Sunday, November 6, 2011

Majorca Flats -- 240


Now.
It was time.
He took off his shoes, then his other clothes, then put his shoes back on. There was always a risk that he'd get blood on his shoes, though he hadn't yet, but there was no way he was going to walk around barefoot in the dark. He opened the door on the van and unlocked the lift-up lid of the bench. The twink lay quite still, obviously still drugged.
Good.
He lifted him out. His burden stirred but then subsided again. Even better. Not too drugged to be unaware of what was happening to him. There were three hours till dawn. Time. His cock swelled in anticipation. He leaned the twink against the side of the van, his tied wrists behind him.
Fuck! He'd forgotten the knife. How could he have been so careless! Leaving the drugged man where he was, he climbed into the van, and opened the kitchen drawer. The knife gleamed at him, its shine pure and perfect. God's instrument! Didn't Abraham ready the knife for the sacrifice of his son? The Lord's work was never done. Two thousand years ago He needed to do His work, and there was need still today. Modernity hadn't changed the hearts of men. Evil was ever present.





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