As the narrow black ribbon of roadway veered sharply to the right, the Trucker gripped the large wheel of his rig and maneuvered the semi carefully around the sharp curve. A few more yards ahead was another bend to the left, completing the S-curve that the black and yellow caution sign had warned about.
Even though he like to hunt along the lesser-traveled roadways, he wouldn’t normally have been on this treacherous stretch of state highway in west Texas if the interstate hadn’t been torn up for repairs. Everyone had been exiting at Big Springs, so the Trucker had too, heading north. His plan was to cut across a corner of New Mexico near Carlsbad before turning back south to El Paso, all on state highways.
At some point, most everyone else had turned off to head back to the interstate, trying to skirt around the construction. The Trucker was content to slowly wend his way along the back roads.
After all, he was horny. Who knew what kinda prey was waiting for him out there?
That question was answered much sooner than the sadistic predator thought it would be. Skirting the Guadalupe Mountains National Park to the south, the Trucker noticed a lone figure on the side of the road, near the turnoff for a county road heading due south towards a ranch. On getting closer, the figure resolved itself into a young Mexican kid, hitching west.
There was no one in sight and hadn’t been for miles. The Trucker pulled over and watching in the side mirror as the punk ran towards the cab.
Young—early twenties at most. His brown skin was highlighted by his almost shoulder-length hair, so black it was almost blue. The boy had the hard, muscled body of a manual laborer, a fact not hidden by his slightly dirt-stained wifebeater, the thin cotton plastered to his well-built torso by sweat. The spic’s firmly-muscled legs and bulging crotch were equally well displayed by his tight jeans, so well-worn that they were tantalizingly threadbare in strategic spots. They were tucked into an old pair of pull-on workboots that had probably risen halfway up the kid’s calf when they were new—now they slouched and looked worn and soft as suede.
Soon enough, the door popped open and spic kid climbed in, in a swirl of hot air filled with tang of boysweat. “Gracias, señor,” he said, rubbing his hand vigorously through his long hair to dislodge the dust.
“Where ya headed?” drawled the Trucker.
“West, señor. Las Cruces. I have job there, si?”
“Uh-huh,” the Trucker muttered noncommittally. He already knew the little spic fuck wasn’t gonna make it to Las Cruces. “Headed to El Paso myself. I can get ya closer—maybe.”
The boy had been eyeing the Trucker the entire time; the buff alpha wasn’t surprised. After all, he was dressed to attract attention from any horny little cockpig he came across. His large muscled form was barely encased in a gray t-shirt so tight, his large erect nipples were clearly defined. His huge, hubcap pecs were highlighted by the glint of metal from the dogtags dangling between them.
The older man’s tight jeans weren’t as worn as the hitcher’s, but the impossibly large bulge in his crotch was difficult to miss, as was the way his powerful legs were wrapped tightly in the denim all the way down to where they were tucked into his well-used but still intact black leather combat boots, worn loosely-laced and untied. Above, his dark blue trucker’s cap was pulled low, shielding his eyes so that all that was visible of his face was his cheeks and his strong jaw, covered with a blue shadow of rough, wiry stubble.
The Trucker shifted into gear and started the rig moving forward, slowly merging back onto the empty two-lane blacktop. As he did, he noticed in his peripheral vision the searching sidelong glances his passenger was giving him. The boy was interested in him. As he shifted the engine into a higher gear and the massive semi began to pick up speed, the Trucker leaned back in the driver’s seat. He’d wait for the kid to make his move.
It didn’t take long. About five miles further west, the Mexican spoke up. “S-say, señor, I can do un pequeño para ti, no? A lil’ favor so you take me to Las Cruces?”
A broad grin crossed the Trucker’s face, but he didn’t look at the little punk. “Yeah? What kinda favor? You got dinero?”
“N-no, señor, no dinero—but maybe I can do somethin’ else…”
With that, the spic reached out and placed his hand on the Trucker’s firm thigh, letting it slide over the denim towards the older man’s crotch. The older man laughed out loud.
