Blacklist

Author's Disclaimer: The author has created fictitious persons in an effort to tell a story and as such does not reflect any actual person real or fake, living or dead. As always feel free to submit fan mail and constructive criticism to the provided e-mail address. You can now follow me on Twitter: @TheScribeXXX.

Alert: Incest is mentioned in this story. Please be aware that M/M incest is used for the purposes of creating a fantasy story.

"Eye'm El Matador ahnd whit meye po'rerfull pinnis of pleh-zures, eye will jehs, and jehs, and jehs all ohver yur hawt mahnly fayce," the masked wrestler on the TV snarled at the TV camera. He pressed the palm of his hand against his man jammer, forcing down slightly before allowing it to snap back up into place. Beads of cock-snot were sent flying up towards the lense of the camera, plastering goo onto the device's glass eye.

"Annnnnndddd we're clear," the producer announced. "Great job El... you really sold the passion that the viewers are starting to crave! Now remember, if another man wants to fuck you, your consent is not necessary. In fact, the more you protest, the more they'll want you; 'kay?" El Matador nodded despite the fact that he was still grappling with The New World Order. He barely could keep his sexual urges in check, but the notion that men found him sexually arousing blew his Latin mind. He had always been self-conscious about his body, and detested the day he had to surrender nearly every thread of clothing that he owned. The only things he was afforded to keep were his luchador masks. It was with the understanding that they fell under the ruling of being considered accessories like hats. The Blacklister had heard the horror stories of those that tried to rebel and swore he'd never become one of them. Still, being a paid pro-wrestler with a body that looked like it had been carved from stone did come witha few perks, no matter how scant they were. Standing at five feet and seven inches of pure Mexican muscle meant that he bulged in ALL of the right places. A black and red wrestling mask gilded in silver piping covered most of his head at all times adding mystique on top of his chiseled jawline. The peaks and valleys of his beefy diamond cut chest, drew the eye immediately away from his perfectly proportioned neck. Two miniscule nipples the size of buttons on a dress shirt graced his thick, meaty pecs. El Matador's arms looked as though he was trying to smuggle two oversized Christmas hams out of a grocery store and dramatically failing to do so. His chest gave way to a taut v-line that only highlighted a hefty, pudgy footlong chorizo that had a deeply burned wood tone with a bright pink bubblegum elongated helmet shape. In fact, it was so fat that his piece was frequently mistaken for some canned goods when he went to grocery stores. The rent-a-cop would stop him with the genuine mistaken notion that he was shoplifting and that, of course, led to some very awkward conversations regardless of whether it was firm or soft. Back when he wore posers in the wrestling circuit, coworkers would complain about his heft despite wearing a dancers belt or shape-restricting device. At times it was truly humiliating for him given his body image issues that he struggled with for years. What was worse was the ass that most people would feel miraculously blessed with made him feel that he had been cursed to burden. Each cheek looked round, plump, and would drive men to madness. His rapists had difficulty in deciding if they wanted to shove their fuck poles deep in between them or chomp down on their round, shiny, almost apple-like shape. Some would bite his juicy cheeks a few times before they would rip them apart with their hate sticks. This was by far worse than if they just used it as a cum dump without the oral attacks. Some would even pump rounds of daddy batter right on top of them, licking their own frosting off his cinnamon buns before injecting more cream into his delicious morsels.

"El Matador! El Matador," it was the cries from one of his fans that helped him focus on his surroundings once more. The rock hard wrestler strolled over to the blacklisted youth whose meat bounced playfully up and down against his flesh as the kid was mixed in with a sea of Non-Blacklisters. Little bits of teenage cream spurt their way out and drizzled the beefcake's gallantly ripped chest. The eighteen year old sheepishly bowed his head as he soon realized his guffaw. "I'm - I'm sorry! I just got so excited to meet you that I lost control over myself."

The naked twenty-five year old took the teenage stew and begrudgingly dipped his index finger in it before running it over his lips and drinking the rest. Despite all appearances to the contrary, he deeply hated how sexual he had to be in the eyes of the public. "Ehstah bueno li'l sin-yore," he replied, doing his best to hold back his vomit before it exploded from his mouth. "Dee-may, what ehs your name?"

"My name is Juan, and I'm your biggest fan! I hope to be as popular and as attractive as you someday!"

"Grrrraw-sea-uhs Juanito," El Matador forced a smile. "Yew are well on yore whey to doing juhst daht! Now, eff yew well e'cuse meh, eye need too goh eee jehrk off." His dick howled as he turned and began to walk away. It had been several hours and numerous reshoots since he had emptied his elephantine, overstuffed testes and they were ripe with date slime. He had wanted to empty them at one point during shooting but the director told him to use it as motivation to get the shot perfect. Instead, a fluffer was called in and had teased him until he was literally clogged with daddy's love. It was all he could do to keep from howling like a wolf in mating season. The fluffer would stroke, suck, and pet his woody woodpecker until it was violently uncomfortable and forced him to double over in brutal agony. Still, being the professional that he was, he muddled his way through take after grueling take until the director was completely satisfied. It was a wonder that he wasn't leaking a river of man-snot down his girth and onto the studio floor. Normally he would have but as luck would have it, it just wouldn't come out. Maybe it was too clogged up or maybe it was something else altogether. He didn't get too far before he heard the blood curdling screams of wretched terror and suffering from an eighteen year old being gang-raped by a group of sex-crazed Non-Blacklisters. He shuddered as the kid called out for his help only to find that the naked muscle mountain didn't turn back. He couldn't... El Matador was too scared of being a victim himself like all of the others were. Many Blacklisters were afraid of being taken by their brutal, sadistic oppressors and used repeatedly to satiate their own cum-lust. It always ended the same; El Matador had read the subreddit posts about how a good samaritan would try to fight back only to have their own bodies violated alongside the victim that they were wanting to save. The story would go that the Blacklister would start with a "Hey you - stop it," or a "leave him alone" which then lead to a shove or a punch or two before the rapist would grab the freed Blacklister, pin him to the ground, and ram his choke-stick deep into this new victim's virgin-tight rectum. The new victim would then bleed out as he was violently assaulted while he begged for mercy himself. The rapist would laugh at this fresh meat and would taunt him, saying things like "if only you had stayed out of this, you wouldn't be here now!" By the end, both victims had their dignity cored out of them and were left with streaming tears while their rapist's loads would ooze out their backsides. And stories like those were usually the nicest version that he could find. True, none of them ended in death or dismemberment, but some would argue that the hell they endured was far worse by comparison. Some might say that the psychological toll of being made to be other men's playthings was the true evil of this nightmarish hellscape that every Blacklister was saddled with.

El Matador sighed with relief as he closed the door to his dressing room. He had managed to evade the throngs of barbaric Non-Blacklisters with such skill and ease that it was uncanny. Maybe he was lucky or maybe he was getting good at avoiding being raped. Either way, he was safe... for now! He made his way over to the lighted vanity that they provided all of the performers and picked up the smartphone that was laying face down. He pressed a button and the screen flickered on revealing the missed messages from his stalker. "Saw you on TV again tonight my future husband. Really loved the special send-off that you gave me at the end," the text read. "Can't wait to pop that cherry that you've been saving just for me! Kisses, Ken!" An attachment of Ken's erection soon filled the screen as El Matador had accidentally tapped the notification unlocking the message in full. The beefcake gagged as spit choked up and out onto the ground while his cock fought back against its master's disgust. El Matador felt the full force of his tribulation as his love warrior stood at full attention, saluting his stalker's affections and leaking out its sticky respect. He grabbed onto the love totem and soon took to beating it down in an effort to rid himself of this loathsome burden. Over and over and over the fapping sounds of flesh filled the mostly empty dressing room as he fought back for the right to be flaccid once again. "Uggghhhhh," he moaned, "poor-kay can't tou juhst be nore-mal? Huh? Moo-hare-ays are better dhan duh mens!" The harder he beat his meat, the more it wanted to be beaten and the more it tingled and hummed with pleasure. The clock ticked away as he self-fornicated in his private chamber, pre-love weeping like a grateful lover happy at a soldier's return. "Oh, OH, OHHHHHHH JEAHHHHHHH," a thick, ungodly amount of reproductive fluid burst forth from the tip of his pink headed love monster, coating his mirror with a rich, decadent syrup of affection the likes of which were almost unreal. The naked bodybuilder rocked back and forth as he incoherently wailed with delight as the seconds congealed into a full minute and a half. Blast upon blast streamed outward smashing onto his reflection, decorating most of it with the coating. Finally he had emptied himself for the time being and collapsed backwards into the chair that was inches away from the edge of the vanity mirror. He huffed and panted, catching his breath before realizing what had happened. He looked up at the mirror, mortified by what he saw. There, in front of him, he was confronted with the reality of his existence. In that moment he discovered that he was nothing more than prey: sexually consumed, erotically motivated, testosterone laden prey. El Matador bent over the jizz stained wooden surface and blubbered, lamenting the fact that he could no longer ignore the truth of what he was. He prayed to the Lord God above to alleviate him of this encumbrance and free his soul so that he might know peace. Sadly, as so often the case, his divinity remained mute and left him to weep to himself in silence. It was a rapping at his dressing room door that caused him to get up and cross back over the twenty paces or so to answer the new arrival. "Kee-in ehs? Whoh ehs eht?"

"It's Dave man; open up," Dave was not only his manager, but his pimp, rapist, and controller. El Matador swallowed down his tears as anxiety raced up through his body while terror struck him dumbfounded. Where was he to go? There was nowhere to hide and if Dave was in one of his moods then his situation was about to careen gracelessly from bad to worse.

"Eye - uhhhhhhhh - eye doughn't feel berry goo'. Cood I beh soh-la-men-tay pour ay-wheye-ull?"

"Come on 'ombre, open up. You know it'll be worse if you don't." Dave was right; the manager's wrath was legendary in the community and the idea that he wasn't going to get his way would more often than not send the man into orbit. El Matador looked at the door handle, then at his hand, and back at his vanity mirror. What would he tell his manager once the man he saw the mess he had made? Would Dave slap him? Rape him? Make him suck his pale and purple prick? He had no idea what to say or do and only seconds before Dave went off. The Blacklister reached out again, turned the handle, and backed away quickly as the manager shoved his way into the room. A wicked grin soon surfaced on the manager's face as El Matador hung his head in shame. "Matty, Matty, Matty," one of the many nicknames that El Matador had come to loathe since he was forced to sign with Dave. "What have I told you time and time again? If you're going to cum, do it with a fan! Or, at the very least, in front of them! We can't have you jizzing without witnesses! Otherwise, we can't stay relevant in the eyes of the public. Can you imagine what will be said if they NEVER see you shoot your load on camera? Let alone, all the rumors and hearsay that could spring up about you being against the Blacklist Laws! The public might freak - HELL - the government might, I don't know, fine us or something! Who the fuck knows what could happen!"

"Eye noh; in-tee-in-dough," El Matador sheepishly replied as he continued to hang his head in shame. He tried to cover himself with his hands as if hiding his Latin sausage would somehow hide the shame and fear he felt as being seen more of a sex object and less of a person.

"And now you're trying to cover yourself - great! Just great! Keep that up and we might both end up in jail, or worse!" It was a lie that Dave used all too often. A lie that he relied on to control his beefy pro-wrestler and it never failed. He knew the government didn't care that the manager had no interest in jailing him due to the Blacklister's gross incompetence of the law. "Come on pal," with one seamless motion Dave had slipped into a sitting position on top of the vanity chair and had pressed his knees together. "You know what has to happen next, right?" El Matador nodded as he ruefully laid across the white pantsuit of his lithe, pale skinned manager with greasy slicked-back black hair. Dave raised a hand almost dramatically, comically high as if for showboatmanship or for the benefit of some unseen entity in the room. El Matador gritted his teeth a split second before the manager's hand slapped his plump, jizz-inducing bare butt. He cried out as another and another and another slap made contact with his soon-to-be tenderized buns. Each smack was worse than the last and only served to underscore and build on the previous one that had occurred. "Why do you make me do these things, buddy? Hmmm? Do you like wasting my time like this? Or is this some sort of kink that you have? Maybe you like being spanked by a fifty year old across the knee. Is that? Huh? Is that it?" The Blacklister shook his head as he couldn't say a word but instead was forced to cry out again and again. "Daddy Dave can't hear you!"

"Eye sawrree Paw-pee," the Mexican mustered up his most sorrowful and apologetic voice he could make in between smacks to his heinie.

"No you're not! If you were, you wouldn't have done it the first dozen times. Now you're just cruisin' for a bruisin', pal." It was true: every time he exploded alone the blacklisted masked wrestler had always vowed to never do it again, only to have himself orgasming days or hours later. Each time he had been caught afterwards and each time Dave punished him in some way. Sometimes he was sodomized, other times he was forced to suck dick on camera, and others he was kicked repeatedly. These last three times or so he was spanked like a little boy who had brought home a slimy frog and had allowed it to roam free across his father's new carpet. El Matador didn't know why he would always jerk off alone and unseen, but he continued to do it without true remorse. Maybe this was some means of regaining control in his life. Maybe it was a way to fight back against the tyranny and oppression and disgust and humiliation that he felt on a daily, repeated, basis. He wanted something, anything, that he could call his own and his orgasms were just the ticket. Still, the punishments were getting worse and worse for him. Being spanked like a child was just beyond the pale of humiliation. "Now slap we're smack gonna have to whap replace crack the smack mirror! It'll whack cost me crack a fortune whap!" El Matador bawled his eyes out once more as pain and humiliation ran through his body like a freight train taring apart his identity and self integrity. He hated Dave at that moment in that empty room, but there was nothing he could do. An Archon had appointed Dave to be his new manager and there was no going against the Blacklisters' Council no matter what the victim wanted or if it could be proven that it wasn't an official edict. Some tried to expose the corruption and cruelty of the Archons in the past and failed in doing so. Like those that had worn a scrap of a t-shirt or the hint of a dental-string bikini, they too were never seen nor heard from again. "There," Dave finally relented as El Matador's buns felt like they had been slowly roasted over an open flame. "Don't you feel better? I know I sure do," he grinned as he knew this was as far from the truth for his charge. El Matador rubbed his tender, sizzling butt cheeks as he stood back up.

"See Paw-pee," he whinced in pain, "juu whirr rrrr-eyet! Eye prrromice tuu never jehrks off a'hin!"

"There, good boy! Now come on; the station manager wants to meet you and thank you for promoting the up-coming match on his little, piddly station and what not. God, I hate local no-bodies so much! But, we gotta do what we gotta do I suppose, right?"

EL Matador nodded again, "see," and followed his handler out the door. Down the hall they both strolled as El Matador's softened meat clapped loudly against his caramel flesh, tenderizing the skin upon which they smashed. A station worker walked by and whistled as the stud filled up most of the space in the narrow tunnel to the office at the end.

"Oucha-muh-goucha," the worker pressed himself against the wall in an over exaggerated attempt to illustrate how big his target was. "Aren't you just the sexiest thing that graced this Earth?"

El Matador smiled as best as he could, hoping the man wouldn't see his puffy eyes or his burning red back cheeks. "Graw-cee-us," he replied as he turned back to look at the middle aged office drone.

"And boy howdy, you look just as good going as you did coming! Come by editing a little later and we can fool around on my lunch break. I'd love a heapin' helping of chorizo like you to snack on!" El Matador pretended to blush as he felt his limp bizkit stir ever-so subtly at the catcall compliment. He turned his attention back towards the direction he was headed and found his manager holding the wooden door open for the massive stud muffin. El Matador made his way through the brightly lit door frame and into the shadowy office. A single light was on at the other end of the room, a mere fifty paces from the doorway piercing the veil of mystery and highlighting a heavy-set balding gray haired man as he typed away on a computer that looked almost as old as the wrestler was.

"Come in," the man peered around the monitor and looked over at the naked stallion. "Come in; pull up a chair, and let's get to know each other, my boy." El Matador's eyes adjusted with each second, straining and finally focusing on what else was in the office. A large bucket sat next to the desk with steam and suds rolling off the top. On the ledge closest to it was a tan washing sponge as big as El Matador's hands. The Blacklister cautiously sat in the chair, remembering what had happend the last time he had been thrown in this predicament. His rectal sphincter contracted and expanded as it too remembered how the last man like this had a field day with it. El Matador wished he could raze that from his mind, but sadly there was only so much tequila and vodka the human body could take before it would shut down completely. He swears that he can still feel the metal scraping - NO, THAT WON'T HAPPEN AGAIN! "What's amatter my boy," the station manager had managed to slip around to the front of the desk without the Mexican beefcake noticing that he had moved. Or maybe it had happened when he was lost in his memory. Either way, the man had placed a hand on his taut muscular thigh and if El Matador tried to push it away, Dave might punish him again. "You seem awfully tense for someone having a friendly chat with a potential fan. And you wouldn't want to alienate a fan now, would you?"

