The truck stop sold hot food from a warming counter next to the register.  From its polished metal facing, the Trucker could see a reflection of the boy.

He was no older than his early twenties—probably younger.  He was spinning a rack of packaged snacks, but the hunger in his eyes wasn’t for sunflower seeds or chili-seasoned peanuts.  An emerald-green t-shirt the same shade as his long-lashed eyes encased his lean, taut torso and low-rise jeans just as tight distinctly showed the outline of his thick boycock running down his right thigh.  On his feet, he sported red-and-white retro Air Jordans.

Completing his purchase—a fifth of Fireball and two packs of Marlboros–a sinister smirk crossed the Trucker’s face.  Here he’d expected a boring evening, and suddenly fresh meat had appeared.  And the Trucker needed meat badly.

It’d been too long; he’d been too busy to hunt.  His rage and his sperm were boiling within him.  It needed to be let out.  The urge was sudden and overwhelming; he’d been able to control it when there was no prey available, but now that there was hot boymeat only feet away, the Trucker knew he had to have it, to own it, to utterly destroy it.

He could tell from the kid’s eyes that the cunt was just as interested in him.  His own white t-shirt and worn jeans were just as tight as the kid’s, and displayed his powerful, muscular body perfectly.  The jeans were tucked into a big black pair of steel-toed harness boots; the buff killer noticed with contempt how the punk’s eyes lingered on them as the kid reached down and massaged his dick.

The Trucker paid the cashier and turned to the door.  As he pivoted, he caught the kid’s eyes—no more than a flash, but enough for the boy to see the older man jerk his head.  The kid nodded his agreement.

He left, heading towards his rig.  He was no more than six feet from the truck stop entrance, his heavy boots thudding on the paved parking lot, when he heard the door open behind him.  He didn’t bother to look around; he knew the little boywhore was following him, lured like a moth to a flame.

The punk caught up to him before he reached his truck.  They walked along silently for a moment, but then the meat started talking.  The Trucker expected it; the sluts loved the sounds of their own voices.  Given enough time, they’d start to spill the entire stories of their useless lives, as if anyone cared.

He was Jordan.  He was nineteen, he worked as an order assembler at a local warehouse, and he was desperate to get his hole plowed.  Then he mentioned his apartment and the Trucker’s ears perked up.  The latter hadn’t gotten a motel room; he’d intended to sleep in his rig that night.  And while he certainly wasn’t adverse to wasting a bitch in his sleeper cab—he’d done it before, after all—it didn’t allow him the freedom of movement to truly deal with faggots the way they deserved.

But this one had an apartment.  He grinned and, pulling the bottle of whiskey out, crumpled its bag and tossed it aside; he’d already tucked the smokes in his pocket.  “C’mon, dude,” he said cheerfully, “Let’s go get fucked up.”

Jordan agreed and, wheeling about, led the way to his place.  The teen gabbled away happily with absolutely no clue as to how fucked up he’d be getting that night.  His place was over a mile away, which gave the kid plenty of time to babble—and the Trucker time to decide on the best way to inflict horrific suffering on the stupid little cunt.

The apartment complex to which Jordan had led them was a two-story building built around a narrow courtyard.  Sixty years earlier, it had been the height in comfort and modernity; now, it was a run-down dump, catering to welfare recipients and minimum-wage laborers, only half-occupied at best.

The slut’s unit was at one end, on the second floor.  The unglazed windows of the apartment underneath gaped dark and forlorn, indicating a state of disrepair severe enough to make the unit uninhabitable.  Jordan caught how the Trucker noticed the decrepit space and promptly misinterpreted it.

“Yeah, this place sucks, but I can’t afford anything else—yet.”  He didn’t indicate how he might be able to afford anything better in the future, though, and the Trucker smiled grimly at the thought that he’d be showing the little faggot some mercy by ending its miserable life.  The heavy, repeated beats of his harness boots made the rickety metal staircase shudder as he followed the youth up to the apartment.

It was a two-room flat, with a tiny kitchen at one end of the front room and an equally miniscule bathroom at the end of the rear one.  As the Trucker set the bottle of whiskey on the two-foot length of counter, Jordan grabbed a couple of plastic cups and cracked an ice cube tray, placing them next to the bottle.  Suddenly, he seemed to grow bashful.

