Night was falling and the Trooper hadn’t caught up with the rig the ferret-like kid back at the truck stop had described so eloquently. He pounded his fist on the steering wheel in frustration; he was sure this guy would strike again soon, so he’d stopped at every truck stop on the highway that was within five miles of a gay bar. He’d searched them on his phone, getting accurate directions, making sure not to miss a single one—but nothing.
And that semi couldn’t accelerate out of the state faster than the Trooper’s cruiser. Even with all his stops, he should have caught up by now. No, the dude had pulled off somewhere—but where? Not any of the obvious truck stops. And the Trooper had run through every rest stop on the way, not stopping, and not seeing the truck he was looking for.
He took the last exit before the start line, whipping around on a desolate overpass in the middle of the desert. He’d missed something. He shifted into park and paused, his hopes rising suddenly as the headlights of an obviously large truck came around a curve in the distance behind him.
The Trooper wasn’t familiar enough with this corner of the state to remember what was down that road; he just knew that it was miles away. It was possible that this was the guy he wanted, but it wasn’t likely that he’d gotten that far off the highway, did what he wanted to do, and was on his return trip now. The timing was wrong.
And of course, it wasn’t the rig. Even from a distance, this one was visible because of its bright white paint job, the sleeper cab trimmed in cherry red. It flashed by him, turning north, heading out of state. The one he was looking for was darker, a distinct metallic blue. But still…
He thought for a moment before pulling out his phone and running a search. He’d had an idea that was worth checking out—and the search results backed that up.
As the last bit of blue sky faded to black on his right, the Trooper got back on the interstate, heading south to a couple of exits he hadn’t checked before.
=================================================================================================
Adam had had way too much to drink, but nobody was concerned about it—for a couple of reasons. The first was that it was far too frequent an occurrence for the strung-out little twink for it to attract much notice. The other was that there was no one to care.
The bar was a small, dimly lit building of corrugated steel in the center of a cracked asphalt slab. It was located at an exit on the interstate that gave access to a county road connecting small mining and industrial communities. Most of the towns had a single main employer—a mine, a refinery, a power plant—and contained no more than a few hundred residents, nearly all blue-collar workers. Each town had several bars, of course—but this building, out by the interstate, was the only gay bar.
The clientele was mostly local; in the small, closed-off world of small town gay life, everyone knew everyone—and everyone knew Adam.
And because everyone knew Adam, no one gave a shit how drunk he was.
Adam had first shown up at the bar three years earlier. At that time, the place had been known by the innocuous name of “The Men’s Club”. His attractive youthful looks had instantly made him popular and he retreated to the restroom in the company of others several times that first trip.
Two weeks later, he repeated his performance to equal acclaim. This time, however, his father caught him sneaking back in the house afterwards. Since Adam was sixteen years old at the time, all hell broke loose (literally, as far as the local preachers screamed).
The Men’s Club was instantly shuttered, a flurry of warrants, indictments and charges flew in a vicious legal whirlwind, and a deathly silence prevailed over the fate of half a dozen local citizens who were taken off to the state penitentiary.
In time, the bar managed to re-open under new ownership. Now it was just “Dan’s Bar”, and it was freely admitted that the name was a DBA and that there was no Dan. It took a while for the thundering from the pulpits and the fulminations from the electoral podiums to die down, but eventually business began to return to normal and the stigma of what had happened began to fade.
And then Adam started showing back up. At nineteen, his still had that lean, slim firm teen body that explained his physical appeal. His face was still smooth but his complexion was starting to show the effects of an excess of alcohol.
He followed the same pattern every night, showing up in the sluttiest outfit he could find, desperate to get laid. None of the locals would go near him. After a while, he’d start to get teary-eyed and go to the bar, slam down a twenty and get as many shots of cheap tequila he could, downing one after the other.
Then he’d drunkenly cruise the floor for any strangers; there was a tiny cheap motel across the road and sometimes—especially on weekends—there was some trade from the interstate. He was certainly attractive and still looked young. He could appeal to the guys who looked like they had money by emphasizing the victimhood of his molestation in that very bar.
In his own way he was right; he was a victim. He was a pariah to the locals; no one who knew him dared go anywhere near him. He knew it but wasn’t self-aware enough to know why, so he drank himself into a stupor and threw himself at every strange male who came in, wheedling money out of the rich ones and sex out of all of them.
As Adam looked up this night, the dude his bleary eyes slowly focused on mighta been rich, but it wouldn’t have mattered. Right away, Adam wanted him. Drunk as he was, his dick still managed to rise to attention at the sight of the well-built man leaning back in one of the corner booths against the far wall.
The dude was older; late thirties, perhaps. He wore a flat-brimmed trucker’s cap that made it hard to distinguish his hair, but below his gunmetal-blue eyes, a coarse, wiry scruff of black fur covered his cheeks, just barely longer than five o’clock shadow except where it darkened into a goatee around his mouth.
A white t-shirt stretched tautly over his wide chest. Over it he wore an unlined leather vest, very plain and simple. It dangled open to reveal the man’s large pectoral muscles with what looked like a pair of dogtags glinting in between on top of the t-shirt.
He was in the corner booth, behind the table, so Adam couldn’t get a good view of him below the waist—but then stud shifted and stretched out a long leg, knotted with muscle like the limb of a tree, tightly wrapped in torn, slightly stained denim, terminating in a worn and scarred brown leather pull-on work boot.
Adam felt himself drawn in; some kind of gravitational field of lust was pulling him to this dude.
Somehow, deep inside his sad, sordid little soul, he knew this guy would solve all his problems.
He never imagined how.
