Tag: public

Interlude: Adam 1

On By m3mayhemIn M4M Stories4 Comments

Adam had long been in the habit of stalking the muscular young men to whom he was attracted.  He would light on one particular boy and follow him relentlessly, especially if he worked out.  If he got the chance, he would swipe some article of clothing; he had a number of jockstraps, briefs, and sock, but his prizes were the shoes.

 

Adam was a Creeper—psychologically incapable of a physical (or emotional, for that matter) relationship with another male, particularly those to whom he was attracted, he instead tracked them down and infiltrated their lives without them ever becoming aware of his presence in their homes.  Sometimes, he even got in while they were sleeping.  Sometimes, he stared down at their unconscious forms and beat off, spraying long ropy strands of cum across the bed or the floor…

 

The focus of his attention was always a twink of a certain type but, within that type, was usually chosen at random; in this case, Adam had had been on his way to troll a nearby gym that always had a hot clientele.  On this occasion, though, the disturbed youth didn’t even have to go inside the building—something caught his attention in the parking lot.  Something that gave him a new focus.

 

The kid was exactly Adam’s type—young, firm, and built but not jacked.  The boy had dark hair and under a blue jacket be sported a gray t-shirt and black shorts.  He was standing several rows away, so Adam didn’t have a clear view, but the kid had an almost Asian look.  Even at this distance, though, Adam could see the boy, while strong and muscled, was neither as tall nor as developed as he was.

 

That was what Adam liked—someone slightly younger, slightly smaller.  He’d track the kid, maybe steal his kicks and get off on imaging the boy wearing while he—

 

Adam wasn’t quite ready to finish the sentence, even in his own mind.

 

At that moment, another dude appeared.  He was older and incredibly buff; in fact, his hulking form was even more developed compared to Adam’s than Adam’s was to the kid in the blue jacket.  The two distant figures huddled together for a while before separating, something in the body language indicating the older man was dominant.  If the hot twink had had a tail, he would have wagged it as he climbed into a red pickup, and Adam realized that a hookup was about to happen.  He scrambled back to his car.

 

Backing out of his space, he caught a glimpse of his face in the rear-view mirror.  It was an unusually open and innocent face—Adam was only twenty-three—with bright hazel eyes ringed with long lashes.  Tilting the mirror, he checked his gleaming red-gold hair; cut relatively short in what was nearly a flattop, it was the same color as the short stubble covering his cheeks.

 

He’d dressed for the gym himself, his hard, bulging biceps well-displayed in a navy-blue tank top stretched across his broad, buff chest.  Under that, his huge thighs were covered by a pair of Nike Phenom shorts, gray with a black liner visible underneath.  On his feet were a tightly laced pair of Puma Cell running kicks, white with black stripes.

 

The red Ford truck caught his eye; it was almost out of the lot.  He accelerated to catch up but a light-colored car was in front of him.  As it pulled out of the lot and turned in the same direction the truck had, Adam realized that he was following the older dude, who was himself following the kid.  He also realized he recognized the car; it was usually parked a couple of blocks over from where he lived.  It wasn’t a huge neighborhood; there couldn’t be that many champagne-colored 1978 Camaros—and assuredly no others in such mint condition, right down to the tinted t-tops.

 

It didn’t take too long for the convoy to reach its destination, a condo complex with which Adam was unfamiliar.  Noting the spaces into which the two other vehicles pulled, he parked on the other side of the lot.  He waited to get out of his car until he saw the two male figures, both strong and well-built–but one much more so than the other–vanish down the sidewalk into the complex.  Adam made it to the corner just in time to see them enter the last unit on the left.

 

Then he turned around and walked away.

 

After approaching the Camaro and noting the plate number, Adam returned to his car and waited.  He wanted to see what would happen with the lean, muscular Asian youth he’d spotted; maybe he could even sneak in after and collect some trophies—those Nike Fingertrap Max kicks the boy were looked good.  Adam could imagine himself jacking off and blowing a load while wearing them.  There was something about this kid that interested the buff but perverted collector.  He was prepared to wait for quite a while.

 

As it turned out, he waited about an hour before he became distracted.  Adam had kept a sharp eye out; there wasn’t much foot traffic.  At one point early on, a harried-looking woman with an armful of groceries had bustled quickly down the walk.  She was soon followed by a youth who suddenly diverted his interest; the boy had coppery blond hair just barely visible under a dark hoodie jacket with the sleeves jammed up past his elbows.  Beneath that, gray shorts flashed in the dim glow of the security lights; there must have been a metallic shading to them.

 

Losing his focus, Adam got out of his car.  It was a bad idea, he knew, but this one was too hot not to track.  Maybe he’d sneak into this dude’s place too, jack off over his sleeping form like he’d done that one time…

 

Wrenching his mind back to the task at hand and ignoring his throbbing erection as best he could, Adam crept back around the corner to the walkway to see which unit this stud would enter.  He was utterly nonplussed when the hard, lean young stud entered the last unit on the left—the one the other two had gone into.

 

Returning back to his car, a dozen possible scenarios played out in Adam’s sick mind, each one more perverse and erotic in his mind.  Were these dudes partners?  Was a fuckin’ orgy goin’ on in there?

 

He leaned back, resting his head against the car window.  Closing his eyes, the hard-bodied introvert wondered what the older dude was doing with the boys.  Maybe he was doing something to them.  With a smile on his handsome face, Adam began to imagine what he’d do to them if he had them, helpless, yielding, unable to resist…

 

When he woke up, nearly an hour and a half had passed.  He hadn’t planned on falling asleep but he’d been up late the night before snatching that one kid’s undies.  He’d stood in the boy’s room with his cock out, pulling back the blanket—

 

And then the kid started to wake up.  He’d fled, but he’d collected his prize.

 

Well, it had cost him now.  He had no idea what was going on at this point; getting back out of his car, he rubbed his eyes and stretched his strong but stiff muscles.  Looking around the lot, he noticed that the classic Camaro was gone.

 

So the big stud had left.  Adam’s curiosity was aroused as to what he’d left in his wake. The older dude had been larger and better built than Adam himself; the hot young twinks must be worn the fuck out, so to speak—and that meant they’d sound asleep.

 

He headed quickly towards the darkened unit, his Pumas padding quietly down the walk.  The thought of spraying his load across their hot, insensate forms had already gotten his dick hard.

 

As he approached, Adam was disconcerted to see that lights were still on in the unit.  He was even more startled to see that the front door was slightly ajar.  For a moment, a long moment, he paused; he had an undefinable feeling…

 

Then he crossed the threshold and changed his life forever.

 

The unit was small, but nice.  A living room to the right, an open space on the left with a desk and a small table—and dead ahead, a short hallway with a pair of doorways at the end; a faint glow of light came from the one on the right.  No one was visible and the condo was eerily silent.

 

Creeping forward down the hall Adam soon reached the lit doorway. He peered around the corner—and his whole world was rocked.  He could only gaze, stunned and slack-jawed, at the scene in front of him.

 

At first, the buff young pervert thought he’d walked in on the two twinks having sex; they were on the floor, nude.  The blonde kid was on top, his mouth open and full of thick cock.  From his position, Adam couldn’t see the face of the kid on the bottom but the single Nike Fingertrap shoe on his right foot identified him as the Asian boy.

 

It took Adam a good ten seconds to realize that there was something wrong with the erotic tableau.  It was silent and motionless—and there was something wrong with the blond’s eyes; they were rolled back, glazed, staring sightlessly towards the ceiling…

 

The realization that they were dead flashed through Adam’s body like an electrical bolt; almost literally a sensation of shock…that was not unpleasant.

 

Nor was the throbbing of his hard shaft.

 

Suddenly, one of the bodies moved.  Adam jerked, visibly startled, but a closer looked showed him that the boys were so freshly dead that the corpses were still kicking.  And that was when full understanding washed over his hard, muscled form.

 

He had exactly what he’d always wanted, a hot young twink helpless before him—two, actually—unable to resist his sick, twisted desires…

 

Reaching into his Nike shorts, Adam grasped his thick, pulsing dick and pulled it out, brandishing it like a weapon as he approached the quivering pile of meat.  No more jacking off.  He’d never had sex with a man before.  It was time.  Finally, it was time.

 

He pulled the blond kid’s head up off the somehow still-hard cock on which it was stuck and shoved his body off of the Asian kid; the blond was hot but it was the latter he was really after. As the dead twink rolled off onto the floor, Adam could see the boy’s face, swollen and fading from purple to cyan, covered with a white crust of semen.

 

Revealed under him, the slim but muscled Asian youth had also been obviously strangled to death.  What appeared to be a thin leather band was cinched tightly around the kid’s throat, but it was sunk in too deeply for Adam—who hadn’t seen the boy closely enough earlier to notice his choker—to figure out what it was.  At the moment, it didn’t matter anyway.  What matter was that Adam now had the little punk’s hot, hard body all his own, to use as he wished…

 

First, he wanted to add to his collection, though.  The dark-haired corpse still sported one Nike Fingertrap; after a glance around the room, Adam spotted the other, nearly hidden in the tangled bedclothes.

 

It took no more than a minute to slip out of his own Pumas and into the Nikes.  Then he returned to the body, ready to fuck the corpse while wearing the dead kid’s own kicks.

 

He bent down and lifted the youth; the kid was well-built and it took more effort than Adam anticipated to raise him up to the bed.  As the body slumped forward, the head lolled forward limply onto the chest, showing how the kid’s neck had been snapped.  Adam didn’t care; his dick swelled and throbbed as he held the fit, sinewy, cooling corpse tightly in his arms before tossing it halfway onto the bed, facedown, with the smooth bubble butt at the edge and the legs dangling to the floor.

 

Holding his dark, pulsing shaft in one hand, he slapped it into his open palm, stiffening it further as he moved in.  The boy’s ass was covered with a fine dark haze of almost invisible fuzz; the firm cheeks lightly smeared with a mix of cum and blood.  It was clear his hole had been recently brutalized, but the thought of sloppy seconds didn’t put Adam off.

 

There was almost no resistance as he mounted and penetrated the corpse.  He was well hung himself, more than six inches of throbbing manmeat, but the boy had already been thoroughly reamed out.  It still didn’t matter.  Digging the dead kid’s own Nikes into the carpet, he shoved his rod up the punk’s colon; he could feel occasional twitches as the still-quivering corpse passed through the final few minutes of its death throes.

 

Hunched over the athletic teen’s body, Adam’s muscular form heaved and bucked as he impaled the boymeat.  The only sounds to break the deathly silence of the condo were Adam’s visceral grunts and the rutting, smacking sound of flesh slapping together.  The buff young pervert was still clothed, his gray shorts around his ankles and sweat darkening his already-dark tank top.  His coppery gold hair glinted in the light as he rode the helpless, inert form of the dead twink to orgasm.

 

Adam cried out inarticulately as his hot, spurting jizz injected a last moment of warm life into buff Asian boy’s ass.  Panting and shuddering, he found himself pounding the boy’s back, involuntarily driving his fist into the cooling slab of flesh pinned under him.

 

After a bit, he was back in control.  He pulled out of the corpse, the spade-shaped head of his still-swollen cock accompanied by an oozing wad of spunk.  Standing up, he took a step and was staggered by a wave of vertigo so intense, he had to reach out and steady himself against the wall.

 

The sensations that accompanied his first physical sexual encounter with another person were overwhelming.  He found himself dazed and trembling, awash in an erotic warmth that kept pearls of cum dripping from his curving, semi-soft rod.

 

Almost instinctively, Adam knelt and picked up a small gym bag that was on the floor, partially hidden under the other kid’s body.  The collecting desire was still in force; pivoting, he grabbed the blonde’s thick, furry calves and manhandled his legs, now cold and still, into a more convenient position.  Unlacing the Nike Flight Falcon kicks, he slipped the gray and white hightops into the bag.

