The Trucker knew he needed to pull over soon.  Dusk was coming to the hills of west Texas and the winds had picked up with the approaching darkness.  A strong cold front was coming through and he’d already seen other rigs pulled over to the shoulder of the state highway on which he was travelling.  The practice was technically illegal, but the state troopers tended to look the other way, especially on these lonely roads with few truck stops or rest areas.

Still, he kept going, keeping his heavy, steel-toed harness boot firmly on the gas pedal.  He couldn’t rest yet, not with the way his huge cock was raging.  Trapped within the skin-tight confines of his worn jeans, the damn thing seemed to have a mind of its own, and he knew it wouldn’t let him sleep unless he could so exhaust himself that he passed out.  After all, it wasn’t likely that he was gonna find any fuckmeat to assuage this angry member, not all the way out here in—

—and then he found some.  In fact, it was flagging him down.

 The Trucker could see what had happened; the scene spoke for itself.  On the far side of the road sat a small, late-model foreign car.  It had gone off both the road and the shoulder and was sitting at a somewhat precarious angle, its nose pointing down a slight decline.  Tread marks and chunks of rubber on the pavement told the story; clearly the driver had suffered a blowout and had almost lost control of the car, veering into and past the other lane of traffic.

The driver himself was young, late teens or early twenties, with a curly mop of unruly strawberry-blond hair and blue-gray eyes.  A sprinkling of freckles was dashed across the bridge of his snub nose.  He was dressed almost identically to the Trucker, in a white cotton t-shirt, and tight jeans faded to a pale blue.  His boots were different; the jeans had been tucked into a pair of dark gray Justin ropers.  And there was one other difference—the kid had evidently been taken by surprise by the oncoming cold front.  He was shivering in the chilly breeze.  The Trucker’s leather jacket was lying in the passenger seat next to him; he’d known about the change in weather.

He slowed down and pulled over.  He hadn’t been going very fast, but it took a bit to bring the big rig to a stop; he ended up going nearly a quarter mile past the boy.  He didn’t mind the walk, though; it gave him time to compose himself.

After all, there was no sense in scaring the meat with his massive throbbing cock—yet.

The boy came to meet him, the faint thumping of his boots on the road surface nearly drowned out by the Trucker’s heavier tread.  “Hey, man, thanks for pullin’ over—can you give me a lift?”

“Can’t get your car out?” the Trucker asked.

The kid gave a wry smile.  “Wouldn’t do any good if I did.  Ain’t got a spare.  I’d call my dad to come help, but there’s no cell signal out here.  But McCormick is the next town down the road, and I can reach him once we get to the outskirts.  It’s about fifteen miles—do ya mind?”

The Trucker did his damnedest not to let his grin get too shark-like.  “Sure, hop in.”

Once they reached the cab, the boy scrambled into the passenger seat while the Trucker shrugged off his jacket and tossed it into the sleeping area in the back.  “Figures this would happen.  First semester in college, first trip back home.  Dad’s gonna be pissed—he didn’t wanna buy the car in the first place, y’know.  ‘I’m forkin’ out a big chunka change for this POS rice-burner, Todd, you better not wreck it,’ he said.  And now look what happens.”

“Could be worse,” the trucker replied with a barely visible smirk, “You coulda ended up dead.”

“I ain’t that lucky,” the teen said with a resigned sigh, “Probably gonna wish I was dead by the time tonight’s over.”

The kid was too engrossed in his own troubles to interpret the trucker’s loud guffaw as anything more than amused agreement with his remark—which it was.  “Don’t worry,” the older man said, “Probably won’t be too bad.  And the rougher it is, the faster it’s over.”

“Oh, I’ll be ok,” Todd said and turned to the Trucker with a sudden and surprising leer.  “And I like it rough.”

Yeah, the fucker was a homo, all right—not that it mattered to the Trucker.  It was still gonna die like a dog with his huge shaft up its ass.