He might have been drunk, but Adam wasn’t completely wasted. He knew he had to remain presentable—and to that end, quickly ducked into the restroom to check his appearance in the mirror. The two dudes already in there certainly weren’t resting, but they split immediately when they saw who had walked in.
Adam ignored them; he was so used to the cold shoulder that it didn’t even register. He stood at the filthy sink and ran water over his hands, splashing a little on his face to help him focus before examining his appearance in the cracked and pitted mirror.
Beneath his tousled blond hair, deep hazel eyes stared back at him from the reflective surface. Surprisingly clear given the amount of alcohol he’d consumed, they were long-lashed and slightly almond-shaped. His nose was wide and the drinking had already caused some spreading and reddening, but in the dim light, his face still managed to project an air of innocence and naivety that was wholly disingenuous. There was nothing innocent or naïve about the little slut.
He grinned at his reflection. Fuck the other guys in the bar. He wasn’t looking for love, he was looking for sex, and he’d already set his sights for the dude he wanted to plow his hole tonight.
It was a warm night and Adam had dressed accordingly; he looked as if he was ready for action of some kind, at any rate. He wore a deep blue sleeveless basketball jersey; it clung to his slim but firm frame, the shiny polyester catching the light. Below, matching shorts ended well above mid-thigh, showing Adam’s long muscled legs to perfect advantage. His tight, smooth limbs were dusted with a fine golden down that glinted a fiery glow when the light struck it just right. His thick calves were encased in black Nike athletic socks, running down to black leather hightop sneakers with the same distinctive swoosh.
He grinned at himself in the mirror. He could still dress like he was sixteen and get away with it. He wouldn’t be able to for much longer before the booze caught up to him, but that thought never occurred to him.
Smirking at his youthful face in the blemished mirror, Adam shoved his hand down his shorts. Tightly gripping his dick, still firm and meaty at the memory of the hot stud in the booth, he adjusted it to the right, laying it against his bare thigh so the bulge would be obvious in the flashy shorts.
Finally satisfied with his finishing touches, Adam left the restroom on his quest to snag himself a good hard top.
He’d heard the warning about being careful what one asks for, but he’d never understood it. Tonight, he would.
The haze of smoke, the flash of strobes and the rattling bass of the music had turned the bar into a kaleidoscope of male flesh and lust. Adam could still make out the dude, deep in the shadows.
He was still in the booth, his steely blue eyes casting a coldly appraising glance over the men on display. There was something contemptuous in the stillness of his face that made a deep dark part of Adam’s soul throb. His beautiful body, wrapped in denim and leather—Adam felt himself gasp in imagined pleasure.
He approached the dude’s table. Reaching it, he stood silently, legs spread, hands on his hips. Despite his overwhelming desire to be brutally cornholed by this stud, he managed to strike an arrogant pose so as not to sell himself short.
“You’re a big dude,” he jeered, “everything about you big?” He’d cast his voice low and sultry but in his excitement, it had risen noticeably.
The older man glanced at him dismissively before silently turning his eyes back to the dance floor. Not a muscle in his face had moved but his eyes. Adam broke into a nervous sweat. He tried again.
“C’mon, man,” he wheedled. “You gotta nice big dick you can stick in me?”
This time the alpha male examined Adam more closely, his penetrating gaze sliding over the teen’s body as if he was sizing up a cut of meat. A corner of his mouth curled in what might have been a sneer, but between the alcohol and the chaotic atmosphere of the club, Adam was incapable of noticing that level of detail.
When he finally spoke, it was in a deep guttural bass that seemed to vibrate the deepest root of Adam’s shaft. “You lookin’ to get fucked?” he growled.
Suddenly, in the full spotlight of the stud’s attention, Adam was intimidated. He tried to speak, but his throat was too dry; when he swallowed, all he got was a faint click. He nodded dumbly. There was something in the muscular dude’s immobile face that let him know he didn’t need to speak. The message had gotten across.
The silence between them extended to an almost unbearable length before the older man spoke. “Yeah, I could plow your hole. You gotta place I can bang ya?”
Adam nodded swiftly, recovering his voice as best he could. “Y-yes, over in-in F-f-farmington; it’s ab-about t-t-twenty miles d-down—“
“Fuck that,” snapped the stud. “I got a room across the way. C’mon. And you better be a good fuck, boy, cause if you ain’t, I can damn sure make ya are one.”
Adam shuddered to his core; he was still too drunk to recognize the threat implicit in the statement. He was shuddering in anticipation.
He stepped aside to let the alpha stud out of the booth. The older man got up; his leather vest fell open, revealing the skin-tight t-shirt that highlighted every detail of his sculpted torso. As the man stood in front of him, Adam couldn’t help but notice how his jeans exposed the massive ridge extending outwards from the dude’s crotch.
Adam quailed momentarily; even in his alcoholic stupor, this was a case of biting off more than he could chew, so to speak. This guy was huge. This was gonna hurt, and if this guy used him the way he wanted to be used, it was gonna hurt a lot.
Then he glanced up at the muscled top towering over him and decided it didn’t matter. He wanted this man’s cock, no matter what it took.
Gulping nervously, he cleared his throat and spoke. This time he got the low, throaty tone he’d been aiming for. “Yeah, man, that’ll work. You can put it up my ass, big boy. Let’s see what you can do.”
This time there was no way he could miss the contemptuous smirk on the alpha’s face, but he disregarded it; he assumed it meant the dominant stud had accepted his challenge. And indeed he had, but not how Adam had hoped for.
He eagerly followed the stud out the main entrance.