"Answer him," Dave growled as he slapped his left hand against his right. El Matador wondered if he might upgrade to a belt or switch if he didn't comply.

El Matador shook his head, "noh - ehs-toy be-in; eye em feyene."

The station manager reached over, grabbed the sponge, and dipped it in the bucket before running it along the spot his hand had previously occupied. "Good, good, just so long as we are all friends here. We are all friends here, right Mr. Anderson?"

"Of course, sir, of course! El Matador just loves making new friends, doncha `ombre?"

"See," the Mexican nervously nodded his head.

"Well alright then - excellent... ex-sell-inttt! Now that thing at the end; the thing were you got some goop on my camera -"

"Don't worry sir! We'll pay to have it replaced," Dave interrupted.

"Nonsense, my good man, nonsense! We'll more than make up for it in sales."

"Sales, sir?"

"Yes, we plan on selling it as a piece of memorabilia from the upcoming fight. In fact, my top advisor and my P.R. slash marketing guy have both agreed to auction it off. Well, raffle it off, anyway."

"You know our organization gets twenty percent of the profits from such a transaction, not to mention our commission."

"Actually you don't; not if you want to keep me happy and stop me from pressing property damage charges against you and your higher ups." The station manager continued dipping and softly scrubbing El Matador's exposed body as the beefy nudist sat by, silent in the conversation; a party to it, but not a participant. The station manager had begun circling the Mexcian's crotch.

"The higher ups who saw the transmission or will see it once it goes on air?"

"No, the higher ups who saw it live and called me immediately to apologize for your client's unbecoming behavior. I told them that I wouldn't bill them for the damages if I could keep it and do with it what - III - wanted! They agreed, of course, and were relieved to hear that I wouldn't sue them for this little mess up." Dave bristled up briefly before sighing with nervous relief. "Don't worry sir, they say that they won't hold you accountable provided that you agreed to waive your fees and commissions for the sale. They said you would, but it is still your choice, after all."

Dave nodded, "yea-yeah sh-surrrre we, errr, I will." Dave saw that this was his only opportunity to save his job and seized the opportunity for all it was worth. It was then that he saw that El Matador had turned his head upright and was panting and moaning in ecstasy once again. He repositioned himself off to the side and watched as the station manager had zeroed in on the stud's stiffened pole and gargantuan huevos. El Matador was powerless to resist the stimulation of his reproductive system as the station manager relentlessly bathed the young man's crotch. The Mexican convulsed and whimpered as his meat was repeatedly tickled, washed, and caressed. El Matador moaned, begging for the older man to stop what it was that he was doing to him. The man laughed, mentioning that it wouldn't be very friendly of him to leave a poor young man so horrifically backed up and continued his seductive washing. El Matador could feel the seconds slowly inching by as his genitals were relentlessly and mercilessly made to feel every soft tickle, every sweet bubble pop, and every delicious motion of the fluffy wet sponge. He then felt something that he had felt hundreds, if not thousands, of times before. Deep within his reproductive glands his semen was congealing, clotting, gathering as it prepared for its imminent release from its housing units. It churned and frothed, eager for freedom, waiting until the muscles of the overly stimulated Mexican would convulse and force its way out into the open world. Finally the time came and with a roarous loud howl, El Matador launched volley after heavy, syrupy volley of man milk onto the face and body of the station manager. The older man was too stunned to move and took the brunt of the ejaculation as wave after wave deluged him in El Matador's man milk. Minutes ticked by as the man's face was covered in the sticky decadent snot while his suit was decimated with every fiber being drenched in more than a pint of luscious male cream. The man tried to gasp and choke only to have more of the Mexican stew go down the back of his throat. It seemed like forever before the last of it had finished itself off, and El Matador was able to finally breathe like normal. He opened his eyes and took in the fruits of his pleasure. The station manager just sat there as strings, beads, and a few bubbles dripped down off his cum soaked form.

"What the hell," the man managed to sputter out.

"Well, I would've warned you if I had been told what you were trying to accomplish. Sadly, I wasn't told your plans and the standard fees for appearing on your station didn't really include forethought or protection. Besides, didn't you just say that you love having something to market? Consider this a free bonus for all of our hard work." Dave gave the man an eat-shit grin before picking up the strapping young wrestler and walking away before the station manager could stop them. All Dave heard as the pair left was, "THIS IS A THREE HUNDRED DOLLAR SUIT! A THREE HUNDRED DOLLAR -" before they had made it outside and into his jalopy from 1999.

The next day, El Matador woke up in his cheap motel room that all the prizefighters stayed in and took a shower. He looked around, checked that the locks were still on, before going into the bathroom. He was very secretive about his identity. Aside from jerking it whenever he wanted, this was the only other thing that was just for him. Luckily, the locks had done their job for another night and stopped any would-be assailants that might have wanted to rape him in the middle of the night. He often wondered how effective those flimsy contraptions would be against someone with an extra helping of upper body strength wanting to gain entry into his room before shrugging it off and hopping under the warm water jets. He then opened up the freely provided motel soap bar and unscrewed the two-in-one shampoo/conditioner before dousing his head in the substance. The Mexican knew that he would have to wait for the chemicals to work their magic that supposedly softened his hair. As he chided himself for forgetting to pack his normal hair care products, he wondered what fresh torments would greet him today. His hand slipped carelessly down between his legs as he absent-mindedly started teasing himself. His rough, unhewn meathooks danced effortlessly across his monster as it was roused from the night's slumber. He could feel his member growing harder and harder with each passing second. The more he pulled on his totem the stiffer the wretched lout between his legs grew and the more he wanted to pull it. It was a vicious, cum-thirsty cycle that defied all manner of rationale and pushed out all other thoughts, especially the ones involving last night's conversation with Dave. Nothing else in the universe mattered other than spewing out his love sauce. His hand would climb to the tip before sliding back down only to slide back up a little further than before. Faster and faster he pulled on his sperm worm, inching closer and closer to the precipice of release. Images of scantily clad women making out with one another just for his viewing pleasure paraded through his mind, aiding him in reaching his goal. "Aye, aye, aye," he moaned as thick heavy blasts of searing hot Mexican man sauce spewed out like hot lava from an active volcano. He buckled over as his dude stew was sprayed across the rotting, dilapidated tile and grout, giving it a fresh white shell that would fool any future onlookers into thinking it was new. "AYE DEE-OHS MEE-OHHH," El Matador cried as his orgasm continued to grow harder and more potent the longer he stood there. It was as if he had shoved a pump down his urethra, broke it by accident, and it wouldn't stop spewing its viscid fluid no matter who tried to make it stop. It took another minute and a half of nonstop eruptions before he was able to relax and stomp spasming from the indelible and overwhelming sexual pleasure. The naked Mexican opened his eyes, and saw what horrors he had wrought in the moments of sublime ecstasy. He tried to scrub some of his saturation off the tile walls, desperate to hide the sin from his cruel and sadistic god, Dave. After mucking about for a few minutes, he realized there was nothing that he could do, and instead resigned himself to the man's punishment as he held his breath. He waited a few seconds for Dave to come in and penalize him with some new technique but when nothing happened, he gave up, dried off, and put on his mask and shoes. As he exited the room, he took one final look at the place and with a deep sigh, left.

It was the shrieks of some old man that took El Matador by surprise. "OH GOD NO," the man cried as El Matador walked down the sidewalk of the decrepit motel. "SOMEONE, PLEASE AHHHH-HAHH-HAHAHA!" It was coming from the room of Super Twink and El Matador could only imagine what shenanigans Colby was getting up to in there. Rumor had it that the eighteen year old loved taking men in their fifties and sixties and using them for all sorts of ghoulish perversions. Filling their bellies with his hot, fetid piss, shoving various objects into their rectum that he collected at truck stops on their tours, or just all out sodomizing them until they bled like a chick on her rag; they were all things he was known to do. Another rumor that was circulated was that he didn't have a strong father figure in his life growing up which led to him acting out in this manner. Still another one told how his real father walked out on him and to punish that man he took it out on those who he saw as the father he never really had. El Matador cracked open the door to Super Twink's room, just enough to allow him some idea as to what was happening in there. The Latino sex spot could see some old, balding, fat,hairy Middle Easterner tied up on the kid's bed.

"Oh fuck dad," Colby moaned, "you're so fucking tight, just like in my creams." The old man shook his head, his eyes wide in terror and agony.

"No, please, let me go! I have a wife and a granddaughter about your age," El Matador heard the man plead.

"No thanks pops; I got you and you got me and that's all we need! Besides aren't we having fun?"

"No, no we - AHHHAHHAHAHA!"

"That's it Daddy! Your little boy is all grown up and all kinds of mature, just the way you like it! Yeah? You like your sexually mature son? Huh? Do you?" The man shook his head as his eyes darted madly about the room. It only took a second for the middle-aged blubbering mess to spot El Matador. A single tear fell from the man's face as he looked pleadingly up at the wrestler. He couldn't even form the words "HELP ME" before another blast of pain caused him to scream out at the top of his lungs. The old man opened his eyes and looked over at El Matador, hoping the beefy wrestler would do something to alleviate his suffering. The Mexican wrestler only stood in the doorway, frozen as he stared at the brutal, sadistic rape.

"Please, Please, PLEASE," the chubby man's voice crescendoed as he stared at the nudist.

"Huh? Who ya beggin' for Daddy? There's no one here that loves a dirty old skeezoid such as yourself, let alone would help you out. Naw! It's just you and me and your tight ass and my fat prick! That's it! That's all you need, right?" Super Twink waited for a response and when none came he rammed his pole back into the man's anus forcing out another blood curdling scream. "ANSWER ME YOU OLD, PERVERTED BASTARD!"

"Nooohhhhhh-hoooeeee!"

"What? Is there someone else there, huh? Is some naughty li'l puppy watching me love on my father? Hmmmmm?" The man nodded and before Super Twink had time to turn around, El Matador had sealed the room up once again, leaving the twink with his living fatherly effigy. The naked twenty-five year old wrestler continued on his way wondering what other horrors laid on the other side of each door. Precum dribbled down both of his legs, coating them partially with his male saliva and giving his muscles a nice sheen. The unsyncipated thud that followed in his wake alerted him to someone following behind. Before he could leap to safety, a strong bulky hand snared him with such strength and precision that El Matador couldn't move. He craned his neck just as he saw three thirty year olds grab his burly arms and taut muscular shoulders. He whimpered briefly before the men laughed as they thwarted his attempts to fight back. First a right hook smacked El Matador across the face as another man came around and punched him in the gut. He groaned loudly as he grasped his damaged abdominal area, trying hard to keep the misery in check.

"Look boys," the middle one snarled, "he's trying to fight back. Let's teach this bitch some manners, shall we?" The one that had slapped his ass now shoved him forward, knocking the stud onto the cold, indifferent pavement. El Matador twisted and turned, straining to pull away from the men's clamy meat paws only for his efforts to do nothing in the end. "This one's got spirit! I love that in a Blacklister! Makes victory all the sweeter!" The other two sadistically laughed at El Matador's struggles as the center man popped open his pants. A plangent clang of metal against concrete signified that the man had dropped his trousers as the Mexican begged and pleaded in broken English sprinkled with Spanish. El Matador bucked and bounced as he tried to push his rapist off his back. He could feel the man's hefty bulk press through the meat of his bulging cheeks. "Ohhhhhhh," the man moaned, "his ass is so soft and firm at the same time! I'm gonna gut him like a trout from out of a lake!" It was then that El Matador felt something pierce his anal door, like some sort of lead pipe was being forced slowly into his rectum. "OHHHHHHHHHH FUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCKKKKKK," that's when El Matador knew what was going on, "his ass is so fucking tight. It's like heaven and ecstasy are wrapped around my member."

El Matador screamed, "NOOOHHHHHH! DAY-HA! DAY-HA!" Intestinal tissue fought valiantly and courageously as the evil intruder forced its way past the powerless garrison. Guts were cleaved and torn as El Matador's insides were forced with the reckoning that there was nothing that they could do to stop this lout, this beast, this unholy terror as it kept plodding along the soft, pathetic lining. El Matador tried again to shove off the rapist only to find that there was nothing more he could do. Dejected and broken he screamed, "EYE-OOO-DAW MAY, POOR FAH-VORE! HEEELP!"

"That's it fuckwad," his rapist sneered, "scream for me! It really slam really thrust turns me rip on!" Tears burned his eyes and cheeks as El Matador cried in brutal agony and shame. In just a few minutes he had gone from a proud Latino to a blubbering excuse for a human being. His rectum burned as blood and tissue coated his attacker's snot slinger. The other two men that pinned him against the sidewalk continued taunting him calling him "fuckwad" and "rape bait" and even "jizz sponge." With every name he was called, El Matador felt another piece of his identity chipped away - no, not chipped - torn! It was torn from his soul, taken against his will as he clung desperately to what remained. "That's it rape bait," his primary attacker wouldn't relent, "your ass is so sublime! So inviting! I can't hol-hole-HUHHHH-AWWWW GODDDDDDDDD!" Fiery hot spurts of burning man chowder shot violently into El Matador's lashed and mangled rectum, filling his insides with his attacker's venom and toxic sludge. Spurt after spurt scorched the naked beefcake's insides, poisoning his mind and twisting his thinking. As the last of what remained finished emptying itself into the bowels of battered bodybuilder, the two that had pinned him to the ground suddenly became keenly aware of the fact that El Matador was sobbing into the pavement, a broken shell of a man. They released their prey, unzipped their flies, and unloaded their vicious payloads onto the brown skinned beauty. After a few minutes of moaning and panting they released their noxious concoction upon the heaving mass of virile man flesh and zipped themselves back up, eager to find their next victim along with their buddy in tow. "Don't worry Frank," consoled the one that had fulfilled the trout prophecy, "you'll get the next one and Ted, you'll go after him." El Matador stayed down until he could no longer hear their voices, too afraid that they'd return and sodomize him again and again. It wasn't until he heard Dave's voice that he felt sure that he was safe from another attack.

"What the fuck are you blubbering about," Dave asked as he strolled up to where El Matador was crying.

"Dehy, dehy," El Matador whimpered as he tried to stop himself from crying again. "Dehy rape-ed mee!"

With a snort, Dave snapped back, "oh, is that all? Who the fuck cares? 'Cause of your crazy bullshit with popping a load onto a thousand dollar camera, I got my ass reamed out by six different executives! Try dealing with six different rich, stuck up, pricks with their heads so far up their own asses that everything they say sounds like shit and then talk to me about problems! Hell, at least when it happens to you, your rapists leave you alone afterwards. Mine keep ha?rangu?ing me about made up bullshit problems. I tell ya, that station manager you creamed yesterday sure changed his tune after your little friendly encounter. I practically had to beg just to keep everyone happy except maybe you and me." El Matador slowly climbed back up to his feet, his back and arms tickled by the slime of the two men's loads. The beefy Mexican limped forward, making his way past the front office as his rapist's cock-snot dribbled out his freshly sodomized hole. He winced and shuddered as sparks of pain stuck into him like hot needles being grazed against his bare athletic flesh. He wanted to cry again but with Dave nearby, he was too afraid to do so as the man might get annoyed and kick him. Instead, he suffered in silence as they crossed the broken dilapidated road that was mostly held together with patchwork and broken dreams. Every few paces El Matador would shiver against some unseen, imagined chill while another droplet of man milk would fall from his bloodied anus. It wasn't long before the duo arrived at the diner and El Matador could order a nutrient shake that would fill him up until lunch. Once inside, he discovered that a few of his fellow performers were already busy eating their breakfasts with the exception of Hau, the Asian Persuasion. Despite the fact that El Matador was far from the only minority in the wrestling troop, he was in fact the only Blacklister and as such, he got the brunt, if not all, of the abuse. Hau had gotten cold cereal for breakfast along with bacon and toast, but [he] was disturbed to find that the waitress had forgotten the milk for the cereal. It wasn't until he saw El Matador walk in did his mood improve as the waitress hadn't noticed Hau's huffing and fuming. The Latino approached the barstool in the rundown diner and hissed in agony as he sat his plump, wrecked keister upon the chilly air-conditioned plastic lining. He was fully stationed and rolling in agony when Hau walked up and tapped the stud on the shoulder. The brutalized Mexican turned to face his cohort, his face twisted into one of delicious suffering.