“Yeah, boy?” he chuckled, “Ya want me to fuck ya?”
The kid snatched his hand back. His face flushed with anger. “I ain’t no maricón!” he snapped. “And I ain’t your niño—me llamo Jorge!”
“So what the fuck are ya offerin’, then—boy?” the Trucker said, drawling out the last word in emphasis.
Still flushed—perhaps now in embarrassment—the Mexican punk was silent for a few seconds. “I-I put it en mi boca, no en mi culo, compendre? My mouth…”
The kid was offering a BJ but didn’t want it up the ass. The Trucker had no doubt he’d be able to overcome the cunt’s objection to a good buttfuck. Still, he might as well let the fucker suck on it a bit…
Taking one hand off the wheel, the hulking alpha reached into his groin and unzipped his fly. Since he was doing it one-handed, it took him a couple of minutes to extract the full length of his massive cock. Semi-soft, it slapped down loudly on his denim-wrapped thigh, pulsing and slowly swelling.
The Mexican youth stared down at the enormous tube of manmeat and gulped nervously. Gingerly, he reached out for it.
“G’wan,” the Trucker snapped. “You said you’d suck it, cerdo, now put it in yer mouth.”
“B-but you still drive, señor…” Jorge said hesitantly.
“Yer bitch ass ain’t enough to distract me while I’m drivin’, puta. Suck my fuckin’ cock! Ahora, perra!”
The labor-hardened slut had worked his way across country by hitching rides and doing whatever work he could pick up. He’d picked tobacco in North Carolina, worked with a landscaping crew in Memphis and had done construction work in Dallas. Every time he’d moved on, he’d ended up managing to trade blowjobs for rides and sometimes a bit more. And if they weren’t grateful enough for his services, he’d steal whatever wasn’t nailed down. There was a long, rough road behind him, but he’d never met anyone he couldn’t handle.
And now he was scared. This guy could hurt him; this guy could fuck him up bad. He needed to have him pull over, say “Gracias, pero no gracias,” and wait for the next dude.
But he didn’t. He kept moving toward that thick, throbbing shaft. He wasn’t gay—no way was he a maricón—but he wasn’t able to pull away. He didn’t know why; he wasn’t deep enough to analyze his own homosexual lust. He just knew that he should get out, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, and that was scaring him.
But then his hand wrapped around the huge flesh tube, and he knew he had to have it in his mouth. Leaning awkwardly across the space between the seats, he tried to suck the Trucker’s cock. It was so big he damn near dislocated his jaw trying to stuff it all in. Gagging on the salty, musky head, the buff youth attempted to deep-throat the Trucker.
The potholes didn’t make it any easier. Every time the cab jerked, the vein-bound tool slipped further down the punk’s throat, making him choke and cough. The Trucker chuckled malignantly.
“You suck at suckin’,” he laughed. “Gotta do better than that, boy—that won’t get ya five miles on this road!”
By this point, the experienced killer had spotted a wide spot on the shoulder ahead, an unmarked area to pull over momentarily. He headed for it, keeping one hand on the wheel and the other entangled in the spic’s long black hair. As he coasted to a stop, he grabbed the back of the kid’s head and shoved, hard.
Just as Jorge felt the cab decelerate, his windpipe was plugged with thick, throbbing manmeat. He placed both hands on the alpha stud’s thigh and pushed as hard as he could, trying to raise his head up off the Trucker’s dick, but the older man was easily able to hold him down with one arm.
The hardbodied slut felt his fist bolt of outright fear—he couldn’t breathe and he literally couldn’t break free. As his eyes watered uncontrollably, he curled his hands into fists and began to beat against the Trucker’s leg. He could feel the large muscles flex in the top’s leg as he braked to a stop—and then the implacable force on the back of his head was gone. The Trucker needed both hand to completely brake the rig.