=========================================================================================
The Trooper shifted his firm ass in the leather seat of his cruiser; he’d been sitting there for some time and didn’t want it to fall asleep. No telling how much longer he’d be sitting here; it was just past midnight and this place was open till two in the morning, if local ordinances didn’t allow it to stay open later.
Nonetheless, he was willing to spend the night here. This was the second exit he’d checked on his return trip and he instantly recognized the rig in the bar’s parking lot.
He’d realized back at the state line that he’d focused too exclusively on truck stops. A quick online search had shown him all the gay bars in this part of the state, and there weren’t too many. He’d hit pay dirt his on his second stop.
Now all he had to do was sit in the dark and wait for his mark to leave the bar. He’d parked at the back end of the lot, in a spot where he could see the bar entrance on one side of his field of view and the truck on the other. He’d manage to catch sight of his man at some point between the two…
As he settled back into his seat, he saw the door open and two figures come out. It was hard to discern details at this distance, but one was a kid in a shiny purple baller outfit and high black socks and shoes. The Trooper had actually noted him pulling into the lot a couple of hours ago in an ancient wheezy Mercedes.
The other was a tall, muscular man in jeans, a white t-shirt and a black vest, wearing a trucker’s cap…
The Trooper was instantly on the alert; it sure looked like the guy he’d seen before. Same massive, muscular body. There was more facial hair, but it had been several days. It had to be him—
But they didn’t cross to the cab of the truck; instead, they turned the other direction and soon vanished around the corner of the building.
The Trooper grunted in frustration. He was close, so close. He knew it. But he wasn’t about go into the bar and confront the dude in front of witnesses.
No, he had other plans.
=========================================================================================
As the Trucker opened the door to the room, his nose was assailed by the mingled reek of bleach and cigarette smoke. He’d rented it earlier but hadn’t bothered to enter the room before; he knew what to expect anyway, more or less. It was slightly cleaner than some of the other shitholes he’d been in lately, but still well used and run down.
As he stepped to the side to jerk the faded brown drapes over the window, the punk in the b-ball jersey came in, letting the door close behind him. The Trucker crossed swiftly behind him to lock and bolt the door before turning to face the kid.
The old dented lampshades obscured much of the room in gloom, but the boy had taken the chair at the desk-dresser combo and was seated in a circle of light. He shook his head as if to clear it, his unruly blond hair creating a golden aura about his head. The kid grinned up at the older man, his eyes illuminated with lust.
The Trucker glanced down the teen’s tight, lithe body, his purple jersey revealing the full length of his firm arms, his biceps forming small mounds under his skin, which was covered with a faint golden down. He sat with his legs spread wide, his smooth, muscled thighs parted and his skimpy shorts pulled up so that his entire package was lying out on the chair. On top of his large puckered scrotum his dick, a long dark sausage-like tube projected from a tangled mass of red-gold curls.
The punk reached his hand down, gripping his meat tightly. He shifted his feet, flexing his thick calf muscles in their tight black socks as he stared brazenly at the Trucker.
“So,” he drawled, “ya gonna fuck me or what?”
The Trucker looked down at the boy without saying anything. Suddenly, his face twisted into a grim smirk. “Sure, I’ll fuck ya. You want the dick, you fuckin’ slut? Work for it. You gotta earn this cock, bitch,”
Still fully dressed, the Trucker reached down and unzipped his bulging fly. His massive member was too long to flop out on its own—he had to reach in to set it free. As it swayed and bobbed in the air, Adam’s eyes glazed over.
The Tucker gave a slight chuckle as he saw the kid’s cock get even darker and start to swell.
“Strip, you cunt,” he snarled, “gimme a show.”
============================================================================================
The Trooper was uneasy. He knew he had the right truck and he could have sworn that the guy he’d just seen was the driver. But he didn’t go back to the truck. So where did he go?
The only other option was the motel on the other corner. As he pondered it, the Trooper became more certain that he’d let his quarry slip out of his sight. He knew this predator liked to kill in motel rooms, but so far he hadn’t rented one on his own; the victims had all rented their deathbeds themselves.
And that kid hadn’t rented a room; the Trooper had seen him arrive. So maybe this time the truck driver had rented a room for himself.
The Trooper quickly got out of his car. If the dude was at the motel, he’d find him, but he didn’t want to park his car in the lot in case the killer glanced out the window at some point. No sense spooking him.
Thick-soled boots pounding firmly on the pavement, the Trooper quickly crossed the street and approached the office, a brightly lit glass cube at one end of the L-shaped building.
Inside the office, the fluorescent lights gave off a maddening buzz which likely explained the half-crazed look on the face of the night manager. She was a large older woman of indeterminate age with unkempt gray hair and cat-eye glasses.
She was a tough old broad who was there to take the money, hand out the keys and call in the local sheriff if anything got outta hand. No, there hadn’t been no problems tonight. And no, she didn’t remember any features of any of the guys staying. Best she could do was tell him which rooms were occupied; if he wanted anything more, he was welcome to come back with a warrant…
The Trooper smiled graciously, stifling his irritation. Fewer than half a dozen rooms were occupied; as he stepped out of the office, he noticed that one of the rooms she’d indicated was dark. If this dude truly was what the Trooper thought he was, there should be some sound involved.
Crossing swiftly but quietly to the darkened motel room, the Trooper removed his peaked cap and pressed his ear to the door. It was cheap hollow-core plywood, acting almost as sounding board. The room on the other side was very quiet with the exception of one very distinct sound—snoring.
The young cop stepped back and straightened up. He flexed his well-developed body, limbering up his back. He hadn’t expected this room to be it. The guy couldn’t possibly be done yet; what he did took too long. And he didn’t do it in the dark, either; this sick fucker enjoyed watching his victims suffer. It was gonna be one of the rooms that still had the lights on.