“Yeah?” The Trucker asked, shifting his weight slightly as he reached down between the seats.  “That’s good.  This looks kinda rough, don’t it?”  He held up an object.

Todd looked at it quizzically.  In the darkened cab of the rig, it took a faint glint of light from the dashboard for him to realize it was metallic.  Peering more closely, he could just make out it was a large crescent wrench.  “What—” he began, when the wrench vanished.  A fraction of a second later, in a blast of intense pain, everything else vanished, too.

The Trucker had clocked him in the skull with the wrench, putting his lights out.  Five minutes later, the semi was on the shoulder of the highway and the boy was lying on the floor of the sleeper compartment, the Trucker looming over him with a well-honed utility knife.  The serial killer grinned; he liked the feel of the weapon in is hand.  Not that he was going to use it on the meat, of course—he wanted to feel it die in his hands.  Squatting down, his well-muscled hams taut and stretched, he started cutting the slut’s clothes off.

When Todd climbed back to consciousness—a laborious and painful climb—he doubted that he was truly awake.  What he saw around him made no sense.  He was lying in some kind of bunk in a tiny room that reminded him of a documentary he’d seen on capsule hotels in Japan.  Looming over him was the stud who’d picked him up, a sinister (if not downright frightening) grin stretched broadly across his handsome goateed face.  He could feel that he himself was nude—no, not quite.  All his clothing was gone except for his tube socks and his Roper boots.

The boy tried to speak but his aching head prevented him from sputtering out more than a broken groan.  It didn’t matter.  The Trucker knew what he was trying to say.  The meat always asked questions at this point; the stupid faggots were invariably slow on the uptake.

“Wanna know what’s going on, huh?” the older man jeered.  “Yeah, I bet ya do.  Ok, asswipe, here’s how this is gonna go down—I’m gonna fuck ya.  And while I’m fucking you, I’m gonna hurt ya.  Why?  Because it’s what gets me off.  The more I make worthless faggot cunts like you suffer, the harder I cum.  You get it, slut?”

Todd gasped, unable to even begin to voice his confusion, not that it was necessary.  His bewilderment was writ large across his young, innocent face.  The Trucker smirked.  Dumbass piece of shit.  Maybe if he found one that wasn’t so profoundly imbecilic, he’d let it live. 

That was a lie, of course, but one he could tell himself with impunity.  After all, the chances of him finding one that wasn’t a fucking moronic waste of human life was absolutely zero.

“Still don’t get it, do ya, motherfucker?  Ok, let’s see if some visuals help.”

To make sure he had the homo’s attention, the Trucker peeled off his t-shirt, revealing his hairy, thickly muscled torso.  While the punk’s eyes were fixed on the older man’s hubcap pecs and the large, hard tabs of his nipples, the Trucker unzipped his jeans and hauled out the massive slab of tubesteak that was confined within.  Already semi-erect, it sprang out with an almost conscious eagerness for its task of damage and dominance.  And the moment it was free, Todd’s eyes were riveted on it.

“See this?” the Trucker demanded, brandishing his tackle like a Louisville slugger, “I’m gonna stick this in you.  And when I do it, I’m gonna be beatin’ the fuck outta ya.  Like this.”

Todd never saw it coming—the Trucker’s lightning-fast gutpunch that he looped up, then drove straight down into the teen’s flat, smooth, and utterly unprotected belly.

“HURG!!” the boy grunted inarticulately as he popped up into a sitting position like a jack-in-the-box, clutched his injured abdomen, and curled into a fetal position.  As he tired frantically to breathe, he made faint repetitive noises that sounded like hiccups.

“Now you’re feelin’ me, dickhead,” the Trucker sneered.  “Love that shit, dontcha?  ‘Course ya do, all fags love bein’ treated like the scumshits they are.  See?  Yer dick is gettin’ hard already, and all I had to do was put a little hurtin’ on ya!”

