Anything Warm and Wet Will Do

Damien walked down the road, coated head to toe in blood, and came upon a river. He stepped into the cool water and washed himself of the only remaining evidence. Suddenly he heard a shout.
“Hey man, what are you doing?” Damien replied.
“‘Tis is our property, you gets off!” replied the largest vagrant.
“This is your car? It run?” Damien asked.
“Sure does, but no rides, get the hell out of here!” replied the same large vagrant.
“Well, why don’t you take me to where your property ends,” Damien said, pointing to the same large vagrant.
The man was obviously upset by this, and he grudgingly hopped to his feet, grabbing his beer and leading the way.
Damien followed the drunken vagrant for almost a mile, approaching a broad forest. There the vagrant stopped and took a drink from his beer.
“Forest is the edge, rest be ours, stay off!” he said before taking another drink.
Suddenly Damien lurched forward, slapping the bottom of the beer bottle with immense force. The neck of the bottle was pushed through the back of the vagrant’s throat, up against his spine; Damien smiled.
Without a word he took out his knife and, with his boots, he stomped on the vagrant’s head shattering his orbital bones. The vagrant cried out in agony, but no one would hear him. Damien then dug the knife behind his eyeballs, cutting them free. He stuck them into his pocket for safekeeping.
The vagrant was now gurgling; seconds from choking on his own blood. Damien rolled him onto his stomach, the bottom of the beer bottle flat on the ground, holding the vagrant’s head up just a bit as the neck pressed against his spine. The vagrant began to cough up blood, again able to manage harsh breathing.
With a laugh Damien’s right foot came crashing down on the back of the vagrant’s skull. He watched as the bottleneck shot through the man’s spine and skull, just below his foot. Blood soaked the ground around the corpse and Damien walked away slowly.
Changing his mind, he re-approached the dead man. He knelt and grabbed the bottleneck, jerking on it until it popped out the back of the vagrant’s neck. He pursed his lips, brought the blood and alcohol-filled bottle to them, and drank it down. He spit out a bone chip, then smashed the bottle over the vagrant’s head. Pieces of glass littered the ground, as blood slowly oozed from the fresh head wound.
Damien then pulled his pants down to his ankles and took out his dick. It was covered in dried blood and cum from the earlier killings, but it wouldn’t matter.
Damien straddled the vagrant and lifted his limp head from the ground. He stuck his dick in the hole left by the beer bottle and began fucking the giant hole in the vagrant’s head. Blood was spurting from the back of the vagrant’s head with every thrust inward, and Damien was about to shoot semen right through the back of the vagrant’s head when he pulled out and started fucking the vagrant’s right eye socket. His dick was slamming against the corpse’s brain, it was soft and squishy, and it was more than Damien could take. He soon coated the brain with his seed.
Damien began gathering the shards of glass from the broken bottle in his hands. Meticulously he stuck the glass shards into the vagrant’s back, forming the word “CUNT” in large, bloody letters. Slowly, then, he walked back to the other vagrants.
As he approached he noted their current state being far beyond intoxication. Yet, they took only a moment to notice it was Damien who had walked up and not their friend.
“Hey, where’d Frank go?” one muttered in a slurred attempt at English.
He was shocked when Damien reached into his pocket with that familiar grin, pulling Frank’s eyes out and tossing them onto his lap. The vagrant jumped in surprise.
Damien bent down and grabbed the huge pipe at his feet and swung wildly. The pipe repeatedly made flush contact with the heads of both vagrants, blood flying everywhere.
The five-foot pipe with a two-inch diameter was soaked in blood when Damien got a lovely idea. He tore off the pants of both vagrants and prepared them.
He stuck one end of the pole in each of their asses, bending them both over and began to shove them together. Soon the cheeks of their bare asses were touching; over two feet of pipe buried in each of their asses. Blood flowed freely from each of their rectums, as punctured organs cried out.
When the vagrants regained consciousness they assessed their situations. Two feet of iron in their asses, mouths duct-taped, and Damien was all too eager to show them they had been castrated. It was their time.
He took both of their dicks in front of them and grinned. He removed the duct tape from their mouths and forced the cock of the other vagrant deep into their throats.
The vagrants had learned to sit still and minimize the pain/injury of the iron pole, but as they choked on each other’s manhood they squirmed. Their bodies jerking, their rectums were torn and stretched immensely, bleeding increased. In almost synchronization, the men collapsed without warning, and Damien laughed.
He dragged their carcasses so that their heads were just in front of their tires. Damien hopped into their car and found the keys on the dashboard. He popped them in the ignition and fired up the old car. Repeatedly he ran over their bodies, again and again, like speed bumps.
Calmly, Damien stepped from the car and slowly approached the bodies. He checked them both for I.D., which they didn’t have, and made sure they were mangled beyond recognition. He spotted a tooth in one of their mouths and punched it free, not taking any chances.
He hopped back into his car, his mission was clear, but first he’d need some gas.

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