Jorge instantly popped up, gasping for air. “Mierda! No mas!” he coughed out, drool running down his chin.
The Trucker parked the semi, cutting the ignition. Grabbing a hank of the kid’s hair again, he pulled Jorge’s head up and spit in his congested, tear-stained face. “Shaddup, ya stupid spic faggot,” he sneered and slammed the punk’s head into the dash with sudden, devastating force.
Jorge was literally stunned; it was like a bright red explosion of pain in his skull. His eyes, wide with surprise, stared into the Trucker’s, with no comprehension of the hot flame of erotic rage that illuminated their otherwise cold blue depths. The bewildered slut had barely taken in the Trucker’s words.
“P-pero…pero p-pensé…” he whispered.
“I don’t give a fuck what ya thought, fuckmeat,” the Trucker growled and rammed the boy headfirst into the dash again. This time the kid went limp, sliding onto the floorboard like a sack of dirty laundry.
It took surprisingly little time for the Trucker to drag the Mexican to the sleeper section of the cab and close it off. He had no qualms about being disturbed; he hadn’t seen another car for over an hour. Tossing his cap to one side, he pulled off his t-shirt and left it on the floor. Still in his jeans and boots, he squatted over the unconscious form of his passenger. Gripping the low-slung collar of the spic’s wifebeater with both hands, he gave a short, strong yank and the thin cotton parted like wet tissue paper, revealing the homo punk’s muscled chest, the brown skin smooth and taut over his firm pecs and flat belly.
It was warm in the cab; the Trucker hadn’t wanted to switch on the AC and run the battery down. Beads of sweat glittered like shards of glass scattered across the limp boywhore’s smooth, buff torso. The hardbodied killer had no difficulty pulling off the punk’s worn and well-used workboots but his hands slipped momentarily on the kid’s sweat-slicked belly when he unfastened the button on the waistband of the victim’s jeans. After that, though, it went smoothly. One quick jerk and the young spic was lying nude on the floor except for a pair of white tube socks clinging to his calves—and displaying a thick, dark, uncut cock standing to attention from a curly nest of black pubes. The Trucker smirked; little fag had been goin’ commando—and he said he didn’t like it up the ass. Yeah, right.
And tough shit if he was telling the truth.
Bending down, the Trucker grabbed the unconscious youth under the arms and lifted him bodily up onto the bunk. As he did, the kid started to moan. Once the alpha had the boy laid out on the bed on his back, he could see the bruises on the kid’s face more clearly; the impact with the dash looked like it had split the fucker’s bottom lip. The long eyelashes began to flutter, then suddenly large dark eyes were looking up into the Trucker’s own.
“M-madre d-d-de Di-dios…” Jorge muttered, his head pounding with pain. Just regaining awareness, he wasn’t able to recall what exactly had happened—he’d been scared, and it hurt—
—then his eyes focused on the powerfully-built man towering over him, a man with a handsome, stubbled face and an evil grin and the biggest carajo he’d ever seen, purple and oozing…and he remembered.
“No—no—lemme ‘lone—” he blurted out as the Trucker let out a quiet chuckle.
Without a word, the older man climbed into the bunk and parted the boy’s legs. Dazed as he was, Jorge could see what was about to happen. Predictably, he became frantic.
“No! No en mi culo, no!” he protested loudly, doubling his fists and beating them against the Trucker’s chest with loud meaty smacks, as if he was hitting a side of beef—and with just as much of an impact.
“Shaddup and take my cock, ya dumbass spic fag,” the Trucker growled and punched Jorge straight in the face, his rocklike fist smashing the kid’s nose, breaking the cartilage with a loud crunch. The Mexican youth squealed in agony and clutched his wounded face—leaving the Trucker undisturbed to position the pulsing, leaking head of his engorged tool up against Jorge’s pink, trembling fuckhole.
The sadistic top rubbed his precum over the clenched sphincter; it was all the lube the poor slut was gonna get. Then he popped just the head in.
