Eddie was angry again. In fact, he was angrier than he could remember being for a long, long time. He didn’t know why or at what; he never did. All he knew was that a titanic roiling rage filled his soul.
Well, he knew one other thing. He’d figured out how to control it, to vent it so that life became bearable again.
That was why he was out cruising for faggots.
He was dressed for the hunt, in a khaki muscle shirt and tight battle fatigue pants tucked into his high laced combat boots. His dogtags gleamed from deep within the valley formed by his huge pecs. It was late in the afternoon; he was sporting a pair of polarized aviator sunglasses to ward off the slanting orange rays of the sun that glinted in his sandy buzzcut hair.
He’d liked to have been able to swing by the skate park again, but it was too soon to go there. He’d somewhat underestimated the vehemence of the public outcry when the nude corpse of a raped and strangled teenaged boy had been found there. The place was still attracting attention; there was even some kinda fuckin’ memorial growing up in the back where he’d dumped the meat. A big pile of cards and flowers and fuckin’ stuffed toys and shit. One night when things calmed down, he’d go out, douse the whole shitpile with gas and burn it right the fuck down.
But that was for later. Right now, he needed prey. Right now.
And that was when he spotted Hank.
Hank was eighteen and well-built. Star of his high school wrestling team, his buff, muscled body turned heads every time he got into his tights, and he knew it. He also knew that every time he grappled with other hardbodied young dudes, his dick got hard. Sometimes theirs did too.
He wasn’t about to tell anyone that other guys made his shaft grow rigid; his father was the head of staff for the Lieutenant Governor, a powerful right-wing evangelical. They attended the same church, where his mother ran the ladies’ auxiliary. The thought of being gay horrified Hank, just as much as it would his parents, but there were times his hormones got the upper hand.
He’d always been able to calm himself down, closing his eyes, praying, reminding himself of his youth pastor’s exhortations against temptations. But lately it was taking him more and more time to master the overpowering desire that radiated up from his balls into his thick, eager teenaged cock.
And then today, it hadn’t worked at all.
He’d left school early; no one was home when he got there. He changed his clothes, leaving the house in his workout gear—black shorts with the drawstring dangling loosely in front, a black t-shirt with Pokémon characters printed across the front, and a pair of gray Nike Air Max 1 trainers. Maybe some exercise would help exorcize the demon of lust living in his huge hairy scrote. He set out walking more or less at random, with no fixed destination. He didn’t want to go to the gym at school; his shorts did nothing to hide his stiff seven-inch boner, and he didn’t want anyone he knew to see him like this.
He succeeded; the person who saw him like that didn’t know him and didn’t need to.
There was something about Hank that snagged Eddie’s attention immediately. The muscled teen with dark wavy hair, tousled with careful negligence, drew the psycho ex-Marine eyes off the road long enough for him to pull over into a fast-food parking lot and turn around. The way the boy seemed to be deliberately displaying his smooth, hard build and his long erect dick screamed “faggot” inside Eddie’s dark and twisted mind.
The kid was a homo, and he needed to be put down. All Eddie had to do was figure out a way to lure the faggot in. But it wasn’t gonna be sex; Eddie wasn’t no pansy. He was here to put the pansy in its place—taking a dirt nap.
But first it needed to learn what happened to fucking homo perverts.
He pulled up next to Hank and lowered the window of his truck. “Hey, dude,” he called out, inspired by the kid’s workout gear, “Ya know a good gym around here?”
It was a measure of how deeply immersed Hank was in his own thoughts that he didn’t hear Eddie’s truck pull up. The Dodge pickup had a deep throaty rumble that almost literally shook the ground. But the young punk was too busy trying to come to terms with his rampant horniness to notice Eddie’s presence till the latter spoke—and even then, the hardbodied homo hunter had to repeat himself, loudly, startling Hank and making him jump.
The boy approached the jacked-up Ram, craning his neck to see inside. All he could make out was the head and part of the upper torso of an incredibly fit young man with shades and a buzzcut. It was more than enough to make his already-straining cock twitch and pulsate.
And that sealed his fate. Eddie saw it, and saw red. He’d been right, the little fucker was a faggot. Faggots had gotten him kicked outta the Marines; they’d even thought he was one, for fuck’s sake. But he wasn’t. And he’d show ‘em—he’d show ‘em all.
By wasting every fucking homo he could lay his hands on with extreme prejudice. Starting with this one.