 

This time, when he stood up, he wasn’t dizzy.  Tossing the bag onto the bed, he stepped out of his short and crossed the room, his shadow elongated to the side from the single lamp.  Crossing the hall into the bathroom he found the dim light just sufficient for him to wash off his dick.

 

Back in the bedroom, he retrieved the bag from the bed and added his own Pumas to it.  He thought briefly about adding the socks as well but, while the blond twink had his pair, the Asian hunk was missing one of his—and it didn’t seem to be anywhere around.  Since he was planning on wearing the latter’s kicks home anyway, he zipped the bag up and headed to the door.

 

In the doorway, he turned and took a look back.  The blond was on the floor, his arms by his sides, his legs slightly bent.  The young, fit, Asian stud was still lying face-down on the bed, his legs hanging off the bed with the feet curled so that the soles were visible—well, one; the other still had a ped sock.  A fresh layer of spunk glistened on the pale globes of the corpse’s asscheeks.

 

Sighing deeply with pleasure, Adam left the bedroom and then the condo itself.  He’d been so fixated on fucking the Asian that he’d almost forgotten about the blond boy.  And that was a shame.

 

The blond was straight.  And he’d been skullfucked, not assfucked.  Adam had missed a virgin fuckhole, and he never knew it.

 

On the other hand, he did know a killer.

 

He confirmed it the next day.  He thought he’d seen the Camaro parked a few blocks from his apartment; the plate number proved him right.

 

From then on, it was easy to stalk the deadly stud once Adam knew what he was looking for; both the killer’s car and his well-built physique stood out.  It was easy to follow him in a crowd; it was easy enough to follow him to the park.

 

Adam took notice of the kid he was meeting—dark-haired, with a slim swimmer’s build, the kid wore gray shorts and a pair of Nikes, blue and fluorescent yellow, but nothing else.  His broad, smooth chest glistened with sweat in the strong sunlight, highlighting the star tattoo on his left pectoral muscle.

 

Adam himself had slipped his own Pumas back on; in black jersey shorts and a simple white cotton t-shirt, he was able to keep the two dudes in sight ahead of them on the jogging path.  Putting his creeping skills to good use by making sure he was well back in the shadows, he was able to see them head for the park restroom.

 

He knew.  All he had to do was wait, and he knew the slim, fit young boy would be his…yielding, helpless, all his…

 

His knowledge and confidence were shaken when an older man, strolling along the path with his wife, turned aside and went into the bathroom.  Rigid with anticipation, Adam counted out several tense minutes until the man emerged.  His expression was neutral, his reactions normal—nothing to indicate he’d walked in on a hot rape and snuff.

 

The second dude to go in, a long, lank solitary jogger, also came out unperturbed.  Adam’s confusion increased.  He couldn’t see the actual door to the men’s room from his position; had they really entered it or were they off fucking in the woods somewhere?

 

The well-built young pervert tried to keep a lid on his rising anxiety levels.  What if he’d been wrong this time?  He’d been crouching in the underbrush long enough for his powerful legs to grow stiff; if he’d been wasting his time…

 

Wait.  There he was—the muscular older stud.  He had just walked into view around the corner of the building; after glancing around surreptitiously, he set off jogging back down the path.  Adam watched the well-built man as the latter headed to the park; his eyes taking in the sculpted torso, glistening with sweat and the thick, firm legs pounding his orange Nikes onto the pavement.

 

Adam rose and stretched, glancing around himself prior to heading towards the bathroom building.  One last backwards look at the corner confirmed that the coast was clear, then he ducked inside the dark, dank building.

 

Inside, Adam paused for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the gloom.  Ahead and to the left, he could see a pair of legs sticking out of the far toilet stall; the body was obviously face down, the blue and green kicks spread far apart on the bare concrete floor.

 

The hard-bodied pervert stood over the corpse and fondled the huge bulge in his shorts.  He stepped back for a moment and slipped his shirt—and his Pumas—off before kneeling down and prying the Nikes off the body.  Still on his knees, he put the Nikes on himself.

 

He didn’t know why it was so hot to fuck the dead kid in his own kicks, but it was.  And with that thought, the demented stud reached into his shorts and pulled out his thick, throbbing shaft.

 

Sighing with deep pleasure, he thrust his dick between the corpse’s still-quivering asscheeks.  As he penetrated the reamed-out fuckhole his hands slid up the boy’s lithe, smooth back, still slick with deathsweat.  The kid’s head was turned to the side—Adam could just make out the swollen, congested face.  It looked nothing like the hot young punk who’d entered the building, and the muscled pervert found that even more enticing.

 

As he pumped and grunted, Adam reveled in his possession of the hot young twink.  This was how he liked his boys—yielding, helpless, under his complete control.  His muscled legs slapped against the dead boy’s firm but motionless thighs.

 

This one seemed to take a little longer, though.  The kid was hot—but loose.  Adam was still gripped in the erotic lust of having the youth exactly the way he wanted him, so after a while he found himself gasping and moaning loudly as his hard shaft pumped cum into the corpse’s already-violated fuckhole.

 

Pulling his dripping shaft out of the cold meat, Adam stood up and went to the sink.  He could see his own hard, muscled chest, sweaty and heaving as he got his breath back, his coppery hair now dark and matted.  Outside, there a noise—a child yelling at another—that suddenly reminded him that he was in public.  Half nude, cock out and dripping and a fucked-out corpse lying in the toilet stall behind him—he needed to go.  Now.

 

Quickly wiping his dick down with some wet paper towels, he grabbed his Pumas and rolled them up in his t-shirt.   He went out the door without a backwards glance, but he did stop to reconnoiter the scene and make sure it was clear.  One he was sure, he tucked the rolled shirt under his arm and jogged leisurely off in the direction of his car.  He looked like any other muscular young man getting a run in on a warm afternoon; in fact, the only bit of color about him to attract any attention were the blue-and-fluorescent-green Nikes on his feet.

 

The third time, Adam watched the snuff happen.  He hadn’t planned on it, but he’d had to follow the killer.  He’d tracked the older man back to the park—the rec center at the other end of the park, specifically.

 

The rec center was a large building.  Adam realized that there’d be no way to track the stud once he vanished inside; he would have to dog his footsteps and see where he went.  And that was how he ended up in the pool area, peering around the corner into the locker room, a raging erection tenting his knee-length jogging shorts.

 

He saw it all—the rough facefuck at the start was hot, but he wasn’t quite as interested in the massage or the way the lean, fit blond was running his tongue over the alpha hunk’s body.

 

After all, Adam still preferred his meat motionless and helpless.   He watched the renewed skullfuck with a kind of erotic impatience; he wanted it to be over.  But when the process of actually making the meat motionless started, he perked up.  In fact, he was fascinated.

 

Adam heard the older man dominating and humiliating the young faggot and felt his shaft pulse, but it began throbbing rhythmically not long after the beating started.

 

The vicious killer was swinging a sock into which he’d dumped a large padlock.  Each blow, each scream, each gruesome snap of shattered bone, got Adam harder and harder.  It had been a revelation to him that he got off on fucking corpses; it was an even greater one that he was enjoying the sight of the hot punk becoming a corpse.

 

He flushed and panted as the killer dragged the broken, ruined twink across the floor by a cord around his neck, but when he jammed his massive tool up the kid’s ass and started strangling him, Adam could only watch, agape and on his knees in stunned awe.

 

It went on too long and was over too soon.  The horrific struggles of the dying youth were the stuff of nightmares; Adam was almost overwhelmed watching a life being taken right in front of him.  But, yet…there was something—well, something sexual about it.  He didn’t understand it, but it drew him.  He’d never wanted to know this part; he just liked the boys quiet and still, unable to resist him.

 

Now that he was seeing it, though, he was drawn to it almost hypnotically.  He couldn’t look away.

 

And throughout the entire thing, he could feel what seemed to be electric shocks running the length of his rigid hog.

 

At the end, he was entranced by the boy’s blackened, desperate face and his incredibly sensual convulsions.  As the little slut died, he seemed to caress his killer, slowly and gently, the way Adam had always wanted to be caressed.

 

Despite his well-built physique and handsome scruffy face, Adam was too damaged to engage in a normal gay relationship.  It wasn’t due to any repressed sexuality; it more some sort of bizarre idiopathic inferiority complex.  For whatever reason, he’d always felt so certain he’d be rejected by the hot young twinks he wanted so badly that he’d never actually attempted to initiate anything with one.

 

Hence his desire to possess one who could never reject him, one with—or, rather, to—whom he could do what he wanted.

 

Now, he was learning something else.  Now, as he watched the sadistic older alpha heave and grunt like a rutting stag as the blond kid died in agony, Adam found that he was learning how to deal with that implied rejection.

 

He needed to make the little faggot cunts pay.  He knew he was bigger and stronger than most of the boys he’d fixated on.  He could do this to them.  He could show them what he thought of them first, before fucking their dead, helpless assholes.  He could even remember how to get back into their apartments; at least, some of them.

 

The hairy older stud was finally done cumming—he’d shot his load for several minutes, or so it seemed—and regained his feet, gasping for air as his sweaty muscular flanks heaved.  After taking a moment to recover from his explosive orgasm, the alpha killer padded off to the shower, leaving the dead boy sprawled face-up on the bench on which he’d been raped and murdered.

 

The body was still kicking; it was all Adam could do to not run over and start fucking it immediately.

 

But the shower had shut off; the killer would be on his way out.  The budding young psycho looked around for shelter, and saw the diving platform fifteen feet away, past the locker room door.  The older stud wouldn’t pass it on his way out; it was perfect.  He quickly crossed the open space (a swift glance through the locker room entrance showed the killer toweling off his buff body, facing away) and hid in the shadows of the platform.

 

In the few moments he had to wait, he slipped the Pumas off his feet.  The killer left, his footsteps silent in his own pair of Pumas—they were black Tazons, Adam noticed; he’d almost gotten a pair himself.

 

It didn’t take long to pull the dead kid’s white Nike Free RNs off and stick his own feet in them; he’d always been able to handle a size or two larger or smaller, but these happened to be a perfect fit.  It took somewhat longer to roll the body over, but once he did, Adam could clearly see the damage done to the homo’s ravaged fuckhole.  The boy had been torn.

 

In fact, he was so torn, he was loose.  Adam slipped his purple, engorged rod into the corpse’s ass, sighing as he penetrated the cooling, twitching rectum.  Placing his hands high up on the boy’s broad back to support himself he leaned forward and fucked the dead body, his hips thrusting forcefully against the shuddering boymeat.

 

The kid’s ruined, blackened face smacked against the wooden bench as Adam banged his corpse.  He flopped limply, helpless and unaware of the further indignity to which his already-violated body was being subjected.

 

Adam felt himself building to orgasm, but most of his stimulation was mental.  He was replaying the snuff in his mind, watching the hot twink being dominated, raped and strangled.  The boy’s colon was too reamed out by the older man’s enormous dick to give Adam much pleasure itself.

 

As he stiffened and grunted, his hot steady spurt of cum mingling with that of the sadistic alpha killer, Adam knew what he needed to do.

 

First, he hauled the corpse out of the locker room.  Peering out the door to make sure the coast was clear, the handsome, well-built necro pervert dragged the abused, semen-filled fag to the pool and rolled it over the edge into the deep end.  He wasn’t entirely certain why, but it seemed appropriate.

 

Then he returned to the locker room.

 

The dead kid’s locker was still open.  Nimbly avoiding the pools of coagulating blood, Adam pulled a towel out of it which he used to wrap up his shoes.  Carrying the innocuous bundle, he left the scene of the brutal crime without looking back.  The pool area was dark, with scurrying glints of reflected light.  The dark, huddled shape under twelve feet of water was barely visible at the far end.

 

With a smirk, Adam turned away.  He wasn’t quite the same sick creeper he’d been when he first started tracking the alpha killer stud.  He still wanted his fuckmeat dead—but now, he wanted to be the one to make it dead first.