He leaned in over the gasping, writhing youth and whispered, the evenness and gentleness of his voice making is words even more terrifying.  “Good thing yer such a pain pig, bitch, ‘cause there’s a fuckload more of that shit comin’ down the pipe for ya.  Hell, if ya like it so much, ya might even blow your faggot wad before I waste ya!”

Todd heard his words but couldn’t process them.  He was too busy trying to deal with his current—and almost unmanageable—level of pain.  And again, the Trucker had anticipated the fucker’s reaction. 

Cocksuckers always needed to have reality pounded into them.  The time, his fist fell with wrecking-ball force on the cumslurper’s face.

This time, Todd reacted.  Impelled by a combination of pain and fear, he labored to rise to his feet, totally unaware that he’d spit out one of his canines.   For a moment, the loudest sounds in the cab of the truck were the grunts of effort the came from the two men, their bare, sweaty torsos rubbing against each other as they struggled.

Even as he fought for his life, Todd’s face was red with humiliation at the way his long thick cock was stiffening. There was a bruise spreading over his chest, his lip was split, blood was trickling from his earlier head wound—and here he was, hard as a brick from the sensation of his assailant’s body being pressed against his.

And he was being pressed.  The was very little room in the sleeping section, and the older man was much more powerful than Todd.  The teen slut had never stood a chance; the urge to attempt escape was primal and involuntary—and doomed.  Todd felt the furry muscled stud slowly overpower him, his own muscles quivering with the futile effort to break off the Trucker’s grip, but the adolescent refused to acknowledge that he was losing ground.  He didn’t have the mental strength to voluntarily admit to himself what such a loss would mean, but the look of untrammeled fury in the icy blue eyes of the buff serial killer painted a clear picture of what the teen could expect upon defeat.

And then it happened.  Exactly what happened wasn’t clear to Todd, but suddenly, he was on the floor of the cab, with the Trucker looming over him.  “You stupid fucking sack of shit,” the big-dicked psycho hissed in an incandescent rage, “Yer gonna pay for that.  You gotta learn yer place, faggot.  And yer place is takin’ my cock and all the pain I wanna give ya until I decide it’s time to snuff yer punk ass, hear me?  Here, ya dumb-ass cunt, maybe this’ll make the lesson stick in yer empty skull!”

He placed his big black harness boot on Todd’s right forearm, centering it in the middle.  Kneeling down, he grabbed the boy’s wrist.  With his other hand, he grabbed a hank of the meat’s strawberry blond hear and jerked its head back, staring into its eyes with a maniacal glee.

“You’re gonna love this shit, homo,” he chortled in a low tone.  “It’s gonna hurt so fuckin’ bad—try not to blow yer perverted pain-pig load, yeah?”

With a grunt, he jerked his other hand up, swiftly and brutally.  There was a loud, moist snapping sound as the radius shattered, part of the bone shearing up and tearing through the skin.  The second cracking noise as the ulna broke a fraction of a second later was almost completely drowned out by Todd’s shrill, girlish scream of profound agony.

“Let it all out, fuckmeat!” the Trucker roared.  “Ain’t no one around for miles—and fuck, yer screamin’ gets me hot!  Ain’t nothin’ sexier than makin’ a cockpig suffer!”

Todd knew that his cries of pain were only spurring the sex killer on to even greater cruelty, but there was nothing he could do to stop them.  He was too much in the moment with the pain, too focused on his mangled forearm, to even notice that the Trucker was raising his arm, belt looped in his hand.

The faggot cunt saw it a moment later, though.  It was just a blur out of the corner of his eye—Todd didn’t even have enough lead time to flinch before the belt came lashing down, striking him across the shoulder.

“Oh fuck!” the teen screamed in misery as a massive red welt began to form, marking with utter clarity where the belt had hit.  But there was no time to deal with that now; the Trucker’s up was upraised again, the hardbodied older man grinning with maniacal glee.

“You deserve this,” he chortled, “Ya know that, dontcha?  That’s why yer faggot dick is so fuckin’ hard right now.  You’re in so much fuckin’ pain—but ya know you need and deserve it.  I seen it happen dozens of times, fag.  Worthless homos like you always unload yer pansy spunk when ya finally get treated like the cunt you are.”

