Aaron plunged the syringe into Will’s forearm and the boy winced.

“Keep still and watch,” the older man growled, “Maybe you’ll learn how to do this yerself.  Now that it’s in, ya wanna confirm you actually got the vein with a backflush, see?”

He pulled the plunger back slightly and blood flowed up into the syringe, tinting the yellowish, nearly transparent fluid already in it.  “Bingo!” Aaron crowed and pushed the plunger home.

“Take the tie off your arm now and get ready for the train,” he told Will, “You should already be tastin’ metal.”

As Will, his tongue protruding, nodded with the fixed, vacant stare of someone mainlining coke, Aaron bound his own bicep and prepared a hit for himself.

Aaron was thirty-one and up until three weeks ago, he’d been living alone in a mobile home he was renting on the south side of town.  The park in which it was located was located next to a cement plant and across from the city landfill.  The place wasn’t very popular—it was mostly inhabited by immigrants on a short-term basis—and was about to become even more so, since the empty field on the other side of the park had just been rezoned for industrial use.

Not that Aaron gave a shit about any of that.  It was cheap and no one stuck their fuckin’ nose into his business as long as he paid his rent to the property manager each month.

Three weeks ago, though, he’d been at his dealer, scoring some meth, when he met Will.  The kid said he was twenty-one but was actually no older than eighteen.  Granted, it was a rough eighteen. The boy had gotten hooked on meth in junior high and had fled home when he was fifteen, living on the streets and whoring himself out to feed his habit.  There was still a boyish handsomeness to his face, but even at such a young age, he was beginning to show dark rings around his eyes and the sharp, angular cheekbones visible on a hopeless junkie.

But he’d always been good at finding the right guy—the guy who would breed his faggot fuckhole and pay him by getting him high.  For Will, money was only the means to an end, and that end was meth.

For his part, Aaron wasn’t fooled; he knew a boywhore when he saw one.  But this looked like a hot young piece of meat with which he could have some fun with for a while, then kick it out when he was done with it.

So Aaron had spent a couple of weeks getting Will high on meth and fuckin him so hard it verged on sexual abuse with no problems.  Over the last week, though, the little cunt began showing increasing signs of resistance to being used as Aaron’s animate fucktoy.  And while the sadistic older man didn’t mind slapping around a playmate that fought back a bit, too much of a good thing irritated the living fuck out of him.

Tonight, then, was Will’s last chance.  This time Aaron was gonna try something different.  Instead of meth, they were gonna shoot up coke.  And if the bitch didn’t perform as expected after that, then he was going to kick it out the door, literally.

But the coke was taking effect.  Will leaned back on the sofa as Aaron headed to the kitchen for another beer.  The latter was shirtless, his dark body hair confined to a small but furry path from his waist up to a couple of inches above his navel.  Most of his unfurred torso was covered with tattoos, including his pecs, shoulders, and arms.  His skin writhed with symbol, Asian characters, skulls, and knives.

Below the waist, he was wearing a pair of worn and faded work jeans that showed off his powerful legs and thick, bulging cock to perfection.  In fact, the latter was so massive that he found it more comfortable to leave the button at the fly undone.  Sometimes, when he sat, the fat head of his dick stuck up and out of the jeans.  On his feet were a pair of Timberland boots, just as scuffed and worn as the jeans.  They were laced up but untied and so open at the top that the cuffs of his jeans just naturally fell inside them.

His face was young and hard, with a short, dark-brown beard.  His short wavy hair, of the same color, was covered by a red cap with a straight brim.  Around his neck, a heavy silver chain glittered, setting off a large bit of ink on his neck.  The design was elaborate but seemed to involve a demonic face fashioned out of a biohazard symbol.

In other words, he was a hardcore trailer park thug and was just as brutish as his appearance.  He worked at the cement plant next door in the grinding and blending process.  His job, though, was pure manual labor.  As a result, Aaron was a man for whom might meant right.  He anticipated using his physical strength to do what he needed to.

He also didn’t mind using it to do what he wanted to do.  And what he wanted to do was abuse faggot sluts.

He was content to live in a wretched mobile home because it gave him the privacy to indulge his sadistic whims—and privacy was needed.  Some of them screamed.  Some left with bruises, some with missing teeth.  A few had left with broken bones.

One hadn’t left at all.  Aaron still remembered that occasion fondly.

Will, on the other hand, was only willing to take it up the ass as long as he got high—or, at least, so he rationalized it to himself.  He still had the firm, muscled body of a high-school athlete, with curly russet hair and a faint scattering of freckles across the bridge of his snub nose.  But the toll of drugs and rampant sex could already be seen in his face.  There was just the slightest hint of a downy, golden fuzz across his cheeks—where were themselves not completely free of specks of adolescent acne.