"Jess," El Matador politely questioned as he fought to regain his composure. A blob of man cream splattered with blood rolled out of his gaping rectum. Hau pulled back looking at the crud that had come from where he had tapped the beefcake and now instead latched onto the tips of his right fingers.

"Ewww," Hau was disgusted by the fluid that was now pasted to his fingertips. He knew with just one look what it was that was now attached to his body. He could feel the sticky warmth as it clung to his Asian body and he couldn't help but wonder how it might have gotten there. "Is there any part of you that isn't a total whore? I mean, if it wasn't for the fact that it's eight in the morning, I might be ok. But you... you slut harder than an alcoholic that eats cereal with vodka. I mean, really?" El Matador could only wince in agony as he tried to take in everything that was being thrown at him. "Anyway, I need your help. The waitress never gave me milk for my cereal and I was wondering if you'd give me a hand, or rather your dick." El Matador was confused and could barely register what was being implied. He knew that his dick was about to be stimulated, but not much of anything else. Hau grabbed the big lummox, "just come on," he said, tugging the galoot over to where it was that he had set up for the morning. El Matador's swinging trunk crashed into his skin as bits and pieces leaked from his still freshly raped backside, leaving a trail of pinkish off-white dick-snot in his wake. With a loud crash he turned around to see that the waitress had slipped on the trail of jizz crumbs and looked rather awkward with three meals on herself. She looked up and around for the culprit, but couldn't make the connection between El Matador and what she had slipped on. If she had just looked down, she might have seen the crud and to whom the trail led to instead of avoiding it altogether. Hau giggled at the woman's misfortune, "serves her right for not bringing me the milk like I wanted." He watched as one of his coworkers helped her to her feet and did his best to clean off some of the meals that she was now covered in. A quick tug on El Matador's junk caused the Latino to focus on the task at hand and what it was that Hau was wanting done.

"As I said before, I need some milk for my cereal and seeing as how you are nothing more than a bovine that walks on two legs, I figure you'll give me plenty to use. Besides, a protein rich breakfast is perfect for wrestlers like us." El Matador still hadn't put all of the pieces together and only stood in silence, dumbfounded, and unable to process what Hau was implying. Hau started pulling on the Latino's fat chorizo, caressing it gently so as to speed up the journey to the needed ejaculation. El Matador felt the tickles in his pollo as pleasure once again found a home in his battered form. He moaned as erotic delights began building up in him, the semen deep within churning once more. "God you're just a stupid beast aren't you? All you want is to empty your eternally full sack, dontcha?" Hau continued teasing El Matador's male lactator as the Latino threw his head back allowing the sensations to overtake him. He moaned once again as Hau pulled and manipulated the beast between El Matador's legs. El Matador felt the pressure of a nascent eruption mounting in his body as he lost himself to Hau's control over his booty basher. Soon the bubble gum headed Mexican cobra grew angry and wrathful, lashing out at this Asian menace, winking at this unruly and cruel fellow. It hissed and writhed as prepared to release its acidic venom all over this cold hearted douchebag. Hau knew that El Matador was getting close to obtaining that which he wanted the most and as such, made the necessary adjustments to keep himself clean of all that was about to spring forth.

Just then, El Matador cried out as a torrent leche burst out of his male udder, splashing down into Hau's breakfast bowl, flooding it with his creamer. Over and over the spooge plummeted into the Korean's cereal bowl as the Asisan Persuasion started to panic at the amount that kept coming out. He hadn't planned on there being this much of it. "Ok you can stop now," the panic rising in his voice. "OK, really - STOP!" It kept coming and coming and coming with no end in sight. Hau knew that he had messed up and didn't know what else to do. He grabbed napkins out of the dispenser trying to stem the flow of thick, syrupy semen and instead pulled back with a deluged mess. "SERIOUSLY STOP!" Nothing, not even God himself, could stop the flow from the naked masked Mexican wrestler. It just kept pouring and dousing and blasting and soaking everything on the table. The other customers in the diner just stared in horror at the mess as it soon overtook the table like a tidal wave might overtake a small island in the middle of a storm. Time had ground to a halt as Hau's mind raced to find a solution for this predicament that he had accidentally caused. After what felt like an eternity, the river of spooge came to an unceremonious conclusion, leaving fear, amazement, horror, and a sense of catharsis in El Matador. The Latino nudist opened his eyes, looked at the mess, and was left to wonder if he should smile at the karmic mess that Hau had created or feel embarrassed at what his body had done. Hau was now stunned into silence just staring up at the beefcake and wondering what to make of what had just happened. "WHAT! THE! ACTUAL! FUCK! YOU AIN'T HUMAN, ARE YOU?" El Matador's face was flushed with embarrassment as he looked around the messy diner. He could feel the eyes of the other patrons leering at this freakshow with a mix of terror and wonder at this sublime show of masculinity.

El Matador looked around, shrugged his shoulders, and said "low see-ento; eye jam saw-rree." No one said anything, not even the waitress, for up to a full minute.

"OH FUCK," the waitress cried as she looked at the sopping mess. "NOW I HAVE TO CLEAN UP THIS SHIT! OH FUCK NO! I QUIT!" With that said, she stormmed off and out the door with a man in powder blue dress shirt and navy slacks chasing after her. El Matador turned his attention back to the others in the room who still sat in silence as they tried to process what they had whitnessed.

Dave came up and grabbed the leaking Latino by the shoulder, pulling him outside as well. "Come on," he instructed the boorish beast, "I think it's time we left."

"Butt - butt," the naked wrestler protested.

"And yes, I know it's a nice one that you have."

"Nehs-saw-see-toe coe-meen-oh; eye jam hungree."

"I'll come back later and get you your shake," Dave replied. Hau looked on as he watched his boss and coworker leave the diner, cum still dripping off the table and napkin holder, along with everything else that the Mexican had doused in his seed on. El Matador followed his manager's lead, going in the opposite direction of the conversation between the diner manager and his waitress. The two were in a heated debate about the state of affairs in the establishment and it seemed to be more than just an arguement about cleaning up El Matador's mess. Dave was smart enough to steer clear of an argument between a couple regardless of whether or not they were dating. And so long as it didn't get physical, Dave didn't care what happened. He wouldn't care if it got physical for that matter, but he didn't want to risk another incident involving him, the company he represented, or his talent. All he wanted to do was sit back, tell barely clad men what to do, and get fat stacks of green cash. As fate would have it, however, that came at a price. Sometimes that price was monetary, but more often than not, it inloved something that incoveinced him. This time it was more than one of his performers making a scene in public. He wasn't sure who to chastise or what would draw the least amount of negative attention. But he knew one thing: he had to get El Matador out of there before he screwed up something else. Goo and tissue fell from El Matador's ass as he was dragged back to the cheap motel room, his hefty cock smashing his muscular thick thighs.

Dave had to take the long root back to the motel as he wanted to avoid more people with potential questions like: what happened? Did you hear about what just happened? And, his all-time least favorite: who caused this mess in the first place? That one would come with even more questions... questions from the company heads... questions that he didn't want to answer, let alone have asked in the first place. No, the best thing to do was to place El Matador in a holding pen until rehersal and then have him escorted to what laughably was called a performance arena. In truth, however, the stage was a little more than half the size of what they were used to and could only fit a third of their normal live audience, at most. Still, the company execs had chosen this one star, no coffee shop, backwoods town for some unfathomable reason. The only thing that he could come up with as to why they had stopped in this no name hell hole is that one of the execs in charge of the wrestling league was born in this sorry excuse of a town. Either that, or it hid a stash of gold the likes of which would put Aladdin's treasure trove to shame and this was all just a front to hide that stuff from the rest of the world. Still, in a place like this, the fewer eyes that saw the mess that went into managing a cum factory like El Matador, the fewer the headlines.

It was one thing for the star attraction to be brutally sodomized by a few no-neck locals, it was completely different when it came to making messes that incoveinced people. Especially messes that came with hefty price tags in the thousands-of-dollars range. Star attraction? That was a laugh! El Matador wasn't - but, wasn't he? The men cheered harder when the masked Mexican came on stage. He had more fans than the other wrestlers did, even if they were just creeps and low-lifes wanting to dump a few loads into his anus. And viewership always seemed to go up during the next event after guys learned that he had been raped live on-stage. They lived for a good, brutal rape, didn't they? In fact, he had seen first hand the drawing power of a good scream. Dave himself had once or twice had taken a few men in the shower at the gym he worked out in. Their lithe, caramel, young bodies drenched in foamy white soap. They'd giggle as they played their little games like grab ass as the jets of warm water caressed their tight, tawdry skin. Their tender twink dicks bouncing as they bobbed back and forth, grabbing things to clean themselves with. Ohhhh, they were big fucking teases, and they knew what they were doing. Even if their mouths said otherwise, it was their actions that made them the culprits of what happened next. They wanted his dick deep inside them even though they protested. The talent manager could still hear them, even now: "NO, NO, PLEASE NO! I'M STRAIGHT! I'M STRAIGHT!" Sure you are kid; we all are until the right man comes along and then it's all hands on deck... or, rather, all cocks in ass. He chuckled at the joke he made in his head as he looked over at El Matador. The beefcake looked back at him, uncertain as to why they stopped with only a few hundred feet to go.

"Hey," Dave finally piped up, "how about we take a little break from the death march back to your room, shall we? My feet are tired!" The manager noted the tighteness in his slacks as he looked around to see if there were any witnesses as to what would happen next. Just a knee jerk reaction from the days before the laws were changed and on some level he knew what he was about to do wasn't illegal, but he still couldn't stop the compulsion. He sat down in the open field, giving himself a sense of comfort as well as making himself ready for what he wanted to happen. "Listen `ombre, I need your help with something that I have been sturggling with for the last eight minutes or so." El Matador looked confused as he had yet to notice the mound in Dave's pants. Dave looked down at the shadowy stain that bled outward, grwoing in size as his body started to get ready for the thrill of the next several moments. He unzipped his fly as his red and purple man meat popped out of its cage, sighing with relief as it had been freed from its cottony prison. Now that El Matador saw it, he whimpered with fear as to what he anticipated that would happen next. The wrestler's hole puckered as it remembered the trauma from a few hours ago. "So this is happening," Dave announced as he looked up at his terrified client, "and I need you to wrap those gorgeous lips of yours around it with all the love you have inside." El Matador looked around, hoping against all hope someone would come and save him from this humiliation. Crestfallen, he knelt down next to his boss's angry red meat getting himself ready for what he was going to have to do. The nudist remembered how viciously he was beaten the last time he refused any of Dave's advances. Be they few and far between, he knew that he would have to pleasure the man or expect ten-fold the suffering later by this cruel demon's hands.

"Dee-ah-blow," El Matador muttered under his breath as he pressed the head against his quivering lips.

"What was that?" El Matador shook his head a split second before plunging the rigid mass into his now gaping maw. "That's what - ohhh, Ohhh, OHHH-HUUUHHH," Dave continued, allowing the pleasure of the moment to overtake him. The pale skinned, dark haired man lost himself to the delights of carnal lust as EL Matador's head bobbed up and down on his enraged creature. Dave moaned and panted, "OH YEAH, that's it! Give Daddy your love! UH-HUUHHH! Daddy needs all of your affections and devotions after this morning's bullshittery. That's it! Keep going! Mmmm-hmmmmm!" El Matador continued to pleasure his boss, focusing all his attention on meeting the man's needs in hopes that he wouldn't get beaten senseless later. Up and down, up and down; he consumed the tender red pole, eagerly devouring every wet morsel of presnot that fell from the thing. "Careful," Dave warned, "don't let anything hit the suit or you'll pay for it later." El Matador nodded his understanding as he engulfed the fullness of the male toy with his oral cavity. Dave moaned loudly once more as another wave of ecstasy crashed against his body. "Now this - this right here - is heaven on Earth! The eighties had it all wrong, man! Cocksuckers are sent from God above!" Dave rammed his meaty shaft deep into El Matador's mouth forcing the Latino to choke unexpectedly as he wasn't prepared for such an act. "Ohhhh," Dave taunted, "whatsamatter? Did baby not get the bah-bah he wanted?" The manger thrust his pole back into El Matador's face causing the salacious Mexican to choke once more. "There there; Daddy will give you all of his love soon enough and then you'll feel alllllll better." El Matador pulled back for the briefest of moments to regain his control before going back down. Dave groaned louder this time as he felt the warmth of the beefy Mexican's mouth wholly envelope it once again. "Almost there, bud; mmmkay? Keep going!" Another thrust and then another and another; Dave could feel the tingle and pressure building as his junk was getting closer and closer to exploding. "Oh fuck," he thought, "I sooooo need this!" Another thrust and then, "HERE IT AHHHHHH-HAHAHAHA," ropes of sticky, rank snot ran down the back of El Matador's throat coating the Mexican's tongue in the foul, pungent flavor. It was all the Mexican wrestler could do to keep from spewing out the horrid substance back onto the manager's nice suit. Meanwhile, Dave had thrown his head back and was relishing in the erotic delight of pummeling his charge with his fetid chowder. It took all of twenty seconds for him to finish releasing what had been pent up for the last few days, "but boy was it worth it" he thought. After spending several minutes recovering and basking in the soft euphoria of the orgasm, he looked over at El Matador who had hung his head in shame. "There, see - I told you Daddy was gonna fill you with his love. Now, what do we say?"

"Graw-see-us paw-pee," El Matador sheepishly replied.

"Good, now let's get back on track, shall we?" Dave grabbed El Matador once more after the pair stood up and pulled him back in the direction of the motel room.

Back in the motel room, El Matador sat around, drinking the shake Dave had promised, wondering what he could do to pass the time until rehearsal tonight. As luck would have it, Dave had also given the tower of power a laptop to look up porn with. El Matador turned on the device and hooked into the wifi with little-to-no difficulty. In a matter of minutes he had already found his way onto the r/Blacklisters subreddit site and began purusing stories and support topics as he so often did. Then he saw it: "R.V.A. in Terkonomy at 3:30 p.m. today." He clicked the link and got all of the details that his broken fragile mind could take in. There was even an exact address provided and it was only about an hour and a half from where he was staying. He would have plenty of time to make it there if he hurried... that is until he saw that it was just now 1:30 p.m. The naked wrestler immediately locked in a ride-share website and booked an immediate pickup for the nearby town. After typing in his credit card information he went outside and waited in the sweltering heat for the transportation to arrive. The beefcake knew his boss might pitch a fit if it was discovered that he was leaving the room and elected to keep his journey a secret. He checked the digital wrist watch to see what time it was: 1:45 p.m. Time was of the essence and he could feel his heart racing in his chest. His adrenaline glands kicked into overdrive as the anxiety within mounted. 1:50 p.m.; the car was here and with it a female driver. She looked to be in her mid-thirties and luckily for him was of no threat to his well being. "David Paskinski," the woman looked confused as the naked man that stood before him looked nothing like she imagined.

"See," El Matador repsonded, "jeye jam duh Dah-veed Pah-per... eye jam hee." Despite using his own credit card, he never used his real name when setting up something like this. Aside from not informing anyone of this little excursion, he could never be too sure who would show up for these sorts of things. He learned that lesson the hard way when one of the drivers took him to some woods, and brutally sodomized him for three days straight. That was a lesson neither he nor his wrecked, bleeding hole would ever forget. El Matador's ass continued to leak fluid from that morning' sodomy session as he climbed into the back of the Buick, shutting the door with a slam. "Oops," he commented as he had briefly forgot his own strength.

"Whatever, just don't get the seat wet with your sin sauce. And remember, you break it, you bought it." The hour and a half ride was filled with silence as El Matador looked out the window watching the large empty fields dotted with varying degrees of cattle streak by. He wondered if those cows had it easier than he did and thought that they probably never got raped as often, if at all, as he did. He then remembered how the life of a cow usually ended, shook his head, and decided that he had it better, if only by a small, narrow margin. After a while, he found himself playing absentmindedly with his left nipple, and hadn't realized what sort of effect it was starting to have on him. He looked down as the corpulent beast between his legs stirred from its slumber once more. It hadn't even fully awakened and already he was wishing they could pull over and take a quick break. He looked down at the watch that he had managed to nab right before heading out to wait on his transport to arrive. It was 3:05 p.m.; another ten minutes and they would be there. He still couldn't see the town on the horizon, but he knew that they weren't far away. The masked Mexican was afraid to ask the driver to stop as it wouldn't be much longer until they arrived, not to mention her reaction to such a request. After all, would she be amenable to allowing a big brute such as himself to jerk off into an open field on the side of a road? Even if she said yes, would he have enough time before they closed the doors to outsiders as the meeting began? The answer to both questions was a resounding "no" and he didn't want to run the risk of trying anyways. It was better if he just waited until he got to the meeting to unload anyway. He was fairly certain that they weren't total monsters, right?