“I’ll, uh, I-I’ll be right back,” he said with a shy smile, brushing his long dark bangs out of his eyes.  He headed for the bedroom but paused and turned back.  “Uh, go ahead and…” he nodded towards the cups but left the sentence unfinished.

Smiling contemptuously, the Trucker poured himself some booze while the punk was gone and opened a pack of smokes, discarding the wadded-up wrapping onto the floor.  He was just taking another swig of the sweetish whiskey when the kid re-entered the room, nude except for his sneakers and ankle socks—he’d evidently put them back on after slipping out of his jeans.

Jordan was smooth and lithe, but not scrawny.  The Trucker’s eyes traced a path down from the low rise of his pecs to the flat belly, beneath which a faint down, almost a peach fuzz, appeared.  Faintly brownish in color, it both darkened and became more pronounced as it merged into the thick, curly mass of his pubes.  Between his smooth, taut legs dangled a seven-inch dick, already visibly swelling and rising.

“Here,” the Trucker said, handing the slut a cup full of whiskey, “Drink up.”  Jordan complied, not noticing the malignity in the older man’s grin.  As the boy gulped the alcohol—he seemed to want to empty the cup all in one go—the Trucker deftly peeled off his t-shirt.  The boy nearly choked as the alpha stud’s hairy, heavily-muscled torso was revealed, a pair of dogtags gleaming in the dark forest between his pecs.  The Trucker chuckled as he took another drag from his smoke.

“Finish that drink, cunt, and start working these nipples.  If ya do a good job on ‘em, I’ll let ya suck my cock,” he drawled arrogantly.

Jordan chugged the booze so fast he nearly got sick.  He leapt across and began gnawing on the powerful killer’s jutting nipples like a beaver felling a tree.  The Trucker grunted, grabbed a handful of his hair, and jerked his head backwards.

“Easy, faggot!” he barked, expelling a cloud of smoke into the punk’s face, making Jordan cough.  “I just want ‘em worked on, not pierced, motherfucker!”

Abashed, the eager little cocksucker reapplied his mouth, more gently this time.  As he lapped at the hard nubs of flesh with his tongue he was aware of the Trucker’s movements and heard the sound of his zipper.  He knew what was coming—he wanted that cock so bad; he could feel it slapping against his thigh. Fuck, it reached down to just above his knee—it must be huge…

It was.  When the Trucker finally pried the boy off his nipples and forced him to his knee, Jordan found himself confronted with the biggest shaft of manmeat he’d ever seen.  “Open up, cocksucker,” the alpha growled, “Start swallowing it.”

It was while the Trucker began forcing his enormous tool into Jordan’s mouth that the latter began to see the flaw in his plans for an evening of rampant sex.  The dude’s cock was simply too big.  His jaws were stained to limit to fit it into his mouth—there was no way it’d fit in his ass.  He was gonna hafta break this off.  It completely went against everything in his little faggot whore soul, but he was gonna need to tell the guy no.

And then suddenly the Trucker grabbed the back of his head and thrust his pelvis forward brutally and Jordan not only couldn’t say anything, he couldn’t even breathe.  That massive tackle had been rammed so far down his throat that it plugged his windpipe as efficiently as a cork in a wine bottle. In desperation, the kid clutched at the powerful sadist’s ass, his fingers digging ineffectually at the older man’s rock-hard glutes.

“That’s it, you faggot cunt,” the Trucker grunted in sadistic pleasure, “Choke on it, you whore!”

Jordan couldn’t even gag.  His hands beat on the Trucker’s muscled, denim-covered thighs as uselessly as if he was beating on a tree trunk, his face began to blacken and his eyes and nose streamed.  He reached around the powerful top again, his hands feeling the pure strength in the Trucker’s taut ass as it clenched and thrust.  For a brief moment, the teen whore wasn’t capable of rational thought—he was too busy choking on cock to think. 