 

Grinning broadly, Adam left the rec center.  Wearing a dead kid’s shoes and sporting a huge—and very obvious—erection, he was already planning his first kill…

M4M Unhappy Ending

On By m3mayhemIn M4M Stories3 Comments

It began idly enough; Joe was randomly trolling through an online hookup app.  Specifically, he was poking around on the same app Andy had had—the Asian punk he’d offed earlier.

 

Naturally enough, it was dangerous to carry the phone too long; it would be tracked.  So before he disposed of it, he hijacked the dead fag’s account, changing the profile and the password. But he still wasn’t gonna access it on his own phone; that’d be stupid.  He hadn’t taken anything off the last meat he’d offed—the one in the public bathroom—so he’d gone and gotten a burner phone.

 

He really wasn’t even looking, just curious what was around, when the ping came, and it was close.  Joe glanced around, but there was no one else in the parking lot.  It must have come from inside the building.

 

One of the reasons Joe wasn’t actively hunting at the moment was his proximity to the scene of his last kill.  He was at the rec center at the north end of the park where the restroom had been located.  He was there for the swimming pool.

 

The heat had gotten intense lately; so intense, in fact, that Joe had given up on running until cooler weather set in.  He’d returned to his gym for the duration of the summer, and while he utilized most of the available equipment, he preferred the pool for a solid full-body workout.  Problem was, the pool at his gym had been closed down for long-term remodeling the week before.

 

His membership allowed him access to the pool at another gym across town, but on weekdays there were all kinda of classes and lessons—things like water aerobics, even swimming lessons.  He would be lucky to find an open lane.

 

On the other hand, the free pool at the rec center was almost always deserted.  It really made no sense; it was larger—the only Olympic-sized pool in town, in fact—and very well maintained.  Even the locker and shower rooms were kept spotless (the male one, at least; Joe couldn’t vouch for the female side).

 

He had just pulled into the lot and was sitting in his car, just checking the scene when he got hit on.  The altered account now showed Joe’s buff, hairy, toned torso as a profile pic and usually generated some lust among the homos on whom Joe was preying.  In this case, the message came almost immediately after the ping.

 

“Hey, stud,” it read, “Love the muscles.  Work out a lot?”

 

The profile didn’t have a face pic; the avatar was some kind of zodiac thing.  All it contained was a name—Cory—and an age—twenty-two.

 

“Yeah,” Joe replied.  He was interested, but only very slightly; he didn’t have enough to go on.  The communication proceeded quickly and tersely.

 

—“U looking now?” from “Cory”.

 

—“Yeah”

 

—“Where r u”

 

—“Rec center on Kanen rd  still in parking lot  U?”

 

—“here too in locker room”  This one was accompanied by photos.

 

Cory turned out to be relatively well-built.  Short and slightly smaller than Joe, he was young with straw-blond hair, styled carefully to look like scruffy negligence.  He had wide-set green eyes ringed by long lashes, a pug nose, broad smooth cheeks and the blinding, suspiciously easy grin of a natural con man.

 

The pics weren’t limited to his face, though.  One displayed his smooth, toned torso to perfection; another showed half a foot of manmeat jutting proudly from a golden nest of pubic hair.

 

Joe hadn’t been looking, but he’d found something.  “OMW,” he messaged back as he snatched up his gym bag—Speedos, a towel and some grooming items—and got out of the car.  Once inside the building, he glanced around the lobby, again noticing how empty the place was.  Even for the middle of a weekday, it was deserted.

 

The pool was down a hall to the left.  A set of double doors on the right side opened into the pool area, cavernous and alive with faint obscure echoes. Skittering glimmers of light, reflected from the surface of the water, seemed to make the background shadows dart and scurry furtively.  The entire room was empty, but it still seemed occupied.

 

On the far side of the pool, bracketed by huge signs declaring no lifeguard on duty, were the doors to the locker rooms; the men’s was the closer door.  Joe was already familiar with the layout and headed in that direction.

 

His feet, firmly laced into a pair of black size-11 Puma Tazon kicks with white ped socks just barely visible, padded quietly across the concrete decking.  Above, he wore nothing but a pair of low-waist shorts, black with red trim.  The shorts were so form-fitting that Joe’s massive cock was outlined like a long black ridge running down his thigh, the head almost peeping out under the hem.  There was nothing covering the broad expanse of wiry fur on his rock-hard, sculpted chest

 

Pushing open the door, Joe strode into the dank locker room.  The far back wall of the room was covered with a double row of lockers, an upper and a lower.  Set out perpendicularly from the wall were more lockers, forming small “bays”, with wooden benches between them.  On the right side of the room was a row of sinks with mirrors above; on the right side were the showers.

 

And in the locker bay on the far left, beyond the sinks, a boy was sitting on the slatted wood bench.

 

It was the same grinning blond kid from the app.  He was leaning back on the bench, propped up on one arm, his smooth, taut body almost glowing under the fluorescent lights.  His other hand was tucked down inside the tiny bathing suit he wore, stroking his hard dick.

 

The shorts were electric blue with a black band at the waist.  Inside the band was a drawstring, also black, tied in a large but basic bow.  The suit was so short that if the bottom edges had been slanted up instead of running horizontally across the thigh, he’d have been wearing briefs.

 

The only other thing he was wearing was a pair of Nike Free RN sneakers, white with the trademark in black; his well-developed upper body was bare.

 

“Hey, dude,” he murmured up at Joe with a leer when the latter got close, “Ya lookin’ to play?”

 

“I might be,” Joe replied, his lips twisted with faint, cold smile.  “So how do you play?  What do you want?”

 

The kid stood up.  “Dick, man.  I want your dick.”

 

Joe’s smile became deeper, more contemptuous.  “Good answer,” he replied, reaching his hand down and pulling his enormous hog up out of his shorts.  “So get over here and work it, boy.”

 

“Cory, man, my name is Cory.”

 

Joe grinned maliciously.  “Your name is cocksucker, you little homo.  Now get over here and swallow my shaft!”  The strong youth stiffened as if he’d been slapped—but his cock stiffened too; his skin-tight shorts made the fact too obvious to hide.  The boy knelt down on the hard cold tiles in front of the larger, more powerful alpha and wrapped his lips around the thick, throbbing head, already oozing precum.

 

As Cory accepted the huge throbbing rod into his mouth, he felt the top’s hands pressing against his head—and then, in the blink of an eye, he was forced down on the shaft with sudden, irresistible force.  Cory hadn’t even had time to inhale before he found himself involuntarily deepthroating the dude.

 

Joe gripped the punk’s head tightly in his hands, brutally facefucking him as he felt the styling gel the little shit used crunch in his hands.  Choking, Cory beat his hands against Joe’s powerful thighs; it was as ineffectual as beating on a tree trunk.  Joe grunted with pleasure as he felt the blond boy gagging, the kid’s tongue writhing and scraping against the sensitive rosebud just under the pulsating head…

 

Finally, with a curse, he abruptly shoved the slut’s head away. Cory fell back, coughing up a huge streamer of drool as he tried to catch his breath. “D-damn,” he gasped, then gagged again.  Eventually, he regained control.  “Fuck man, that’s a monster cock you got.  And yer so fuckin’ strong, dude—ya work out a lot?  I mean, I know it’s a lot, but, well, a lot a lot?”

 

“Yeah,” Joe replied, “Some.  Why?”

 

“Ever get sore, man?  Here, hang on…”  Cory scrambled to his feet and dived at one of the lockers—an upper one, on the side wall.  Swiftly twirling the dial, he opened the heavy steel combination lock and tossed it onto the bench.  He opened the locker and partially withdrew a pair of jeans, digging into the back pocket to extract his wallet.  As he did so, a balled up pair of socks fell out of the locker.  Inside, Joe could also make out some indistinct shapes that seemed to be more clothing, and a pair of loafers—the kid’s post-workout clothing.

 

The boy turned back, proffering something in his hand that turned out to be a business card.  Joe read it with sneering amusement:  “Cory Carlisle, licensed massage therapist”—it even had the official license number issued by the state.

 

The hard-bodied alpha chuckled aloud.  “You any good?” he smirked.

 

“I can show ya—here, lay down on this bench.  On yer back, man.  I’ll give you and your cock the best massage you’ve ever had.”

 

“This better be good, boy,” Joe drawled, “I got high standards and I don’t like bein’ lied to by worthless pansies who ain’t got the skill to satisfy me.  Ya feelin’ me, boy?  You think you got what it takes, you better be prepared to prove it.”

 

The blond boy flashed his car-salesman grin again, his taut firm body almost wriggling with anticipation.  “Shit, dude, you’ll love this.  Just lay back.”

 

Joe went to the bench and swept the lock off; it landed on the tile floor and clattered to a stop near the socks.  He slipped out of his shorts, standing completely nude except for his black Puma kicks, then lay back on the bench.  His erect tool rose above him like a thick, trickling flagpole.

 

For his part, Cory’s electric blue swimsuit had a large moist circle that darkened to navy blue as it expanded outward from his leaking crotch.  “Hang-hang on, m-man,” he stuttered in erotic excitement as he plucked frantically at the knot in the suit’s drawstring.  Snatching one loose end, he gave a quick, nervous jerk that not only undid the knot, it also pulled the thick nylon cord halfway out of the shorts altogether.  “Damn,” Cory muttered as the shorts slid to the floor.  Just like Joe, he was now wearing nothing more than his kicks—the white Nikes—and a swollen, dripping erection.

 

Joe spread his legs as Cory drew near, exposing a small area of the bench between them.  Cory knelt there and then slowly crawled upwards, his silky-smooth skin scraping against Joe’s fur as he slid upwards until he way lying directly on top of Joe and looking down into his face, their throbbing dicks nudging and twitching against each other.

 

Reaching up, Cory placed his hands on Joe’s broad, bulging pectorals and began rubbing them.  The boy pressed down firm on the older man’s muscles, curling his fingers into Joe’s dark, wiry chest hair.  Joe himself could feel no benefit from the supposed “massage”, but it was evident Cory did.  He slowly moved down Joe’s torso, his hands grasping and exploring the body of the anonymous stud.  Joe’s hijacked profile showed no name—and Cory had never asked.

 

It clearly didn’t matter to the fit, well-built faggot.  All he was interested in was dick.  Well, he was gonna get plenty.

 

That wasn’t quite accurate, though—he was also interested in Joe’s rock-hard body.  He continued to worship it.  He worshiped it with his hands, dragging them through dominant top’s body fur as he felt the iron-hard immobility of the alpha’s ripped abs.  He also worshiped it with his tongue—he’d started at the nipples, slurping assiduously, before lowering his head towards Joe’s groin.  His tongue was now exploring the musky depths of the stranger’s navel.

 

Joe could feel the slut working his way down his body; he was waiting for the little homo to get back on his dick.  He was considering his options.

 

Should he let this one go?  He wanted to waste the cumsucker; he wanted to hurt the little piece of shit so bad—but it wasn’t wise.  Even just having sex here was a bad idea; if they were caught, he’d be an immediate suspect in the other murder in the park.  And besides, this didn’t feel bad…

 

Joe made his mind up.  He’d give Cory a fair deal.   If the boy could get him off—and he had to admit, the queerboy sure knew how to suck a dick; maybe he’d be good enough—he’d leave it at that.

 

Cory would walk out alive.

 

When the slut got to Joe’s groin, he braced himself by placing his palms flat on the alpha’s rock-hard thighs.  Kneeling on the end of the bench, Joe’s swollen purple dick towered in front of him.   As Cory watched, entranced, the thick shaft pulsed visibly; a glittering bead of translucent fluid oozed from the top and slowly trickled down the side.

 

The punk’s own tool was already hard; this sight merely stiffened it to nearly the point of pain.  Knowing that this anonymous stud liked him gagging, Cory took a deep breath before lowering his head onto the throbbing rod.  As he went down, he took time to wrap his tongue around the stranger’s cock, savoring the vein-wreathed length as it filled his throat.

