I was waiting for–dead smooth young boymeat milking my rod.  As it shudders, clutching me tight, I can feel its thick rigid pole suddenly pulse and spurt; an intense liquid warmth spreading over my belly oh fuck yeah dude fuck yeah FUCK FUCK FUCK

 

I cum again and again, vaguely aware that I’m raining blows on the dead kid’s face with each wad I blow up its ass.  It seems to go on forever. I cum so hard it hurts.

 

Damn, this one was good.  And it feels good to be back on the hunt again.

 

I use the meat’s shirt to wipe all the cum off me, then open the back doors of the van and toss the shirt out.  Tucking my dick back in and putting my own shirt back on, I roll the shuddering fagmeat out of the van, letting it hit the ground like a sack of garbage.  After all, no one saw me pick the cunt up, and the face is damn near unrecognizable anyway.  And I really do have things to do this afternoon.

 

One of the teen’s Nike AF boots is still twitching as I close the doors and drive off, leaving the dead adolescent sprawled on the hot, cracked asphalt under the baking sun.

 

Anyone know how long that bank over on Fifth is open on Wednesdays?  I wanna ask about financing for a new van…