Then, with a malignant chuckle, the buff alpha let him go.  Jordan threw himself backwards, feeling the dude’s enormous member sliding up out his throat like a sword being unsheathed.  On his knees, the teen coughed until his face was purple, gagging and wiping the drool from his chin with the back of his hand.  With his massive cock still hanging out and dripping, the Trucker took another drag from his cigarette and smirked at the gasping punk.

“I—I c-can’t…” Jordan wheezed, his voice cracking as he tried to suppress the coughing, “No-no w-way, du-dude…y-yer too b-b-big…”

The Trucker only smiled gently.  “Yer backin’ out?” he drawled, his voice slightly incredulous, “A faggot turnin’ down dick?  You must sick, boy.  Don’t worry; I’ll fix ya up with a huge beef injection, har!”  With another drag from his smoke, he grabbed his swollen tool, wielding it like a weapon over the kneeling, shuddering youth.

The kid looked up at him, his eyes streaming and imploring.  “P-please, no,” he moaned, “Just—just go and leave me alone…”

The Trucker’s smile froze and his upper lip curled into an arrogant sneer.  “Go?  Go??” he snorted, “It don’t work like that, cocksucker.  My shaft wants servicing and I ain’t goin’ till it gets what it wants!”  Jordan stared at him, gaping, but the Trucker’s eyes were fixed on the table behind him—specifically, the lamp on the table.

The lamp was metal, a single steel post, about an inch in diameter on a flat, circular base of wood.  A groove around the top of the base showed where the lamp had held a decorative element—perhaps ceramic or glass had been broken away some time in the past.  Shrouding the single bulb was a too-small shade of folded paper.

The Trucker had just concluded it’d come in handy when the meat made the usual escape attempt, Jordan throwing himself forward, bolting for the door.

It took the muscular stud but a moment to snatch up the lamp and wheel about after the boy.  His swift motion had enough power to both yank the plug from the socket, damaging the tines and to rip the cord from the base of the lamp.  The upper end with the bulb socket and shade instantly fell off.  With a snarl, he tore after Jordan.

Jordan heard and gave an involuntary sob of terror as he approached the door.  He stretched out his right hand, reaching for the door.  It wasn’t the door he got, though—it was impact of the lamp across the back of his hand.

The first blow—there were many to follow—hit hard enough to tear off the wooden base and shatter the metacarpals.  The unfortunate youth leaped back with an agonized yelp, cradling his mangled hand.  He gulped and looked up to the Trucker, his face ashen and his eyes huge.

“That was stupid,” the alpha growled viciously, “But you little fags are all stupid motherfuckers, aintcha?  You’re gonna learn yer place, asswipe, even if I gotta beat it into ya…” 

He strode forward, swinging the steel bar.   “…and yer place, fuckmeat, is dyin’ on my dick.”     

The rancid apartment soon reverberated with the sounds of bleating fuckmeat and the smack of metal on flesh, accompanied by the faint jingling of the Truckers dogtags as his arm rose and fell.  His bicep flexed relentlessly as he beat the punk, but he was holding back his full rage and only bruising the cocksucker.  After all, he didn’t want to damage the meat so badly it couldn’t work his cock.

After a minute, he stopped and tossed the bar over his shoulder.  He’d never dropped his smoke; he knocked the substantial ash onto the boy huddled on the floor between his boots.  Jordan was curled into a fetal position, his sweat-soaked, welt-covered body heaving in pain.  The Trucker smirked and spat on him.

“Get up, meat,” he smirked.  “You ain’t hurt that bad, asswipe; you can move.”  He stubbed his cigarette out on the wall, smirked, and flipped the butt into the boy’s face.  “C’mon, fuckwad, let’s go to bed.  That’s what you wanted, right?  And my dick still needs servicing.”

Dazed and aching, Jordan managed to drag himself up from his knees.  His mind numb from shock, he staggered to the bedroom to the sound of the Trucker’s raucous laughter.  “Whassa matter, cunt?” he jeered, “Yer about to get all the dick your little fag fuckhole can take, homo—you should be hard an’ drippin’, haw!”

“Strip it,” the alpha barked as Jordan approached the bed, “Then get on.  On your back.  Do it!”  The sunned youth jumped as if he’d been slapped.  With a barely perceptible moan, he tore the worn, grayish sheets from the bed and threw them to the floor.  Then he paused, looking down at the bare, stained mattress.