Jorge screamed; it had a high nasal pitch since his sinuses were blocked with blood. Again he was pressing against the Trucker’s broad chest in a vain attempt to push his rapist off. The searing pain in his boycunt was unimaginable…it was like someone had shoved a baseball up his ass…
The Trucker grinned and spat in the whore’s twisted face, streaked with trickles of tears and blood. “That’s it,” he sneered, “Squeal like the cockpig ya are, boy. Love it, dontcha? Yeah, all you worthless spic fags fuckin’ love takin’ a white man’s rod, huh? Fuck yeah, it’s yer lucky day, vato—you’re gonna get to spend a nice long time ridin’ my shaft. Enjoy it, maricón!”
Jorge screeched as the Trucker inserted another two inches—and held that depth. For the next few minutes, he fucked the kid swiftly but shallowly, letting him become accustomed to his ass muscle being stretched to its fullest extent.
And after a bit, Jorge began to relax. His sphincter slackened and his colon accepted another couple of inches of the Trucker’s cock. His cries had subsided to groans that slowly evolved into moans of pleasure.
Despite the fear and pain of the earlier assault—and his initial denials—the brown-skinned homo was getting his rocks off getting fucked. His cock was fully extended, a good six inches of oozing, uncut manflesh. His eyes were focused on the mesmerizing flickers of light that glinted on the dogtags dangling from the Trucker’s neck, twirling in the air as the alpha indulged in a controlled and (for him) gentle fuck.
And then it happened. Jorge submitted to his pleasure in bottoming, wallowing in getting filled with mancock. “Oh, si, si…mas, si, mas…” he moaned, wrapping his arms and legs as far as he could the top’s well-developed torso. “Por favor, mas…”
“Yeah, I thought so—fuckin’ cumsuckin’ piece a’ shit,” the Tucker muttered and rammed the rest of his dick into Jorge’s ass.
He’d only been about halfway in before—and not the thickest half. The whoreboy’s sphincter had been at its limit before; to penetrate the kid completely, the alpha had to tear him open.
Something had entered Jorge’s universe; he’d had no idea that pain like this was even possible. He shrieked at the top of his lungs, so loudly that his voice cracked, turning his agonized cry into a croak.
“Oh fuck yeah,” he heard the Trucker say, “Take it all, spic. Feel me, cocksucker, feel my dick buried in yer worthless guts…”
And he could. This strong handsome gringo had filled him before, filled his ass and that aching void inside him…but now he was being not only filled by the older man, the dude was piledriving into his asshole, overflowing him, the huge mushroom tip catching and tearing at his innards as the vein-wrapped tube of flesh rode roughly over his prostate with every thrust. The labor-hardened Mexican had thought he’d be able to handle any situation; now he was squealing in horrible pain as another dude held him down and wrecked his fuckhole.
And yet, the constant rough prostate massage left the helpless youth fully erect, precum leaking in an almost steady stream from the half-covered head of his dick.
“Lookit yer fuckin’ cock, cholo,” the Trucker jeered, “Hard as a fuckin’ brick, aintcha, yeah? You like gettin’ hurt, dontcha, boy? You ain’t nothing but a worthless dirty spic who gets off bein’ treated like the piece of homo shit you are, yeah?”
Jorge’s wide dark eyes were ringed with gray circles of shock as he looked into the scruffy, seductive face of madness hanging above him. “Por-por f-favor, no! N-no, señ-señor, Dios m-mío, no!”
He beat against the Trucker’s furry chest and sweaty, heaving flanks with as much impact as if he had been beating an oak tree. He tried to get his feet into a position when he could obtain some leverage against his overpowering assailant, but all he managed to do was kick his legs in the air, his smooth firm thighs clenched around the buff older man’s waist.
Nothing he did had the slightest effect on the Trucker; the sadistic stud continued to pound his rod deep into the Mexican kid, tearing his way violently through the punk’s rectum. Each thrust was like the slash of a razor within his colon; every time the muscled alpha grunted and pumped, the boy endured a new blast of agony…
…and was getting off on it.