“Uh, naw, man,” Hank replied diffidently. He tried to force himself not to think of the stud’s hard firm body. “I, uh, I was just tryin’ to find a place myself. See, the, uh, the color squad is usin’ the school gym right now, and…well…” He trailed off uncertainly.
“Yeah, there’s a Gold’s around the corner,” Eddie came back, “But I don’t like the clientele. And anyway, my weight set is better that theirs, even if it ain’t all fancy and computerized. Whatcha lookin’ for, my man? Squats? Curls?”
Hank blushed, feeling even more awkward, standing in the middle of the sidewalk with a huge erection. “Well, uh, whatever. Y’know, just lookin’ to work off some energy.”
“I’ll bet,” Eddie said. Hank was taken aback slightly by the cold edge in the older man’s voice, but the next time Eddie spoke, it was gone. “Well if that’s all ya want, you c’n come back to my place if ya like. Plenty of ways to burn some energy with my set.”
The hint was unmistakable, and Hank had to go to some effort to avoid panting with excitement. “Sure, dude!” he chirped, then dialed it back a little. “I mean, yeah, that’d be cool.”
Eddie unlocked the passenger door. “Hop in,” he said, “It’s just a couple streets down. Name’s Mike, by the way.” He had no intention of letting the little fucker know his real name, just in case.
“Thanks,” the buff, naïve teen said as he climbed up into the cab, “I’m Hank.”
“Hank?” Eddie asked. The kid blushed again.
“Actually, it’s Horace. Named after my grandpa. But nobody calls me that. I’m just Hank.”
“No problem,” Eddie replied, glancing over at his passenger. When Hank sat down, the lower hem of his shorts rode up, exposing a good two and a half inches of his cock, including the thick, spongy purple head.
Yeah, the cunt was a fuckin’ fag. The sight made Eddie hard himself—at the thought of wasting the queer motherfucker. He was silent for the rest of the drive, trying to control his psychotic hate and lust. Luckily, he didn’t have long to wait before he could satisfy himself; they were at his place in less than five minutes.
The parking lot was mostly empty at Eddie’s place; there was no one to see the boy climb out of the truck and follow Eddie into his apartment. There were no witnesses to Hank’s last public appearance—well, his last live appearance.
The living room was small and dark, with an intensely sweet smell that seemed to be covering something ranker. If Hank hadn’t been so randy, the odor might have raised some red flags; as it was, the subtle scents of testosterone and death stimulated the teen’s primitive midbrain, sparking a form of nervous energy that was easily converted to sexual energy. By the time they made it back to Eddie’s bedroom, Hank had developed tunnel vision—he was focused directly on the military stud’s powerful, thickly-muscled body. He didn’t even notice the poster-sized photos of dead bodies on the walls.
Eddie walked to the far corner, peeled off his shirt and tossed it into an open hamper next to the closet door. It was one of his favorites, and he didn’t want to ruin it.
And what he had planned would definitely ruin it.
When he turned back, Hank’s jaw dropped. The man had the body of a god—huge smooth pecs with thick, hard, dark nipples rising like sharp tall peaks of low, broad hills. Between them, his dogtags dangled, silvery gray under the bleak overhead light. Below the chest, the ex-Marine’s torso tapered to his waist, his amazingly ripped abs making Hank both horny and envious. And below, that massive bulge in his camo-patterned crotch…
“So,” Eddie said nonchalantly, “Whatcha into?”
The hormone-addled teenager was so distracted by Eddie’s body that he couldn’t make a coherent reply. He just stammered, his gaze riveted on the stud’s groin.
Eddie leered. “Or maybe yer into this,” he growled and unzipped his fly. With Hank’s utter, rapt attention, the hardbodied psycho pulled his gigantic tube of manmeat out of his pants, letting the boy admire it in all its pulsating, vein-wreathed glory.
Hank had never seen so big a cock—and he’d damn sure been looking; every kid he’d wrestled with had gotten “inadvertently” groped at some point during the match. No one he’d encountered had been this hung.
“Yeah?” Eddie said with a suggestive grin, coming closer, “This what ya like?”
He was almost close enough to touch. Hank reached out, almost involuntarily; he felt compelled to have that enormous piece of meat in his hands.
“This whatcha, been looking for, faggot?”
The word and the change of tone made Hank look up, but not fast enough to be able to react to the sudden, vicious jab that Eddie planted in the center of the teen’s smooth flat belly.