“I don’t want this…” he said, barely above a whisper.

Behind him, the Trucker closed the bedroom door.  The click as he turned the lock was very audible and very obvious.  “You ain’t leavin’ this room, faggot,” he said bluntly and plainly—a statement with no intonation.  He eyed the meat carefully, knowing it was time for a reaction to set in.  Dumbass fagmeat was always so fuckin’ predictable…

The one lamp in the room was behind Jordan, silhouetting his lithe twink body as the boy began to tremble.  A whimper escaped his full, parted lips—and he turned and bolted for the door.

He didn’t make it.

The Trucker’s heavy fist pistoned forward, driven with all the power his thick muscles could provide.  The adolescent ran full-tilt into the sledgehammer punch, the blow knocking his head back so hard his feet went flying out from under him.  The kid flipped up into the air and dropped four feet straight down onto his back.

The Trucker laughed malignantly as Jordan hit the floor hard enough to drive all the air from his lungs, dislodging the three teeth that had been knocked down this throat and were choking him.  His full lips were even larger now, bloody and swollen.  Suddenly, there was a jingling above the fucker’s head, a glittering that his tear-blurred eyes slowly resolved into the Trucker’s dogtags—the sadistic stud was bending over him, the older man’s face radiant with homicidal glee.

“Fuckin’ hell, homo, whyn’cha say ya wanted it rough?  If you liked that, bitch, I’m gonna hurt you so bad yer gonna cum like a fuckin’ geyser before I waste yer useless faggot ass.  Now get on the bed, motherfucker,” he commanded, brandishing his engorged, oozing tackle, “I’m gonna stick this in yer ass.”

The next thing to fill Jordan’s field of view was the tread of the Trucker’s engineer boot.  Like a beached fish, the boy’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly; his smooth, flat belly heaved with the vain attempt to breathe—it was clear he wasn’t able to process what was happening to him.  He stared dully at the boot hanging over him with no clue he was about to get stomped.

“Jesus, you really are a stupid cunt,” the hardbodied killer muttered.  “You so fuckin’ deserve this, ya worthless sack a’ shit!”  He slammed his foot down, grinding his bootheel into the homo’s face.

Jordan’s face, already damaged under the brutal impact of the Trucker’s fist, was pulped, his nose flattening with a wet squelch.    The boy cried out inarticulately, his huge eyes, already becoming ringed with bruises, looked up at his tormentor with desperation.  The look of pathetic helplessness only spurred the Trucker’s rage and contempt.

“I—I…” the slut burbled through shattered teeth, bloody drool leaking down his chin.

“You what?” the Trucker snarled.  “Ya didn’t think this kinda thing could happen to you?  Fuckin’ moron, this is what happens to all you cocksuckin’ little homos—sooner or later a real man comes along and puts you outta yer faggot misery!  You knew it was gonna happen, asswipe; it always happens to your kind.  No more waitin’, motherfucker, yer lucky fuckin’ day is finally here.  Now get up on that goddam bed, cunt.  It’s time to die.”

As the meat wheezed and gurgled in agony, the Trucker bent down, clamped his hand around its throat and jerked it upright.  He glared into its face, his eyes blazing with a terrifyingly homicidal lust.  “It’s gonna hurt when you die.  I promise you that, motherfucker.  The more pain yer in, the more ya kick.  The more ya kick, the better you work my cock.  It’s that fuckin’ simple, fagmeat.”

He tossed the writhing teen onto the bed with no more effort than throwing a sock puppet around.  The punk bleated in pain as he bounced on the mattress, his smooth body lying sprawled diagonally across the bad as the Trucker approached, grinning.

“Ya ready?” he hissed, his massive, club-like cock already oozing precum.  A couple of drops splattered onto Jordan’s flat, heaving belly; they seemed to burn the boy’s skin like acid.  Despite his intense actual suffering, those two drops seemed to hurt him even worse.  Then again, he now knew what the Trucker’s sexual interest meant.

But just in case he didn’t, the sadistic alpha made sure to remind him.