That was the worst for Jorge; he couldn’t understand why his own uncut meat was achingly stiff when he was suffering some of the worst pain he’d ever encountered. His body was betraying him—it was siding with his attacker.
Realizing his struggles were useless, the smooth, hardbodied fag stopped fighting and held the Trucker tight, a vague idea in his head that it might hurt less if he just held on. The Trucker noticed.
He didn’t like it.
“You ain’t movin’ on my dick enough, ya worthless fairy wetback,” he barked angrily. “What’s wrong, cunt—too much cock for ya? You better get to work milking my rod, or I’ll make ya milk it—and I’ll make it hurt. Think yer in pain now? You ain’t felt nothin’, bitch. This is gonna feel like mommy’s kisses by the time I’m done jackin’ up yer useless homo ass!”
Jorge realized he’d made a mistake, but he was too terrified to move. The buff gringo had utterly overpowered him; he knew there was no escape. In his migrations he’d met plenty of guys who’d introduced violence into the situation, but he’d never encountered anyone he couldn’t take. This was different. His only hope was to give the cruel, muscle-bound rapist what he wanted and hope the dude would let him go after he’d shot his load—after all, he was in the country illegally; he wasn’t gonna go to the cops…
…and deep in his pig soul, some part of him wanted it to continue. In a dark corner of his psyche that he’d never consciously acknowledge, he was lusting after the viciously abusive alpha. He wanted the older man’s hot wad in his ass, but the desire was being smothered by outright terror.
Especially when the Trucker leaned in so close his dogtags bounced on the kid’s broad, smooth chest and whispered, “Time to die, ya piece of garbage. Tiempo a morir, niño. I’m gettin’ bored fuckin’ ya, an’ I gotta schedule to keep. Ready to cum an’ go, cunt? Don’t worry, you’ll get a nice long dirt nap in a ditch when I’m done with ya.”
Leaning back, the hardbodied alpha sneered down at the boy writhing on his dick and spit into the kid’s pain-twisted, tear-streaked face. He was pissed; fuckin’ spic didn’t comprehend enough English to take the full force of his mindfuck.
Ok, then, he’d make the meat understand manually. Leaning forward again, the dogtags jangling loudly, he wrapped his huge hands around Jorge’s throat and started squeezing.
Jorge knew enough English to understand what the Trucker had said; he had simply just refused to let them sink in. What sank in were the Trucker’s large, powerful hands, clamping down on his windpipe and sealing it off. El gringo loco was really gonna kill him.
No, this wasn’t happening. No. He was young and strong; he could fight his way out.
And that was when he finally realized he wasn’t strong enough.
In the overheated, pheromone-laden atmosphere of the cab’s sleeper section, the two male bodies intertwined. As Jorge tried desperately to pry the Trucker’s hands from his neck, his own hands slipped on the older man’s bulging muscles, slick with mansweat. The Trucker squeezed even harder.
The Mexican punk started to panic. There was a fiery pressure in his chest and a deafening pounding in his head; it made it hard to think. He had to get away; it wasn’t a rational thought, it was a physical imperative. In frantic blindness, the boy reached out, clawing at whatever was within his grasp. In a flash, he’d managed to clench a fistful of the Trucker’s dark, wiry chest hair and jerked as hard as he could.
He never understood what a huge mistake he’d made; he was just aware that his involuntary reaction triggered an explosion of violence.
The Trucker’s cruelly handsome face darkened with terrifying anger. “You goddam motherfucker,” he hissed, incandescent with rage, “You stupid spic cocksucker, I’m gonna jack yer worthless ass up so fuckin’ bad!”
Shifting his weight, he managed to take one hand from Jorge’s throat and still keep the buff slut’s airway closed. He balled the free hand into a fist and pummeled the kid’s face, using the blows to punctuate his verbal abuse.
