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The thump of Korn carried through the air, bass notes vibrating through Wilhelm's bones like they belonged there. Jonathan Davis's voice – that tortured, perfect howl – echoed from the distant venue as the rain in Rustmoore dulled to a gentle sprinkle against the truck's metal shell. Wilhelm watched water droplets collect and slide down the window, each one catching the purple-blue glow of distant venue lights. The precipitation created a wall of sound – pattering on metal, rustling through leaves – nature's percussion backing the industrial throb of "Make Me Bad" that leaked through the night. His truck bed transformation wasn't much: two scratchy army surplus blankets thrown down, a pillow with a questionable stain swiped from his bedroom, empty Monster cans kicked to the corners. The setup wasn't meant for actual comfort, just the idea of it – enough to keep his date from running when he suggested they ditch the packed crowd after only four songs. Wilhelm's fingers trembled slightly as he'd slid the key into the ignition earlier, driving them to this secluded spot where trees pressed in close, a perfect pocket of isolation where screams would blend with music. "You like this song?" he'd asked, voice cracking upward before he forced it back down, eyes darting to their hands instead of their face. "It's like, about wanting someone so bad it hurts."

"Gonna show you something... something special," Wilhelm whispered, his voice dropping into the affected British accent he used when the feeling came over him, the director in his head taking control of the camera. The vehicle creaked beneath their combined weight as he crawled into the truck bed, muscles coiling as he positioned himself on his knees. His long fingers gripped the bottom of his sweat-soaked tank top, yanking it upward and off in one fluid motion, revealing pale olive skin stretched over a lean frame marked with scattered defensive scars. The white fabric sailed into darkness as he discarded it, eyes never leaving their face. "Your turn," he muttered, reaching forward to tug at their clothing with impatient hands. "Gotta—gotta see all of you. Every. Fucking. Inch." His lips formed each word with religious devotion as he sang along: "I feel the reason as it's leaving me, no, not again," the lyrics flowing from him as naturally as breath, as if the song had been written just for this moment. Wilhelm's pupils dilated in the dim light, consuming the blue of his irises as he maneuvered between their legs, spreading them wider with calloused palms.

The initial moments resembled something almost normal—attentive in a way that might be mistaken for consideration if one didn't look too closely at his eyes. Wilhelm's mouth worked with technical precision, drawing responses that fed something dangerous inside him. His large hands gripped their thighs, fingers digging in harder than necessary, leaving pressure marks. "You taste like..." he mumbled against skin, unable to complete the thought as his mind flashed with images from a Japanese horror film he'd watched eleven times last week. The aroma of their arousal mixed with the earthy smell of rain-soaked earth and the lingering chemical sweetness of the cherry ICEE he'd gulped down earlier. Wilhelm lifted their legs higher, exposing more vulnerable flesh as he worked his way downward with single-minded focus. He pressed his nose deep into the crease where thigh met groin, inhaling so hard his nostrils flared, eyes falling shut as if in prayer. The oxygen filled his lungs with their essence, something primal clicking into place in his fractured mind.

"Could just—could just eat you alive," Wilhelm exhaled shakily, words tumbling out in a disjointed growl. His eyes snapped open, revealing a feral emptiness that hadn't been there moments before. The blue of his irises had been reduced to thin rings around expanded pupils, black holes that swallowed light. "It's quite deceiving as I'm feeling the flesh make me bad," he sang-whispered against their skin before his jaw unhinged with practiced precision. Without warning, Wilhelm sank his teeth into the tender flesh of their inner thigh, not just breaking skin but locking his jaw like a pit bull. His molars ground against muscle as he twisted his head side to side, working his incisors through sinew and fat. With a savage wrench, he tore away a substantial chunk of flesh, strings of tissue stretching before snapping as he pulled back with prize in mouth. Warm copper flooded over his tongue as blood gushed from the ragged wound, a perfect crater of missing flesh revealing deeper layers of fascia. Wilhelm chewed twice, maintaining unwavering eye contact, before swallowing the raw meat down his throat. Blood cascaded down his chin in rivulets, soaking his bare chest in crimson streams that mixed with rainwater. "Perfect—perfect reaction," he mumbled, mentally framing the shot as he admired the exposed muscle fibers twitching in the open air. His erection strained painfully against his JNCO jeans, responding to the metallic taste and the sound of Korn reaching its crescendo in the distance. Without pause, Wilhelm lurched forward, his bloody mouth opening wide as he targeted fresh territory just inches from the first wound. He attacked with increased fervor, teeth sinking into flesh with a guttural moan of pleasure, tearing through skin and fat with practiced efficiency. This time he didn't bother to fully detach the flesh, instead worrying it like a dog with a bone, shaking his head violently as warm arterial spray painted his face and chest in pulsing crimson jets. The metallic taste only fueled his frenzy as his hips involuntarily bucked against the truck bed, seeking friction against his throbbing erection.
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Created
Sep 6, 2026
Updated
Sep 6, 2026
Version
v1
Origin
Imported

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