“Time to rock ‘n roll, motherfucker.  Spread those legs, bitch, Imma ‘bout to run my tackle up inside you like the fuckin’ meat puppet you are.  Yer gonna die ridin’ my rod.”  The older man had climbed onto he bed as he spoke, his cold eyes locked onto the teen’s with the hypnotic power of a snake luring a bird.  Jordan’s will was sapped; he could only lie inert, his adolescent body throbbing in pain, and gaze with a sort of helpless frozen terror as the muscled killer crept closer.

It was Death personified as a buff, furry stud.  Jordan began whimpering again as the Trucker grabbed his thighs and roughly parted the teen’s legs; the movement made the alpha’s dogtags jangle and the sound seemed to snap the kid out of his daze.  He tried to speak but his coherency was impaired by his ruined teeth.

“Shaddup,” the Trucker barked, leaning over the cunt until his tags were touching its chest, his harsh voice cutting off the punk’s mushmouthed babbling.  “You keep yer faggot trap shut when I plow yer fuckhole, you hear?  We don’t need to let the neighbor in on the fun, yeah?  Stay quiet or I’ll hafta keep ya quiet myself.”  The shark-like grin returned.  “You won’t like that.”

In the end, Jordan didn’t have any voluntary control in the matter once the Trucker’s monstrous rod tore open his teen sphincter and buried itself balls-deep in the kid’s guts, having viciously ripped its way through his rectum. 

There was a brief moment of ice-cold glassy shock.  The boy had reflexively inhaled as his asshole was shredded, the deep sucking-in of air that automatically precedes a scream of agony.  In the brief moment that his lungs were full of the heady mix of testosterone, cigarette smoke, and mansweat, the despairing teenaged homo knew he couldn’t keep quiet, knew he was about to experience even more pain—and there wasn’t a goddam thing he could do about it.

The Trucker knew it too; meat always lost it at this point.  Before Jordan’s scream could break past his lips, the serial killer’s fist had slammed into his jaw hard enough to fracture it.  Drawing back his arm, he paused.

“Do it, cunt.  Scream.  Scream, fuckwad; I wanna hit you again so goddam bad,” he snarled.

Jordan gasped, trying his best, his bleary eyes focused on the sadist’s gleaming, sweat-speckled bicep, so full of eager power—then the furry muscular globes of his ass, full of that same power, flexed quickly, driving his tool back in.

Again, the scream was automatic.  Again, a blow landed with brutal impact on the kid’s face—this one snapped the cheekbone just under the left eye.

“Ya get it yet?” he jeered triumphantly, “Ya feelin’ me?  You’re gonna die tonight.  You ain’t nothin’ but a cumrag, fit to take my seed and get thrown out like garbage.  Just so you know, faggot—it’s finally your turn.  Happened to some of yer friends, yeah?  It’s your turn.”

Digging the soles of his boots into the mattress, the buff alpha thrust his cock deeply into the homo’s guts, leaning forward at the same time.  Just as Jordan gasped—another involuntary inhale prior to crying out—the Trucker wrapped his left hand around his throat.  The older man’s huge paw easily fit around most of the kid’s neck—it didn’t take too much effort to clamp the windpipe shut.  Deep in the teen’s asshole, the sadist’s cock throbbed with pleasure as he felt the boy’s trachea start to collapse in his hand.

The Trucker had put the meat’s ankles on his shoulders and wrapped his arms around its legs, locking it into prime fucking position.  When he lunged forward, laying his muscled weight across the faggot, its legs had bent back to its belly, its knees now on the alpha’s shoulders and its red-and-black air Jordans kicking frenetically in the air.

Jordan’s eyes bulged in a look of horror; his face, already swollen and bruised, began to turn purple quickly.    His shattered right hand flopped uselessly against the mattress but with his left he clawed at his assailant, his fingers curling like talon in the Trucker’s chest fur.  The killer’s tags jumped and danced across the adolescent’s chest as the meat struggled.

The vicious sadist gave a loud grunt of annoyance at the teen’s instinctive and futile attempts at self-defense.  He drew back his fist—once again, Jordan had a brief, despairing view of a powerful bicep, knotty with tensed muscle—and then popped the bitch in the face with a swift, jackrabbit blow.