The car came to a stop in front of the church entryway under the awning as El Matador tried to focus on things that weren't sexually arousing. Burning hot sand, melted rocks, milk that had been left out for three days, anything really that didn't remind him of sex at all. It was all fair game in his mind and there were things like crying babies that made him forget the party in his third leg. "We're here," the noise was so abrupt that El Matador had forgotten what was going on. "Just a reminder: it's $18.50 plus tip that'll go on your card NOT including any cleaning fees." It was then that El Matador remembered the rapist's gunk that had leaked onto the seat cushion in the back on the ride over. As he got out, he felt the warm breeze run over his wet cheeks and hoped the driver would leave without an embarrassing incident. He knew he was gonna be charged more when the cleaning fees were going to be deducted from his card later, but that was a worry for another day.

"Graw-see-us," the naked masked wrestler nodded as the woman gave a huff before driving away. El Matador checked his watch: 3:27 p.m.; with a resigned sigh, he was saddled with the notion there wasn't enough time to whack it and entered the building. He followed the signs and made his way downstairs to the MPR that had been designated as the meeting grounds for the R.V.A. support group. There were several naked men standing around talking to one another, laughing, and smiling and just being normal for once. The group consisted of a dozen Blacklisters each one different from the other, each one with a set of cock and balls all his own. Three biracial studs looked to be in a conversation, holding styrofoam cups and standing next to a table with a red plastic cloth draped over it. El Matador ignored the automatic coffee maker and instead zeroed in on what was there on the rest of the table. Next to the coffee pot sat a large glass container filled with an unusual red liquid that El Matador didn't immediately recognize. Then it dawned on him: this was the American punch that he had seen in all of those American party movies when he was growing up in Mexico. Ever since he could recall, he wanted to try it, just to see if the movies ever did it justice. As he approached the punch bowl and the exposed trio, he could hear part of their conversation.

"Yeah, I'm thinking of holding a Blacklisters only party at my chateau down by the lake this weekend," said one of them. "Everyone here is free to come if they want. I promise no crazy stuff and NO Non-Blacklisters! Wouldn't wanna spoil our fun, emmiright?"

Another one laughed, "yeah sure; that'll be great fun. We can do circle jerks and have jizzing contests to see how far we can shoot! It'll be a blast!"

"No dude, you're not getting it! We don't wanna perpetuate negative stereotypes like that. Leave that NB thinking at home, otherwise, you can't come."

"Guys, I was only kidding! It was a joke! It was sarcasm! Lighten up!"

"Yeah man," chimed in the third, "I guess so."

"No really," the second guy said with his cock jiggling around as he gestured emphatically, "I was making a joke! I know we aren't gonna do stuff like that! It was only a joke!"

El Matador picked up one of the red plastic cups excited by the prospect of using the authentic accessory that had been provided for the group. He reached in, grabbed the transparent ladle, and poured the red fluid into the cheap, plastic container. The naked Mexican drank down the sweet liquid confection, savoring the full flavor of the stuff. "Awww," he sighed as he relished the taste while the remnants sat upon his tongue, reminding him of what he had just drank. He then dipped the ladle again, refilled his cup, and released the ladle back into the wild.

"Hey slow down," he heard another man say before he turned around to see one of the biracial hunks had wandered over to him. "Save some for the rest of us," it was the first one: the one with the chateau (whatever that was). "I'm kidding man, I'm kidding," he chuckled, his junk softly pelting his legs. He reached out to grab the naked Mexican beefcake's hand with one of his own. "Hi, I'm Tony, nice to see another new face here. We get so few new arrivals, as most people are scared to come."

"El Matador," the naked wrestler reciprocated with a hand of his own as he had seen the custom performed countless times in those same films. "Jhy wood dehy be scareds?"

"They think that it's a trap or a hunting ground for NBs when it actually isn't. They think that its orchestrated by some NB who just wants to rape them over and over again. I've met the leader of the group and he's a pretty cool guy. I think you'll like him as much as we do."

"Rehllay?"

"Yep, I'll wager my body on it. So, El Matador, is that a stage name or a birth name?"

"Eht ehs meye luchador teet-oo-lo, meye feyets name."

"Oh really? And do you like that?" The man's dingleberries bounced slightly as he repositioned himself.

"See, may goostah; eye like-ed eht."

"Oh wow, so I guess you pull in mad stacks huh?"

"Mahd snaques? Kay ehs esoh?"

"No, not mad snacks - mad stacks, like cheddar, bread... money."

"Ohhhhh see, den-air-oh! Jes, eht payz duh beels."

"That's cool, that's cool; so ever had sex with a woman before?" The man's junk stirred slightly despite it remaining still flaccid between his legs.

"See, jes, eye hahd minee ahff duh weemins whehn eye wahs ehn Meh-hee-co. Buut noww nun ohf duh weemins wahnted me al-goon mahss."

"Yeah man, it's tough out there. None of us have had a lady since we were forced to give up our clothes either. Rumor has it that they are all dating and screwing each other now."

"Sroo-ehng? Kay ehs -"

"Oh look, we're about to get started. Come on, you can sit next to me if you want." El Matador followed Tony over to an unfolded metal chair as he watched a man in a pleated white shirt and black pleated pants enter the room. The metal was ice cold and the nude Mexican let out a tiny yelp as he tushy hit the surface of the sitting portion of the chair. He watched as the redheaded smartly dressed man sat down on a seat cushion that he had managed to bring with him as he most likely knew what he was in for. Some of the others had brought cushions as well and sat in the circle with their bare skin never having to know how cold the metal was. Tony, however, remained unaffected as well, as though he were using every ounce of willpower not to react to the icy presence of the accoutrement.

"Welcome, welcome," the man's voice was deep and soothing, like he was trying to keep everyone's anxiety in check. It was then that El Matador noticed a thin, white substance on his face, clinging to his skin like one of those guys hanging off a cliff in an action movie. "My name is James Farnsworth, and I am the founder and leader of this chapter of the R.V.A, simply put: Rape Victims Anonymous. It's our fourth weekly meeting since we started and I see we have a few new faces, along with some old faces, so let's go around and introduce ourselves before we begin." He raised his left hand that wasn't holding the pen and clipboard pointing at the naked gentleman to the left, "how bout we start with you? And remember to identify yourself and what makes you a Blacklister, kay?"

The naked bulky smooth skinned Latino replied, "Hi I'm Hector Ortiz and I'm fifty-five, and I'm a Honduran Blacklister. This is my second time here, and already I feel so seen."

"Hi Hector," the rest of the group replied before the next man identified himself.

"Hi I'm Juan Hernandez," said the man sitting next to him, "and I'm a forty-five year old Mexican-American. Despite being born here as the son of undocumented Mexicans, I'm still a Blacklister and still have to be naked at all times."

"Hi Juan!"

"Hello my name is Morab Kahlid," said the next man. "I am twenty-nine and from Arabia originally, and I immigrated - LEGALLY - to the U.S. when I was six and learned to speak English after being here for three months. I am fluent in seven languages including both Mandarin and Cantonese."

"Hi Morab!"

"Hello, I'm Gregg Mathison," the deeply caramelized biracial stud said (he was the jokester from before, El Matador remembered). "And I'm thirty-three and I'm blacklisted because despite my dad being of Haitian ancestry, my Mom was from Cuba and therefore I qualify to be naked."

"Hi Gregg!"

"Hello," he replied, eyeing Tony and El Matador.

"Greetings, I am Charles Abernathy, I'm thirty-two years old, and I am blacklisted because my dad is white and my mom is black."

"Hi Charles!"

"Good day to you all, I am Tony Kincaid and like my buddy Charles, I am also a thirty-two year old Blacklister. I was forced to relinquish my clothes during the Great Revelation as I am half African and half Caucasian."

"Hi Tony!"

"Jello, meye naym ehs El Matador," the hunky wrestler followed everyone else in the room. "Eye jam day Me-hee-co eee; eye jam oon loo-cha-door! Tango vein-tay seen-coh on-yos; eye hahf twin-tee feyefe yeers."

"Hi El Matador!"

"Well that's different," James stated, "we've never had a wrestler before."

"Yew noh what ehs loo-cha-door," El Matador was surprised by this.

"See, may in-can-toe, moo-choh!"

El Matador blushed, "graw-see-us."

"Day-naw-daw! Ok, you are next," James pointed at the young man sitting next to El Matador.

"Well my name is Tukani Thompson," the brightly burned cinnamon stud said. "And I am twenty-two and from the country of Tonga originally. Despite being raised by a pair of loving WASPS, I always knew that I was adopted."

"Welcome Tukani," the group replied in unison.

"Oh we're next," it was then that El Matador door had noticed the pair of twinks that had been holding each other's hands the entire time. "Hi my name is Luke Nesbit, and I too was adopted. I am told that I am from Pakistan, but don't remember it as I was too young. I am eighteen years of age, and just recently, as of a week ago, had to give up my clothes to the collectors at one of the clothing reclamation centers."

"Hi Luke!"

"I guess that makes me next," said the other twink. "Hi my name is Jorge Masterson, and I am eighteen years old like my boyfriend. I too gave up my clothes a week ago, and that's were I met the light of my life. My father is white and I got my looks from my mother's side of the family who are all from Columbia."

"Hi Jorge!"

It was time for the pale skinned man to speak. He seemed out of place being one of the only three light skinned men in the room. "Salutations," he spoke with a distinctly London accent that made him seem further out of place. "My name is Tomas, Tomas Edgewater and I hail from the Thames in England. My father is from Turkey and my mother was a white woman from London. When it was discovered that I had Turkish ancestry, I was forced to give up all of my clothes except for my collection of U.S. golfing hats that I had acquired while on tour in the states."

"Greetings Tomas!"

"Hey, I'm Marley Jenson," said the other light-skinned young man. Unlike the first two, he had a hint of a caramel/cinnamon color to his exceptionally taut, rock-hard chiseled body. "Some of you may have seen me in movies like Backdoor Sluts one through nine, When a Porn Star Cums to Call, or on sites like Surferboys.com and BadPuppy.com. I'm twenty-two and I'm blacklisted thanks to my grandfather being black and both my parents being in a mixed marriage. I was kicked out six months before the Great Revelation because I was gay and rose to porn super-stardom immediately after living on my own for a week."

"Welcome Marley," this time it was only James that spoke up as the others looked a little bit nervous to one degree or another. "Alright, now that we have established ourselves, let's open the floor to what it's been like dealing with The New World Order since The Great Revelation occurred, shall we?"

"I'll start," again Marley spoke with the voice of an authority figure as if everyone else seemed scared. "I was happy making hardcore gay porn for those few months prior to The Great Revelation happening. I took so much dick and so many loads, I was gonna open up my own diner called `Raw Loadz' where truckers and other men could nut in me in exchange for a hot meal." A couple of guys nervously laughed as he continued, "and then the industry went belly up as public sex was now not only legal, it was almost mandated. Now I am a washed up has-been who's still young, hung, and full of cum. Yeah, I've got a shit ton of awards like: world's hottest body, world's greatest cumshot, porn's sexiest newcummer, but like now I can't make a dime off my smokin' hot form anymore."

"Boo-radley-hoo," it was Hector, the older Honduran with the portly but smooth beer belly. "I'm tired of kids like you bitchin', moanin', and complainin' about how the world sucks for you! I get raped daily by a boss that's half my age and you don't see me complaining about it, do you?"

"Ok, Hector - it seems we've re-opened an old wound," Farnsworth interceded. "Would you like to discuss it?"

"No, not really!"

"Now Hector, we can't make progress unless you open up. Remember, sharing is caring unless it's with Sharons and Karens!"

"Fine - whatever - it's just, it's just - everyday at twelve on the dot my twenty-five year old boss shows up with his junk hanging out and tells me to suck it or I'm fired. And then, during my last performance review, he made me go-go dance, and then proceed to rape me all while streaming to thousands of followers. It was humiliating!"

"Now Hector, we talked about this last time, remember? You need to really be more sexually explicit in your descriptions, huh pal? Everyone, what do we say?"

Those that had been there more than once collectively responded, "SEXUALIZATION LEADS TO EMPOWERIZATION."

"Right, exactly... so continue, please"

"Well shoved his rock hard member deep into my virgin-tight guts forcing me to scream out for mercy. Slowly, methodically he ripped my insides wide apart like a baseball bat taring into a watermelon."

"Go on..."

"It was horrible... I felt... I felt... so ashamed, so utterly disgusted. I cried and begged for mercy as he used his broad thick shoulders and cantaloupe sized vein ridden muscles to keep my chunky, jello old-man body in place." Hector started weeping and shaking in front of everyone as he was forced to relive that nightmare again. "He laughed and laughed with sick, twisted pride as brutally sodomized me over and over again. He shot so much white hot man chowder into me, that for days I'd race to the restroom only to have it come bubbling out. By the time he was done with me I felt so raw, so disgusting that nothing helped. I'd spend hours and hours trying to scrub the sin from me, never really being able to remove any of it. When I asked him why he did it, he said he like the way my belly jiggled every time he shoved his fat meat into my bloodied, battered rectum." The tears dripped off his old soft face, splashing onto his corpulent exposed belly and then onto the chair and ground. El Matador looked around as a few of the guys had started boning up. They each were at varying stages of starting to become erect and shifted in their seats in an effort to hide them.

Marley was stunned, "wow... I-I-I'm so sorry, man. I don't know what to say."

"Well Marley," James replied, "how would you feel if you were in Hector's position, hmm?"

"IIIII, uhhh... I've been bathed like a little boy by my boss at my new job," for one brief moment, Marley's tough guy facade faded away. "He calls me his good boy as he scrubs my tawdry, young, diamond hard flesh. His hands feel so... so..."

"Bad," Hector interjected.

"No... good; like he loves me and wants what's best for me. He feels like he's really my father and he just wants what's best for me, ya know? His hands slowly glide over each supple, tight part caressing me with the love and affection that I really crave. Then, near the end, he zeroes in on my throbbing, aching erection and coaxes each orgasm out of me with such mastery, such skill that I melt into him. It's sublime... like a drug or something, ya know? He wants me to move into his place so he can fondle my rock hard ass and long veiny erection whenever he wants. When he does it in front of the customers, I like it. He always calls me champ, too. He told me that he loves me once and would spend all of his free time giving me head."

"Have you thought about taking him up on his offer," James questioned. Marley was taken back by the very idea that he should do such a thing.

"Nooo, why?"

"Nothing, no reason; I was unsure about how you felt about him."

"Do you think that I should?"

James shrugged, "maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing. Sounds like he loves you and wants you to love him in return. Do you love him?"

"I don't know - maybe?"

"Well think about it and then get back with us. Who wants to go next? What about one of the newbies? What about our power couple? Have you guys any stories?"

"Noooo, not yet," Luke cheerfully replied, "we just wanted to see if there was a way to avoid being raped unlike you guys."

"There isn't a way," Hector snarled at the youth's energy.

"He's right," Jorge chimed in.

"Huh - what do you mean," asked Luke who was caught off-guard.

"It... uhhhhh... it happened the day we met," Jorge struggled to get the words out. "My dad came home after work, he was horned up, and itching to... ummm... get his rocks off, he said. I was taking a shower when he climbed in with me. I protested, told him that he was violating my personal space. He spat on my face, called me `rape bait,' and flipped me around. He shoved his rock hard diamond cutter deep into my tender fresh anus and raped me over and over and over again for solid three hours."

"What did you do," James leaned in, eager to learn what happened next.

"I-I-I, ummmmm, I tried to push him away," Jorge choked back tears of shame. "And he - he was just so much stronger than I am."

"What kind of arms did he have?"

"You know... I don't wanna talk about it anymore." Luke could see the pain in Jorge's eyes, the shame he felt. It was as if a piece of him had been taken that day. He had lost a sense of innocence that had once been his.