Expelling the air form his lungs in a mighty wheeze, Hank doubled over. His knees buckled but he didn’t have time to hit the floor before Eddie’s next blow caught him in the jaw with the force of a train wreck, putting his lights out quite effectively. The boy collapsed with a boneless thud, like a sack of potatoes, leaving Eddie standing over him, grinning, and preparing to give the young homo exactly what it deserved.
As he was coming to, Hank was aware of a throbbing pain in his gut, a pain that pulsed so relentlessly that he was having trouble breathing. Even before he regained full consciousness, he realized that he’d been brutally attacked by the muscle-bound stud he’d followed home. When he finally opened his eyes, he was—in some slight measure—prepared to find himself in an unpleasant situation.
He was totally unprepared for the reality.
Above him, Eddie loomed intimidatingly. From his near-vertical viewpoint, Hank could see the older man’s massive jutting cock hanging over him, somehow both arousing and ominous. Above that, Eddie’s huge pecs swelled out in front, with the ex-Marine’s evilly leering face pointed down at him with contemptuous amusement.
“Thought I was gonna hafta wake you up the hard way,” the fag-killer jeered. “Glad I didn’t need to. Cunts don’t scream when they’re out.” He reached down and stroked his enormous glistening shaft. “And I like it when they scream. You ready to scream, boy? Ready top scream like a good little faggot? Ain’t nobody gonna hear ya, asswipe, so G’wan ahead and scream yer bitch lungs out, haw!”
Hank didn’t react; his lithe firm body was struggling to inhale and his young hormone-flushed psyche was in vapor-lock, unable to process the sadistic input it was receiving. He could only lay inert on the floor and goggle wordlessly as his hardbodied assailant towered over him.
Eddie knew how to get a reaction, though.
“Looks like yer havin’ a little trouble breathin’ there, little buddy,” he chortled, “Here, lemme help.
Lifting his right leg, Eddie leaned forward slight and drove his knee down, stomping on Hank’s torso with enough force to crack three ribs.
‘HOOG!!!” the kid cried as what little air he’d managed to accumulate in his lungs was violently forced back as if he was a bellows. Eddie kept his foot planted right in the center of Hank’s chest, grinding his boot into the boy’s t-shirt.
Hank’s head came up off the floor, but the rest of his body was pinned down. As a result, the pain-wracked teen found himself staring directly at the ex-Marine’s combat boot as it continued to crush his abdomen. Inches away from the glossy black leather, Hank realized that the boot wasn’t tied and was only loosely laced.
And then he saw why.
Rising up from the boot along the outside of the sadist’s leg was a huge knife, evidently held in place by a boot sheath. Even as Hank looked on, Eddie bent down—incidentally throwing more of his weight onto the kid’s solar plexus and amping up his agony—and grasped the wooden handle. He withdrew it slowly, letting Hank see the weapon in close detail.
The blade was so sharp it almost literally hurt to look at it. The other side of the blade was serrated so sharply it could saw through a four-by-four post with ease. Near the hilt, it was engraved with the brand name Master. And it was long. The blade—not including the handle—was nearly a foot.
Then Hank looked up and caught Eddie’s eyes and sudden terror swept over him so completely that a pool of piss began to form on the floor under him. The look in those eyes—rage, lust, excitement, hatred, and unreasoning insanity—told him that the knife was meant for him.
Eddie laughed—a harsh, cold sound—as he saw the effect he had on the kid. “Not yet, ya stupid homo. That’d be too easy. Naw, you gotta learn yer place before you die.” He held the knife in front of Hank’s bulging, horror-filled eyes. “An’ believe me, faggot, by the time ya learn it, yer gonna be beggin’ me to waste yer worthless punk ass.”
Lifting his leg, the muscled killer swooped down on the writhing, gagging teen. Eddie swung the blade forward with seeming carelessness but somehow managed to snag the hem of Hank’s t-shirt. Before the kid could literally blink an eye, Pikachu had been sliced in half from stem to stern, the blade neatly cutting the collar. The cheap, thin cotton fell back, revealing Hank’s slim but well-developed torso, with just the barest hint of peach fuzz covering the boy’s smooth, silky skin.
Reversing the blade, Eddie made a quick downward slash at Hank’s shorts—this time specifically pulling the kid’s waistband up to let the knife get underneath. Once he did so, the elastic parted easily. It took two swings of the blade to cut the shorts open down both legs, but once it was done, the revealed that the teenaged cunt was freeballing. His spunk-filled balls nestled in a bush of curly brown pubes from which his long, thick boycock sprang.