The meat’s head snapped back and its legs jerked reflexively.  One of the punk’s kicks came off, tumbling down the Trucker’s sweaty back until it reached his marble-like ass, still vigorously pumping his shaft into the meat.  The return thrust of his pelvis was strong enough to send the sneaker flying across the room.

The suffering chunk of boyflesh that had been Jordan was no longer capable of lucid thought.  It seemed to know things by instinct, the way it knew that more pain had been inflicted on it because it wouldn’t lie still and accept what was happening to it—the same way it knew it couldn’t stop struggling.  It was meat fighting for survival; logic didn’t come into it.

The pain would have wiped out logic in any case.  The adolescent homo had been beaten so badly that it had kinda cancelled out; compared to everything else, the bruises and broken bones had faded into the dull screaming of nerves in the background.  His throat, though, and his chest, and his head…

…and his cock.  Holy fuck, his cock.  Asphyxia had triggered a kind of hypersensitivity in his groin. His erect shaft was pinned between his belly and the Trucker’s ripped, hairy abs; every single strand of the older man’s wiry body fur felt like a strand of steel wool as it scraped agonizingly over his engorged member.  But despite the excruciating pain in his dick, it continued achingly to throb and stiffen.

“Yeah, faggot, yer dyin’” the Trucker whispered with sadistic lust, “I can see it in yer eyes.  Just another piece a’ fagmeat, getting’ what it deserves.  Almost over, motherfucker, almost over.”

Jordan heard the words, and some part of him was alive enough to understand them.  With what was left of his vital force, he made one last massive effort to breathe.  The sole result was a thick, wet grunt that forced its way past his black and swollen tongue, accompanied by a spray of bloody spittle.  Then the fireworks began, great black explosions that started blotting out his field of vision.      

With that, Jordan’s efforts at self-defense melted away.  His hand was no longer clawing at his killer; instead, he was stroking the Trucker’s cheek.  It had the softness of a lover’s caress, but there was no intent behind the meat’s movements—it was even too brain-dead to feel the older man’s dense stubble scratching the palm of its hand.

The Trucker was getting close.  His balls burned and ached with the need for release.  The homo was near death; it was time to push it over the edge. 

Fuck yeah, this was it.  He could feel a tingling in the base of the thick oozing shaft as his hands tightened their vise-like grip around the teenager’s throat. 

“Bye-bye, asshole,” he whispered, despite knowing that the cunt was long past comprehension of spoken words.  But as he squeezed, he could feel it starting to writhe and twist under him—the mindless, rhythmic movements of progressive, irreversible brain damage that milked his rod so perfectly.

He could feel himself unload; a brief moment of clarity as his sperm gushed into the boy’s guts. Then the orgasm hit like tidal wave.

  “FUCK!” he screamed, “DIE, YA FUCKIN’ FAGGOT!!”  His powerful body hunched over as it spewed semen uncontrollably, his powerful glutes flexing as his ass pumped in violent thrusts.  His hands clenched, the reflexive movement rewarded with the loud crackling, crunching sound of Jordan’s windpipe collapsing into an impenetrable wad of mangled cartilage.

Already bulging, the teen’s eyes protruded even further as the gristly squelching noise signaled the definitive end of his life.  His lithe, smooth body went rigid, his torn sphincter locking down on the Trucker’s dick like a strong cockring.  At the same time, the buff killer felt spasming start in the kid’s shaft, sandwiched between their sweat-slick bodies.  In a fraction of a second, the fuckmeat’s entire body gave a powerful jerk and began pumping out its boyspunk as if it knew this was its last chance to preserve its genetic material.

Jordan, though, felt nothing more than one last blast of nightmarish agony before his short, wasted life was torn away and cast into the howling vortex of terror that was death.  The Trucker held the shuddering corpse tightly; he wasn’t done cumming in it yet.

Behind his back, the meat’s toes twitched and curled; the ped sock made it obvious.  The other foot just kicked randomly in its sneaker as the older man continued to fuck the dead teen, pounding his seed home.