And around one of his jaded eyes was a nearly-healed bruise, the remnants of a black eye Aaron had given him two weeks prior, during a bout of particularly rough sex. 

He’d actually enjoyed that.  He didn’t like to admit how much.  But sex with Aaron was growing incrementally more violent, more painful each night.  Now Will was worried how much further it was going to go.

And unluckily for him, mainlining coke did more than just get him high—it also gave him a major paranoid mindfuck.  As his tongue hung out and he experienced the full rush of the drug, he knew—he knew—that Arron was going to kill him.

Aaron for his part, got off on abusing the bitches, but he’d never killed one.  Well, not deliberately.  Although, that one had been kinda fun…  But anyway, at the moment, he was horny as hell and there was Will, in a tight black tank top and jean shorts cut so short that his long teen cock peeped out form under the frayed hem.  He was also wearing tube socks and a pair of red Converse All-Stars that a prior trick had bought him.

As far as Aaron, was concerned, the boy was high and ready to get fucked, and Aaron was ready to fuck him.  He wasn’t going to take no for an answer, not tonight.

As far as Will was concerned, he was in imminent danger.  His brain was scrambled by the cocaine flooding his bloodstream, but his street skills weren’t.  He would defend himself.

At this moment, the atmosphere in the trailed was thick with the scents of smoke, sweat, and mansex, but there wasn’t the slightest hint of the explosive scene about to unfold—a scene that would end very, very badly for one of the big-dicked males in the room.

All it took to set it off was Aaron’s gipping of Will’s arm. 

“C’mon, boy,” he demanded, standing by the couch and towering over the punk. “I wanna stick it up yer ass.”

Will looked up at him in horror.  Aaron was about five inches taller than he was and thirty pounds heavier, the latter all muscle.  In his runaway paranoia, the punk inflated the difference until the older man had become, in his mind, a hulking ogre determined to destroy him.

“Leggo!” the kid yelled shrilly, “Don’t touch me!”

Aaron jerked back, momentarily startled, then his face flushed with anger.  “Whaddaya mean, don’t touch you?” he spat out.

“You keep away from me,” Will said, not quite able to make eye contact, “You wanna—you wanna hurt me, I know it!”

Aaron’s upper lip curled into a sneer.  “Goddam, you’re just now figuring that out?” he asked with mock credulity before coming back with contempt, “What a stupid little cunt.  Yeah, bitch, I’m gonna hurt you.  And the longer it takes you to strip and get in that bed, the more I’m gonna hurt ya, you hear me?”

Will heard, all right, but he was having none of it.  He popped up off the sofa and began backing away from Aaron, wide-eyed and shaking his head.

“Where ya going, whore?” Aaron asked in silky tones, wearing a wide grin.  “Ain’t nowhere for you to hide.  You get out that door—” here, he nodded at the front door, the only exit to the mobile home, “—and the only folks who’ll hear you scream ain’t gonna care.  Trust me, motherfucker, I know that from personal experience.”

By now, Will had his back against the thin fake pine veneer that covered the wall, his eyes darting frantically to either side.  Aaron had been approaching him slowly, warily, like a tiger stalking its prey, his grin growing more and more sharklike the closer he got.  With no prior warning, the teenager suddenly turned to his left and took off, heading to the bedroom.

Instantly, he could hear the pounding of Aaron’s Timberlands in hot pursuit.  Will ran as if he instinctively knew that his life depended on what happened in the next seven seconds.

He just didn’t run quite fast enough.

Just as Will reached the bedroom door, Aaron reached out and grabbed his shoulder, roughly twisting him so that his back slammed into the wall.  Before the boy could speak, the enraged alpha gutpunched him twice in quick succession.  Will exhaled forcibly, clutching his midsection but any other reaction to the blows was overwhelmed when Aaron brutally slammed his steel-toed boot into the punk’s groin.

Instantly, the muscled teen youth was transformed into a writhing ball of fetal misery on the floor.  Arron grabbed it by the back of its collar and began to drag it into the bedroom.  Just as he got it through the doorway, the thin cotton shirt gave way.  The slut, still croaking in pain, slumped back to the floor, leaving Aaron with a useless rag in his hand.  He tossed what was left of the shirt aside and knelt down, viciously yanking the cunt’s shorts down and off over its kicks.

Rolling onto his back, Will’s hands quickly covered his hairy, swelling balls.  The whoreboy didn’t know what was going on; he was higher than a kite and could only understand that Aaron was inflicting horrible pain on him.  The inked stud wanted him dead, he knew that, but he didn’t know why, and he needed to know.  He tried to ask but could only get out a few garbled moans.

It was enough to set off Aaron’s cocaine-fueled rage again, though.

