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Zeke was not one for sucking cock. Didn’t like it no how. So it was queer when I arrived back at our ritzy apartment to find him with a cock wedged between his lips. What was even queerer – it was his own.

The place had been ransacked, so that it was a while before I noticed not only had some sadist hacked off Zeke’s cock and balls, they’d slit his ass open and yanked out his innards so his lower body looked a lot like mulligatawny soup.

It was obvious somebody meant business and seeing as Zeke was up to his balls in the drug trade that could be anyone. It also meant that as Zeke’s boyfriend, make that former boyfriend, the ‘anyone’ would be looking to track me down. I got the fuck out of there, just staying long enough to stuff a few essential items in a bag along with my passport. The bastards had found the few thousand bucks I had stashed for a rainy day.

I was never comfortable with Zeke’s profession, if you could call it that, but I was happy to live in the lap of luxury on the proceeds. I just didn’t want to know what was going on, so he didn’t tell me. That’s why I had no idea who he’d pissed off that much. Whoever it was, they didn’t waste time with warnings. Or none that I knew about at any rate.

 Just last night Zeke and me had fucked as normal, he didn’t give the impression he was about to try sperm sucking his own dick to death the next day. Maybe ‘normal’ is not the right word. Zeke and I were attracted to each other because we liked to spice things up a bit. He liked to piss down my throat and I liked to drink it. He liked to use his fist on me. Nah, not my face. He liked to shove his fist up my ass and I could think of no better place for him to stick it. Apart from that we were no different to any other average bar-hopping queer couple.

Oh, that and I work as a hustler. I don’t do blackmail like most of the scum in the business. I only take on the high end of the market. Or someone as a favor to Zeke. Yeah, he knew what I did. He also knew it’s just a job and that it had no bearing on our relationship. I let Zeke take care of that side of the business for me, that way he felt secure knowing who I’m with and also who to tap if something happened to me.

Even though there was a ready supply at home I tended to leave drugs alone. Especially the heavy shit. Don’t mind the occasional recreational pill, powder or popper to help get that fist in those difficult out of the way places or if Zeke had a mate or two over to help out with my needs. We weren’t the jealous type.

 Last night he seemed no different to any other. Fed me a new pill that he said would make me euphoric and insatiable – like I need a pill for that – and he washed it down my throat with a squirt of his beer piss. Later I told him to save his money the fuckin’ tablet was a dud. No effect whatsoever, except it sat in my stomach like a bad case of indigestion. So I popped an antacid to smother the bloating and things got back to normal.

I went to sleep covered in Zeke’s spunk and piss, as well as my own, with my ass gaping, totally fucked. When I left to catch up on some chores the next morning everything at home was hunky dory. Zeke must have known his attacker or plural form of the bastards because the door hadn’t been forced. I spared a few precious seconds to look round the apartment I’d called home for the past five years to see if anything caught my attention. Zilch. I took one last look at Zeke to say a silent farewell. I couldn’t spare the time to grieve now and he wasn’t exactly in the sort of shape I wanted to remember him in.

“Thanks mate,” I said softly. “It was fun while it lasted.” Then I bolted for the lift, slamming the door closed after me.

Run! Faggot! Run!


eBook Cover Price: 2.99

Length: 70 pdf Pages / 12019  words

Action/Adventure, Gay Erotica, Pulp fiction

Heat rating: 5

Exclusive to Amazon Kindle