 

Joe’s arms were raised and bent back, his hands behind his head, holding it up so he could watch the blond pansy suck his dick.  “That’s it, cunt,” he sneered, “Lick my dick like a good cocksucker.”  He shifted his legs, sliding his black Pumas up so he could leverage his hips and pump his stiff pole into the boy’s greedy mouth.

 

Even though he’d known it was coming, Cory hadn’t known when; Joe’s sudden thrust completely plugged his airway.  At the same time, the muscular, aggressive top clenched his fists in the fag’s hair, the golden, stylized spikes somehow still crunchy with gel.  Cory found himself as trapped and immobile as if he’d been strapped into an iron cage.

 

Again, he found himself subjected to a violent skullfuck.  Despite his deep breath, his lungs were already beginning to ache; he dug his fingertips into the firm flesh of Joe’s inner thighs with as little impact as if they had been steel.  Joe noticed and chuckled maliciously.  “Havin’ trouble breathin’, ya cumsuckin’ faggot?” he gloated.  “Ok, then—but ya gotta be quick, boy, I expect a lot outta my bitches.”

 

For a brief moment—Joe actually counted out five seconds—he eased his vise-like grip and let Cory pull his head back.  Barely; in fact, he could only pull it back an inch and a half.  It was enough to allow him to breathe, but it was messy relief.  Still choking and gagging, Cory was coughing up white ropy strands of drool, the thick strings of saliva flowing around Joe’s tool—still stuck deep down the cunt’s throat—and down the boy’s chin to stream to the floor.

 

“Gag on it, you homo cunt,” Joe sneered.  “C’mon, boy, get back on my cock!”  Cory had just enough time to get another deep lungful of air before his esophagus was rammed full of pulsating manmeat.

 

The young blond found his face mashed into the alpha’s groin, the tough, wiry pubic hair scraping his cheeks and forehead.  A pair of huge, wrinkled balls slapped jarringly at his chin as the domineering alpha reamed the throat of the well-built youth.

 

This session lasted longer.  Cory’s sinuses were clogged and his frantic five seconds of gasping hadn’t allowed much air past the meat tube wedged in his windpipe; he was running out of oxygen faster than he had earlier.  And as a result, panic set in sooner.

 

The cum-hungry boyslut found himself desperately trying to get the alpha’s dick out of his mouth.  It was too much; this dude was both too big and too rough.  Cory realized he needed to put the brakes on this one or he could get hurt—but would he get the chance to?

 

He wasn’t sure he could get free.  For the first time, a cold shaft of fear penetrated his warm erotic lust.  As hard as his own dick was, as hot as the facefuck action was, the crushing pain in his chest was starting to become the focus of his attention.  Cory frantically beat his hands on Joe’s legs before planting them firmly and straining to pull himself up so strongly that his biceps bulged almost to the size of Joe’s.

 

“Whassa matter, boy?” Joe sneered.  He could feel the sperm starting to boil in his testicles; he was getting close.  “My dick too much for ya?  Tough shit, homo—suck it!”

 

Cory wasn’t having it.  Jerking forcefully, he bucked like a bronco, yanking his head back until Joe released him with an angry grunt.  Cory instantly went upright on his knees, gasping for air.  He bent forward, instinctively placing one hand on Joe’s broad chest to steady himself as he crawled back to full consciousness.

 

“F-fuck du-dude,” the kid choked out, “T-too much, man, too much.  I charge extra for a happy ending…”  He trailed off in an extended coughing fit.

 

Joe went rigid, staring coldly at the slowly-recovering punk.  “You want me to pay to cum?” he said slowly and coldly.  Cory, clearly not recognizing the suppressed rage in that flat, icy tone, replied with an obnoxious, whining tone, “Fuck yeah, asshole, ya think I give a massage for free?  Ya gotta pay to get off.”

 

“You fucking sack of shit whore,” Joe responded evenly just before he lunged upwards.  Jamming his left hand into Cory’s armpit, he shoved the boy up and to the right, into the open locker.  At the same time, he brought his right arm up and slammed his forearm flat into the locker door, driving it closed and smashing Cory’s head.

 

With a loud squawk, Cory fell to the floor, bleeding from both sides of his head where the sharp metal edges of the locker door on one side and the frame on the other had cut into his skin.  Sobbing and crying, the boy began to crawl away from his assailant across the cold tile floor.

 

Sitting up on the bench, Joe looked down at the stupid little fairy squealing and writhing on the floor like a pig and felt his body flood with rage.  The whore had actually expected him to pay to cum.  He needed to learn what a terrible mistake he’d made—and then Joe saw how to teach him.

 

Bending down, he scooped up both the balled-up socks and the padlock.  It took no more than ten seconds to free a single sock and stick the padlock inside.  Once he had, Joe stood up and walked over to Cory.

 

The young blond homo had actually managed to crawl some distance in the brief time that had passed.  Still sobbing and in severe pain, he could hear the footsteps of Joe’s black kicks relentlessly coming for him.  “Don’t you fuckin’ touch me, you psycho!” he screeched.  “I’m gonna call the fuckin’ cops, you asshole!”

 

Joe continued to approach silently, remorselessly.

 

“Stay the fuck away from me!” Cory screamed, sobbing uncontrollably.  “I-I’ll sue you, m-man, y-yer gonna go to jail!”

 

Standing over him, Joe swung the weighted sock like a blackjack.  On the floor, Cory peered up at him with horror.  He could see nothing but implacable anger in Joe’s face.  “P-please, man,” he whispered hoarsely, realizing with cold terror that he was looking death straight in the face, “I-I didn’t mean it—don’t, dude, please god no, don’t fuckin’ do this; I’ll do whatever ya want, just lemme live, man, oh fuck oh please—“

 

Curling his scruffy, handsome face into a contemptuous leer, Joe swung his arm and delivered a vicious blow to Cory’s back.  The heavy metal lock smashed directly into a rib, shattering it.  The boywhore screamed and writhed like a worm on hot pavement as splinters of bone tore through his innards.  “Fuck!” he screeched, scrambling over the tile, “Please god, stop!”

 

Towering over the crawling faggot, Joe stomped his foot in the middle of Cory’s back, driving the wind out of the unfortunate youth and leaving the tread of his sneaker embedded in the cunt’s smooth flesh as a bruise. Swinging the sock around in his hand like a sling, Joe increased the momentum of the heavy metal lock, then abruptly bent down, his powerful arm circling high above his head as he slammed the improvised weapon down.

 

Cory knew it was coming and tried to move but Joe’s foot was pinning him to the floor; the best he could do was twist to his right.  It turned out to be a serious mistake.  The homemade blackjack, instead of hitting center body mass, made contact with Cory’s left arm, halfway between the shoulder and the elbow.  The chunk of metal, moving with irresistible force, snapped the humerus like a chicken wing.

 

Cory shrieked in agony and flailed, his broken arm jerking limply and grotesquely but was unable to get out from under the sadistic alpha.  Even in the depths of his fear and pain, the handsome young slut was still aware of his assailant’s erection—he couldn’t have forgotten it even if he’d wanted; Joe’s precum was dripping on his back in burning drops like melted wax.

 

Oh shit, this dude wasn’t just bashing the fuck outta him, he was gettin’ off on doing it—

 

Cory’s futile thrashing on the cold tiles became even more intense as his panicked squeals rose in pitch.  “Goddam, yer a mouthy little fairy whore, aintcha?” Joe snarled in anger, taking his foot off the kid’s back.  Cory’s faint relief at his release was short-lived, though; Joe had merely freed his foot to deliver a vicious kick to the boy’s waist—one strong enough to flip Cory onto his back.

 

The whore could look directly up into the hard face of his torturer; the rage that he saw there so overwhelmed him with terror that his bleatings and mewlings tapered off into a subdued sobbing.  The depths of his abuse and humiliation were obvious—as was his lust.

 

The little fucker was hard as a rock.  As he was getting the living fuck beaten out of him, Cory had remained erect, and the glaze of slime smeared on the head of his dick showed that he’d even dripped out some precum of his own.

 

“Yeah, ya worthless sack of shit, that’s what I thought,” the muscled alpha panted, his broad furry chest heaving with exertion.  “Goddam fag already knows it’s such a useless piece a’ garbage it gets off on bein’ treated like one.”

 

He knelt down leaning directly over Cory’s face.  “Guess what, cunt?  If ya liked that, it’s yer lucky day.  I’m gonna take you out like the trash you are, bitch—and it’s gonna hurt.”  As he bent further down, the prostrate youth, frozen in horror, could smell the mansweat on his killer’s body, laden with adrenaline and testosterone; even in an extremity of terror, his cock responded by swelling and darkening.  Joe spit contemptuously in the boy’s face before he stood back up; Cory’s only reaction came from his oozing dick.

 

“C’mon, ya homo punk, time for shit to get real,” Joe drawled as he rose again, his large shadow stretching ominously across the battered youth cowering at his feet.  The words pierced Cory’s mind with a cold shaft of fear.  From deep within his soul, the crumbled remains of his arrogance found one last sliver of spirit—just enough to make him protest.

 

“N-no…” the blond boy whispered.  “D-don’t. No. Please…”

 

Then, seeing the rage darkening the cruel alpha’s face, he realized he’d made another mistake.  He’d set the psycho off again; he could see the murderous light of wrath building in the towering stud’s eyes and his resistance collapsed immediately.  He started weeping uncontrollably, in fear of the inevitable blow—he could already see Joe’s arm moving back for another swing of the blackjack.  And so Cory made yet another error in judgment—he seemed to be involuntarily digging his own grave—by raising his right arm to ward off the blow, holding his hand up, palm side out.

 

This time, Joe crushed the kid’s hand, snapping three of his fingers like twigs.

 

Cory’s shrill shriek should have echoed off the tile walls of the locker room, but his throat was so hoarse and ragged with screaming that all he was able to emit was a loud, cracking wheeze of agony.  The whoreboy lay flat on his back, kicking and trembling in agony as tears streamed down his pain-wracked face.  In a reflexive attempt at escape, he flexed his legs, trying to get some traction with the heels of his white Nikes.  His arms, of course, were useless now; the punk had been brutally immobilized.

 

But he still hadn’t lost his hard-on.

 

Joe noticed and grinned evilly.  “Goddam, you queer-ass cunt, you sure fuckin’ loved bein’ treated like the sack of shit you are.  Almost as much as I love treatin’ ya that way.  Lessee if we can amp that shit up, huh?”  And with that, he wheeled and walked back towards Cory’s open locker.

 

The writhing lump of bruised and beaten flesh that had been a handsome young massage therapist twenty minutes ago still lay gasping and sobbing on the floor.  During the brutal assault, he’d managed to crawl along the floor for a good distance; as a result, when Joe strode away, he passed beyond Cory’s line of sight.  The suffering punk, shuddering and moaning on the cold floor tiles, had an idea that the buff sadist had bent down to retrieve something.  He heard Joe give a very faint grunt of exertion, followed by the sound of fabric ripping.

 

He had no idea what was happening, though, till Joe returned.  In the killer’s big, strong hands dangled a length of cord.  It took Cory’s traumatized mind a while to realize he was looking at the draw cord that had been torn out of his own swimsuit.

 

Some part of him expected his legs to be bound for further torture; he felt a dull sense of surprise when the cord was looped around his neck instead.  The cord tightened and Cory, moaning and crying, expected to be strangled instantly.

 

Instead, he found himself being dragged roughly across the floor by the cord around his throat.  His legs kicked and flailed in protest, but his arms were no help.  The shattered left arm trailed limply at his side; he could still move his right arm, but the crushed hand, looking like a pale, mangled starfish, was utterly useless.  His own inert body weight had caused the cord to squeeze his throat to the point that he was unable to speak, but with extreme effort, he was still able to breathe.