"Jorge, listen, the only way you can heal from this, or any of this is to confront the truth head on." James turned to the rest of the group, "the only way any of you are going to be okay with the hell you now live in is if you embrace it! Embrace the truth!"

"He's right you know," Juan piped up.

"Indeed," Tom chimed in.

Jorge choked back another tear, and continued on, "he had these powerful, bulging arms. He was always at the gym ever since mom walked out on us."

"Were they veiny or not veiny," James prompted Jorge to continue.

"No not veiny," a single tear fell off the face of the vulnerable eighteen year old. "Just powerful; he said he was trying to get ripped so he could get a new wife, but he never went out on any dates. I think he was waiting for me to come of age so he could..." Jorge stopped momentarily as he thought about what he was gonna say next.

"It's ok, remember our first rule: sexualization leads to empowerization."

"So he could rape me in our shower on that day. It was my eighteenth birthday and to celebrate, he raped me. Afterwards I cried and cried all night long, until... until... he raped me again. I stopped crying and instead I screamed and begged and he just kept going. He kissed me on the lips and said I was so much tighter than mom every was."

"And?"

"And how could he do that to his own son... his own flesh and blood like that?"

"Did you ask him why?"

Jorge nodded, "he said that he had been backed up for years, ever since mom left."

"Was this the only time he did it?"

"No, a few days later he did it again, and again, and again. It became a daily occurrence in the house. I didn't have anywhere else to go, no one else to turn to, so that's why I'm here with my boyfriend, to get some peace. Please, you have to help me! I don't know if I can take another rape session when we get back home tonight." Jorge broke down, allowing the tears to flow from his eyes, sobbing into the shoulder of his boyfriend. A few of the other men were now stiff beyond all reason. Their dicks leaked while they watched the kid embrace his boyfriend as they kissed and cried and kissed again, trying to comfort one another.

"Ok we hit a nerve! Let's take a break, reset, and review the rules of our group, shall we?" The rest of the men nodded as the young lovers continued cooing and comforting each other.

"Ok, Rule 1: Safe race, safe space. That means that we are free to talk about anything that is Blacklister related as this is a safe space.

Rule 2: Sharing is caring unless it's with Sharons and Karens. This reiterates the first rule in that we shouldn't judge the experiences of others. Don't be a Karen and tell others how they should be or react or any of that stuff, right?" The men nodded their heads as James continued on.

"Rule 3: Erections come from connections. This means that having an erection is normal, it's natural and doesn't make you any less of a person. So if you get an erection from another man's story, it means you've made a connection to his situation.

Rule 4: Don't wait, ejaculate. This means if you need to jerk it, whack it, or blow your load, feel free to do so. We won't think any less of you.

Rule 5: Hookups happen. If you and another member hit it off and you two, or more, wanna go at it like wild dogs in heat, do it!" A couple of the guys chuckled quietly as another started playing with his full mast.

"Rule 6: Tease to ease: this means that if you start getting tense or too strung out, tease your cock until you feel more relaxed. We often forget this one and I can't stress how much better you'll feel once you play with yourself guys. Studies show the more you fondle and play with yourself, the happier and more relaxed you'll feel. Trust me on this one; I know what I'm talking about." James looked over at Gregg who had been the one that had started playing with himself, "See Gregg has the right idea! Good for you Gregg!"

Gregg stopped what he was doing and pulled his hand away as though he were a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "What? Who, me? Playing with myself? No... nope - don't know what you're talking about!"

James cut off any responses, "no Gregg, it's fine... right guys?" The men glared silently at Gregg with a hint of fury in their eyes. "Guys, commmme on now... remember the rules: erections come from connections' and sharing is caring?' So let's not be a bunch of Karens!" The guys groaned and relented with their judgements as Gregg placed a hand back on his rigid bone-pole.

"And Rule 7: A simple molest always works best. So, if you see a friend here getting too tense, feel free to reach over and give him a tug or kiss on his body to calm him down. Chances are you might just make a friend for life and save his life, too. As you can see, Luke and Jorge are practicing this rule with great fervor." The twinks stopped kissing and caressing each other and looked over at James, their faces still puffy from the sob fest they had just been through. "Guys, dontcha both feel better now that you two have touched and reassured one another?" The boys nodded before they returned to their seats. "See! I told ya!

"And finally Rule 8: Don't rob a throb! That means if you find yourself getting sexually aroused, don't put yourself down for it. I know we sorta touched up on this one with a few of the other rules, but that's why I put it at the end: so as to remind you that sexual reactions in this setting are OK. They're natural! I can't stress this enough: they're - going - to - happen! And making yourself feel bad for having one ultimately hurts just one person in the end. Can anyone tell me who?"

Morab's hand shot straight up, "ooo, ooo, I know! I know!"

"Yes, Morab?"

"You," the Arabian immigrant smiled like a big idiot.

"Right Morab! Exactly right on the money! So now that we have had our little reset, shall we continue? Let's start with you Morab. Have you got a story to share?" Morab looked a little embarrassed as he looked at all the eyes that were staring at him. His erection had finally dropped down to half mast only for it to start snaking back up his rough hewn abs.

"Ye-ye-yes," he ran his fingers through his raven black hair as his eyes darted madly around the room. He didn't want to talk about what he was experiencing, but he knew James wouldn't move on until he did. "I-I-I'm a teacher's assistant at a very prominent medical school that I can't say the name of."

"Need I remind you, rule one?"

"I know, I know, but it's nothing to do with this group or anyone here. I'm scared that someone might come after me for what I'm about to say."

"Ok... go on."

"Well the professor, a male NB, had started a chapter on men's biology, most notably sexual health." Morab looked around as a hush fell across the group.

"And he did what," James played dumb in order to push the young TA into reply.

"He-he-he used my tawdry, chiseled body as a hands-on teaching aid... really hands-on."

A gasp came from the crowd as one of them exclaimed, "oh no!"

"Oh yes! He started the class by announcing that I was a Blacklister, and like all Blacklisters I was subject to sexual whims and desires. He then pointed at my flaccid, trunk-like penis - uhhhh - I mean sperm worm and said that this was what all Blacklisters thought with. It was their sole reason for living and that everything else, every desire, every need sprung forth from my mole pole." Morab shifted around as his crotch snake started to rise up, getting more agitated with each passing moment. "He then started playing with it in front of everyone, making it harder and stiffer with each stroke of his older, powerful hand."

"What did you do," asked Marley in an eager tone, his dude dongle growing too.

"I - uhhhh - I let out a moan," Morab was shaking with fear as the confession left his lips and filled the room, pushing out the tension that had been building up.

"Oh god, no," Hector repeated. Morab nodded as he squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that no one could see the humiliation that he felt.

"Yeah... yes," Morab spoke after a brief reprieve. "A few of the students laughed at me and one threw a partially semen filled condom at me, telling me to eat it. It was then that the student body broke out into uproarious laughter. I tried to run, but the teacher had placed a hand on my shoulder and kept me in place. When the laughter died down, he continued on with his lecture saying that this would be the daily lesson until everyone felt comfortable enough with the material to recite it at the drop of a hat. He then kept pulling on my bean pole and I kept moaning and moaning as it grew in his hand. He then said if he wanted me to stop that I shouldn't moan anymore. He then leaned over, licked my nipple, and caused me to moan even louder."

"That's horrible!"

"I would have literally died of embarrassment if that happened to me," announced Tomas.

"I wanted to," Morab replied, "I really did! He then pointed at my testes, errr, I mean my meat globes and said that they were overstuffed with sperm due to how large and heavy they were. He grabbed them, and tugged on them, and said that I liked having them pulled otherwise I would've fought back. It happened so fast that I didn't know it had happened until it was too late. He started tickling me and I giggled and told the class that because I laughed I enjoyed that too."

"Ohhhhhhh wowwwww," this time it was Tony that had reacted to Morab's confession.

Morab continued, "he spun me around, bent me over, and spread me like a cheap floozy, exposing my lightly dusted, hairy hole to the entire class. He talked at great length how each butt cheek was a sublime work of art given to us from the Lord above. His compliments turned me on, making me blush and leak at the same time. Then without warning he jammed his middle finger inside my puckering, tender, pristine anal sphincter forcing me to cry out loudly. He told me to 'shut-the-fuck-up' and that he was trying to teach a class."

"It's ok," James cooed, "you're safe here; continue."

"He kept rooting around, driving it deeper and deeper," Morab resumed, "looking for something that I didn't know what it was at the time. It felt like forever before he stopped and started batting my prostate. I moaned and groaned as pleasure replaced pain while he laughed at the power and control he had over me. I was weak, helpless, nothing more than a toy that was a mild diversion in an otherwise endless, drab, weary day to him. Finally, when it was too much for me, I popped my wad into his other waiting pitiless hand. Over and over I shot my man-snot into the palm of his old, decrepit appendage, coating it, soaking it with my special sauce. It wasn't until he stated how easy it was to control and manipulate men like me that I came back and realized where I was and what I had done. He then pulled out a caliper from his pocket, turned me back around, and 'measured' the size of my testes, telling the students that they had shrunk by a millimeter. It was then that he paraded me like some sort of child and allowed the students to take turns in an attempt to make me cum again."

"And did you," asked Hector.

Morab nodded shamefully, and held up three fingers, "three more times." Another collective gasp filled the room as everyone's jaws dropped. Everyone but El Matador who had trouble keeping up with a few of the English words. The sound of skin fapping against skin soon replaced the silence as everyone turned to the source. Gregg was madly pleasuring himself unabashedly as he grit his teeth. He hissed and groaned as he was rife with erotic sensations, churning his butter maker in an attempt to relieve himself.

"Oh fuck," he wailed behind gnashed teeth, "oh shit! I needed this soooooo bad!" His hand slipped up and down his stiff penis as he shivered and convulsed, ignoring all of the judgemental eyes that were leering at him. "Just a little - oh, Oh, OH-UGGGHHHHH!" Ropes of sticky white fluid blasted up against his flat, tawdry abs, coating them in the gluey crud. He huffed and chuffed, smiling like a Cheshire cat before noticing that the men in the support group were staring at him. "What," he asked, knowing what he had done. "I was and still am horny as fuck man."

"Alright, Gregg; guys remember rules three and four," James assured them, diffusing a potentially dangerous situation. Gregg continued to fondle himself, dipping a few fingers into his fresh spooge before placing them on a waiting tongue. Mr. Farnsworth got up, grabbed a white terrycloth and tossed it at the sperm soaked Blacklister before resuming the session. "Let's ask someone else, hmm? How about you Tukani? We haven't heard from you yet this session."

The men shifted their focus on the Tongan heart throb as he had been silent up until this point. "Yeah, yeah," he said softly, "I'll tell you my story, but it's not as bad as the ones that came before me."

"Well, we'll be the judge of that, but go on."

"My stuff occurred just over a month ago, right? I went in for an interview at a very prestigious law firm, Wolferman Heart. You've heard of it, right?" Again, the group nodded as the broad shoulder hunk feigned a smile. His hair was dark, his eyes were piercing, and his dick was stiff, shaking a little like a leaf in the wind. Tukani grabbed his meat, sliding his hand over the uncut pork poker in an effort to calm himself. It was Tomas who leaned in and flicked his tongue across his left nipple sending a shiver of pleasure ricocheting throughout his body. Tomas pulled back, smiled and sat back in his seat. After a moment of processing the nipple lick, Tukani continued, "well I was super psyched about working there as I had heard that they offered amazing benefits and insanely high pay for new arrivals. So I got in my car on the day of the interview and raced over to the firm's office. I made it with time to spare, so I decided to reward myself with a little bit of me time. I worked on my mucus maker for a little bit, getting it hard as rock so I could pop out a fresh one, ya know? That's when the lady from HR called me in. Three gentlemen, in dark gray business suits, were seated behind a table and the only sound that could be heard was my long neck monkey smacking against my rock hard abs as I entered the room. I sat down across from them, trying not to seem as nervous as I felt. The one in the middle, a balding man in his late fifties with glasses, started by establishing his name, his two companions' names, and finally his assistant who doubled as the head of HR. Her name was Margo and she was in her mid-to-late twenties and was insanely gorgeous. He then asked for my name and what it was that brought me here, today. He wanted to know what motivated me, and all the usual stuff. It was after I replied that he revealed his ulterior motive. He said that he was looking for a new fuck toy for his adopted son, Lawrence. A larger, beefier man, a black man, entered the room, smiled at him, and sat down."

"Wow - what the fuck," Juan was stunned just like the rest of them. Even Gregg had stopped fondling himself as he too was entranced by what he had just heard.

"I know, right? Well it was then that Lawrence took over the interview and started asking me questions. He kept asking me increasingly lewder and inappropriate questions."

"Like what, man" Charles asked as Gregg resumed molesting himself. Tony reached over to Takuni's man meat and gave it a light caress, sending a soft, reassuring pump of lust into the naked stud muffin. Takuni smiled at Tony before continuing with his story.

"Like," Takuni resumed, "how many times a day do I play with myself? And how big were my loads? And have I ever taken it up the ass from a BBC before?"

It was El Matador's turn to ask a question, finally. "Kay ehs ehso? Whaht ehs Bee-bee-see? Ehs goo' or...?"

"It means big black cock," Tony explained, pointing at his now rigid pole. El Matador looked down at the throbbing appendage, and could swear that just for one second it stared back at him and even gave the Mexican a wink. Tony was absentmindedly playing with his ballsack when Charles leaned in and gave the biracial stud with a swimmer's build a soft kiss on his left nipple. Tony smiled, nodded approvingly, and waited for Tukani to continue. When nothing happened, Tony prodded, "then what happened?"

"Well that's when Lawrence came over and started licking my quarter-sized nipples. I couldn't help it - I moaned! He then continued licking my naked, exposed flesh, pawing at my junk and fondling my right cheek with his left hand. He commented on the fact that I was already hard and said that if I didn't want it, I wouldn't have arrived hard to the interview. Over and over his big meaty paws molested me, made me feel like a big dumb animal and I lapped it all up like a thirsty dog. He played with me, used me for his sick, twisted sexual desires and I loved it. I could feel my throbber growing harder with each and every touch, each caress of my bare brown flesh. I was in heaven and before I knew it, I begged him to fuck me. God, it was awful; why did I ask him for it? Why?"

James shook his head slightly, "who knows," he said softly.

Tukani soldiered on, his dick throbbing and pulsating as he spoke each word, "Lawrence took me out to the busiest part of the building, unzipped his fly, and whipped out the biggest, darkest cock I had ever seen. My heart raced in my chest as I braced myself for what was going to happen next. Just as I was readying myself for a hardcore rape session, he started peeing on my face. All the workers started laughing at me, saying that he was marking his territory from unwanted intruders. I felt rotten as his body heated, fetid man waste blasted across my face and down my meaty, fuckable pecs and my sharp, pointy, jizz worthy nipples. The stream continued splashing down onto my sensuous muscles, coating me in his radiant golden shower. Lawrence reached down, closed off my nostrils, and made me drink his foul substance whether I wanted it or not. It was so rank, so vile that I nearly puked it up twice."

"So what stopped you," James questioned.

"I don't know... I guess because it had already filled up my stomach. I wasn't even hungry at lunch that day. He took me out, wined and dined me. Lawrence molested me at the lunch table, stroking my fat, hefty frosting makers. I moaned and groaned loudly, begging him to never stop despite hating every second of his violations."

"And how did that make you really feel?"

"Horrible... absolutely horrible, it was like - like I couldn't stop my body from wanting more. My own lust consumed my mind and was at the driver's seat of every part of my being. He had power over every aspect of my existence. During lunch, he threw me onto the table and raped my tender, juicy, muscular body. Over and over he shoved his raw, fat headed BBC into my virgin-tight anus, holding me in place by the throat. I wanted to scream, to cry for help instead I choked and sputtered as I tore down as much air I could get. Right before I blacked out he shot creamy wads of baby slime into my rectum, pulled out his man ripper, and continued dumping the rest of his goop onto my gasping, oxygen starved chest!"

"And how did that affect you?"

"I felt... uhhhhh... I felt like a cheap piece of meat. I felt like the only reason for living was to be used to satiate other men's sexual urges. I felt so empty and worthless that I was afraid that I might do something wrong so that's what led me here. And now... now I have all of you."

"Wow - powerful stuff! Ok, let's hear from someone else..." James looked around and saw that Gregg was still teasing his man milker, pressing it down only to watch it snap back up into place. With each smack against his flat belly he would let out a soft, almost imperceptible hiss of delight. "Gregg," the nudist popped three feet into the air, "we have yet to hear from you. I'm sure the most vocal man in our little entourage has a story or two about being a Blacklister in a Non-Blacklister world."