And it was semi-hard, despite the fact that Hank was terrified and could barely breath. Yeah, Eddie realized, the motherfucker really was a sick, worthless faggot.
It needed to fuckin’ die.
“You disgustin’ piece a’ shit,” Eddie growled at the prostrate youth, “Fuckin’ homos like you fuck it all up for men like me. Got me kicked outta the Marines…you wanna real man? That what yer worthless ass was out trollin’ the streets for? Bro, ya goddam sure got one. An’ it’s time show yer pansy little fuckhole exactly how real men treat perverted little pansies.”
He crouched down, leaning over Hank so that his dogtags jingled mere millimeters above the boy’s heaving, panicked chest. “You wanted real mandick? Yer gonna get some, right now. I’m gonna ream out yer tight little boycunt like a goddam roto-rooter. I’m gonna fuck yer guts so deep my cum’ll leak out yer fuckin’ nose. C’mon, fuckwad, it’s time to get whatcha came for.”
He reached out and grabbed Hank by the throat, his huge hand clamping on the punk’s neck and completely cutting off his air. In a moment, Hank found himself choking and gurgling, his hands clutching desperately at Eddie’s forearm while the toes of his Nikes flailed uselessly four inches above the worn bedroom carpet.
He didn’t remain dangling long. Eddie slammed him down athwart the bed, so that his head impacted the drywall on the far side, but his legs below the knees were still bent down to the floor. Hank groaned, raised his head and looked down the length of his own body to see Eddie standing at the side of the bed between his legs. The ex-Marine’s cock was jutting out over the bed like the prow of a ship; all he had to do was bend down, scoop up Hank’s legs and expose his ass, and the rape would begin.
Except it didn’t. Eddie stood there for a moment, looking down at Hank’s own throbbing shaft, getting more rigid by the second. “Ya want my thick hog in ya, dontcha?” he asked with a sly smile. “A’course ya do. Fags always like havin’ somthin’ long and hard shoved into their guts, right? Yeah? Fuck yeah. So here ya go faggot, here’ something long and hard buried in yer guts!”
Whipping his right arm up and over in a flash, he buried the knife in Hank’s smooth, flat belly to the hilt. The razor-sharp blade pierced the abdominal muscle, slashed instantly through multiple coils of the teen’s intestines, and came out through his back, embedding itself over two inches into the mattress.
Hank’s screech was shrill and loud, finally tapering off into a guttural moan as his taut, firm frame went rigid and trembled in agony. The boy clenched his fists, desperately trying not to move—with the blade embedded in the mattress, he was pinned to the bed and any movement forced his tender innards against the viciously sharp blade impaling his guts. It might’ve worked—but Hank wasn’t calling the shots.
Grabbing the punk’s smooth, strong legs, Eddie wrapped his powerful arms around them and hoisted them so that Hank’s Nikes rested on his shoulders. The motion this caused made Hank squeal in pain. “Fuck yeah,” Eddie jeered, “Ya think that hurts, ya stupid cunt?” He bent his legs just slightly and pressed the thick, spongy head of his cock against the teen’s fluttering asshole. “See how ya like this, faggot!”
With a single monumental thrust, Eddie instantly drove his massively swollen manshaft balls-deep inside the adolescent virgin. He had to tear flesh to do it, sighing with pleasure as the boy’s sphincter ripped open like wet paper against the sudden, inexorable pressure. On the inside, the huge rod, unlubed except with its own precum, caught and tore the highly sensitive lining of the kid’s colon.
Hank had often fantasized about getting assfucked, and he’d suspected it might hurt—but he had no idea this kind of glassy, razor-sharp pain could happen. For a moment—only a split second, but still a moment—he forgot about the blade sunk in his belly.
Then Eddie reached down and pulled the knife out. Slowly.
Hank looked down in horror as inch after inch of the sharp bloody blade was extracted from his guts. He could feel it moving inside himself, slashing at his intestines on the way out. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell limp. The teen had passed out from sheer physical trauma.
It was ok. He’d wake up again. And in the meantime, Eddie continued to pound his ass, using him like a fucktoy—all the young fag was good for, after all. The buff ex-Marine tossed the knife onto Hank’s heaving, sweat-slick chest and spent then next five minutes deep-plowing the teenager’s fuckhole as a thin stream of blood trickled from the gash in his belly. The wound was deep, not wide, so the vast majority of the bleeding was internal.