There were four other rooms to check. Walking slowly so that the thick soles of his high leather boots didn’t make too much noise on the pavement, he approached the closest lighted room, crouching quietly, waiting and listening.
============================================================================================
The Trucker slipped off his leather vest. His tight white t-shirt underneath had a breast pocket with a distinctive rectangular bulge. He fished out his pack of smokes, lit a cigarette and tossed the match into the cracked and yellowed glass ashtray on the desk. Stripping out of his shirt, switching the cig from one hand to the other as he did so, the Trucker leaned back against the door and took a deep drag as Adam slowly rose from his chair.
Keeping his head pointed down, he turned his eyes up to the older man’s face, peering at him from under his sandy blond eyebrows. A cocky leer twisted his face as he ran his hands down his body, stroking the shiny polyester material of his jersey and shorts. He let them go down to his knees before pulling them back up, catching at the bottom of his shorts and pulling them up as well.
As he flashed his smooth inner thighs at the Trucker, Adam grinned with eager lust. Raising his hands to his hips, he gave a quick shake and the shorts fell to the ground. He still had the black socks clinging to his thighs and the leather sneakers tightly laced around his feet, but he was otherwise nude from the waist down.
Adam’s thick dark cock jutted like a masthead from the golden fleece of his pubic hair; already the Trucker could see a faint glint of precum welling from the slit at the tip of the swollen purple head. The little fuck was excited. He wanted to be used; it was obvious. Smirking, the Trucker knocked his ashes onto the thin, cheap carpet. He raised his left hand up to his large, hard nipple and began to stroke it.
Adam inhaled—more of a deep, shuddery gasp, really, a sound of pure desire. “Fuck, man, I want your dick inside me so bad,” he moaned.
The Trucker sneered down at him. “Ya want the D, motherfucker? You gotta earn it first, bitch. Let’s see what you can do. Get over here and work my nips.”
Adam approached the Trucker hesitantly—not because he was sharp enough to pick up on any danger signals, but because he was so turned on by this older alpha dude that he was afraid the guy would suddenly vanish, like a mirage.
Or worse, change his mind. Adam would do anything to prevent that from happening. Whatever this guy wanted to do to him, however far he wanted to go, Adam was willing to endure it if it meant this stud would unload inside him.
It didn’t occur to him that there might actually be a “too far”.
Reaching out a trembling hand, he gingerly grasped the Trucker’s nipples between his thumb and forefingers, squeezing gently. The Trucker took a deep drag of his smoke before responding with a jeer. “Is that the best ya can do, slut? I said work them, not tickle them, you stupid piece of shit.”
Closing his eyes, Adam gave another shuddering groan and began pulling more firmly on the alpha’s manteats, gradually increasing force and torque until he was twisting them violently. Not a muscle in the Trucker’s face moved in response to Adam’s attention, but his massive cock had swung out like the boom of a ship, slapping against the boy’s slightly smaller but no less erect shaft.
“Put your mouth on ‘em, boy,” growled the Trucker, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray. “If ya work ‘em good enough, I’ll stick my dick down yer throat.”
Adam bent his head forward and let his tongue explore the contours of the older man’s nipples. Giving a faint grunt, the Trucker lit another cig and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the door. He stood with his thick, denim-clad legs spread wide, boots placed far apart, dipping cock hanging out of his open fly. The smooth youth clung to his hard sculpted torso, fingers curled into the stud’s chest fur.
The teen’s full red lips spread over the Trucker’s areola, loudly slurping on the firm broad pecs as the boy reached between his legs and began jacking himself off. Suddenly the alpha grabbed the boy’s upper arms and pulled him off. He blew smoke into the punk’s face and began barking orders at him while the kid coughed.
“Enough. On your knees, cunt. Time to see what it takes to make ya gag. Down on your fucking knees and sit there like a pig with your mouth wide open. Now, bitch!”
An undefinable sensation ran through Adam’s body like an electrical jolt; a remarkable combination of hot lust and cold chill. Not being given to analysis, Adam heeded the one that felt best and obeyed. He sank to his knees and opened his mouth eagerly.
Taking another drag, the Trucker stepped forward and flicked his ash contemptuously into the little slut’s face. “Ready to choke on it, cunt? C’mon, you can open wider than that, cocksucker,” he chuckled.
Suddenly, he sprang forward, snatching a fistful of Adam’s tousled blond hair and jerked the startled youth’s head down onto his hard shaft. Before Adam could even brace himself, he found himself experiencing the most brutal skullfuck he’d ever endured.
============================================================================================
The Trooper stood outside room 112, his ear pressed to the door. This was the third door he’d tried—the second one with the lights on. In the first lit room, he’d heard a lot of vigorous sex, but one of the voices was female.
He doubted his quarry was in the room, but he’d listened anyway; from the snatches of conversation he’d heard, the broad sounded like a whore.
Losing interest, the Trooper turned away. Even if the whore ended up murdered, he could give a shit. It wasn’t his problem. But he was anxious to find the killer and confront him.
In fact, his massive cock was throbbing in anticipation.
He’d paused and wheeled about in the parking lot, checking the location of the next rented room. Now he was here, listening eagerly for any sound through the door. So far, though, nothing but silence.
That worried him. He didn’t think he was too late, but it was possible. If not, that dude was probably murdering the kid he’d taken out of the bar right now. The Trooper wasn’t concerned about stopping the murder; he wanted to catch the fucker red-handed—on the other hand, he could still have some fun even if the kid wasn’t dead yet. He’d still be calling in a corpse or two by the time he was finished here.