 

Since he was being dragged by his head, more or less, Cory was unable to see where he was being taken; he could only feel the tiles on his bare skin.  Within seconds, though, the dragging had stopped, and was replaced by something worse.  He was lifted up off the ground by the noose around his neck briefly before a flat bar dug into his shoulders and started scraping its way down his smooth back.  Hearing Joe strain as he jerked on the cord, Cory understood—vaguely, his air was now completely cut off—that the hulking sadistic killer was dragging him backwards up onto the wooden bench.

 

And then it was done.  The constriction around his neck relaxed.  His aching, beaten body was lying limply on the bench, his legs spread.  His right arm was curled on his smooth, broad chest while his left hung at an unnatural angle over the edge.  The pain-twisted, suffering youth coughed up a thick wad of phlegm as he gasped desperately and rapidly.

 

Cory was too stunned, too beaten down by this point to wonder what was coming next; he could only hope it wouldn’t hurt anymore.  Even if it meant death, he wanted to the pain to end.

 

He was sadly disappointed.

 

For his part, Joe had kept his eye on the pansy’s cock as he’d dragged the pile of shit across the floor.  It had continued to darken, becoming so engorged that it looked like an eggplant.  As the buff, toned alpha had tightened his biceps and manhandled the cocksucker up onto the bench, he’d momentarily wondered if the little bitch was gonna cum right there.  No matter how much pain he inflicted on the cringing queerboy, the fag seemed to love it.

 

Now it was time for Joe to get what he’d come for.

 

Cory moaned slightly as Joe parted his legs, his large hands gripping the soft smooth flesh of the boy’s inner thighs.  Semi-conscious at best, the punk was aware of the movement, but little else—

 

—until Joe shoved the entire length of his gigantic, pulsing rod up Cory’s tender fuckhole in a single, unlubed thrust.

 

The searing, slashing agony in his anus shifted the homo slut from semi-consciousness to full consciousness in the blink of an eye.  His emerald-green eyes widened, huge and round like platters, deeply ringed with shock and physical trauma.  He screeched, a high, unpleasant squeaking sound, as his body shuddered and jerked in protest.  Instinctively, Cory began beating at his rapist with his right hand; the action made the jagged ends of his broken fingers grind together, intensifying the pain he was in.

 

“Quit fightin’ me, ya stupid fuckin’ faggot!” Joe barked in fury.  Doubling his fist, he drove it into Cory’s jaw with the all the power of a horse’s kick.  The boy’s head rocked back, slamming into the bench as his mouth snapped shut with such sudden violence that he bit through his tongue.

 

Spitting up blood, Cory coughed and squealed in agony and abject terror as Joe roughly pulled his thick hog back up out of the punk’s colon, keeping in only the massive mushroom tip.  Joe repositioned his kicks on the floor for better leverage and immediately plunged his shaft deep into the cunt’s soft, squelching guts.  Another agonized screech rose from Cory’s swollen, split lips.

 

“Goddam it, I’m tired of lissenin’ to ya squealin’ like a pig, you worthless cum-guzzlin’ homo!” Joe snarled, “Guess it’s time to make you shut the fuck up!”

 

Leaning forward, Joe grabbed at the loose ends of the draw cord still draped around Cory’s throat.  With a single violent jerk, he pulled it so taut that it immediately sank into the skin.  The hard-bodied killer yanked tightly on the cord as he brutally reamed out the kid’s fuckhole.  Luckily, it was thirty inches of black woven nylon, well able to stand up to the strain.

 

Cory, on the other was less able to cope.  His frantic gurgling had been cut short and his mangled hand flapped uselessly at his throat.  His bulging eyes glittered with highlights of terror and excruciating pain so intense they bordered on insanity.  As his hard, firm young body shuddered under the assault, the punk’s dazed brain tried to understand how an offer of a massage and a quick blowjob had turned into rape, nightmarish torture and murder.

 

Joe pounded his tool into Cory’s torn, bleeding ass, yelling “Fuck! Yeah! Take it, cunt!” with each thrust, the raging lust in his voice enhanced by the swift slapping sound of flesh on flesh.  He was pulling the cord with such force that tendons were starting to stand out, first in his neck, then his forearms.  The cord itself was so deep in the kid’s throat that it couldn’t be seen.

 

What it was doing to Cory could be seen very well.  The youth’s face was a deep blue, darkening to purple so quickly that it was impossible to tell if any bruises were present—everything was the color of a bruise.  Even his huge, panic-struck eyes were blotched with ruptured blood vessels.  The only part of him not turning dark was the thick foamy spittle trickling around the sides of his swollen, protruding tongue.

 

Cory’s hard, tight body jerking and convulsing under him, Joe shuddered with pleasure as the dying fag’s rectum caressed the sensitive engorged head of his cock.  The sadistic alpha chuckled maliciously; the stupid little motherfucker had turned out to be a good massage therapist after all—at least, he was good at massaging Joe’s dick in his death throes.

 

And as Cory twitched and kicked, his thick cock was still erect; in fact, it seemed to stiffer than ever and twitching rapidly in tempo to Joe’s relentless ass-pounding.  With each forceful pump of the murderous top’s hips, the boy’s dick slapped against Joe’s ripped abs and sprayed a fine mist of precum over his chest fur.

 

Cory himself was past sensation at this point; part of him knew that he was dying full of cock and that was the part keeping his dick hard.  The rest of him knew that he was dying full of pain and that part wanted to die.  There was no more terror, there was almost no more Cory; all that was left was the pain—and the lust.

 

And at the extreme end of oxygen starvation, even those two primal drives were losing their grip; massive brain damage was sending Cory’s smooth body, muscled and slick with sweat forced from his pores in metabolic trauma, into violently erratic convulsions.  He wasn’t quite as large or strong as Joe, but his lithe body was powerful enough that the hard-bodied sex killer had to clamp down and ride Cory into death like he was taming a horse.

 

As the dying cunt kicked away his last few seconds on Earth, his internal muscles convulsed as well, creating a rippling effect in his colon that almost seemed to draw suction.  It was as if Cory’s mindless, flailing body was trying to suck the cum right out of Joe’s rod.

 

It was working.

 

Joe could feel his hot sperm starting to bubble in his puckered sack; the thick tube running along the underside of his shaft seemed to tingle with electrical fire.  He was close, he was so fucking close…

 

It was time.  He was gonna blow.  He was gonna seed this worthless faggot meat.  His black Pumas slipped back as he bent forward, his full body, heavy with the weight of his muscled mass pinning the thrashing boycunt under him, still impaled on his cock.  As Cody’s swollen, pulsing dick slid moistly between their flat firm bellies, Joe wrapped both ends of the nylon cord around his right hand and placed his left hand flat on the punk’s shuddering forehead.

 

Then, straight-arming the kid’s forehead, he gave the cord a single, swift yank so brutal it snapped the woven nylon.  It also snapped Cory’s neck.

 

The popping sounds of shattering bone once again echoed in the locker room.  It was accompanied with another round of violent physical convulsions in the entwined male bodies on the bench.  Cory bucked and spasmed as an electrochemical surge flashed though his nervous system; his arms and legs contracted involuntarily, causing the corpse to wrap its legs around Joe’s waist, white Nikes helplessly kicking in midair.  The meat had even swung the broken arm up and around Joe’s back.

 

At the same time, the release the dying homo’s dick had been craving was finally granted; Joe felt the hot spurts of semen pumped into the fur that lined his sculpted chest.  The little motherfucker must have been full of cum; it kept spewing and spewing.  Even after Joe had uttered an inarticulate, strangled cry and flooded the kid’s guts with boiling manspunk, Cory’s still-erect shaft was spitting out ropy strands of jizz across his own motionless chest.

 

The boy’s body had one last wrenching spasm that pulled the last drop of semen out of Joe’s still-throbbing hog.  The alpha thought the kid’s phenomenal death load was over; he raised himself up and felt one last warm splash, this one under his chin, caught in his facial stubble.

 

The heaving, gasping alpha slowly withdrew his still-dripping cock from the corpse.  Standing up, he took a moment to catch his breath and to guiltily scope out the situation.  He’d given in to his anger, and that was a bad thing; this snuff was way too close—and too recent—to the other one in the park.

 

On the other hand, he’d needed a workout, and he’d gotten one.  Scooping up his gym bag, he padded off to the showers.

 

Toweling himself off after he got out of the body, Joe redressed and took a glance around.  If he hadn’t known how absolutely deserted the place would be, the snuff would have been the height of insanity.  The corpse, sprawled on its back with the legs spread, the soles of the white Nikes facing forward, was at least partially visible from the locker room entrance.  It was necessary to take a few more steps into the room to get a clearer look, to see the snapped arm or the congested head, now fading to a dusky blue, hanging at odd, impossible angles.

 

Still, it had all worked out.  For Joe, it was a happy ending.

 

 

The pool area was quiet, but not silent.  Empty, but not motionless, refracted glints of light danced across the walls and faint slopping sounds coming from the water.

 

And then it wasn’t empty.

 

 

The next day, Joe was dressing for work; he’d gotten a call to come in.  He’d flipped on the TV in the background, not paying much attention until a certain story attracted his notice.

 

It was a mention of a body found at the rec center that caught his ear.  “The body was that of a young Caucasian male,” the anchor intoned.  “The report came in of an accidental drowning but when paramedics pulled the man from the water, he was completely nude.  Police aren’t saying much beyond the fact that there were clear signs of physical violence; however, inside sources have hinted that the victim suffered multiple sexual assaults.  In light of the death of Bradford DeLaney III, found raped and strangled in a bathroom in the same park, authorities are now saying—“

 

Joe shut the TV off, then let the remote fall.  For the first time in a long time, something had taken the alpha stud by surprise.  He tried to reconcile the scene he’d left and the one the TV had described; it simply didn’t compute.

 

“What the fuck?” he asked the blank screen.

M4M Bathroom Break

On By m3mayhemIn M4M Stories4 Comments

It had been unusually hot the past week; not just hot but almost tropically humid as well.  The conditions made being outside during the day an unpleasant experience—which explained Joe’s presence on this dark, silent suburban street after midnight.  It was just too uncomfortable to jog any earlier.

 

The buff alpha believed in keeping himself in shape; in addition to running, he kept up an active gym membership.  But his last kill had been someone he’d met at a gym.  Joe wasn’t a member there, but he knew lots of people went to more than one gym.  He’d decided to stop going for a couple of weeks, just to let things die down.

 

Even in a city this size, the discovery of two strong, healthy young men, found overpowered, raped and murdered, had hit the local news with the force of a bomb.  Especially the way he’d left the meat posed.  And they traced that first faggot—the hot Asian dude—back to his gym.

 

Joe was gonna stick to jogging for a bit.  Not like he couldn’t find a way to work the rest of his muscles…

 

…he just didn’t expect to find a way right then and there.

 

The street was lined with houses, small but nice, that were set back from the road by a lawn.  A line on each side as he jogged along, passing by in dark monotonous rows—

 

Except there was light in one window.  Ahead, two houses down, on the right.  A golden rectangle falling on the lawn, crossbarred.  Light shining through an open set of blinds.  Joe wasn’t normally a voyeur…

 

…well, fuck, yes, he was.  He wanted to know what was there to be seen.  Slowing his steps, he paused on the sidewalk in front of the house and glanced around.  Certain he was unseen, he stole across the lawn and peered through the window.

 

It was worth the effort.  He had come in right in the middle of a hot blowjob; two hot, hard dudes were going at it right there on the living room couch.  One, tall, almost platinum blond, was standing, facing the sofa.  His back was to the window.  The other, a shorter boy with a lean swimmer’s build and smooth tan skin, was seated with his face buried in the blond’s crotch.  As his head bobbed on the top’s dick, his abdomen turned slightly and Joe could just barely make out the tattoo of a star on the boy’s left pec, above and to the left of the nipple.  It was a somewhat clumsy inking, a simple outline that was obviously amateur.