Tears streaming down his adolescent face, Todd stared up at the Trucker in horror.  This was some kinda nightmare; it couldn’t possibly be happening.  After all it’d been only a few minutes since he’d been negotiating the curves of the lonely state highway in his own car—how could have things have altered so drastically, so quickly?

And yet…yes, he was in unimaginable agony, but some how his cock was so hard it hurt—

Todd banished that line of thought.  That way led madness.

And besides, he had more immediate concerns.

“Get back up on that bunk, motherfucker,” the hardbodied killer snarled, “Time to die like a dog on my cock, asswipe.”

Involuntarily, Todd shook his head—not indicating his refusal (though he naturally would have refused the command) so much as his utter rejection of the concept, the entire gist of the Trucker’s words.

The Trucker has expected this.  Meat could never grasp the idea of its own imminent death.  And the younger the meat was, the harder a time it had with the concept.  But that, of course, was where the pain came in.  Put the faggot into enough agony and it would finally understand, on a deep inner lever, how profound a gift the Trucker’s offer of death truly was.

And so, he began beating the bitch.  After all, all meat was better for having been tenderized.  It squealed like a kicked dog, cowering and futilely attempting to dodge the vicious blows of the belt that slammed into its face and across its back.

At one point, Todd managed to slip past his muscle-bound assailant and reach the front of the cab. The view out the windshield brought a burst of hope to his terrorized psyche.  He couldn’t believe his luck—a state trooper had pulled over!  Help was at hand!

But the cop was walking away.  He’d evidently given the rig a quick visual once-over, but there was nothing to distinguish from among the dozens of others that had pulled over due to the gale.  And Todd’s pathetic whimpers hadn’t been loud enough to be heard outside, not over the high winds.

The horn.  If he could reach the air horn, some frantic blasts would surely be enough to bring him back.  His face already so swollen he could barely see, Todd pawed at the driver’s seat in a desperate attempt to find some way of signaling the cop.

The Trucker got him first, of course.  It was inevitable.  The powerful killer looped the belt over his head and around his throat, dragging him back into the sleeper section.  Tightening the belt into a noose, he dead-lifted the teenager straight up with one arm.

As the boy’s boots kicked helplessly in mid-air, the Trucker held him close, his handsomely vicious face filling the fag’s field of view.  “You know what happens next, dontcha?” he hissed.  “It’s what you been wantin’ all yer worthless life, cocksucker.  You been cravin’ a real Alpha man to come along and put you outta yer faggot misery, yeah?  Well, it’s yer lucky motherfuckin’ day, asswipe.  I’m gonna use you as a cumdump, and it’s gonna hurt more than yer stupid homo brain is capable of understandin’.  Yer gonna be beggin’ for death before I hose your guts with real manseed, and I’ll be more than happy to give it to ya.  And when I’ve finally used you like a bitch and offed yer useless ass, I’m gonna toss ya into a ditch like the garbage you are and let the vultures and jackals feast on yer rottin’ meat.  Hot as hell, right?  Fuck yeah!  Let’s get it on, meat—time to suffer and die!”   

And with that, he flung the helpless teenager into the sleeper bunk with such force that the entire cab rock with the punk’s impact.  The belt remained around Todd’s neck, but loosened enough for him to inhale—which he did, deeply, prior to screaming in agony.  It wasn’t just that being basically thrown into a wall had traumatized his already-injured body; he’d managed to land directly on his shattered forearm.  The way the jagged edges of the bones ground together was excruciating; the pain was fucking surreal.

And it was about to get much, much worse.

His eyes drawn into tight slits by pain and blurred over by a film of tears, the young punk could just barely make out the Trucker looming over him, but there was no mistaking the was the older man was aggressively brandishing his massive shaft.  “Ready or not, here I come,” the psycho chuckled, and Todd’s blood ran cold.  Suddenly, it didn’t matter how hot the stud was, Todd didn’t want to ride his dick.  Not now, not under these circumstances. 