But he didn’t want to take too long. After all, if the guy was done, there wouldn’t be any sound to indicate which room. There might be nothing but silence.
Like this room.
Damn! Where was he?
==========================================================================================
Adam coughed and gagged on the massive tube of flesh blocking his throat. He tried to look up at the Trucker, but his head was jammed so far into the dominant stud’s crotch that the dude’s wiry pubic hair scratched and scraped at his face like steel wool.
He pulled back involuntarily, in an instinctual attempt to breathe but the Trucker’s hands gripped his skull with vise-like strength, the crushing pain almost overriding the panic of suffocation.
“Swallow my dick, bitch, choke on it,” grunted the Trucker, holding Adam’s head immobile and pumping his hips violently. “C’mon and gag, you worthless cumsucker. Show me how much you like to get throatfucked, cunt!”
Adam reached up, trying desperately to get a grip on the older man’s torso, to find some way to get leverage and free himself, but it was futile. He grasped at the alpha’s muscular flanks but they were sweaty with exertion and his hands slipped off.
His grasping, fluttering fingers slipped to the Trucker’s thighs and found purchase on the tight denim wrapping the powerful, thrusting legs. He still couldn’t breathe, but he wasn’t strong enough to push back against the alpha top and get loose.
It happened suddenly—he couldn’t breathe, it was bad, it hurt—and the need to vomit. He gagged up a huge froth of saliva and the Trucker pulled his huge dick out, letting the punk drool a long streamer of foam from his lips down onto his bare thighs.
Still kneeling, Adam leaned back against the bed. He continued to cough and gag.
“Stupid little fuck, can’t take a real man, can ya, faggot?” sneered the Trucker. “Let’s see if your fuckhole can do better than your useless mouth. Can’t call ya a cocksucker, ya piece a’ shit—can’t even do that right. Now take off that stupid fuckin’ jersey and get up on the bed. On your back with your legs in the air, cunt. NOW.”
Eyes closed, still gasping for air, Adam heard the man’s words and moaned faintly with pleasure. Fuck, this was the real thing. This dude was gonna give him his best fuck ever; he knew it.
He was right.
Quickly, tremblingly, he jerked the slick purple jersey off over his head. He backed onto the bed, his smooth, slim body glistening with a light sheen of perspiration. A faint golden haze, like the down on a peach, darkened the lower part of his smooth, flat belly, growing thicker as it descended towards his groin.
The Trucker lit another cigarette. Still standing upright, legs spread with his shaft jutting straight out in front of him, he remained motionless as Adam positioned himself, watching the slut with no more expression than a faint sneer.
Settling himself with both pillows propping up his head, Adam was lying on his back. He reached down and, placing his hands behind his knees, pulled his legs up and apart, spreading them for easy access to his asshole. His fingers dug deeply into the silky-smooth flesh of his thighs; his calves and feet still covered with the black tube socks and black leather hightop sneakers, now hanging in the air, bobbing slightly—his toes curling in expectation of the pleasure to come.
The Trucker was only half-finished with his smoke when Adam finished arranging himself. He grinned, but didn’t move. Neither did Adam. As if knowing instinctively what to do, he did nothing—remained there with his legs spread in the air, pink asshole pulsating, long-lashed eyes staring longingly at the silent alpha male who was leisurely finished his cig…
It was a silent but very intense moment that stretched out for an almost unbearably long time—and yet somehow did not lessen in intensity while it lasted. Which was why neither of them heard the faint crunch of a booted footstep outside the door.
Nor did they hear it three minutes later, moving away.
===========================================================================================
The Trooper moved on to the next room, but he wasn’t happy. That room had been too quiet. Of course, whoever rented it could be out and have left the light on—but in this kinda place, that was unlikely. Most customers rented for a short time for a specific purpose. Once they left the room, they usually didn’t come back.
But he had other rooms to check. Maybe he’d be hit paydirt with one of them.
Still, he couldn’t get the quiet room off his mind…
=============================================================================================
It ceased to be quiet fairly quickly. The Trucker tossed his still-smoldering butt into the ashtray and approached the slut. Grasping his massive club-like cock in one hand, he slapped it against the other as he approached the bed, splattering Adam’s lithe body with transparent drops of precum.
“Ready for it, cunt?” he jeered. “Fuckin’ whore like you ain’t gettin’ no lube, so this is gonna hurt, even for a slut like you.”
Before Adam could respond, the alpha stud had parted his legs and placed the swollen purple head of his shaft against the teen’s quivering fuckhole. As he felt the massive spade-shaped bulb press forcibly against his sphincter, the punk responded with sudden trepidation. “H-hey, man—d-don’t hurt me, huh?”
The Trucker grinned but remained silent. Lunging forward suddenly, he slammed his engorged tool up Adam’s pulsating rectum, feeling the boy’s sphincter resist, tightening around his shaft like a cockring.
Adam, suddenly confronted with horrible sexual trauma, squealed like a pig. All the other dudes who’d fucked him were grateful for the experience, grateful that a slut with a youthful appearance would let them use his hole. This was different. It was obvious that this guy didn’t give a shit about poor little Adam and all the trouble he’d had in life. This guy wanted to use him like an object and didn’t care what happened to him beyond that point.
It was terrifying and it made Adam hornier than he could have imagined. He moaned loudly, his stretched-out ass muscle feeling every vein wrapped around the massive shaft jammed up his colon.
The Trucker leaned forward, his huge muscled form pressing down on the punk’s slim, smooth form. Hooking his arms under the slut’s knees, he pulled the kid’s legs forward and up, rotating his ass so it was perfectly aligned to the natural angle of his own cock.