 

As Joe watched, he could see the top’s ass flex, the smooth cheeks dimpling each time they clenched in pleasure as he shoved his tool down the other boy’s throat.  The hulking killer, peering unseen at the brutal throatfuck, felt his own huge dick get hard.

 

And then he remembered he’d brought a phone along—the one that belonged to that last cumsucking homo he’d wasted, the one from the gym.  It was in a pocket of his shorts, along with his keys, the only other thing he took with him.  Quickly, he whipped it out and opened the hookup app the kid had used to contact him.

 

He clicked “nearby”.  Sure enough, the profile pic that popped up closest to him was the kid who was chugging cock.  He opened the profile—and felt his shaft getting stiffer as he read, chuckling quietly.

 

“DTF Dude—

25 yo/WGM/5’9”/145 lbs

Looking for raw dick.  Discrete, can’t host.  Can travel.  Fit guys only.”

 

The profile pic didn’t show the face; it was bathroom selfie showing a smooth torso, muscled but lean.  The star tattoo was the identifying mark; it was what let Joe know he had the right cocksucker.

 

Grinning, he favorited the profile.

 

The powerful alpha turned his attention back to the show in front of him.  The blond top was really pounding the kid’s mouth but the greedy young cockpig didn’t seem to have any trouble keeping up.

 

Things were just getting good when a light flashed on the periphery of Joe’s vision—specifically, the porch light from the house next door.  Instantly, he turned and dashed back across the lawn.  He’d reached the sidewalk and had slowed into his leisurely nighttime jog before he heard the door open behind him.  Swiftly glancing back, he noticed a man wearing a robe stepping out; the porch light illuminating his tired, drawn face—and the retractable leash in his hand, at the other end of which a small, elderly Chihuahua trundled along.

 

Well, they hadn’t noticed him.  He felt a surge of rage—of power flowing through his powerful body; it was generated by his frustrated desire.  He’d wanted to see then end of the skullfuck.

 

But he’d keep trolling the app to see the next time the hot little bitch was on.  Wasn’t gonna have the slut back at his place, though; ya don’t shit where you eat, as they say.  It’d have to be someplace else.  Well, when the time came, he’d improvise.

 

As he turned his course back towards his home, he was glad for the darkness and seclusion the night provided.  His jogging shorts did nothing to hide his enormous erection; he looked like he’d gone jogging with a jousting lance.

 

 

Joe had to work the next two days.  His job didn’t have regular schedule; once he was done, he was off till he was needed again.  He’d had to file the hot young homo for later.

 

Now, it was later.

 

It was a bright, clear morning and Joe was feeling jumpy.  He wanted something physical to do—and he reached for Andy’s phone.  He pulled up the hookup app and ran a search for “DTF Dude”.  He’d already accessed Andy’s profile and changed the profile pic to a landscape.  Now he sent a body pic of himself, attaching the following message:

 

“Hey man—

I got an 8in dick 4 u 2 ride—HMU.  32, 185, 6 foot 4.”

 

After the message was sent, Joe waited a few minutes.  Once a few minutes stretched into twenty, though, he decided to get up and get moving.  He’d be surprised if the lean cocksucker he’d seen through the window was uninterested in his buff, toned body—he’d put on fifteen pounds of muscle mass over the last six months or so.  But there was no accounting for taste.  And besides, the little fag might just be busy.

 

He was still avoiding the gym.  An overnight cool front had left the morning temperature pleasantly temperate.  Joe decided to go for another jog.

 

He threw on a simple white wifebeater t-shirt and a pair of black Adidas jogging shorts.  Sitting on the edge of the bed, he pulled on a pair of ped socks that could no longer be seen once he slipped on his sneakers.

 

He wore a bright orange pair of Nike Air Zooms, tightly laced. Standing in front of his mirror, he admired how they set off his powerful calves and muscular thighs.  Even if this kid never answered back, he knew he’d be getting some looks while he was out.  He wouldn’t have any problems finding someone to fuck.

 

Several miles east, the city had put in a jogging and biking trail along a “greenbelt” than ran beside what had a drainage ditch for outflow from the river.  They’d actually done a nice job with the area, adding a dog park, some restrooms and some playgrounds.  The far end of the trail terminated at the city rec center.

 

Joe enjoyed running there during the day in the middle of the week; he had it mostly to himself.  He was halfway there when the dead fag’s phone beeped.

 

Well, whaddaya know.  The cocksucker had responded.  Joe pulled over at a convenience store and opened the app.  Sure enough, there was a message.

 

Kid said his name was Brad.  He said he’d been at work earlier but was now on his way to the gym.  Or at least, he had been.  He’d seen the pic, and he wanted Joe’s cock.  Everything else could wait.

 

Joe sat back in his car and guffawed aloud.  He quickly replied, telling the punk where he was going.  He suggested that they meet at the park and run together for a bit.

 

Not only did the fag respond, he had a suggestion of his own—a detour to one of the cinderblock restrooms that dotted the greenbelt.

 

Joe peeled out, heading towards the park.  Fuck, this one was eager.  The powerful top grinned as he accelerated, wondering how eager the fucking cunt was gonna be in an hour or so.

 

They’d arranged to meet in the parking lot at the south end of the trail. There would be far less traffic there; the rec center and sports fields were at the other end.  Joe didn’t have long to wait; within five minutes, a blue Volkswagen pulled in and a dark-haired boy got out.

 

It was clearly Brad.  He was shirtless; his star tattoo was clearly visible even under the runner’s tan tinting his smooth flesh.  His gray jersey shorts hung halfway down his firm thighs but Joe’s eyes were drawn down to the bitch’s kicks.  The slut was sporting a pair of Nike Frees, in bright electric blue; the trademark swoosh and the laces were fluorescent yellow.

 

Clearly, the little homo was trolling to get fucked.  Good.  Joe’d make sure he got what he wanted—and then some.

 

Getting out of his car, he headed towards the kid, who heard him approach and looked up.  His clear, bronzed face lit up as he saw Joe’s muscular form—and a bulge started to form noticeably in his groin.  “H-hey,” he muttered, then cleared his throat.  “Hey, man, you the dude from online?”

 

“Yeah,” Joe replied, “you Brad?

 

The youth blushed and grinned.  “Yeah—Bradford, actually.  Family name, y’know, but everyone just calls me Brad.”

 

Joe smiled warmly down at the horny fuckmeat.  “C’mon, man, let’s hit the track.  Work up a nice sweat, and you can point out that bathroom ya mentioned.”

 

Brad’s grin grew wider and more lascivious.  There had been no need to dance around gingerly to determine interest; it was obvious to both that the kid wanted Joe’s cock, and that Joe wanted to give it to him.

 

They took off together, jogging along at an easy pace.  The trail wound in and out under the trees, leaving the pavement alternately in glaring light and deep shadow.  After a quarter mile, it bent out into an open area.  The brazen sun in the cloudless sky beat down on the two firm, fit male bodies moving along the path, and Joe was hot.  Literally.

 

In a single graceful movement, Joe whipped his wifebeater up over his head, pulling it off.  He tucked it into the waistband of his shorts but one end came free.  It fluttered along behind him like bandanna in a rear pocket as he ran.

 

Brad kept ogling Joe as they moved along the trail; he couldn’t keep his eyes off the older man’s sculpted chest, darkly furred and glistening with light sweat.  His thick legs pumped powerfully, slamming his neon orange Zooms against the white pavement.  The young slut’s equally-bright Nikes kept up with the pace, his lean, tight torso also covered with a sheen of perspiration.

 

The randy young cocksucker was so hard, he was having difficulty running.  Luckily, he didn’t have far to go.  “Just up here, man, on the left.  See?  Over there; the doors are on the far side.”

 

Joe looked in the direction the kid indicated.  In the trees on the far side of the path was a low cinderblock building, partially hidden behind some trimmed shrubbery.  From the main trail, two paved paths extended around each side of the building; a small post by each path bore a sign indicating gender.  The men’s room was the further one.

 

“You been here before?” Joe grunted as they approached.

 

“”Y-yeah,” Brad panted.  “I gave a dude a great hummer here a coupla weeks ago.  Fuck, I musta swallowed a whole fuckin’ pint of cum…”

 

“You take it up the ass?”

 

Brad almost tripped.  “Fuck, yeah, dude—I want your shaft in my asshole; c’mon, man!”

 

The horny cunt broke into a full-on sprint, dashing ahead.  Joe kept up his easy jogging pace, taking time to look around.  They’d been running for about twenty minutes and had passed a few others on the path, but no one was within eyesight at the moment.

 

The buff sadist chuckled darkly and broke into a run himself.  Good as time as any to get started.  His own gigantic shaft was starting to swell and pulse…

 

The men’s room was dark and spare; the floor was a concrete slab with a drain in the middle.  The walls were bare cinderblock all the way up to the roof; the topmost line of blocks were the open, decorative type that let in air and some light.  There were no windows and a single light fixture was in the center of the ceiling.

 

On the right side of the room were two urinals, separated from three pedestal sinks by a partial dividing wall.  On the opposite side were three toilet stalls.  “Here,” Brad gestured, heading for the stall furthest from the door, “I like this one best—less likely to be noticed in here if anyone comes in.”

 

Joe paused just outside the stall while the horny youth with the slim runner’s build peeled his jogging shorts off and kicked them into the far corner by the toilet.  The muscle-bound sadist leered at the kid’s lithe body; the only thing the little slut had on under his shorts was a jockstrap.  Joe considered having him leave it on, but before he decided, it was off anyway.

 

Brad assumed the position.  He placed his palms flat on the wall above the toilet and bent forward.  His slender but strong and firm body, nude except for his bright blue and yellow kicks, was presented at the best angle to take cock.

 

Joe appreciated the fact.  His huge tool was fully erect now; an even darker circle forming on the groin of his black shorts—a circle that grew as his dick continued to ooze precum.  Fitting his broad shoulders through the narrow entrance to the stall, he locked the door behind him.

 

He took a moment to bend down and remove his shorts.  Normally, he’d have dropped them exactly as the queerboy did, but Joe had a reason for reaching down to the floor.  Snagging the discarded jockstrap, he doubled it and wrapped it around his hairy forearm.

 

Brad was panting as he anxiously awaited the Herculean stud standing behind him.  He could feel the alpha’s physical presence like an electric charge that grew as the stud got closer.  His lean but strong body thrilled when he felt the thick, firm head of the dude’s cock press against his fluttering rosebud asshole.

 

Joe gripped the punk’s hips tightly, mounting the kid and holding his fuckhole in position while he lined up his massive hog.  He didn’t want to frighten his prey yet, so he inserted his dick slowly and gently, penetrating the faggot smoothly and easily.

 

It took a great deal of discipline; Joe grunted with the effort.  Brad heard, and assumed it was in lust.

 

The horny cunt was trying not to cry out anyway; even slowly inserted, the cock penetrating his ass was the largest hog he’d ever had stuffed inside him.  And it hurt.  Even slow, it hurt.

 

But fuck, it hurt so good.  This motherfucker was a real man, and that was what he wanted—a real man inside him, filling his colon with hot, throbbing manmeat.  So he ground his teeth and did his best to keep quiet as the enormous shaft plowed deep into his rectum.

 

He succeeded only partially.  With each gradual thrust of the top’s dick, Brad gave a faint but audible moan, so high-pitched as to be nearly a squeal.  Stretching his bright Nikes, he rose up on his toes and tried to angle his ass to ensure the smoothest passage for the horsedick that was impaling him.

 

Suddenly his sphincter collapsed; as he gave a faint gasp, his ass relaxed and allowed Joe’s tool easier entry.  The hardbodied alpha felt it too; digging his fingers into the soft flesh on the Brad’s hips, he sank his pulsing shaft deep into the kid’s quivering rectum.  The young slut dug his fingers into the wall as Joe began to pump, dragging his long, vein-ridged cock out of the boy’s ass, leaving just the swollen head inside before ramming the whole thing all the way back in.   As his bright blue kicks bounced on the floor, the eager young homo gave a low moan that slowly increased in intensity as Joe’s thrusts intensified—

 

—and then the door to the rest room opened.