“Shaddup!” he screamed, “Only thing I wanna hear outta you is screamin’ when I shove my cock up yer ass, fuckmeat!”

The rentboy only got a momentary look at the tread on Aaron’s boot as the sneering, sadistic top stomped its teeth down its throat.

That searing blast of pain wiped everything else from the slut’s mind.  It was still gagging on its own blood and teeth as it was picked up and flung onto the bed like a sack of potatoes.  By the time the adolescent whore regained some sense of awareness, it was on its back and Aaron had pried its legs apart with enough force to sprain the tendons and ligaments of its hip joints.  It was suffering phenomenally—and it had no idea that it was about to get exponentially worse.

Aaron was hung like a stallion, but tonight he was even more massive than usual.  Aside from the extra impetus given by the drugs and the indulgence of his vicious cruelty, he’d strapped a leather cock ring tightly around the root of shaft, encircling his huge balls, bulging with semen.  Aaron’s dick was a much more formidable weapon that it had ever been before, at least in the teen’s brief experience with it.

And without warning, it was suddenly buried full-length in the punk’s fuckhole, lubed only by its oozing precum.

The meat’s face was literally that—meat.  Its nose was flattened and broken, its lips crushed, torn, and bleeding.  Every motion of its mouth brought new pain—but that was nothing compared to the agony of anal impalement. 

And that was pure sexual joy for the rutting alpha, hearing its fucktoy bleating in pain.  That was what it fuckin’ needed, and he was just the hardbodied stud to do it right.  His taut, smooth flanks and furry abs glistened with sweat as his muscles rippled, driving his hips in a brutal and relentless jackhammer motion, plunging his engorged tackle deep into the kid’s intestines, completely wrecking its colon.

It was obvious that the meat couldn’t handle this level of pain.  Its shrill keening swelled into a sharper, more defined scream—not that Aaron cared.  Fucktoys had screamed before.  No one had ever done anything; no one would help this one.

It was fucked, in more ways than one.

By now, though, it seemed to be getting used to the abuse.  At least, it was under enough control to start resisting.  They usually did; they usually had to learn the error of their ways.  But then again, they also hadn’t usually started by pissing Aaron off.  This one had.  And worse, its shredded sphincter and ravaged rectum were going loose.

This one was outliving its usefulness—but it still hadn’t made him cum.

Aaron ramped up his fucking, his hips hammering the whore’s pelvis mercilessly as he plowed his swollen member ever deeper into the teenager’s guts.  The meat began to struggle more forcefully, its hands clawing at the roughneck alpha’s face, but Aaron knew how to fight fire with fire—and violence with violence.

He began slamming his fist into the whore’s face with the power of a speeding semi, repeatedly.  The impact resounded through the messy, mansex-infused room with a wet, beefy smacking sound as the adolescent’s face was reduced to an unrecognizable pulp under Aaron’s mercilessly brutal beating.

And it paid off.  Each time his drove his fist home, he could feel the worthless little whore’s asshole contracting.  In his drugged bloodlust frenzy, the cruel white trash stud found that he could even time his blow to create something like a ripple effect on the meat’s mangled sphincter.  He manage to time each punch with the thrust of his gigantic rod.

After a couple of minutes, the meat’s scrambling hands began to weaken, to flutter like dying birds.  Within another sixty seconds, its arms had fallen limply so its sides.  Aaron had beaten it so hard that brain damage was setting in.

That didn’t mean that the meat once known as Will didn’t know what was happening to it; it could still feel every single impact, every single plunge of the sadist’s cock.  It just no longer had the physical control to fight back.

It could only feel—and suffer.  And suffer it did.

As his balls began to seethe and boil, Aaron no longer confined his blows to the meat’s face.  He began pounding its chest and abs, striking hard enough to break a rib with a faint but satisfying crunch.  But it wasn’t enough.  He was about to blow his load, and he needed some way to express his utter contempt for and degradation of the faggot he was using as a cumdump.

So he stopped beating it and wrapped his hands around its throat.

It was then, and only then, that he realized the whore was almost as erect and ready to blow as he was.  Its hard boycock was between them, slapping their bellies and leaving a snail-like trail of precum on both of them.  Its firm legs were still pinned up and over his shoulders, its smooth, muscled thighs taut with agony.  He could tell by the tensing of the calves that its sneaker-bound feet were kicking frantically behind him.

“Fuck yeah,” he grunted hoarsely, “You ready for it, ya worthless whore?  Huh?  Yeah?  Ready to die?  Ready to be put outta yer misery, faggot?”  He wrapped his hands around the teen’s throat and applied pressure.