All he had to do was thrust.
He leered obscenely in Adam’s face. “Ya like that, ya fuckin’ cunt? Is that big enough for your reamed-out fuckhole, ya whore? Damn, bitch, I fucked professionals tighter than you—you really are a worthless faggot slut, aintcha?”
Adam’s face was clenched tight in a grimace of pain; tears leaked from his eyes, pulled back into slits. Loose? What the fuck was this dude talking about? Adam’s ass was so full of dick he was afraid—really afraid—that physical damage was being done to his rectum.
“P-please, man—“ he stuttered, “F-fuck, dude, y-y-you’re killin’ me, p-please!”
The Trucker bent his head down until his face was mere inches from that of the sobbing, gasping teen. Staring deep into Adam’s bloodshot eyes, the alpha’s grin shone with gleeful malevolence. “Not yet, cunt,” he whispered, “not quite yet, you stupid bitch.” Then he spit in the kid’s weeping face.
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The Trooper was standing in the recessed doorway of an empty room, far enough back in the shadows that he couldn’t be seen. He was in a quandary; a bit of good luck was dragging on so long it could turn into bad luck.
He’d just started towards the fourth room when the door to the fifth opened. The Trooper had instantly ducked into the darkness where he could observe the occupants.
And more than one guy was leaving the room, making it highly unlikely either was his quarry—this predator always left alone—he didn’t leave anyone alive to leave under their own power. That took care of one of the last two rooms; he only had one more to check. It had to be that one or the one he’d just left. He should have enough time to confirm which one was right and catch the dude in the act.
The problem was these two faggots who’d just left the room. They were still there in the parking lot. One was a young man in his late twenties, slim with long brown hair; the other was a hairy bear of a man in his forties who kept wrapping his massive paws around the boy.
The Trooper seethed. If he emerged from the shadows now, he’d freak them out. And if they made too much noise, he’d spook his prey. His eyes glittered with anger as he ground his teeth in the darkness. If it wasn’t for the need for silence, he’d march out right now and arrest those fucking homos…
They parted, suddenly, each to his own car. When they pulled out of the lot, they went in different directions.
The Trooper remained still until their taillights faded to pinpoints in the distance—but the moment that point was reached, he bolted across the parking lot towards the last door. He had to take a moment to quiet his pounding pulse before he crouched, breathlessly, and pressed his ear to the door.
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Drunk as he’d been, Adam was sobering quickly and very unwillingly. The pain was phenomenal; the dude wasn’t just plugging his ass, he was tearing it.
The punk found himself unable to breathe; utterly incapable of exhaling, he could only gasp and croak like a landed fish, his ears ringing with the Trucker’s dogtags, jingling and dangling in front of his face, reflecting light from the dim bedside lamp hypnotically back into his face, pale and strained in agony.
He squealed in pain. Above him, the hard-muscled Trucker pumped and grunted, sneering into the tortured youth’s tear-stained face. “Shaddup, you worthless whore. Ya got the cock ya wanted, so quit yer fuckin’ bitching cause yer startin’ to piss me off. And trust me, cunt—you think you’re in pain now? You have no fucking clue what pain is. Yer gonna learn, though. I’m really gonna get the fuck off teachin’ ya all about pain, you stupid piece a’ shit!”
The wailing boy pushed and shoved on the thick arms, knotted with muscles, which pinned his shoulders to the bed; it was as futile as trying to move a post embedded in concrete. His frantic, grasping hands slipped on the Trucker’s sweat-slicked skin—suddenly he found himself beating against the alpha dude’s chest with as much effect as if he was beating an oak tree. Deep in desperation, Adam clutched involuntarily at the older man’s chest hair, the wiry fur scratching his palms as he bleated in agony.
“Goddammit, you worthless little motherfucker, you ain’t worth keepin’ alive to fuck!” rumbled the Trucker in his deep bass voice. “Yer makin’ too much noise and fightin’ too hard, you stupid slut, and you damn sure ain’t no virgin; yer ass is way too loose, cunt!”
Again, he hocked up a massive wad of phlegm and spit it contemptuously into Adam’s face, already smeared with snot from his continuous sobbing. The teen kicked his feet, his black leather sneakers beating the air helplessly over his assailant’s shoulders. He was still trying to push the Trucker off him, despite the obvious uselessness of the effort.
Adam’s drunken brain was mired in a fog of terror and physical pain that prevented him from thinking logically. He had clearly been warned that his best bet of getting out of this alive was to lie still and take the dick, but in his pain and panic, he wasn’t able to control his reactions.
His smooth teen body writhed violently on the soiled sheets, twisting them under him as they began to absorb the sweat forced out of his agonized form. The room positively reeked of mansweat and mansex as the Trucker pumped his own pheromones into the air to compete with those of the raped youth, already awash in the hormones common at his age.
But it was his squealing that broke the camel’s back. Aside from the possibility that it might alert others, it had a pig-like tone that set off the Trucker’s misophony, the neurologically hard-wired rage reaction in response to certain aural stimuli.
In other words, the teen’s cries of pain and fear automatically invoked an overwhelming anger in the Trucker. The intense desire to destroy the source of the sound descended on his consciousness like a red mist. It triggered a nightmarish apocalypse that rained down on the emotionally-damaged boy, filling his last moments on earth with a silent howling vortex of terror.
It started with the homicidal glint in the Trucker’s eyes—a look as cold and cutting as a sharp blade. When he spoke, it was in a low, controlled whisper that was somehow more chilling than any enraged screaming could have been.