Gregg smiled the biggest, most charming smile he had, "yeah, sure - I got a good one."

"Well please enlighten us then," James leaned back in his chair as the white, translucent fluid on his face had crusted over. He crossed his left leg over his knee hiding any bodily mishaps that might occur that would make the group uncomfortable and nervous. He pulled apart the top button of his shirt in an effort to give a more casual, approachable appearance. Gregg softly pulled on his meat log, letting out a soft groan. "Well we're waiting," James prompted the nudist.

"I've been screwing my boss's boss at the company I work at for the past several months. He fucking loves me and the fact that I am a fucking horny nudist. He loves worshipping my thirty-three year old body and fucking the living daylights out of me whenever he wants. He even wears my hot, sticky jism as a badge of honor."

Marley raised an eyebrow, "really?"

"Yeah - it's fucking awesome! He asks me to shoot my spooge all over his pasty, white, flabby torso, and I always give him a pearl necklace to wear. He parades around the office like he's the cock-of-the-walk and shit! We spend weekends milking me like a cow. He even wears a farmer's overalls and a straw hat; it's crazy fun! I walk around on all fours and moo and moo and then he comes to collect me for my milking. He has a wooden stool and a metal bucket which he drinks up my guy cream from."

"Well that sounds amazing," James smiled looking at Gregg and wondering if he wasn't exaggerating things just a bit.

"Yeah," Gregg's dick twitched with excitement as he got further into his story. "It really honestly is the best. He won't fuck me as often as I like, but when he does, it's the best. Welllll, ok, second best, but it's really close to first place."

"Oh," this time it was Tony that pushed the conversation further. "How so?"

"Well, I've been having another affair with this bartender down the block from work. Seeing as how I used to be too poor to afford drinks, he and I started sleeping together so he'd buy all my drinks. God, now he fucks me like a cheap five cent floozy on rent day."

"Well, that might be a problem," James suggested.

"I guess so," Gregg seemed a bit distant at that moment. "Anyway, he's so powerful and aggressive, real rough trade stuff; a man's man. He's more hateful and aggressive than any rapist that I have ever had. He used to hook electrodes up to my nuts and leave the power on all night long just so he could fall asleep to the sounds of my screams."

"Well he sounds like a right nutter," Tomas commented. The Brit's dick had softened once again so Gregg took it upon himself to reach over and give it a friendly tug as he continued on with his shenanigans.

"Yeah it was wild," Gregg pressed on, ignoring the strange nervous glances that he was getting. "Sometimes I miss him charging me up. On busy nights he would throw me up on the bar and let the partons fuck me as hard as they wanted provided they bought me a drink, of course."

"Of course," James replied.

"What was your highest load count," everyone was surprised that the question came from Jorge. Gregg waited a beat to see if the kid would provide an explanation, but none came.

"Ohhhhhhh I'd say about one twenty - no, no - one fifty! God, what a night that was. My ass spat white snot out for five whole days and the loads weren't small. They were huge, thick, slimy ones. Such good memories."

"Well on that note, who wants to go next? Tomas, you offer us a unique perspective being from the U.K. and all."

"Indeed," Tomas was a little leery to tell his story. Normally he didn't like sharing and preferred maintaining the usual British stiff upper lip. Now, the spotlight shone on him and his wretched throbbing yogurt slinger and its accompanying hefty lactose factories. He looked down at his fat meat as it convulsed, straining upwards towards its master, longing for the smallest, weakest hint of a touch. Its solitary eye wept with a single thick tear as it cried out for the most microscopic graze, the slightest touch, just the teensiest whisp of physical contact. Tomas consider his pet's request and what it would mean to it. He sat and pondered what it would mean to touch it, however brief it would be. The pleasure that would surely come from such a small, simple act. A quick moment of carelessness and the men would sniff him out and be all over him like wolves on a baby rabbit. Their vicious fangs taring away at his vulnerable, soft flesh, ripping him apart from the inside out. Ohhhh, how he hated that! But it was just one little touch and would that really be so bad? His penis throbbed once again, begging for relief from its master.

"Tomas," it was James, "Tomas you still with us, bud?" Tomas looked back up at the non-blacklisted group leader.

"Sorry - sorry - I was just thinking..."

"About?"

"About what happened the last time I jerked off."

"The last time you jerked off? When was that?"

"Ummmmm... about a month ago, I th-think."

"Holy fuck," Hector was blindsided by this revelation, just like everyone else in the room.

El Matador made the sign of the cross as he somehow understood what had just been said, "eye dee-ohs mee-oh!"

"So yeah..."

"Wh-why haven't you, you know..." Juan asked.

"Wanked," Tomas finished as the group nodded. Even Gregg had stopped his self-fornicatation as he stared in disbelief, his penis twitching madly about, blindly searching for its master.

"Kay ehs ehso," asked El Matador innocently enough.

"He means masturbated," James informed the confused Mexican wrestler. "You know, jerk off, release the beast, pound the poy-yo!"

"Ahhhhhh, see, see - masturbar, joh in-tee-in-dough; I uhn-dehr-stahn."

Tomas continued, "for me, it was a little bit different. I was here on a tourist VISA when the Great Revelation occurred and the borders were shut. I was on a hike through Yellowstone and by the time I got cell service, it had been three months. I had received an email from the British consulate who explained what was going on and why I couldn't come home. That was after a park ranger found me on a trail heading out. He was kind, sweet, and allowed me the opportunity to confirm everything that had happened for myself before taking my clothes. The British embassy had sent out several mass emails of names of potential blacklisted citizens in the U.S. and my name was on it. They had sent it through the appropriate channels and it didn't take long to connect me to the list, especially given my foreign accent."

"So," Gregg chirped, "that still doesn't explain why you haven't whacked it in over a month." Charles and the rest glared angrily at the rock-hard nudist, "what? It still hasn't been explained!" He pulled on his meat nervously as he looked around the room, hoping to get some modicum of peace.

"Just let the man finish," Tony turned to the naked Brit and smiled. "Please continue."

James interrupted, "Tony, you missed the perfect opportunity to execute rule seven. You do remember that one, don't you?"

Tony shook his head, "no, I'm afraid that I don't."

"Alright, who here can remind him what rule seven is?" James looked around the room waiting for someone to answer his question.

"Is iiiiiiittt..." Hector struggled as he tried to remember the rhyming couplet. "Erections come from connections?"

"Nooo... anyone else?"

"Oh, I know - I know," Morab violently waved his hand up into the air. "It's 'tease to ease,' right?"

"No, but close; it's 'a simple molest always works best." A collective "ohhhhhhh riiiight" was uttered by the group as James turned his attention back towards Tony. "So, you wanna try that again?" Tony smiled apprehensively as his throbber oozed with presnot, twitching, straining, begging for contact. He didn't want to touch or look at another naked man, but ever since he was forced into this new paradigm, he had been made to do just that. Everywhere he went, dicks and balls and asses were there. If he went to a ball game, several hundred naked men both on and off the field. In a movie theater building, there were at bare minimum fifty naked men on hand. Walking down the street? Fifteen on a given day! It was frustrating! Then there were the sexual escapades that were equally ubiquitous. Men jerking off, getting raped, engaging in blow jobs, getting baths or just getting a golden shower. It was just plain gross and a tad crass! Oh how he longed for the days when men covered their bodies like ninety-nine percent of the time; those were the days. He didn't agree with the government's findings, nor respect those that had drafted the numbers. But, he had no grounds to argue and even if he did, who would listen? "Toooonnnnyyyy," he could hear the man's voice guiding him back to the moment. "Come on now; don't do this. You and I both know that you've come too far for you to slip up in your recovery now. Just last week you gave Charles a handy and even tasted a little of his salty spooge; remember?" Tony nodded; he didn't really want to do it, but James insisted on holding the group up until he made the breakthrough. He brushed his teeth seven times and gargled and rinsed at least three more after that. No matter how hard he tried, everything tasted like semen for three days afterwards. He would gag and retch nearly after every meal and drink he took.

Tony begrudgingly got up, walked over, and wrapped his mouth around Tomas's right nipple. Tomas moaned as Tony sucked on the teet just before dragging his tongue slowly across the areola and the central mound. "There now," James almost showed the slightest hint of delight. "Doesn't that make you feel better Tomas?" Tomas nodded as he opened his eyes and closed his mouth, his dick straining even harder for relief. "Do you want Tony to give you a handjob or a blowjob for relief? I know you must be incredibly backed up and him servicing you further would help you with that. Plus you wouldn't be masturbating so it technically wouldn't break your masturbation rule." Tomas shook his head; "well ok then. Finish your story, please." Tomas looked over at Tony as he sat in uncomfortable silence, the shame building inside as he looked down and away from the rest of the group. Tomas watched as Tony used his right hand to comfort his left as though it were broken in two, trying hard not to let the others witness how he really felt. Tomas knew that feeling all too well: the feeling of shame and humiliation that each man in that room had felt at one time or another. Everyone that is except for James who just smiled brightly and kept staring intently at the Brit.

"Now," Tomas resumed, "where was I? Oh yes, I had just been told by the park ranger what had happened while I was out hiking the trails and had received a confirmation from the U.K. consulate with regards to everything that he told me. So I had to surrender my clothes immediately to him, leaving me with only my socks, my hiking boots, and my trusty canteen."

"Then what happened," it was Luke's turn to ask a question. The kid's penis taxed itself as it too wanted to feel the sweet, sweet relief of an orgasm. It bobbed and pleated and cried wet tears as it begged to be played with. Unlike some of the other tears in the room, Luke's had been mostly clear as they slid slowly down the kid's light brown helmet onto the darker cinnamon colored shaft before getting caught in his deeply chestnut bush. It was here that those same droplets would congeal and collect with one another, growing heavier with each bead until the strands of fur ultimately broke and released their comparatively gargantuan payload onto the now body heated metal seating below. Anyone who had been staring at the young lad's crotch would have bore witness to this deliciously erotic dance that was being dramatized on his bare, exposed, dimly cinnamon body.

"Well then he took me back to my hotel, all the while making small talk and answering my questions about the changes that I had missed. By the time we arrived in the city, he noticed that it had gotten late and couldn't afford any more time helping me in my journey for fear of his boss's wrath. Something about too much time away from his post or whatnot; I really didn't pay too close attention. He let me out, shut the door, and apologized before driving off."

"He apologized; why did he do that," the question seemed innocent enough, but Luke had to know no matter the cost.

"I think it's because of what happened next. I think he knew what was happening everywhere was about to happen to me."

"What was that," the other men remained silent, looking away from Tomas and the young lad. Even Jorge refused to look at his boyfriend while trying to shield his innocence for as long as time would allow. "What," Luke asked as he noticed what was happening. His confusion led to panic which developed into a tremble of fear. The beads of presnot suddenly felt ice-cold on his body-heated member, causing him to grab onto his pole like a child grabbing a security blanket. He dreaded what was about to come next and held himself in place. Tony, seeing the poor lad's fear, did what he had been recently instructed and knelt down in front of the boy, licking the transparent beads off of the kid's throbbing male muscle. Luke moaned as a modicum of relief washed over him doing little to wash away the anxiety.

"Good use of rule seven Tony," James praised. "I'm very proud of you right now." Tony ignored the Non-Blacklister and continued licking up every droplet of presnot that came out of Luke's erection. His tongue danced playfully across the young man's mole pole causing the lad to pant louder and louder, taking deeper breaths with each inhale. "Does anyone else wanna use rule seven? I think everyone here might be feeling a little tense. Also, rule six would help you guys out, too; so don't be shy." Gregg happily started teasing his guy gouger as Juan, Tomas, and Hector did the same thing. It was then that El Matador joined in on the circle jerk as Charles started flicking his tongue against the Mexican wrestler's thick masculine neck. Soon everyone was teasing either themselves or one another in an effort to distract himself from what was about to be said. "Tomas, please continue."

"IIIIII - ugghhhh - was - ummmmm, OH FUCK- about to-to-to beeeee-eee-eeee, SHIT, hunted!" Everyone immediately stopped their orgy of teasing and molesting as they turned to stare at Tomas who panted briefly once more before continuing on, this time unabated.

"You what," Luke was stunned by what he heard. He wasn't sure what the man meant by `be hunted' and his morbid curiosity took the reins. The others looked away from Tomas and Luke, and this time James allowed the man to inform the lad unimpeded.

"I was hunted..."

"By what? A wolf? A bear? A serial killer?"

Tomas shook his head, "no nothing like that. What I was hunted by is what is known as a rape gang."

Luke wrinkled his nose, "a what?"

"A rape gang!"

"Ok, okay... I've heard of gang rapes, hell one of my friends was gang raped in college and he had spunk oozing out of him for a day afterwards. But never have I ever heard of a - ohhh, what did you call it? A rape gang?"

Tomas nodded again, "indeed I did. I hadn't either, that is not until after they were all done with me. I went online, made a post on the Blacklister subreddit and boom five responses all poured in: a rape gang. It was something new that had just started making its rounds across the internet. Stories of Blacklisters being hunted down by a group of NBs or sympathizers or both just for the sheer pleasure of gang raping [another] Blacklister."

"Wow... just wow!"

"I know!"

"Tell me more: what did you do? How did you survive? What can I do... different? Anything!"

"Right; so there I was walking back to my hotel in the middle of the night, only the sound of my shoes and the slap of my massive - oh how do you Americans say it - my schlong... echoing off the buildings when I accidentally made a turn to early and I ended up in a darker alleyway. A single, dim light illuminated the darkness and it was on its last leg. There in the flicker of the electric bulb I saw them: a group of, what you yanks call, rednecks standing there staring back at me. They smiled as I greeted them warmly, their teeth gleaming in the pale fluorescent light. They looked like a group of wolves and I was their main target: a helpless hare. As I turned around and tried to scurry away they gave chase. I ran back out the alley, down the street, and must have missed my hotel by several roads. My adrenaline kept me going and going as I knew if they caught me I would've been beaten me or worse."

"So then what happened?"

"I'll skip some of the more mundane details and cut right to the end. There I was: tired, worn out, dirty, and disheveled. My obsidian pubes all matted and my tight swimmers build a little bloodied here and there, but still mostly un-damaged... well except for a couple of holes. I had managed to evade their capture on more than one occasion, but I was starved... in more ways than one. Some kind woman, who had refused to take me in, had given me some old dry bread which I had finished off the day before. I had lost my canteen only three days after it ran dry the second time, so I was also a bit thirsty. In an attempt to hide myself as I was running on fumes, I had managed to sneak my-naked-self into an abandoned warehouse in hopes of finding an empty cot to sleep on. Instead, it was my penis that betrayed me in the end."

"How so," Luke's eyes grew wider as he listened with eager anticipation and unwavering devotion.

"Well, it was stiff - beyond stiff - it ached and strained for relief. So without thinking about it, I used what little energy I had left and gave myself a much needed wank. I wanked off for fifteen full minutes as a reward and to relieve my stress that I had just been put through. I shot hard, rotted chunks of man-cheese all over my smooth lightly dusted abs, coating what you yanks call a pleasure trail in my thick, rancid baby gravy."

"Okaayyyyy, but that still doesn't explain why the rape gang caught you, if they did at all."

"I'm about to get to that, I promise. Anyway, one of the scouts in the group must have been inhuman, I swear! I tried hiding behind some old, moldy, broken wooden crates, in a damp dark corner of the warehouse, but that wasn't enough. I stood on my haunches barely able to see the lout as he kept searching, sniffing for something that he couldn't ignore. Something that I had done or the source of a sound that I had made; SOMETHING. He inched closer and closer with every breath that I made, so I naturally started to shallow my breathing and steadied me-self so as not to attract further attention, but no matter what I did, he kept drawering closer. Finally I held my breath as he was literally centimeters away from where I sat on my haunches."

"Haunches, why those?" It was then that El Matador now noticed that the rest of the men had stopped avoiding eye contact with the pair of Blacklisters, much like he had been doing this entire time.

"Cause of the pool of fetid rainwater that I was occupying. I dared not let out a peep, not a drop of sweat or a single throb of my cock. I waited for what seemed like an eternity before I was forced to let out the tiniest morsel of air from my lungs. He still didn't move as I exhaled and inhaled. I thought I was safe until with a single leap, he jumped over the crate and grabbed me. I screamed! I screamed so loud that the others came racing over to where I was and joined him. He smiled and with his teeth gleaming in the pale, shadowy moonlight he told me something that I'll never forget!"