“No…” he said, his speech barely above a whisper, “No, no you ain’t…”  He was getting loud, his adolescent voice cracking in fear and pain.  “No! NO! NO!!”

“Aw, shaddup, ya useless faggot,” the Trucker snarled and punched him in the face.

Before the meat could recover, the Trucker was on it and in it.  His huge cock sank into the kid’s asshole as easily as a dipstick into a crankcase, shredding the fucker’s sphincter like wet paper.  The meat’s eyes opened wide, its face gray with shock—it clearly hadn’t been prepared for the horrific agony of getting its fuckhole ripped wide open.  It began shrieking at the top of its lungs, long, shrill screams that irritated the fuck out of the Trucker—and he made sure the meat knew it.

“I said, shut [WHAM] the [WHAM] fuck [WHAM] up!!!”

Punctuating his words with his fist, the Trucker managed to get the fuckmeat quiet enough to cinch the belt tightly back around its throat, then lowered his muscled heft down on top of the teen and leered at it as it gagged and choked.

“That’s it, motherfucker.  Make me cum.  Milk my cock as you suffer and die, cunt.  Does it hurt?  Fuck yeah!  Fight it, bitch, fight off death as long and as hard as ya can—the harder you struggle, the better you work my rod.  Do it right and the very last thing you’ll feel in yer sorry, worthless life will be the hot, potent seed of a Real Man in yer guts, yeah?”

Even though his pulse was pounding so powerfully inside his head that it seemed as if his cranium would crack, Todd heard every word the Trucker spoke.  He hadn’t believed the sicko before, when he’d said that Todd would be begging for death—and on a conscious level, he still didn’t; in fact, he still had a conviction that he’d somehow manage to survive this encounter.  But on a deeper level, some hidden corner of his faggot painpig soul was responding to the hardbodied serial killer’s abuse.  And even that perverted corner wasn’t seeking death so much as utter submission to true alpha dominance.

But that was why the more the Trucker tightened his belt around the fuckpig’s neck, the harder the homo’s thick boycock got.

But that was the meat’s psyche.  Physically, it was a different matter.  Its body was in mortal agony, slowly asphyxiating to death—which, while it intensified the teen’s erection, also had other results.  After a certain point, blind panic set in, which led to an involuntary struggle against the overpowering suffocation.

Todd wasn’t even aware he was beating against the Trucker.  Again, some small part of him noted the wiry feel of the older man’s chest hair as the teen clawed at it, offset by the sublime agony caused by the useless thrashing of his other arm.  He certainly wasn’t aware that he’d wrapped his legs around his killer’s waist, clenching them tightly in what could have passed as a lover’s embrace, with the heels of his ropers kicking in the air.

He was aware of a number of other things, though, like how swollen and flushed his face felt.  He couldn’t see that it had turned black, of course, nor could he see the hemorrhages rupturing in the white of his eyes like bloody popcorn, but he could feel how the eyes themselves were bulging excruciatingly from their sockets, their shape so distorted it wasn’t possible for him to see clearly.   He couldn’t see how grotesquely purple his tongue was as it relentlessly pushed its way past his blue lips, but he could feel how it had swollen to the point that it seemed to overflow his oral cavity, and he could feel the streams of thick white drool that foamed out of his mouth and trickled down his cheeks.

“You’re dyin’, asshole,” the Trucker hissed with malignant, lustful glee, “I hope it hurts.  I hope it hurts like all fuck, ya worthless sack of shit.  You deserve it.  You deserve all the pain and suffering I can give ya, and you know it—that’s why yer dick is so hard.”

And Todd could feel that, too.  Above all else, above the fiery, pounding pain of death, above the glassy, ripping impalement of brutal assrape, Todd could feel the burning ache of his own inexplicably erect member.  Trapped between his own flat, smooth belly and his killer’s furry abs, it had been made so hypersensitive by imminent death that each rough thrust of the alpha’s hips that bought it into contact with the top’s body hair felt like it was being scraped by steel wool.