He meant to strangle the fuckmeat, but the sudden convulsive onrush of violent orgasm got the better of him.  Clutching the slut’s neck with his left hand, he placed his huge, strong right hand over its face.  With a brutal, lightning-fast movement, he jerked his left hand upward toward himself while pressing down on his right hand with all his weight.

When every single one of the teenager’s cervical vertebrae shattered, it sounded like popcorn.

Everyone thinks death from a broken neck is instant; it isn’t.  The dying whoremeat that had once been named William endured a prolonged chemo-electrical agony that was nearly identical to what it would have experienced if he’d been stuck by lighting.  With, of course, one major difference—a truly nightmarish and excruciating orgasm.

The teenaged drug slut went rigid.  By now, it’d managed to work of one of his Converse hightops off; Aaron couldn’t see the meat’s toes curling in its death throes, but he could see everything else.  Like the way it spewed out what looked like a quart of boycum for its deathload.

It was enough for Aaron; he could no longer control his raging hatelust.  With the deep, guttural grunting of a rutting animal, he started hosing the adolescent corpse with semen.

It went on and on.  Both of them, one utterly brain dead and nearly physically so, the other wearing a mask of snarling rage, shooting huge amounts of manseed.  The dead slut’s balls were emptied long before Aaron’s was.  The latter left no part of the fucker’s digestive system unmarked with his potent manspew.

When he was finally done, he slowly pulled his shaft from the corpse as if he was unsheathing a sword.  He was shaky, tired, and depressed; the coke was wearing off.  He needed sleep.

Aaron kicked the twitching body off the bed, turned out the light, and drifted off, still in his boots and jeans.

He woke up at six in the morning.  He had to be at work at the plant by nine that day—but right now he was horny.

And there was cold meat in the room.

For a moment, Aaron toyed with the idea of fucking it again, but he didn’t like the idea of playing sloppy seconds to himself.  On the other hand, there was nothing to say a dead whore couldn’t give him head…

Within five minutes, Aaron was seated in a chair, holding the meat upright with a fistful of its hair.  Rigor mortis had already set in, but hadn’t progressed far, rending the dead teen into something along the lines of a mannequin instead of a limp pile of meat. 

It took the alpha a moment to locate its mouth in the ruin of its face.  He couldn’t resist gloating for a moment.

“Yer own momma wouldn’t know ya know, bitch,” he smirked at the half-lidded, milky eyes, “Might not ‘a killed ya if you’d put out…”  This last was muttered with a sigh as he pried its mouth open and lowered the head onto his raging cock.

His monstrously long tool slid down the dead kid’s esophagus—if it had still been alive, it would have choked.  As it was, the corpse’s windpipe was just dry enough to offer the friction Aaron was looking for.

The muscular, tattooed trailer park thug hunched over the teenager’s body and skullfucked it.

“Aw, fuck yeah,” he grunted, “Goddam asswipe—yer a better fuck dead than alive, you fuckin’ cunt!”

With both hands entwined in the meat’s hair, he bobbed its head up and down, repeatedly, faster and faster, using it as the sex toy it was destined to be.  Suddenly his hard, muscled body went taut in the agony of intense pleasure as his spunk exploded into the corpse’s trachea, flooding its larynx and lungs.  He was still shooting as he slowly withdrew his pulsing rod from the adolescent’s body, forcing semen into its sinuses and out its nostrils.

When he was done, he kicked it to the floor again and went to take a shower.

He dressed and ate some breakfast—he could cook eggs and bacon to perfection—and found he had half an hour to get to work.  Work was next door; he had plenty of time to run to the dump and toss in all the trash bags from the last week he’d placed in the bed of his pickup.

Except this load, of course, would have an extra piece of trash.

Aaron opened his front door and peered out.  No one was visible, as usual.  As he expected.  He stepped out cautiously, the wooden steps leading down from the trailer’s front door creaking under his Timberlands.  They usually didn’t make quite as much noise, but this time the alpha stud was burdened with an extra hundred and twenty pounds.

Rigor had progressed slightly further at this point, and dead whore was getting a bit unwieldly.  It took some effort for Aaron to get it lodged in the bed of his truck, hidden (well, good enough for the dim morning light) under the four trash bags already there.  The dump was literally across the street.  In less the ten minutes, he was on the rim, overlooking the huge, rank pile of garbage.

The whore was the first thing to go, its pale, purplish-blue form tumbling swiftly down the thirty-foot embankment and easily blending in with the rubbish below, as if it belonged there.  And it did.  A few seconds later, Aaron’s trash bags landed on it, obscuring it enough that it would never be noticed when the municipal garbage trucks came back after their daily runs and completely covered it.

Aaron walked into his job perfectly on time, feeling refreshed and invigorated.  In fact, he felt amazing.

And now he knew what was needed to obtain that feeling.  He just needed to waste a bitch.