 

They froze.  Two hard, sweaty males locked in full anal penetration, keeping still as footsteps crossed the room behind them.  After a nerve-wracking pause, the sound of piss splashing into one of the urinals echoed through the cinderblock room.  It went on forever; the dude seemed to have a bladder like a racehorse.

 

Finally, it ended.  After the flush, they heard water splashing into the sink, followed by withdrawal and use of paper towel.  By the time the door slammed closed, Joe had started plugging Brad’s hole again, both of them panting in lust and the heat.

 

“F-fuck,” the slim, smooth youth gasped, “that was close—“

 

“Shut up,” Joe muttered.  “Just bend over and take my cock, bitch.”

 

Brad shut up.

 

But as he took it, his feet began to slip.  He was struggling to brace himself against the wall under the brutal onslaught, but his Nike Frees were starting to slide on the smooth and slightly slick concrete floor. “Sh-shit, man…” he bleated uneasily.

 

Joe grunted in annoyance and slammed the punk forward into the wall.  Brad gave a short, swift yell but quickly drew his left leg up and placed it on the toilet seat.  It was clean but cheap and thin, warping under his weight when he brought his other leg up.  But it held up as the slim fit fag kneeled on it and got his ass pounded.

 

And Joe’s swollen hog had remained fully embedded in his colon as he repositioned himself.  As Brad clung to the wall, his lean smooth torso shining with a sheen of pheromone-laden sweat, he was aware of Joe’s hog above all else.  It filled him utterly; he could feel every thick vein scraping the inside of his rectum, he could feel the enormous head, spongy but firm, probing deep into his guts.

 

Joe’s muscled abdomen was also covered with a light film of sweat that left testosterone-laced beads of moisture glittering like diamonds among his chest hair.  They shook and danced as the buff alpha grunted and pumped his toy’s fuckhole, his toes curling for purchase inside his orange Zooms.  Larger and stronger than Brad, he didn’t have the same traction issues…

 

The randy punk started really enjoying his vigorous cornholing.  They started low, his whimpers of pleasure, but they kept pace with the tempo of Joe’s thrusts and gradually grew louder.  The hulking alpha shifted his right foot back, the orange Nike scraping along the concrete floor.  Having steadied himself, he hunched over the boy’s sweating, heaving back and drove his huge throbbing cock even more brutally up the kid’s ass.

 

The sound of wet, firm flesh slapping together echoed through the cinderblock room, accented by the grunting and groaning that accompanied rough sweaty male sex.  It increased in speed and intensity before a voice interrupted the rhythm.  “F-fuck!” Brad cried out through gritted teeth, “yer killin’ my ass, man, I’m gonna cum!”

 

“Not yet you ain’t,” Joe muttered.  “You ain’t got me off yet, bitch.  I ain’t done with ya.”

 

“Dude, I can’t hold out much longer,” the lean fag slut panted as his toes curled in his kicks and his fingers curled against the wall.  “I’m gonna blow…”

 

Joe gave a slight chuckle—without missing a single pump of his gigantic dick—and said, “So think of something else.  Here, I got something to take yer mind off it.”

 

And after a brief pause, Brad’s mind was very much taken off his orgasm.

 

He didn’t know what was happening at first; he was aware that the alpha stud was no longer griping his hips—and he was very aware of the thin but strong band of fabric and elastic that was suddenly looped around his neck.  But even as it started to tighten, Brad didn’t realize that his own jockstrap was the ligature.

 

And he damn sure didn’t realize he was about to die.  “What are ya—“ he managed to squeak out just before his trachea was clamped off.

 

Joe didn’t need to hear the whole question.  Pulling back on the twisted ends of the jockstrap, he bent the lithe youth back until he could speak directly into the kid’s ear.  The boy’s short dark hair brushed against his cheek as he whispered, “What am I doing?  I’m offin’ ya, faggot.  Yer gonna die here, cunt; how ya like that?”

 

Brad was not in a position to immediately comprehend the words; he was in a position that was causing him a lot of pain, with his body tortuously bent backwards.  He was almost literally nailed to the toilet by Joe’s massive meat spike while the straining elastic of the jock brutally yanked his slick, smooth torso back in an arc.

 

But while the words might not have been understood, the action certainly was; the helpless bottom boy could feel pressure mounting in his head as his circulation was shut off above the neck.  Instinctively, he reached back, twisting his arms awkwardly behind his head.  His hands, scrambling in panic, groped frantically at empty air until, by chance, he found Joe’s wrist.

 

The hard-bodied killer grunted with annoyance; the sensation of the bitch’s hands clawing desperately at his straining arms pissed him off.  “Quit fightin’ it, ya sack of shit,” Joe hissed, “You ain’t goin’—“

 

The rattling of the doorknob warned him just in time—they were about to have company again.

 

Deep in his terror, Brad heard it too; it generated a futile spark of hope within his pounding heart.  The embarrassment of being found getting fucked in a public bathroom never registered with the desperate youth; he was willing to risk anything if meant a chance to break free from this powerful, brutal psycho.

 

Joe, of course, knew every thought and emotion running through the meat’s paltry mind—he’d put down enough of these little faggots to know they were pretty much all the same.  He knew the meat was gonna start to squeak and squeal and struggle violently in hope of a rescue.

 

He wasn’t putting up with that shit.  Time to show the worthless pansy cunt exactly who was running the show.

 

It all happened instantly.  The hulking alpha threw himself forward, simultaneously jerking back on the twisted strap around the kid’s throat, his biceps bulging with effort.

 

For Brad, the pain of the tightened ligature was immediately overshadowed by the agony he experienced as his slim form was crushed between the cinderblock wall and Joe’s huge, heaving body.  His face was forced to the left, his head buried between the killer’s massive pecs; suddenly, he could hear no more than the swift frantic beating of his own heart and the slower, more controlled tempo of his killer’s.  As the trapped punk shuddered, Joe’s wiry chest hair scratched at the back of his head.  He could feel it scraping his cheek, the back of his neck, down his back between the shoulder blades.  He could feel the vicious alpha’s ripped abs pressing into the small of his back, sliding on a light coat of sweat…

 

Joe drove himself forward, his powerful thighs and calves straining at the effort, his orange Nikes planted firmly on the concrete floor and giving him enough traction to grind his fucktoy into silent submission; his thick, engorged shaft remaining deeply implanted in Brad’s ravaged asshole. He could feel the bitchboy writhing frantically but silently, the kid’s neon kicks flailing in empty air.

 

The swiftness of the assault was amazing.  Brad was rendered utterly impotent in the blink of an eye; he wallowed helplessly in crushing pain as the restroom door opened and the unknown dude strode across the floor, a few feet away—a thousand miles away.

 

He was useless.  Help was there, right there, all he had to do was make some sound, some sign—but his lean body, strong with youth, was no match for the powerfully muscled mass of his killer.  As Brad’s face swelled and blackened grotesquely, he dimly realized that he was dying to the sound of piss pounding into a urinal.

 

He tried.  He fought to live, but his feeble struggles did little more but inflict more pain on himself—and to enrage Joe, who took note and planned to extract his vengeance once the coast was clear.

 

He didn’t wait long.  A loud flush was followed by the door opening.  Motherfucker didn’t even wash his hands.  Not that it mattered—what mattered was that Joe and Brad were alone again.

 

Joe didn’t ease off the pressure right away.  He continued to grind the homo cunt against the wall with his heaving, sculpted body, bending his head close to whisper in his meat’s ear, “Like I was sayin’ before we were interrupted—you ain’t goin’ nowhere but Hell, you faggot cumdump!”

 

Then he pushed back, standing erect but with his huge stiff dick still impaled in Brad’s quivering ass.  The sadistic alpha yanked back on the jockstrap like he was reining in a runaway horse, forcing the agonized youth to bend backwards.  Brad’s head was tilted so far back his bulging, reddening eyes were gazing sightlessly at the ceiling while his hands clawed frantically at the empty air in front of him, occasionally slapping at the wall.

 

The horny gay kid was close to death.  His air had been cut off long enough for progressive brain death to begin; his vision was already clouded with big black explosions of hypoxia.  He was randomly beating the bare cinderblock wall because he no longer had either the physical or mental coordination to assail his killer.

 

And yet, he was still able to suffer.  His breath had been cut off, not his nervous system; even in mortal fear, some part of his mind registered the agony in his knees and shins, pressed into the hard plastic toilet seat and supporting his weight.   And that was the least of the torture he was currently enduring.

 

Through the whole ordeal, Joe’s thick shaft, wreathed with veins, had continued its merciless probing of his guts.  Even as Brad had been forced against the wall, he had still felt the massive flanged tip of the alpha’s cock plunged deep into inside him and held there, nestled in his guts, wet and throbbing.  He knew he was impaled on a huge rod of oozing purple manmeat; in other circumstances, he’d be hard as hell.

 

And that was the worst of it—he was hard as hell. He was in pain—oh fuck, he was in so much pain—but some of that pain was in his dick  It was erect and straining so strongly that it was causing him severe torment.  Bent over backwards in violent assrape, Brad naturally couldn’t see his how his swollen tool had flushed into an angry red as it slowly darkened to match the purple-black shade of his face.

 

“Goddam, fag, I’m just about done with ya,” his killer sneered in a deep, guttural growl.  “I’m gonna blow my wad inside ya as I choke your useless life out.  Yer gonna be found in a park bathroom, fucked, filled with cum and snuffed.  Ha!  Ya like that, queerboy?  Ya think anyone’s gonna care?  Naw, not for worthless faggot scum like you, cunt.  Die, bitch, die on the toilet like the piece of shit you are!”

 

Some slight sense of the words sank through to Brad, but what little consciousness he had left was busy fending off pain and trying to stay aware as  long as possible.  His head was a ball of nightmarish agony; his nerveless hands were now slapping at his face, now distorted beyond recognition.

 

The handsome young man with the short dark hair and runner’s tan had been replaced with a grotesque caricature.  His smooth cheeks, now bloated and purple, were streaked with white froth that was being forced from his mouth past his dark, distended tongue.  His eyes, once large and clear, had rolled back in his head, showing only the whites—which were visibly turning red with each passing moment as more and more blood vessels ruptured under the pressure of manual strangulation.

 

Joe could feel the meat trembling on the edge of the abyss.  The scumshit homo was starting to shudder bonelessly; from experience, Joe knew that the next step down into the grave would be violent rhythmic convulsion.  And that was exactly what he was waiting for.  Grinning, he twisted the jockstrap one final time and pulled it so tight the tendons stood out on his neck. Almost immediately, he could feel the fag’s neck give.  With a loud cracking sound, he succeeded in crushing the motherfucker’s esophagus.

 

It started slowly, almost gently, the way the fucktoy began backing his ass up onto Joe’s dick.  The hard-bodied sadist didn’t need to thrust anymore; he just needed to hold on and squeeze the meat at the right time.  The cunt’s death throes would milk the sperm right outta him…

 

He was right, of course; as more and more of Brad’s brain shut down, the more his lean, lithe, sweat-slicked body began to jerk and thrash.  Swiftly, he lost control, flopping forward as full-body convulsion wracked his slim form.  Joe quickly leaned forward himself and, placing his hands on the back of Brad’s shoulders, forced them forward to the wall.  The experienced killer used his own weight to pin the flailing slut there as he died.

 

Brad was gone.  There was a slight flicker of light left in some brain cells, cells able to process input from the nervous system.  There was no register of emotion or personality left, only that of physical sensation—and even that was faulty.

 

It equated the hot explosion of spunk internally to the hot explosion of spunk externally; it determined no difference between the boiling jet of seed injected deep into Brad’s intestines by Joe’s pulsing cock as the killer snarled and grunted, and the violent spurt of the unlucky punk’s death load that spattered the cinderblock wall with the corpse’s own DNA.