After a while, the killer’s thrust slowed and came to a stop.  Letting out a great sigh, the Trucker shook his powerful body and extracted his still-dripping tackle from the dead boy’s asshole.  The meat was still quivering, although the livid blackness was already starting to drain from its swollen and congested face.

The Trucker glanced around the room for something with which to wipe off his dick, settling on one of the punk’s balled-up t-shirts on the floor near him.  After wiping the spooge off his member, he tossed the shirt over his shoulder, re-holstered his enormous manmeat back inside his jeans, and fired up a smoke.

He and the meat had wrestled in the living room, but the bedroom was so dilapidated that it almost seemed like the fight had extended to it.  Clothes were scattered everywhere.  The neatness with which a pair of skate sneakers had been placed against the wall was belied by the single combat boot on its side next to them.  The dresser and nightstand were covered with clothes, cups, and half-empty beer and soda cans.  Pride of place went to the twitching corpse on the stripped bed, though.

As the Trucker dragged deeply and tapped his ash out onto the carpet, he couldn’t help but admire his handiwork.  Even from the other side of the room, the cunt’s crushed neck was visible.  The bruised body, the way its spread legs emphasized its torn and leaking asshole, the large pool of its own semen congealing on its smooth chest—everything made it obvious that it had endured a brutal sex crime in its final moments on earth.  The expression on its puffy battered face showed clearly how horrible its suffering had been as it died.

Fuck, it was making the Trucker hard again.  He could feel his shaft pulse in his groin.  Goddamit, he wished the meat had said something about its schedule—he’d be tempted to have another go at it.  But discretion being the better part of valor, he decided he’d better get going.  Slipping on his own t-shirt, he exited the meat’s apartment but left the door slightly ajar. On his way out, he snatched up the whiskey bottle and ticked it into his hip pocket.

He’d been planning on sleeping in his cab at the truck stop, but after a quick shower and a bite to eat, he was back on the road.  Fifty miles north he knew there was a rest area where he could pull over and get some sleep.  He sighed as he pulled onto the highway.

Yeah, he coulda gone back and fucked the dead faggot—but there was always fresh meat the needed to be snuffed.

It was a neighbor who found Jordan the next morning.  An elderly black lady in the next building; she let her Yorkie out every morning to crap and piss in the courtyard.  Despite appearing as old and decrepit as its owner, it was still faster and spryer.  Having smelled something interesting, the dog had headed up the stairs and headed through the partially-opened door before its owner could catch up to it.

Half an hour later, Jordan was in the position of having a dream come true posthumously.  There were three men in his room, while he lay naked on the bed.  Of course, his dream didn’t involve them being a patrol cop, a detective, and the medical examiner.  Or that the latter would be examining his violated corpse.

“No doubt about it,” the M.E. said.  “Raped and strangled.  Looks like the beating happened first.  Didja see his hand?  Didn’t stand a chance of defending himself after that happened.  Of course, I can’t tell if he was a virgin before all this—there’s way too much damage down there—but I’d guess,” —and here he gave a surreptitious glance at an enormous dildo on the nightstand— “that this wasn’t his first time at this rodeo.”

“Aw, fuck no,” the detective growled, “This fag whore’s been banged more than a screen door in a tornado.  It was overdue for somethin’ like this. Hey, Bob!” he called.  The patrol cop approached.  “How many times you pick that fag up for soliciting?”

Scratching his head, Bob looked down at Jordan’s blue, bloated face.  “At least half a dozen times.  This one hung out at the truck stop and that strip of motels along the highway.  That was Dave’s beat; you should talk to him.  He musta hauled him in dozens of times. Surprised he ain’t turned up like this sooner.”

“Yeah ok,” the detective replied before turning back to the M.E.  “Ok, you can drag ‘im outta here.”

“Fine.  I’ll get you the report as soon as I can.”

“Don’t knock yourself out, doc; no one give a shit what happens to fag whores.  Concentrate on finishing up the Dickinson case; that one involved actual human beings, yeah?”

“Yeah, no problem.  I’ll fill out the form for unclaimed corpses and move on.”

“Good man.  Oh, and tell your wife that Edna still wants that spoonbread recipe…”