For the second time in a half hour, Hank found himself waking to pain, but this time was worse. After having both a dick and a blade shoved into his guts, regaining consciousness was a cruel experience.
Eddie recognized the boy’s fluttering eyelids as a sign that he was coming to and decided to make the experience even crueler.
“Hey motherfucker,” he hissed them moment Hank’s eyes were fully open, “See this?” He held the knife directly in front of the kid’s face. “See those little strings of meat hangin’ from the back? That’s yer innards, fag. That’s what yer goddam intestines look like. Ya like that shit?”
Hank could see it; he couldn’t understand it. His youthful face, pale with shock, turned up to the older man. “Wh-why?” he gasped, his breathy voice taut with agony, “I d-don’t…why?”
Eddie’s hard, masculine face twisted with hate and disgust. “Cause yer a fuckin’ faggot cunt, that’s why” he roared, spittle flying from his lips as he spewed his rage. “Fuckin homo scum like you needs to fuckin’ die! Y’all goddam cocksuckers out there tryin’ to lure me in…make me a sick pervert like you…got me kicked outta the service—fuck you!!!”
Even as he lost it, Eddie still managed to keep perfect time with his hips, thrusting his huge rod into Hank’s rectum. But the rant was over as suddenly as it started; the psycho fagkiller seemed to regain some measure of control.
Not a lot, though.
“Naw,” he smirked, “I could gut ya like a fuckin’ pig and you still wouldn’t suffer as much as you deserve. Don’t mean it ain’t a good place to start, though.” Without telegraphing his movements in the slightest, he whipped the knife around and drove it into Hank’s left flank. The agonized adolescent felt the blade slicing through his organs before he even realized he’d been stabbed again.
This one was bad. Penetrating between the eighth and ninth ribs, nearly twelve inches of razor-sharp steel bisected the punk’s torso. The knife tore through Hank’s liver and gall bladder, slashing his stomach and pancreas and ended up impaling his spleen. By the time the hilt was flush with the skin on the boy’s left side, the tip of the blade was less than an inch below the surface of the skin on the right side.
Eddie leaned over the suffering teen, his eyes glittering with lust at his ability to inflict unbearable pain. “Say ‘thank you’, motherfucker,” he commanded. “All you pansies ever say you want is to have somethin’ long and hard shoved inside ya; well, now ya got it. And I’m the one that gave it to ya. So say ‘thank you’, ya fuckin’ pigfag!”
Hank’s eyes were closed and his face twisted into a grimace of indescribable agony; he was past the point of being able to obey Eddie’s orders—unluckily for him.
“Say it, motherfucker, say it or I’ll make ya!!!” he screamed. To his credit, Hank tried to speak, but could only emit a weak squawk of pain. It wasn’t enough for Eddie. Without inserting or removing the knife by even a fraction of an inch, he slowly twisted the blade inside the wound, rotating the handle so that the viciously sharp serrations and cutting edge carved a cylindrical wound all the way across Hank’s midsection.
The teen punk hadn’t imagined that pain like this couldn’t exist. It was almost too much to handle; he was cruelly unable to pass out again, but he thought he was gonna throw up. Every time his body tried to retch, though, his stomach was pressed against the blade’s edge, which only made it hurt worse. He went rigid, his firm muscles locking his smooth young body stiffly into place to avoid bringing any more of his tender innards into contact with that vicious cutting edge.
“Aw, fuck,” Eddie moaned at the kid’s sphincter clamped around the base of his dick, “Fuck yeah, see, I knew this was how to treat you goddam cocksuckers. You worthless pervs want this, dontcha? All a real Alpha’s gotta do to make a faggot work his dick is fuckin’ gut it and it’ll massage his cock good and hard on its way out, haw!”
Eddie leaned forward. Bracing himself with one hand on Hank’s smooth, firm chest, he jerked the knife back out of the kid’s side with a single, swift jerk, like he was checking the oil level in a car. And in the dim light, there was some resemblance. The blade was covered nearly to the hilt with dark, sticky liquid.
The kid was nearly full—at least, full of cock.