“I’m done with ya, bitch. Gonna waste ya and let your dyin’ convulsions milk the spunk outta my cock. Ain’t no one gonna miss ya, you useless cum-suckin’ homo. Hell, they’ll probably gimme a medal for puttin’ yer worthless ass down, heh! Yeah, ya ready for it, faggot? Time to die, motherfucker!”
Adam’s already-shrill scream started to spiral into a shriek but before he could get enough air, the Trucker sealed him off. It happened so fast Adam never saw it coming—one moment the dude’s hands were pressing down on his shoulders hard enough to leave bruises, the next, they were doing the same thing across his face.
One large strong hand was clamped across him mouth like a vise, the other had slammed down across his nose violently, crushing it flat.
Adam couldn’t breathe. And he couldn’t move—the Trucker was lying full-length on top of him, the weight of the larger, stronger man pinning the teen’s body deep enough into the cheap thin mattress that Adam could feel the springs digging into his back.
It just added more pain to the dark tornado of agony and terror that roared through Adam’s mind.
The Trucker looked down approvingly. He leered maliciously into the youth’s bulging, horrified eyes—all of the boy’s face that was visible above his hands. As he smiled, he tightened his grip brutally, digging his fingers deep into the flesh of the kid’s cheeks. “Mmmmpphhh!” the punk moaned, his long lashes fluttering as his eyes rolled back in his head.
The last thing Adam heard as he plunged into a bottomless black sea of pain, was a faint whisper, “Lights out, bitch.”
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Silence. The Trooper was getting frustrated again. He had to be in one of two rooms—but which? They were equally quiet. And he had to be sure; he didn’t want to tip the dude off by causing a ruckus at the wrong door. It had to be sudden, a surprise.
Besides, he was still technically on duty and could be called away at any moment; otherwise he’d have just hung around and got the guy once he left the room.
Beyond that, though, he had his own reasons for wanting to catch the dude in the act. Reasons that got him hard. Reasons that would have gotten him fired and more if they became known.
Yeah, he wanted to find this dude. He could really give a shit if the kid was still alive when he got there; he wouldn’t be for long in any case.
The Trooper stood, again feeling the need to stretch. He flexed his thick firm legs, making sure not to thump the soles of his boots too loudly on the pavement. Just as he was about to return to his listening position, a flash of headlights swept through the parking lot. The lithe young man darted into an alcove between the rooms, a dark space containing a loudly-malfunctioning ice machine, just as a car pulled up a couple of spaces away.
From the recesses of the alcove, the Trooper was able to peer around the corner and observe the occupants. Straight couple—odd for this neighborhood. They got out of the car, still talking animatedly, but the ice machine made their conversation inaudible. Closer inspection, though, revealed that the chick was a tranny. They were probably arguing about her fee.
They needed to hurry up. The Trooper still didn’t know where his quarry was. He was getting impatient…
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There were storms on the sea of pain and one of them tossed Adam up on the rocky shore of consciousness; a thin, sharp sensation as he struggled to inhale through his mashed nose, now so miraculously free.
The other pain, though… Nothing had dimmed the excruciating torture in his rectum; the agony was so intense he half believed he was being sodomized with a splintered wooden shaft; he’d been fucked many times before, no dude’s cock could be tearing him up like that…
The Trucker loomed over him, grinning. “Welcome back, slut. Ya didn’t think I was gonna let ya go that easy, didja?” Clenching the fingers still stretched over the boy’s mouth, the Trucker managed to elicit another squeal of distress. He responded to it by spitting into Adam’s flushed, distorted face.
Leaning back down over the trapped youth, the Trucker lowered his voice to a deep guttural snarl. “Naw, you useless motherfucker, you gotta earn a clean death. I’m gonna kill ya now. I’m gonna close off your air and let you slowly die on my cock. It’s gonna hurt, bitch, it’s gonna hurt so fuckin’ bad. There’s only gonna be one way to end the pain, faggot—ya gotta make me cum. I promise, cunt—the moment I unload, I’ll snap yer neck and put you out of your misery. But until then, I’m gonna make sure your last moments are nightmarish.”
Adam stared blankly up at his tormentor. He’d heard the words but the second he understood them he decided not to understand them. The Trucker, however, wasn’t going to let him get away with it. “The more it hurts you, cunt, the better it feels for me. The better it feels for me, the more I hurt you. Only way to stop it is to work my shaft with your homo fuckhole till ya milk the sperm outta me. Then I’ll end for ya, nice and quick. Got it, punk? Ya better, cause it’s time to saddle up and ride ya till ya die in a fountain of spunk—yee-haw, motherfucker!”
He bent down and with his face just inches from that of his victim, neatly pinched Adam’s nose off between his thumb and forefinger.
The kid started jerking and twisting his head. The Trucker was strong enough to grind Adam’s septum between his fingers without letting the teen’s struggles have the slightest chance of breaking free—and all with no visible effort.
He simply lay on top of the kicking, panicking youth, his cock fully inserted into the punk’s shuddering colon. Still gripping Adam’s jaw and clamping his nose shut, the Trucker stared into the boy’s wide, terrified eyes, watching them swell as the pressure built in his head…
“Bet it’s startin’ to hurt now, huh? Can ya feel the blood pooling in your head? That pounding you hear, that’s your pulse. Your heart is trying to get the last of the oxygenated blood into your brain—cause once that stops, your brain starts dyin’. And there ain’t no comin’ back from that, motherfucker. So just lie back and enjoy the show, you worthless faggot slut, while I use your death throes to jack off.”
Adam was still awake enough to know what was happening. His reflexes were still sodden with alcohol but without the merciful dulling of edges conferred by drunkenness. His reaction was swift and violent.