As Todd trembled on the brink of profound, irreversible brain damage, he could feel every single blow, every bit of abuse to which his lithe teenaged body had been subjected.  And despite it all, his dick wasn’t just hard—it was oozing precum.

 “Unhh,” the Trucker grunted his muscled body thrusting rapidly, plowing his gigantic tool into the punk’s rectum, “So fuckin’ close, meat.  You want it, yeah?  You want this hot thick load?  Then prove it.  Die, you faggot piece of shit, die on my fuckin’ cock!”

The hairy, hardbodied sadist jerked the belt, pulling the upper half of the teen cunt’s body off the bunk by the neck.  His bicep bulging with fatal power potential, he drew his other arm back.  As he did so, he could feel his balls draw up, aching to release a vast load of hot, seething sperm.

“Here it comes, bitch,” he whispered, “Remember, you deserve this.  You were born to die as my cumdump.”  He released the built-up energy potential in his bicep, driving his fist into the fuckmeat’s face with deadly force.

At that point, a lot happened at once.  For Todd, it was like being hit by lightning.  The belt around his throat held his neck steady, while the Trucker’s fist slammed his skull violently backwards.  The powerful shear forces resulting from the impact simultaneously collapsed his esophagus and tore his cranium from the top of his spine, ripping the spinal cord from the base of his brain with the ease of unplugging a power cord.

The thick, gagging sound the adolescent youth made would have been a final scream of despair and mortal agony, if his mouth hadn’t already been overfilled by his swollen tongue.

The physiological response was immediate.  The teenaged meat clutched its killer, electrochemical shock causing it to hold the Trucker in vice-like embrace that made the most affectionate bearhug pale in comparison.  Every muscle in the dying fag’s body was utterly rigid in mortal agony; its legs clenched around its killer’s waist; boots crossed at the ankle.  And its sphincter cinched itself around the hairy root of the Trucker’s dick like a cock ring, tightening to an unbelievable extent despite having been torn open not a half hour earlier.

The was what the Trucker had been waiting for—the moment when the faggot surrendered itself and became nothing more than meat.  He howled, an unearthly cry of rage, lust, and alpha dominance, and instantly starting to hose the cumguzzling fag, spraying his semen into his guts to mark it as his property, his cumdump—his kill.  He had done this.  He.  He had asserted his mastery over yet another stupid homo sack of shit and made damn sure it never had the time to forget how he’d taught it its true place on this cold and brutal planet.

And then the convulsions started.  Oh yeah—oh fuck yeah, there was nothing so good as hot young dead fagmeat milking out the last drop of your wad like the fucking greedy cumwhore it had always been.  Even in death, it couldn’t get enough spunk to satisfy its perverted cravings…

The Trucker was still vaguely aware that he was beating the corpse’s face into hamburger as he spewed what felt like a solid quart of manseed up its ass—in much the same way that he was aware that the hot moist splash he felt against his own flat, furry abs was the meat’s deathload. It was too brain dead to feel its last and most intense orgasm, but the involuntary tribute of its ultimate surrender to his overpowering masculine superiority stimulated the Trucker to beat it even harder.

By the time he came to a shuddering, sweating stop, gasping and spent, the older man had pummeled the teen so badly, its face looked like it had been in some kind of horrific accident.

Extracting his tackle from the dead boy with all the subtlety of oil riggers pulling a drill bit out of the ground, the Trucker sat on the edge of the bunk to catch his breath for a moment.  He could feel the adolescent’s corpse shuddering next to him.  Suddenly he grinned and slapped its quivering, cum-oozing ass.

“Fuck, dude, that was good—shame I can’t waste yer worthless ass every night, huh?  Hey, there’s an idea…” the Trucker mused.  “Heh.  Me torturing you for eternity.  My heaven and your hell, huh?”