"Wh-what was tha-that," Luke swallowed hard as fear took over. He was moments away from exploding from fear like someone watching an Oscar worthy horror movie.

"He told me that if I had never wanked, if I had never doused myself with hot, sticky baby gravy, he never would've found me. When the rest of the group arrived that's when things went from bad to worse. They brutally and viciously sodomized my virgin arse for the next seven days, cackling like hyenas. They gang raped me in shifts for twenty-four hours straight, held me down by the neck and shoulders and arms and even my thick meaty chest. Load after hateful, evil, toxic load was shot into me. I was too tired to even put up a fight. After the first day, my voice was gravely and unrecognizable. By the end of the second, I was a mute. It took me a month to get my voice back to where it is now."

"That's horrible," Luke was in such a state of shock that he started to go numb. He breathed deeply as he tried to steady himself, his meat balloon quickly deflating.

It was Gregg who prodded the next response. "Just how many loads did you take?"

"I lost count," Tomas shook his head as he tried not to think of how many times he had received a dose of all-male protein. "But it took me a week of sitting on the toilet in my hotel room to get their sloppy spooge out of my ribboned rectum."

"HOLY FUCKING SHIT CHRIST IN A MINIVAN," Hector exclaimed as his erection refused to go down. In fact, it grew harder and even bled a fat white blob of man crud. It slithered and twisted down his vein ridden, decrepit, brown oak shaft from the tip of his ultra-soft-sienna brown uncut mushroom. It glided with such caliber, such grace that a seasoned pole dancer would have been shamed by its finesse. It finally landed in his obsidian pubes where it rocked back and forth as it decided where it should go next before ultimately electing to slide down his sack and onto the metal chair.

It was up to James to once again break the uneasy silence, "alright, alright, who's going to go next, hmmm?" The crusty therapist looked around the room as men nervously tried to avoid being picked by not making any eye contact. Sadly, with a large open space like this, it was hard to hide anything at all. His eyes scanned the room, drinking in the anxiety and fear along with the stiff, shameless erections. Globs of fear induced presnot percolated from a few of the tips of those potent potable producers while others did little to hide their recent releases of leaky man milk. James looked at each stiffy as he zeroed in the size, density, and shape of each one. His eyes landed on Gregg who was still teasing himself despite not eyeing his counselor. "Gregg..."

"What? I've already gone," the erect nudist protested.

"Yeah, I know, but I need a touch up on my facial. The last one dried out and I don't want to be seen without a fresh coating. You willing to help out?"

Gregg eyed the therapist, pretending to be unsure about the man's request. Everyone knew that this was the latest trend and to be caught with crust on the face was a major fashion faux pas. "Yeah sure," Gregg smiled a big goofy grin before standing up and moving over to his group therapist. James knelt on the floor getting as low as he could go, almost breaking out into an impromptu limbo contest. Gregg stood over the forty-two year old as he pulled on his fag flag, establishing a nice steady rhythm before taking it up a notch. His hand danced effortlessly across his bulky bat as he coaxed out another fresh, hot load. Faster and faster he stroked his peen pole, building speed. "Ah, uh, ughhh," he squeezed his eyes shut as passion took the wheel. The sounds of skin slapping skin soon filled the room as his scrotal tissue shifted and tightened. Tingling gave way to sheer delight as his heavy-set nuts prepared themselves for release. Semen and sperm churned and frothed in an epic ballet deep inside Gregg. "OH, OH, OHHH-HUUUHHH," a warm jet of spooge pumped out of his love handle, hitting the therapist on his sealed eyelids and waiting cheekbones. Pump after pump splooged down onto James while his widows' peak collected a couple of the white wet beads in his feathered hairline. After the final blast splashed across his face, he stood back up and wiped his eye sockets clean of the tarry, gooey substance. The group leader sat back in his chair, allowing the minted mucus to drip slowly down his face.

"Ok," Jamed smiled as Gregg's new unloaded glop dribbled off his jaw. "Let's continue, shall we? Juan," he turned to the athletic Latino with arm muscles the size of ripened cantaloupes. "We haven't heard from you yet. Care to grace us with a story?"

"Uhhhhh," Juan stammered as he looked around the room hoping to stall as long as possible. "Well I don't really have a story per se." The beefy Latino knitted his fingers together as he placed his lace across his fat, hard man mace. It reached upwards like a flower reaching for morning sunlight as a drop of dew fell down into his lap.

"Well that's just not true, you know. So come on; out with it."

Juan shrugged, "no man, can't say I've got anything."

James frowned as he stared at the muscled man sandwich, "Ok, let's try this from a different angle. What do you do for a living?"

"I'm in construction, I suppose."

"You suppose or you don't know orrr -" James's voice became a little sing-song at the end in an effort to coax it out of the perfectly sculpted man.

"Well, yes - I'm definitely in construction!"

"Ok then, let's start with that then. How's that going for you?"

"Good... real good."

"And are they accepting or supporting or helpful in regards to your Blacklister status?"

"Wellllll..."

"Well what?"

"My boss wanted to do an office party to celebrate a birthday for one of the guys."

"So tell me then, how did that go?"

"It, uhhhhhh - it - I was made to perform," Juan hung his head in shame as the other men just stared at him. His erection shivered as it tried to comfort its master the only way it knew how.

"Perform how," the question came from Luke as if he didn't know what Juan meant. Juan grabbed his Mexican man jammer and gave it a quick tug, allowing himself a little bit of relief.

He looked right at Luke and continued, "I was the office rape toy; only stupid me didn't know that at the time. They, uhhhhhh, the birthday guy asked me to dance with him: Jeff... Jeff was his name. He was a mean ol' son-of-a-bitch, but at that moment, he seemed so sweet. He wanted a slow dance, ya know? He grabbed onto my ass cheeks like we were fifteen or whatever all the while swaying from side-to-side. Then he leaned in, and he - he started licking my neck."

"Then what happened," James adopted a more involved position in his chair.

"IIIIIII, uhhhhh, I moaned! I loved it! I felt like a cheap slut, but I loved that, too! My skin sword grew hard as it was pressed so snugly against his pants' leg. The more he molested me, the harder I got and the worse I felt. I felt his warm wet tongue as it caressed my caramel flesh, sending erotic delights surging throughout my muscular body. It was so... so... disgusting and erotic and magical. He pressed his soft pink lips against mine and started kissing me. I could feel his..." Juan choked up a little before continuing, averting everyone's gaze, "hard on... be-behind his jeans." The last sentence came out like a soft whisper as though it was a secret that he wanted to keep close to his heart. "He was so - just so... so big! I had never felt a lump that big before. I looked down and saw a wet stain forming at the top of the lump. He smiled and told me that I was making him do it. I was causing him to feel things that he had never felt before. He leaned in and jammed his tongue into my mouth. I could taste the alcohol and cigars that he drank and smoked regularly. The whiskey that he liked to sip when he came home after a hard day's work. When he pulled away, I saw that I was leaking. Why - why was I leaking? Huh? Why did I like it? Why me?"

"Is that where the story ends," James asked.

Juan shook his head and whispered again, "no," before getting louder. He did everything in his power to fight back the tears before losing the battle. "No... he turned me around, unzipped his fly and ran his fat, hateful pole against my tender rockhard cheeks. I could feel the - the - the precum stick on my cinnamon buns. He leaned in after hiking his pants down and whispered that I was the one he had been waiting his entire life for. I was the one that was going to take," Juan made air quotes, "his v-card.' He had never been with another man before and I was going to be his first. That's when he shoved it in. I could feel it: the pain, the anguish, the bru-bru-burtality. He stopped being kind and went back to being an asshole. He slam fucked me so hard, so powerfully that I started seeing stars - LITERALLY!" The naked Mexican wept uncontrollably, "he wouldn't stop! He wouldn't stop! And when he was done -" Juan wiped his face, hoping to wipe off the shame, "when he was done, he gave me over to another, and then another, and then all the others!"

"And how did that make you feel?"

"I felt whimper I felt like I wasn't a man... not even a blubber a sob person! I just felt like... just a thing - a fucking object that only existed to take their loads!"

"How many did you get?

"What? Huh?"

"How many loads did you take from those men? Was it twelve? Twenty? How many?"

Juan jutted his hand as he was flustered by the question. It was as if the number was inconsequential to him. "I don't know: fifty... seventy... I lost count... not that I ever took one to begin with! It just hurt so much! I bled out my rectum as white sticky semen oozed out of my brutalized Mexican anus." The tears flowed from the nudist like a waterfall over Niagara. This time, it fell to both Hector and Morab to comfort their friend and fellow rape victim. The pair leaned in close to Juan's stiff, firm, veiny pecs and licked both of his tiny, pointy nipples. They suckled upon his massive chest as it heaved and hawed from his wailing. Juan took his massive threatening throbber and started stroking it, trying to comfort himself in his time of anguish. Little by little, the veiny hulk started to feel better as his two lampreys continued their molestation. Their tongues darted about, soaking the points on his bulging chest. Morab took a quick nip on Juan's left pec muscle, causing Juan to shiver with delight. Then Hector playfully sank his teeth into the forty-five year old's right pec making Juan groan loudly. "Uggghhhhh," he pulled and pulled on his ride rod, squeezing out some presnot in the process. "So, so, s-uhhhhhhh-huhhhhh," Juan gushed as he splooged across his rock-hard chiseled abs. The man jam dripped down off his hard, older body as the two others lapped at his over glut, making sure they did their best to get as much of his man-jus as they could. Juan smiled as he came down from his endorphin high, delighted at having shot his wad. James pulled his smartphone out of his pocket and checked the notifications. He frowned as more of Gregg's fresh sludge dripped off his down turned mouth.

"Ok with all of that said, how about we take five, ok guys?" The group nodded in agreement as they looked around at each other, their stiffies seeming to nod in agreement as well. El Matador got up and stretched his hands up as high as they'd go. As he did, it had finally sunk in as to how massively meaty he was for some of the guys. Both twinks' jaws dropped as the beefcake inhaled, filling his hulking chest with the much needed air. They stared at the masked man too afraid to ask a question, but too entranced to look away.

"Ask him," Luke whispered to Jorge as he placed a hand on his lover's exposed leg.

"No, you ask him," Jorge shot back in an equally hushed tone. The young Latino was too scared to approach the mountain of raw Mexican muscle, let alone speak to him.

"Go on; do it! You wanted to know!"

"Yeah, but it was your idea."

"Guys, guys," it was Tony who had overheard the conversation. "You know he can hear you, right? I mean, he may have trouble understanding you both but he's not stupid!" It was then that the young lovers saw that the masked nudist was now staring at them, grinning from ear-to-ear like a cat getting ready to pounce on a pair of mice.

The two swallowed loudly before Luke finally broke their silence, "we were just wondering -"

"If you -" Jorge continued

"Would like to maybe -"

"Possibly -"

"Want to fu-fu-"

"Would you pound us, sometime?"

"We've always wanted to do a three-way and would very much like to get banged by you. That is, if you are down for it."

"Graw-see-us, cheekohs," El Matador thanked them politely, "pairoh may goose-tahn moo-hair-ays. Eye leyeke deh weemins."

Crestfallen, the young men collectively let out an, "oh." El Matador then left the circle of chairs, spreading outwards and flexing his arms as he walked around the room. He looked at the men as they had broken up once more into the smaller groups of conversation, chatting it up as they fondled themselves absentmindedly. El Matador scanned the room, taking in all that the facility had to offer. Metal chairs were folded up onto some sort of mobile contraption that was most likely used for their transportation to other parts of the building. The walls were lined with a few pieces of hand made iconography that the children had made. A few framed professional paintings sat on other parts of walls, further cementing the wholesome atmosphere of the place. El Matador looked down at the ground and found a crude render of a family done by a child. Three figures stood on the white dusty paper with grass below them, sun above them, a tree off to the right with a poorly drawn house on the left. "My family," the words said in big blue letters in between the black outlines of two clouds. Two large smiling stick figures held the smaller smiling stick figure's hand. It was then that El Matador discovered something off-putting: the stick figure on the right had three legs, two long and one short, while the other two figures had only two. The naked wrestler swallowed hard; he knew what the image was trying to convey and what that meant on the whole. It was then that he noticed a blue door off to his left and moved closer to investigate it. It was an ordinary, unassuming piece of equipment that had a spherical shaped handle and boasted nothing else out of the ordinary. El Matador reached out, placed his right palm on the metal sphere, and gave the thing a twist. Much to his surprise the thing turned, allowing him access to the contents on the other side. He looked inside and discovered that it was a big room with a stove, a refrigerator, and a few other things that indicated a small kitchen. There, at the back of the room, stood James with his hand up to his head and his smartphone in his right hand. His back was to the naked Mexican and he was clearly unaware that the wrestler was standing in the doorway.

"Yeah, yeah," James said into the device. Clearly he was speaking to someone else on the other end of the phone call. "I think tonight's batch will be to your satisfaction. How are you enjoying the show? Are the audio and video streams stable?" James waited a beat before responding, "good, good. Well, you are paying quite the pretty penny to both me and that kid Brandon." Another moment of silence, "and he's your brother's son? Well he does good work!" After a brief respite, he spoke again, "yeah I remember seeing the video last week. It was stunning! Everything on your end looked amazing... simply amazing!" James shifted his weight around as he continued to face the wall before turning to the left. El Matador backed out of the doorway, leaving the man alone, quietly and quickly shutting the door. A bead of precum oozed its way out as he hurried back to where the other men were now standing. He knew that he had heard a private conversation, but what it involved and with whom it was, he hadn't the first clue. All he knew was that he had infringed on someone's personal space and given how often that happened to him, he knew that what he did was wrong. The Mexican nudist knew how it felt to be violated, to have something intimate and personal ripped out of your being, splayed out for the world to see as you cried out of shame. Still, he couldn't shake this feeling, this gnawing in the back of his mind about what he had heard. There was this thing: a word that he wasn't sure what it meant. If only he could find someone, someone that he trusted to help him translate or interpret it, maybe that gnawing would disappear entirely. El Matador made his way over to where Tony was standing, moving into the man's field of vision.

Tony was busy chatting it up with Charles, pulling on his large fune. He chuckled as Charles made some sort of snappy comment that El Matador had no understanding of and did not care to have explained to the naked Mexican beefcake. Little droplets of wet, creamy daddy batter oozed out of the tip as Tony choked them right out of his fat chicken. He broke eye contact briefly, looked down at his rock-hard rammer, and hissed as he watched the slop splash onto the ground below. "Ooooo," he muttered, "that felt so good." Tony looked back up at Charles who was also busy playing with himself, rapidly fapping in front of Tony. "Exactly, exactly," it was as if he were responding to a statement that Charles had made moments earlier. He turned his attention and his woody towards El Matador, seeing that the stud was standing there. "Hey El; what's shakin' bacon? Pull on your cock and stay awhile," he chuckled at his own play on words. He turned back to Charles briefly, "see what I did there? I changed it to 'on your cock' instead of 'up a chair.' Pretty clever, right?" He tapped his friend with his hard-on as his buddy gave a soft chuckle. A double string of man jam clung to Charles's elbow.

"Very clever, indeed my good man," Charles pushed his erection down before allowing it to snap back up into place. "I tip my fireman's hat to you, good sir." A dollop of cream went flying up towards Tony's face, smacking him on the left side of his jawline.

In the worst fake British accent ever came Tony's response, "well sprayed, well sprayed my fine fellow!" This time the pair of them chuckled at the same time as they continued yanking on their poles.

In an equally terrible accent, Charles retorted, "in-cream, in-creamily so my fine ass chap!" Charles reached down and tickled Tony's sack as the two of them laughed at the last quip made. It was then that Tony remembered that El Matador was standing there waiting to get a word in edgewise. Tony, with cock in hand and huge grin on his face, turned his attention back towards the naked hunk.

"Ehhhhhh, sorry about that," he had lost the fake accent. "So El, may I call you El? So El, what can I bang ya for? Errr, I mean, do ya for?"

"Tangoh ooo-n pray-goontah; eye hahhve ay kwest-shon," El Matador's penis throbbed once more, a dollop of his cream sliding down his obese virginity robber. It slid down the fleshy, brown, aching mass, kissing the valleys and crevices with such skill, it was an art form. The tear of male angst rolled unimpeded to the patch of smooth hairless skin where the wrestler's jet black bramble should have greeted it with open, loving arms. Instead, it clung to the large, wrinkled sack of El Matador's fat, overstuffed testes before splashing onto the icy tile below.