“Fuckin’ suffer, you useless sack a’ shit! (WHAM) Think yer gettin’ away? (WHAM) Only place you’re goin’ is infierno, ya cumguzzlin’ queer wetback! (WHAM) I’m gonna choke ya out while ya ride my dick all the way to hell, cunt! (WHAM) Ya feel me, bitch? (WHAM) No? (WHAM) How ‘bout that one? (WHAM) Ya feel that one, faggot? (WHAM)”
The second blow snapped Jorge’s left cheekbone; the third split both lips. The fifth blow broke his nose with a loud crunch—and the last one dislocated his jaw. As the Trucker had demanded, the well-built immigrant laborer suffered; he suffered bad. The beating seemed to go on forever with all the force of a jackhammer.
And the unfortunate youth endured the torment while being raped and strangled. No matter how badly he was beaten, his stunned mind was still agonizingly aware that he was choking to death, that an enormous shaft of manmeat was destroying his rectum—
—that his own cock was still painfully straining, erect and oozing.
And the end of the beating brought no relief. The Trucker reapplied both hands to Jorge’s throat, clamping down even harder. Now he was using enough force to deform the esophagus.
It hurt. It hurt so fucking bad. The Latino whore could feel his windpipe slowly constricting under the pressure being applied. The soft tissues in his neck were already compressed together, sealing off the airway; this was the cartilage itself collapsing.
The Trucker could feel pressure building as well—in his case, it was in his nutsack. His huge hairy balls had drawn up, a sure sign that he’d be spewing his seed very soon. As his muscular ass flexed and pumped, reaming his hard cock into the helpless spic’s fuckhole, testosterone oozed from his body in his sweat, matting his dark, wiry body fur and filling the semi’s cab with manmusk.
Beneath him, the fuckmeat was turning black, the boy’s face darkening and swelling from lack of air. The youth’s dark eyes were streaked with blood where tiny vessels had ruptured under the strain; the hemorrhages were present around the bulging eyes as well, in the taut, purple skin.
Jorge was wasting what precious little oxygen was left in his bloodstream by flailing wildly. The Trucker held on, grunting with pleasure, as the dying punk worked his dick, massaging the engorged shaft as he kicked and thrashed.
The boy kept wrapping his legs around the Trucker’s waist and locking his feet together, as if he was trying to hold his killer tightly to him, but, despite panic adding to the strength of his lean, hard body, the violence of the Trucker’s thrusts repeatedly broke Jorge’s leg holds. On one occasion, the slut’s right sock came off, leaving his toes free to curl in agony as he died.
And it was agony. As the Trucker increased the pressure on his neck, more of the unlucky cunt’s tongue was forced out from between his dusky blue lips. Jorge’s face contorted as he choked to death; the motions caused his drool to bubble up into white foam that slid down his cheeks. It was accompanied by a thick, grotesque gagging sound, the last useless croak of meat near death.
It was also accompanied by an increase of precum leaking from the meat’s tool; the Trucker could physically feel the difference as the punk’s swollen mushroom tip smeared across his ripped abs.
“That’s it,” the heaving, sweating alpha whispered, matching his thrusts to the increasingly rhythmic jerking of Jorge as his brain began to die, “That’s it, faggot. Fuckin’ die, you piece of dick-suckin’ shit. Die with my cock jammed up your queer ass, motherfucker. Yeah, work my shaft as you die—oh fuck yeah, boy, that’s it, milk my cock—goddam, ya worthless spic cumrag, fucking die and soak up my spunk…gonna leave your cum-filled body to rot in a fuckin’ ditch…”
Technically Jorge was still alive, but there wasn’t enough left of the hard young wetback to be aware that his killer was talking, much less understand the words. His world had contracted to a dark cold cloud of pain and pounding—pain and pounding in his head as his racing heart desperately tried to push non-existent oxygen through his shuddering body, and pain and pounding in his ass as the Trucker continued to ream his fuckhole.