The extraction of the blade caused more damage than the insertion, including slicing open Hank’s stomach. The adolescent was trembling on the edge of shock with massive organ trauma; the wound to the stomach alone would eventually be fatal—but right now, Hank’s guts were so compressed by his body’s doubled-up, easy-access-to-the-ass position, that even the internal blood lose was relatively minimal.
Death would take the teenaged homo, but not yet. Not soon. He still had a long time to enjoy his suffering, and Eddie knew it.
Hank didn’t know it; he could only endure and try not to think. Thinking was just as painful as moving, because he’d be thinking about why this happened when all he wanted was to try to see if he could get a little dick for once on the DL. He’d be thinking about death. And some tiny part hidden deep in his brain would be thinking about the fact that he had a raging erection. He damn sure didn’t want to think about any of that.
Eddie did, and he wanted Hank to as well. With his free hand, he reached down and grabbed the teen’s thick, pulsing cock and wrenched it painfully to one side. “Fuckin’ faggot, this kinda shit is why you perverts gotta die. Ya like gettin’ hurt, dontcha? Yer fuckin’ sick, bro, and the best way to use yer worthless ass is to let it soak up my cum when I put ya down like a dog. Ya hear me, boy? Ya feelin’ me?”
He let go of the seven-inch boycock, allowing it to slap back and forth between his rock-hard abs and Hank’s firm, flat belly with a loud smacking sound. Then the sound was muffled as he hunched forward, laying his heavy muscled form down directly onto the writhing adolescent, feeling Hank’s smooth, sweat-lubed skin pressing and sliding against his own. The humid friction made the hardbodied psycho’s nipples almost painfully erect; they dug into the kid’s pecs like fingers.
He was face-to-face with his prey now, savoring the look of confused terror and anguish in the teenager’s face. His ability to cause suffer, to cause that look in the boy’s eyes, was part of what proved he was a true Alpha.
The other part was his ability to mark the fuckmeat as his by spraying its guts with his strong hot manseed. He was almost ready to do it, too—but faggot was goin’ loose. He’d reamed Hank’s virgin hole out so brutally, its torn sphincter could no longer clench his tackle.
Well, not without some stimulation. A strong shock to the system, say.
He grinned evilly down at the helpless, pain-wacked youth, his eyes glittering and his dogtags lying on Hank’s heaving chest. “Time to die, motherfucker. You ain’t gonna see yer mommy an’ daddy no more, cunt; yer gonna die on my dick, right here and now. Ya ready, bitch? Ready to ride my fat he-man hog all the way down into yer grave?”
Hank finally found his voice. His parents, oh fuck, what would they think? “No, please dear God no, don’t do this, I’ll pay ya, my dad’ll pay ya, he’s rich, we got money, please anything—”
The hoarse, breathy quality of the teen’s voice was the result of blood loss. Hank refused to acknowledge that he was already dying, but his body was betraying him. Especially his hard, throbbing cock. The kid was panicking, but his shaft didn’t seem to notice.
“—I swear, sir, please, sir, please don’t I won’t tell you don’t have to kill me just let me go somewhere I’ll never tell—”
Even as he begged, the teen punk shuddered and trembled with his lithe young form firmly compressed under the Eddie’s powerful body. But all that did for the sadist was remind him of how useless Hank’s gaping boycunt had become. As his grin became more shark-like, he raised the knife up above the kid’s shoulders—making sure that Hank saw it.
“—swear I’ll never oh god no please don’t no PLEASAAGGHthbbtpfft—”
Eddie drove the blade completely through Hank’s throat, from right to left, spearing the unfortunate boy’s larynx, easily slicing through the cartilage and the vocal cords—and the glottis, which seals off the lungs. As Hank’s dark, puppy-like eyes bulged in horror and agony, blood trickled into his airway and he instantly found himself coughing it up, his mouth filled with a terrifying copper taste.
It was the shock Eddie had been looking for. Involuntarily, the strong teen homo clutched at Eddie’s shoulders, his fingers digging in as he embraced his killer more closely than any lover could. Simultaneously, the boy’s body went rigid again, this time with the added intensity of mortal agony. As Hank’s rectum collapsed on Eddie’s straining, pulsating rod, the kid’s own long, glistening shaft suddenly swelled and spewed out thick creamy jets of boycum. The abundance of hormones in the dying adolescent’s body seemed to ensure an endless supply of spunk—Hank kept shooting and shooting.