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The Trooper’s reaction was just as swift, but much less violent for the moment. The guy and the tranny had gone into the room he’d been watching. That could only mean one thing—it was the other room, the one on the other side of the lot.
He stepped out of the alcove and was about to cross the lot when a raucous burst of profanity drew his attention to five young men walking across the street from the bar, all in one group. Half-dressed twinks, they slobbered and pawed over each other seemingly at random as they ambled towards the office.
Goddammit! The Trooper slipped reluctantly back up onto the pavement in front of the rooms. One of the punks had gone into the office, but the others were still standing about in a giggling gaggle of twee little boys. The Trooper snorted with disgust as he edged his was around to the other side along the pavement, not openly crossing the lot. In this case, the most direct way would have taken him right in front of the fluttering fuckin’ butterflies…
On the other hand, it might not be a bad idea to see which room they got. Just in case this wasn’t as fun as he’d planned—nothing wrong with having a Plan B.
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As Adam slowly died beneath him, the Trucker amused himself by taunting the traumatized youth, fucking his mind no less brutally than his ass. As his cock ripped and tore the teen’s guts, his jeering slashed at the stunned boy’s psyche, flaying his soul with terror.
“What’s it feel like, boy? What’s it feel like to die with a dick up yer ass? What’s it like knowin’ yer gonna be found pumped fulla cum and snuffed in a cheap motel next to a faggot bar, huh? Gotta make yer momma and daddy proud, son! C’mon, you queer-ass cock-suckin’ bitch, you gotta earn my load!”
Adam’s expression was one of terror and baffled despair; above the strong, tight, suffocating hands of his killer, his skin of his face was becoming livid and blotchy. His blond hair was dark and slick with sweat, the cold sweat forced out of the dying punk’s body in instinctive reaction to the fiery pain in his chest and head. His legs kicked frantically, one of his hightop sneakers flying off his foot and bouncing off the right-hand wall.
“Fuck yeah, you goddam homo whore, keep workin’ my tool—just like that, yeah. Keep it up cunt, work for yer death. It’ll be quick, faggot. I’ll shatter your vertebrae so the bone shards slice open your spinal column. It’ll hurt, holy fuckin’ hell, it’s gonna hurt but if ya keep goin’ out this way, it’ll be even worse—it’ll be a lot longer.
So c’mon, ya piece of shit, time to decide. Work my ass. Work with me, boy, and I’ll end your useless life in a swift blast of excruciating pain—
—or let your will to live keep you alive for another few seconds as I narrate what parts of your brain are dying. Your choice. Let’s see how much of a masochistic pig you really are. You wanna die, to end it? Work with me now. That’s it, son, work with my thrusts, let your quivering fuckhole massage my dick. Yeah, boy, you’re gettin’ it. Keep it up and I’ll stop the pain. Just like that, yeah, and I snuff your worthless life and end your misery.”
Adam nodded violently, but it would have been difficult for an outside observer to tell if it was in acquiescence or involuntary. He was back in the howling black vortex, but this time was different—Adam didn’t want to escape. His universe had coalesced into a bright point of burning pain and all that could assuage the agony was the icy coldness of death.
And that’s when he shot his wad.
All his pain, all his trauma, all his bitterness seemed to be distilled into his semen; it burned like acid as it boiled its way out of his somehow-erect cock, the sheer flaming agony of his over-sensitive nerves highlighting the shocking sense of physical betrayal as the shattered remains of Adam’s personality were sucked into frigid eternity.
One last spark of sentience received pain stimuli from the rectum and lower intestines; a sensation of boiling liquid heat. There was no time to process the sensation of having cum shot up his dying ass; Adam simply registered the pain and died.
The Trucker gasped and steadied himself on the bed, his dogtags jangling as his muscled form shuddered in orgasm. Beneath him, the punk’s face was almost black, his eyes swollen horribly. The Trucker smiled gently and whispered, “Promised I’d snap yer neck if ya got me off.”
Still grasping the youth’s jaw with one hand, the Trucker wrapped the other in Adam’s sweat-drenched hair. A quick, brutal jerk, instantly followed by the snapping, shattering sound of a greenstick fracture, and the teen’s head lolled limply and grotesquely on his chest. As his vertebrae exploded, his body jerked as if an electrical shock had been applied—as indeed it had; one last blast of electrochemical activity along dead nerves. The corpse’s cock, jolted back to life momentarily, stood up and sent one last spurt of seed up to splash against the underside of the Trucker’s jaw.
Trembling and tingling with the pleasure of a job well done, the Trucker slid his still-engorged shaft, still slimy with his own cum, out of the corpse’s quivering asshole. His swollen purple head popped out of the torn sphincter, followed by a pink discharge of mingled blood and semen.
He needed to calm down for a moment, to regain some control and slow his breathing and pulse. Scooping his t-shirt off the floor, he fished his smokes and lighter out of the pocket. Lighting one, he relaxed and admired the view of Adam’s smooth lean body sprawled helplessly on the bed, feet still kicking–one tightly laced in its black leather sneaker, the other only half-covered by the Nike athletic sock which was being slowly pulled off by the corpse’s convulsions.
Striding quickly to the bathroom, the Trucker tossed his butt into the toilet and flushed it before turning on the shower. He followed his prior MO of cleaning himself off and tossing the towels in the shower to wash away the evidence. But unlike the last one, this cunt might not have been with anyone else tonight.
Time to wash some meat.
Stepping back into the room, the Trucker grabbed the corpse’s hand and dragged the still-kicking body into the bathroom, positioning it so he could get it into the bathtub and flush out the anal cavity.
And then a knock at the door changed everything.
m3mayhem 