But the Trucker wasn’t the type for philosophical or metaphysical inclinations; he was a man of brute force and action.  And action was called for now.  He’d seen the state trooper earlier and knew his license plate had been noted.  He needed to move, and he needed to dispose of the meat.

There was a sink in the sleeper section; it was small and the water tank that held its supply wasn’t huge, but it was sufficient to allow him to approximate a sponge bath.  He used the faggot’s shirt to sponge the semen off his chest first, then cleaned the sweat off his glistening muscles with a washrag. 

That done, he redressed and got back into the driver’s seat.  The front had already moved through—the winds were dying down and the cold was settling in.  He got the rig started and slowly eased off the shoulder back onto the highway.  Almost immediately, he could see headlights in his rearview mirror—it was another semi, probably one of the ones he’d passed, also taking advantage of the abatement of the winds.

Well.  That might complicate his plans for garbage disposal.  He’s just have to keep driving and see what opportunities presented themselves.

Luckily the other rig pulled over a few minutes later, once they reached then next town down the highway—McCormick, it was called; the Trucker remembered the meat saying something about it.  He kept going.

He was more than ten miles past the town, in one of the most desolate areas of the southwest he’d ever come across, when he found the dump site he’d been looking for.  The highway crossed a narrow gully via a bridge that was no more than ten yards long.  Pulling off to the shoulder after crossing it, the buff sex killer jumped out of his cab and headed back to take a look.  The only sounds were a faint whistling of the much-lessened wind under the bridge and the crunch of gravel under the Trucker’s harness boots.  He reached the parapet and peered over.

The gorge was narrow and deep.  The clouds were clearing, and the half-moon directly overhead glinted on a small rivulet running at the bottom, sixty feet below.  Pieces of tree trunks wedged among the boulders scattered along the path of the water bore evidence of an occasional virulent flash flood.

It was perfect.

The sleeper cab could be accessed directly by an exterior door; the Trucker used it now.  He first gathered up the extraneous evidence—the cunt’s cum-smeared shirt and slashed jeans and carried them to the bridge.  He tossed the shirt over and was about to do the same with the jeans when an idea occurred to him.  He fished the meat’s wallet out and opened it.

Stupid fucker only has thirty bucks.  Well, it wouldn’t need money anymore.  He pocketed the cash and pitched the pants and wallet over, then returned for the meat itself.

Even now, it was still trembling and leaking cum from its asshole and cock.  He grabbed it by its wrists and dragged it out of the cab, but its legs got caught at the lip of sleeper compartment door.  The Trucker jerked hard and freed it, but one of its boots came off.   Leaving the corpse on the ground, the Trucker went to retrieve the boot.  When he stooped to pick it up, though, he noticed a couple of things.

The first was that there was something inside.  Reaching in, the muscular sadist was surprised to find a money clip with over three hundred dollars in it.  He chuckled.  Stupid fucking faggot wasn’t all that stupid—not that that had saved its worthless life.

The other thing he noticed was that the roper boots were quality leather, almost brand-new—and seemed to be exactly his size.

Two minutes later, as the last electrochemical sparks from its dead brain circulated in Todd’s body, lying shattered on the rocks at the bottom of the gully, its toes curled visibly, clad only in white tube socks.

An hour later, grinning and satisfied, the Trucker crossed the state lines.  The dead faggot’s boots, now his trophy, rested on the floor of the passenger seat.

At the same time, some sixty miles southeast of him, a phone rang in an isolated ranch house.  The man who answered was deeply disturbed to find it was the police, calling to tell him that his son’s car had been found on the side of the road, but the boy himself was missing.

By the time he was found, it was spring.  The body was skeletal and incomplete; it had to be identified by dental records.  And the tooth that really identified it—one with a unique filling—hadn’t been in its mouth.  In fact, the coroner remarked, its position, and that of several other teeth, showed that the kid had been beaten so badly he’d swallowed them.  He’d died with his own teeth in his stomach.