 

Joe continued to press Brad into the wall; it took him a few minutes to unload completely.  The shuddering body had slipped off the toilet seat and was only held up by Joe’s pressure.  When he was done, the muscled alpha withdrew his shaft from the corpse’s ass and stood up, letting the body tumble to the floor of the bathroom stall like the pile of meat it was.

 

Brad’s body, still quivering and kicking, fell face down.   His one identifying mark, his star tattoo, couldn’t be seen and the jockstrap was so embedded in his neck as to be invisible.  All he had left in the way of clothing was his ped socks and his blue and green Nike Frees, now scraping jaggedly and arrhythmically on the concrete floor.

 

Joe took a moment to tear off some TP and wipe down his still-dripping cock before he bent down and scooped his clothing off the floor.  The muscled killer dressed quickly before he left the stall, letting the door swing shut behind him.  Chuckling at  the sound of children playing in the park outside, he washed his hands in the sink, splashing a little water on his face after.

 

Within two minutes, he was back out on the jogging trail, just another runner taking advantage of the unexpectedly pleasant weather.

 

 

As the afternoon set in, Brad’s body cooled and gradually became still, the lean but firm muscles ceasing to quiver mindlessly as time went by.  As it lay quietly on the concrete floor, the door to the bathroom opened—and then the door to the stall.

 

There was a pause, then the corpse jerked.  It jerked again, more strongly, none of the movements under its own power.  The body was being manipulated.  Another jerk, and the interloper was gone.

 

For the rest of the afternoon, the stiffening corpse was undisturbed; it wasn’t discovered until nearly six in the evening.  The reporting officer noted that except for the ligature, the body was completely and utterly nude.

Meat Chronicles 14–Back Alley Boys

On By m3mayhemIn Meat ChroniclesLeave a comment

He knows I’m following him; he can’t help but know it. It might not have been obvious out on the main drag, but he glanced back once on the side street. Evidently he liked what he saw—he nodded his head and turned down an alley.

Naturally, I’m gonna follow. My dick has been tingling all day. Time to find a bitch and make some meat.

They haven’t found that last kid yet. I’m safe hitting up the bar scene again. As it so happens, I don’t need to; at least, I don’t need to go inside. Sometimes the prey strolls right into the trap.

I’m walking slowly, looking around, appraising the goods on display on the street, when a loud blare of music lets me know an exterior door of one of the dance clubs has opened. Hearing footsteps behind me, I slow to allow him to pass.

We check each other out simultaneously. I’m in a gray jersey wifebeater, showing off my chest and arms. My jeans are tight and worn and are tucked into a pair of charcoal-gray leather ropers. My thick black leather belt has metal studs that catch the light; I can see him looking.

He’s got a stamp from the club, so he’s over twenty-one, but he looks much younger. That’s why I trust the stamp; I bet they carded the shit outta him.

It’s a warm night and he’s taken his shirt off and looped it in his belt. He’s slim and smooth, with just enough musculature to hint at manhood as opposed to boyhood. He’s a peroxide blonde, his hair sculpted with massive amounts of some product. His eyebrows and the slight down of hair on his lower arms showed that his true shade was a darker color. Stupid little shit; it’s probably a beautiful golden color; why fuck it up?

He’s wearing bright red cotton shorts that end mid-thigh and are so tight he probably needed Vaseline and a shoehorn to get them on. They circle his taut firm thighs and cling to his ass—and seem to have been specially-made to include accommodation for his cock; it bulges in front like he’s got a snake in his front pocket.

His calves show the same golden haze that appears on his lower arms. He’s wearing Nike Cortez running shoes—they look like black leather ankle socks, but I can see the white socks inside. I have just a moment to note that his face is clear-featured, his eyes a bright emerald green—and he’s passed, going ahead of me. That’s when I decide to follow.

He’s ducked behind that dumpster, further up the alley. This block isn’t part of the club scene; in fact, these businesses are barely hanging on—there’s a derelict dry cleaners, an unsanitary-looking tortilla factory…

They’re all closed and empty at this hour. So either this kid is waiting to jump me, or he wants me to fuck him back here. And if it’s the former, he’d better have some help, ‘cause I can put him down with no problem.

And I will.

I unzip my fly and let my dong flop out. I step around the dumpster and there he is, assuming the position. He’s dropped his shorts and stepped out of them, standing in front of me, nude except for his shoes, hands up against the cinderblock wall, slightly stooped so that his puckered hole faces me directly.

This is the first time in quite a while that the meat has surprised me. I know by now who truly wants the sexual experience I can provide. There are signs. I knew this cunt was a deathpig the moment I laid eyes on him; he’s been aching to be put down for a long time.

But, even with as much experience as I have with this by now, I still didn’t expect him to want to die behind a dumpster. This bitch wants to go out like a cheap fucking whore in a stinking alleyway.

I don’t bother to undress any further; there’s no need. The punk is posed to receive anonymous sperm, his hole gaping, waiting for my cock. He doesn’t wait long; I mount the slut like a stallion covering a mare, shoving the full length of my engorged rod deep into the twink’s straining ass.

He exhales all at once, in sheer pain, and croaks like a frog trying to inhale as my dick sinks deeper into his rectum. He rises up on his toes, his thighs quivering in strain, his tight black sneakers scuffling at the toes on the filthy pavement.

No one is in this neighborhood at this time of night—as this piece of shit damn well knows—but I still don’t want to take a chance. I clamp one hand tightly over his mouth as I grip his waist with the other. I pace my thrusts to allow the slut some time to loosen up, reaming him deeply but slowly, letting his fuckhole stretch out.

After a while, his colon stops fighting and accepts my tool. The meat calms visibly, responding to my thrusts, his lean, smooth body slick with sweat but no longer shuddering. He starts backing his ass up on my dick in anticipation of my rhythm. It feels good.

For now. But soon it won’t be enough. That’s what this cunt is hoping for—someone for whom a quick back-alley fuck isn’t enough. Someone who’ll go all the way. Someone who’ll use him and dispose of him like the fucking faggot garbage he is.

Guess it’s lucky he found me; otherwise he coulda been looking for a long time. Maybe he needs a hint how lucky he is. I reach into my right front pocket and pull out a yard-long piece of braided nylon cord and drape it over the meat’s neck, letting the loose ends dangle in front of his chest.

“Dude, what’s this sh—“he starts.

“Shut up!” I snarl and start pumping his ass faster. He grunts, but he shuts up. He’s loving this. Worthless cunt, letting every guy he can find spunk inside him. He’s little more than a living condom—and soon he won’t even be that.

He’s moaning—not a steady sound, but the “uh-uh-uh” of repeated blows to the body, underscored by the slapping sound made as my scrotum smashes his like a billiard shot. He’s happier than a pig in shit.

Now it’s my turn. Reaching down in front of the slut, I grab the end of the cord on the right with my left hand and the one on the left with my right. Bringing my arms back and up, I loop the cord around the cunt’s neck and pull tight. As I take up the slack in the cord, I wrap it around my hands to gain traction and keep it taut.

It takes the meat a moment to realize what’s happened. Stupid little fucks never do seem to recognize the beginning of their greatest sexual experience, even when they’ve been striving for it from the moment they became sexually aware.

That’s why I’m here. I have control. I’ll put the punk down the way he wants it, no matter how hard he fights. After all, he doesn’t have my discipline. He can’t be expected to override the biological imperative to stay alive. I’m here to guide him to orgasmic death, to use him and abuse him and leave him in the gutter like the worthless used cumrag he is.

He stands up straight—he’s moving his hips forward, trying to pry himself off my cock. I throw myself forward, slamming him against the rough cinderblocks.

“Uh-uh, cunt, you ain’t gettin’ off the ride yet,” I whisper into his ear, his head pressed painfully against the alley wall. “It’s time to get what you been askin’ for. So I choke you out like you’ve always wanted and in return, when you die, you do it on my cock so I can enjoy every last second of you kicking away your useless life. Sounds like a deal, yeah? Fuckin’ works for me!”

I yank the cord brutally round the whore’s neck, sinking it in below the surface of the skin. The kid’s hands claw desperately at his throat with no effect. He’s starting to fight now. His ass slaps against my crotch as his pelvis bucks in fear.

“Enough, you fucking cocksucker!” I snarl and slam him forward into the wall, hard. He’s stunned and goes limp momentarily. He’s help upright by the cord around his neck and my dick forcing him to the wall.

Once the effects of the blow to the head wear off, the boy starts thrashing again. I’m pressing him too firmly against the rough, graffiti-scarred cinderblock for him to be able to do any more than pump his ass along my thick shaft. His hands claw and scrabble at the wall; he’s not able to reach me behind him.

“Oh fuck yeah, cunt, fight it,” I moan into his ear. “Keep kicking, bitch. It’s so tofucking hot, feelin’ ya die on my cock. The harder you fight to stay alive, the more your ass massages my dick. Oh yeah, you love it, you fucking pig—here, lemme grind your hard cock into the wall, you worthless fucking whore.”

I’m ramming my rod into his fluttering hole, slamming him brutally into the wall. I’m jerking the cord taut around his neck; as I strain, it puckers his skin and sinks in deeply. His thrashing becomes more frantic, more mindless. His tight black shoes drum heavily on the pavement as his hands beat desperately at the wall in an instinctive attempt to escape.

“Whoa, there, cunt. Just enjoy it. Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna let ya go. This is why ya wanted me, after all—you knew I’d take control of you and keep control of you all the way to the end. You got your wish, bitch. So kick and scratch as hard as much as ya want, you’re still dying on my dick. They’re gonna find your stiff cum-filled corpse behind this filthy dumpster, you worthless whore, right where you belong.”

He turns his head to the side and I can see that beautiful face distorted and swollen, his bulging eyes glaring frantically straight into nothing at all. As his hands slap lightly against the wall and slowly slide down, only to be heaved back up convulsively with another slap, a low bubbling sound emerges from his mouth, where foam oozes out past his thick black tongue. His hair is still in place but the rest of his body is covered in a slick sheen of warm sweat.

His brain is shutting down from lack of oxygen. His metabolism is crashing; that’s why he’s sweating. This is my last moment to put him in his place; at any moment, a critical part of his cerebrum may fail and he’ll be past understanding my words.

“Give it up, you fucking faggot whore,” I snarl in his ear. “Milk my fuckin’ load outta my aching shaft, cunt. You’re gonna cum and die just like ya wanted, you punk-ass bitch, now gimme what I want and work my fuckin’ cock!”

He’s been without oxygen for so long that I’m surprised—again—that he obeys. A tiny spark of life in his fuckpig soul shoots his hips backwards one last time. His legs lock up rigidly, cramps caused by his dying nervous system rippling in waves under his smooth skin—and deep into his intestines. His entire body convulses in what almost feels like a slow-motion wave, generating a suction effect in his rectum.

I try to hold off as long as I can. My arms shudder and tighten with the tension and there’s a faint cracking sound as the boy’s larynx is crushed by the cord. Just before I give a loud, growling grunt of orgasm, I hear a splattering sound as the whore’s worthless spunk splashes the wall in front of him. I shoot violently, a continual stream of semen injected into the kid’s guts at high pressure.

Gasping in relief, I unwrap the cord from the meat’s neck and shove it back in my pocket. His shirt is lying next to me on the ground—I use it as a cumrag and shove it in my pocket, zipping my dripping hog back into my tight jeans. No sense in leaving too much evidence around. Not like there isn’t plenty already, but the cops really won’t care. Just another faggot whore wasted in an alleyway by a trick. They don’t really investigate these things.

So I go, leaving the kid exactly as he’d wanted. Huddled face-down, cum-filled ass in the air, shorts around one ankle with his leather sneakers splayed. Used and discarded in a garbage-strewn alley.

Little cunt was damn sure lucky I found him