And in that little back corner of his mind where his unacknowledged cockpig soul was still clinging tenaciously to life, he was aware of the burning, frothing sensation in his balls. His brain was too far gone to understand what it meant; there was little left but sensation, the sensations of cold and pain…and a need for release.
And that’s when it happened. With a final seismic grunt, the Trucker tightened his fingers one last time and was rewarded with a loud cracking sound and the feeling of Jorge’s esophagus collapsing into a mangled mass of cartilage under his hands.
The Mexican meat felt the injury more than it was able to hear it, although an echo of the intense crunch did manage to worm its way into that last single spark of awareness. And with that, Jorge’s entire existence fused into a single bright moment when pleasure and pain fused together and became indistinguishable. It was a solid electric shock that finally let him release; he was too far gone to know what was releasing, he only knew that it was draining from him.
Too close to death to realize that his semen was jetting from him in a solid stream, splattering across the Trucker’s sweaty, heaving chest and matting heavily in the fur, the fuckmeat convulsed violently, his torn, spasming sphincter clutching at the alpha’s huge dick like a drowning man clutching a log.
The muscled older man gave a loud, strangled cry as his cock swelled and spat out a near-endless geyser of cum, filling the corpse’s guts with massive amounts of searing manspunk. The last sensation of Jorge’s wasted life was that as his life drained out through his dick and the chill of death seized him, there was one last spark of warmth filling his ass and his intestines—
—and then the useless spic whore found that death wasn’t peace, it was an icy howling vortex of blackness—
Shuddering and breathing heavily, the Trucker held onto the convulsing meat for a couple more minutes before standing up, inhaling deeply and pulling his thick dong out of the dead body. Jorge, his handsome face swollen and unrecognizable and his throat visibly crushed, was still convulsing violently. As the Trucker slipped past the privacy curtain and started the ignition on the rig, the trembling corpse managed to flop itself out of the bunk, landing in a huddled mass of flesh on the floor.
Turning up the AC, the buff top went back to the sleeper area and gathered up Jorge’s clothing, jamming the single loose sock down into one of the meat’s boots. Bundling the boots with the jeans and shirt, the Trucker drew the curtain and carefully examined the landscape, using his outside mirrors as well. No one had been by on the road while he’d been entertaining himself, but he still wanted to check.
Satisfied, he opened the door, then went back and grabbing the meat by its bare foot, dragging the corpse the corpse through the cab. The sadistic alpha jumped from the rig, his loosely-laced combat boots hitting the asphalt with a loud thump. The dead spic tumbled out behind him, hitting the ground like a sack of dirty laundry. Glancing around quickly, the Trucker strode quickly across the two-lane blacktop, one hand clutching the cunt’s clothing, the other hand gripping the dead punk’s ankle—the foot was still twitching, the toes curling in final death throes.
On the other side of the road was a deep drainage ditch; it had been visible on the side of the road for miles, but since the land sloped away to the west at this point, it wasn’t visible here unless one was standing right at the edge of the shoulder. No one would see anything here unless they were actively looking for it.
It was perfect. The Trucker tossed the clothing in first, then held Jorge’s quivering corpse up one-handedly, he dangled it over the drop and let go. The meat fell into the ditch—about five feet below—with a muffled thud.
Quickly crossing back to the semi, the Trucker climbed into the driver’s seat, slipped his cap back on and slowly edged his way back onto the road. It was still warm in the cab; he was heading out with his shirt off and a dead kid’s cum drying to a glaze on his chest pinning his dogtags to his fur. He’d stop off at a rest area ahead somewhere and clean off. In the meantime, he wanted to get across the state line.
Checking the side mirror, he caught a glimpse of movement—in the sky. A small black shape, moving in lazy circles. In a moment it was joined by another, then a third. The Trucker understood. With an evil grin on his face, he accelerated into the west and left Jorge to the buzzards.