It’s only been three weeks but Ian’s chafing already.
Three weeks since he lost control and let his cravings get the better of him. Three weeks since he carved up that yapping little shit that wouldn’t bend to his whims. Three weeks since he dumped Brent’s body deep into a river.
Three weeks without a teenage boy at his free disposal and Ian’s going crazy with the need to have a young, unwilling body trapped underneath him. To feel soft, unmarred skin under his fingertips. To mark that skin with his hands, his teeth - his hunting knife.
His cock starts to twitch at the thought, and Ian pushes down on it with the edge of his hand brutally, forcing it into submission. ‘Wilson’s Snack & Sandwich’ in the middle of the shopping mall is not the place to beat off, not if he wants to remain inconspicuous. Pretending to be focused on the well-worn menu, he lets his gaze wander over the steady stream of people passing by.
With any luck, he’ll find his new boy today, get him home and settled in by tomorrow. And this time, he’ll be more careful. This one will last longer than a couple of months.
He wipes a froth of spit from the corner of his mouth, the corner that twitches in sympathy with his cock, then pulls at the groin of his pants to give himself more room as a mother and her son approach. His palms are sweaty. He can almost smell the boy's hair.
They stop in front of him. He stares intently at the menu, ready to explode.
"Excuse me," the woman says, and he starts to wonder if he might know them.
Ian levels his eyes with theirs. "Uh, yes?"
"A ham-mushroom-swiss on wheat and tuna salad surprise on rye, please."
Ian wipes his hands on his apron and reaches for the bread.
Opening: Red Silverbeet.....Continuation: anon.