And it hurt. It all hurt. Pain was the only thing he could still feel—the way Eddie’s massive tackle tore cruelly at his colon, the way the sick ex-Marine had left the knife lodged in his throat so he didn’t bleed to death, the gaping holes carved deep into his vitals—and the way he just couldn’t stop blowing his deathwad.
“Uh—uh—aw—AW FUCK YEAH!!” Eddie screamed suddenly, feeling his hot semen boiling over and his dick swelling inside the kid’s ass. “DIE YOU FUCKIN’ FAGGOT, DIE!!!”
As he’d done before, he twisted the knife in the wound, carving deeply into Hank’s throat before jerking the blade back out. The presence of the blade in the wound had prevented heavy bleeding; Eddie made sure there was nothing to stop Hank from drowning in his own blood. He’d been coughing it up before; now he was gargling it.
And still the muscular teen continued to cum. As his life drained out through the gash in his throat, the only bit of warmth left of Hank to feel in the face of cold death was the engendered by Eddie’s potent manseed flowing into his guts. Hank ejaculated his DNA into the void and Eddie filled the fagmeat with his own.
Hank’s eyes began to lose focus and to glaze over. The stream of spunk from his hyper-sexed boydick slowed to a trickle and his body began to jerk and strain. A wheezing, gurgling sound came from his damaged neck—the sound of human misery, of sodden lungs aspirating blood. The kid was unconscious; in a way he was already dead, but his body was just now realizing that.
Even as the punk’s fingers lost their grip and fell from Eddie’s shoulders, the military stud still held on and erupted twice more, sending long jets of sperm into the corpse. Only then did he back himself up, slowly extracting his enormous cock from the dead boy. He headed for the bathroom, leaving the teenager gasping in extremis, but still with a heartbeat.
By the time he got back from cleaning off his dick and stuffing it back down his pants, even that was gone.
There’d been surprisingly little exterior hemorrhaging—given what the teenager had been forced to endure—but the sheets were an unsalvageable mess. That was okay; he could get new ones.
Slipping his muscle shirt back on, Eddie approached the bed, staring down at the punk’s splayed form. One of the kid’s Nikes twitched against the stained sheet as random nerves fired in the newly-dead corpse. Leaning forward, Eddie planted one hand directly on the boy’s vacant, staring face, using it as a brace with he slowly pulled the blade from Hank’s throat with the same tender care as he’d pulled his cock from the teen’s ass.
Retrieving the sliced remnants of the faggot’s clothes, the ex-Marine used them to carefully clean the blood off the knife, then tossed them in the middle of the corpse’s chest, where they began to soak up the dead kid’s spunk that had pooled there and not yet begun to crust over. Eddie then gathered the corners of the bedding, making certain that the meat was fairly well centered, so he could gather it all up like a bundle of dirty laundry. As he bent over to grab the sheet on the far side of the corpse, he could see the youth’s dick slowly start to wilt in death. It had still been full of cum when he died; as it shrank, it left behind pearls of semi-coagulated semen.
Fuckin’ faggot died too soon. He’d make the next one suffer more.
Wrapping a tattered old blanket around the bundle to hide the bloodstains, Eddie carried the whole thing out to his truck and tossed it into the bed. Five minutes later, he was heading down one of the main drags in town, heading for the Atopco factory.
Atopco was the largest manufacturer of custom tools and machine parts in this part of the state—until 1992, when the company went bust and the plant was padlocked. It still was, which made it a great body dump. Down on the south side of town, it was on a semi-abandoned block with no occupied buildings near.
The site itself was fenced in and locked, but that didn’t matter. Just outside the fence, a drainage ditch, rank and overgrown with weeds, ran along the front of the property. Eddie pulled up at the side of the road, quickly checking to make sure no one was around. No one ever was; even the bums didn’t hang out down here—there was no real shelter, and no one to beg from. It was perfect.
Eddie lifted the bundle out of the truck and carried it to the edge of the ditch. Swiftly undoing it, he rolled the dead teen out of the sheet and down into the dank, scum-covered trickle of water flowing in the ditch. He gathered the sheets up again; he’d get rid of them elsewhere. Getting back in his truck, he felt satisfied with how he’d disposed of the faggot. He figured didn’t need to take any more effort to hide the corpse; after all, he didn’t intend that it never be found. It just needed a little time to ripen.
Let’s see what rich daddy has to say about that.
He felt his malicious grin creeping across his face as he headed away—but he also felt the anger brewing inside him again. Yeah. The next one would really fuckin’ suffer.