"Sure my man," Tony turned at an angle and playfully whacked Charles with his stiffy. Charles reciprocated but not before letting out a playful snicker. "Go ahead," Charles giggled at the accidental pun Tony had made.

"Kay ehs law sig-niff-ee-kaw deh bahhsh? Whaht duhss bahhsh mean?"

"Bash," Tony sought confirmation from his new support group attendee making sure he heard the word correctly. "What does 'bash' mean?" El Matador nodded fervently as he looked at his buddy with eager anticipation. "Well I suppose it means this," Tony turned again and hit Charles again on the elbow with his hard-on. This time Charles pretended to be hurt and rubbed the point of contact, dick-snot clinging to both his hand and where Tony had "hit" him. The stringy mess stuck to his fingers as the Blacklister pulled his hand back and apart giving them a webbed appearance.

"Oh, ver-dawd? Rehlly? Ehs el toe-doh?"

"Well in here in the states it also means 'a party' or 'a fun time.' Like we're having a bash, here!"

El Matador nodded as he stroked his hard-on. He didn't know why, but he felt the sudden urge to place his hand on his woody man pecker and play with himself. "Seee-eeee-uhhhhhh!" Just then James came out of the backroom all smiles.

"Ok ra- errr- men," James stopped himself from making a social flub as he called out to his "patients." He smiled, "let's all take a seat; I've got an exciting announcement to make before we get started!" The men let go of their wood as they returned to their previous areas, the sound of skin slapping loudly filled the room. Everyone had resumed their normal seated positions, with the exception Juan and Hector. The diamond cut Mexican sat down on Hector's stiff porker, groaning as he slowly, expertly slid the roaster inside his warm, gooey insides. Juan let out a loud moan as he impaled himself while he squeezed his eyebrows together. "So, what's going on with you two?"

Hector, whose jaw had dropped into an expression of utterly passionate delight, finally spoke up. "Juan - uhhhh - needed - OH FUCK - some more - DUDE, YOU ARE SO FUCKING TIGHT, MAN!" Juan looked back at his friend, smiled like a cock-drunk slut who was getting his fifteenth prick into him before squeezing his cheeks together. Hector cussed, "eye dee-ohs mee-oh! OH FUCK, OH FUCK, OH FUCK!"

"Yessss?"

"Heeee - ugghhhhh - needed more come-cum-comforttttttiiiinnnnngg - SHIT!"

"Well ok then; as I was saying, I've got some good news: I just spoke with our investors on my phone and they agreed to supply us all with our own chair cushion. That's right, as of next week each and everyone of you can get a chair cushion with your choice of dildo attachment."

The twinks got excited, and asked in unison, "vibrating dildo attachment?"

"Sure? Why not? The sky's the limit!" As the two turned to each other to celebrate, Hector reached around to his pal's crotch, fondling his buddy's ball sack. Juan whimpered as he used his rectal muscles to squeeze Hector's man meat before bouncing playfully against the bulky man's Buddha belly. Hector threw his head back as he moaned with pleasure.

"Comfort me, gwah-poe, comfort me," Juan groaned, "I need it soooooo fucking much! Ugh-ugh-UGH!" Hector bucked his hips hard up into Juan as the muscled Mexican let out a yelp of unimaginable pleasure.

"Ok, settle down now, settle down!" Everyone calmed themselves as Hector and Juan both continued to comfort one another. "We still have a lot to discuss and a cause for celebration."

"Circle jerk at my mansion in celebration," Tony proclaimed. "And everyone's invited!" The room exploded with a cheer as guys turned to one another, giving some sticky high-fives. The twinks kissed each other before James retook control.

"Again, guys, let's calm ourselves. We still need to hear from our last three remaining members while I prepare the punch, ok?" The men nodded in agreement as they quickly calmed down. Even Juan bounced a little softer against Hector's pudgy belly. James got up and scooped out the shimmering red fluid into the shiny red plastic cups. He passed the refreshments around the circle, making sure each man had a helping of the sweet confection. He raised a glass, "so I propose a toast: to each and every one of you. May you each get what you all deserve in the end!"

"Here, here;" the naked men all cheered while Juan continued receiving his comfort from Hector. Juan slugged down the fluid, stopping long enough to allow his pal to quickly gulp the punch before resuming his pace. Hector thrust his pole deeply into Juan's insides, causing the veiny, ripped construction worker to groan loudly. The others all drank from their cups as they collectively joined in on the toast.

"Ohhhhhhh yeahhhhhhh," Juan cried as he threw his head back. "Comfort me, Hector, comfort me harder! That's it, just like thaaaahhhhhh-ugh-ugh-ugh!" He slouched forward as Hector pounded him passionately, comforting the muscle man before Juan stiffened up again.

"Do you feel my hot throbbing comfort in you," Hector teased, in between rounds of heavy panting. "That's it! Feel gasp my pant fat groan hot moan comfort!"

"So who have we not heard from," James looked around to see who had yet to bare his soul. "Leeeettt's see; how about either of you Charles or Tony? Both of you have been here the longest along with the exception of Gregg and Juan... both of whom we have heard from already."

Tony stared down nervously at his punch as he sobered up, "ummm... could Charles go before me? I - I don't think I am ready, yet."

"Okay, Charles, do you feel ready to share? Is there anything that you've been burdened with lately or are you perhaps ready to talk about for the first time?"

Charles swallowed hard as well, mentally preparing himself for what was about to come next. He looked away from the group, from the depravity, the foolishness, the unbridled male lust. His penis had tried to soften during the festivities but now acted as there was an unseen force propping it upright. "My first time - my real first time that I was raped - happened the day..."

"Go on Charles," James reached out with a soft, comforting hand, placing it on the Blacklister's smooth, supple, bare thigh after maneuvering closer to him. "We're all here for you and we'll support you by following rules six and seven, ok?" Charles nodded as he ruefully looked down at his straining man meat. Just for a second, for the briefest of moments, he swore it winked in support of him as a single heavy, roly-poly tear wept out of pain from its only eye.

"It happened the day when the laws went through," Charles quietly admitted as he still couldn't pull his eyes away from his meat. "I was - I was out buying groceries in the store when a group of - of..." Charles sighed as he took it upon himself to revisit the trauma of that day.

"It's okay, take it as slow as you feel comfortable with."

Charles nodded solemnly, "it was a group of bikers, the Hellions. They were hairy, smelly, and - and covered in a sweaty slime of some kind. They were disgustingly overweight and each one more suh-" Charles swallowed hard. "Sadistic... extremely, insanely sadistic, than the last."

"Tell - us - everything," James rubbed the man's thigh.

"I was in the produce area when they spotted me buying oranges. They walked over and literally ripped off all of my clothes while saying hateful, evil things. They all laughed as I called out for help; no one came to my aid. They held me down, and violently, maliciously, brutally sodomized me. They took turns gang raping me, over and over and over for three solid hours. Nearly all of the oranges were knocked over as I begged for them to stop! So much jism! So much vile, hateful man chowder!"

"Is that all that happened? Was that the end?" Charles shook his head, a few droplets fell from his angry prick and his mournful eyes.

"Nah - no; I, uhhhhhh, went to the hospital to be treated for my multiple rapes. There was a nice male nurse who took swabs of my anus, claiming he needed them for evidence. 'One swab for each load from each rapist,' he told me. Each sampling he took made my skin crawl. I had to lay there as he jammed the Q-tips deep inside my asshole; it was so painful and humiliating. After a while some cops came in and started questioning and interviewing me."

"So at least they helped you, right," Luke was so hopeful, so earnest, so pure that no one wanted to spoil his view of the world.

Charles woefully replied while shaking his head, "no... not exactly. They laughed at me as the bikers' collective loads wept out of my freshly sodomized backside. During their bouts of cruel cackles, one of the cops managed to inform me of the new laws. No matter how much I protested, they refused to pursue the creeps."

"So," Gregg interjected, "at least the cops let you go."

Charles looked away in shame, "not exactly. They - uhhhh - they gang-raped me as well. They pinned me to the bed and sodomized me for about an hour. I cried and begged them to stop! I even tried to fight back this time, but they were so strong. They both had huge throbbing muscles and powerful torsos. I felt so powerless as they brutalized me, laughing cruelly at my misery. After they finished using me, they told me to be less attractive next time and no one will wanna rape me. I cried tears of shame and anguish for hours before falling asleep."

"Well I'm sure that the hospital staff didn't rape you," Luke said confidently. The young lad absentmindedly played with his young aching pole while Hector kept comforting Juan. Charles shook his head while Morab maneuvered closer to the distraught rape victim. The naked Arab leaned in, flicking his tongue playfully against Charles's hard-on, sending erogenous waves of ecstasy into the nudist. Charles woefully moaned as he struggled to reconcile the emotional pain with the sensations of bliss.

"They - uhhhh - they did! I was gang raped by several giant male orderlies and a few nurses. I was then forcibly milked by a seven foot, bodybuilding neurosurgeon into a petri dish while he was on a break. It was so awful! He shot a round of rank, gluey semen into my face, scooped it up with his finger, and made me lick it clean."

"And how did all of that make you feel," James asked as Morab continued to smoke Charles's sausage. Charles moaned, pressed his eyebrows together as he got lost momentarily in ecstasy. The Arabian Blacklister was giving him a real workout with his cock sucking skills. Charles politely tapped on Morab's head in an effort to get him to stop. Morab stopped and returned to his seat, allowing Charles to continue.

"It uhhhhh, it made me feel disgusted, like I was less than human. I felt weak, powerless; I was at their mercies and there was nothing I could do worthwhile. Nothing mattered; not my feelings, not my wishes, not my needs. It was all about them: my rapists and their needs. Maybe if I..."

"If you were less attractive they would leave you alone?" Charles nodded solemnly again; he was beyond shamed. He felt so helpless and humiliated and that somehow, some way, he was responsible for all of this. Morab saw the pain in his friend's eyes and resumed pleasuring his pal. "Wow, powerful stuff; powerful stuff indeed." James turned his attention to the two remaining Blacklisters who, for the whole and most of it, had remained silent up until that point. Tony looked back at the fully clothed therapist, hoping against all hope that he wouldn't have to spill the proverbial beans. When James stayed silent, he knew that his goose was cooked.

"It happened," Tony briefly paused. He wasn't sure about opening up like this nor was he sure that he should tell them what really happened that fateful day. He knew that if he didn't tell them the truth that the shame and guilt would haunt him for the rest of his days. "I, uhhhh, went in for a job interview with a company that my buddy desperately wanted to work for; it was an office job. He was a biracial Blacklister like me, except he had caramel-mocha skin as he was Blatino. We both were up for the job, and I really wanted it. He was younger and a bit more athletic than I was. He -" Tony swallowed hard, "he was a shoe-in. I had to do something; he was going to get it if I didn't do something to give me an advantage."

"So, what did you do," James asked intently as everyone watched with bated breath. Tony's prick twitched madly about like it was angry at everyone... at the whole wide world even. It hissed, and writhed threatening anyone that dared come near it. Tony, conversely, remained mournful, full of regret, pain, and anguish.

"I - uhhhh - I raped him! I raped him on the couch outside the room while we waited to see who would be first into the interview. I held his young, masculine body down and forced myself on him and told him that I would only stop if he agreed to drop out of the running. He screamed, crying, begging me to stop, but I just kept on brutally, viciously, mercilessly sodomizing him, never yielding until he said that he would quit. He - I - ummm - shot about -" Tony struggled to get the words out. "I ejaculated into him four times. His ass was so fucking tight, so warm, so inviting. I could feel my, my, my penis force its way deep into his virgin-tight insides, ripping his soft rectal tissue apart. It felt so good, so fucking amazing; it was like his insides wanted me to shoot into him. And there was... there was blood; it stained the couch. The men who were conducting the interview later said not to worry about it, that the jizz janitors would be able to get it out easily thanks to the Nutara. They said that they were impressed and that they had never seen someone so cunning, so ruthless, so vicious as I was in a very, very long time." Tony stopped briefly as the shame became too much for him to continue, stunning everyone into an uncomfortable silence. "They asked me all the standard interview questions: how many loads can I consecutively produce, how many times a day I get hard, do I like being a sex-fiend. But, uhhhh, I'll never forget the look on my buddy's face after I finished raping his sweet, sweet ass. Nor will I ever forget how his butt left a trail of my seed as he got on the elevator to leave. He hasn't spoken to me since." Tony broke down as the tears ran over him like a truck would run over a soda can. He sobbed and choked and heaved as he let it all out, baring it all for the others to see. Even Hector and Juan had stopped comforting one another, sitting motionless with their jaws hanging open.

"Holyyyyy fuck," was the only sound. James's words soon took up the room as the other men didn't know what to do or say. Everyone felt betrayed at that moment: the greatest guy, their nicest friend, had just delivered a bomb of massive destruction to each one of their worlds.

El Matador looked around wondering what to do or say in response to what had been said. He was unsure as to what the best course of action was until it hit him like lightning: rule six - tease to ease. The naked wrestler grabbed onto his Mexican chorizo, tugging playfully on it as he stared into its singular empty eye. He squeezed the head allowing a glob of chicken tears to form on the slit. The more he pressed his flesh, the bigger and heavier the blob grew, threatening to fall carelessly down his hefty, monstrous shaft. It had become a sort-of game at this point: how big could he make it before it felll? It kept growing and growing and growing as he he kept a steady eye on it. The game was rather fun for him and with everyone still trying to process what it was that they had just heard, he was free to tease himself until he was fully relaxed. The bigger thee tear grew, the more likely it was to fall, the longer it stayed on his tip. Finally, probability gave way to physics and the bulky bit fell down. It was then in a race to see how long it would take before it hit the base of his penis. As it fell, a transparent trail of man snot joined it, leaving behind a path for future globs to join it. Down it went, quickly at first until it lost some of its mass, and then slowly until it reached the base of his penis. Finally, it slid off his scrotal sack and collected upon the cold metal where it would soon be joined by others in its family. A family? Was it really a family? Did it have a mommy and a daddy like he had seen on the girl's picture? Would it have brothers and sisters like the ones that he had left behind in Mexico to pursue his dream of being a luchador? True he could've done that in Mexico, but there it would have been much harder for him to do. Here in the states, there weren't that many luchadores. But south of the border, there were hundreds, maybe thousands that he would have to compete with to carve out a name for himself. So what if he would never wear a stitch of clothing for the rest of his life? Was the price of his bodily autonomy be so bad? Would the suffering of indignations like his manager regulating his orgasms really be worth it when compared to millions knowing his name?

It was at this moment that he noticed something odd, something quite unusual: the room was getting darker. Was the building losing power? Was someone dimming the lights down? Why were the shadows melting together? He looked up and saw James smiling back at him. "There, there beefcake," James cooed as his face became saturated with the shades of darkness. "Soon you'll -" and then he could no longer hear the man's voice. All he could hear in the vast, unending darkness was silence... peaceful, restful silence. Then it was a dream: he was naked in the ring, wrestling, and then it melted into a party and guys kept yanking on his sack and touching his butt. They laughed at jokes that he couldn't understand while they also seemed to laugh at pulling and prodding him. A viper snaked around the partygoers that they either didn't notice or didn't care about. He could hear it hissing, slithering, drawing closer to his vulnerable naked flesh. He tried to warn the others, but they just stared at him with a bemused expression on their faces as though he was the problem. El Matador tried to find the snake, but it was too late. It had attacked his exposed anus and injected him with its hot venom. Just as the fever grew to be too much, he opened his eyes and found that the room was too dark to see anything.

He could hear breathing: heavy, labored, breathing but couldn't find the source. He was in a standing, hunched over position with some sort of metal contraption keeping him vertical. In the luchador's mouth sat something spherical and filled his gaping maw with the taste of something plastic. The naked Mexican's head had something pressing against it as it was wrapped tightly around his head, holding it in place. Luckily for him, he could still feel the reassuring chafing of the fabric from his mask. His hands hand been tied behind his back and his once proud stiff dick had now softened back into a deep, dreamless slumber. There was something else, too; something that was behind him, in a place that shouldn't be where it was. He didn't know what it was, but it kept pressing against his rectal door, threatening to invade him, but never doing so. Just then, the lights came on and all at once it blinded him with their brilliance.

After his eyes had time to adjust, he could see where he was and who he was with. His eyes darted madly about as he looked around the large, pale white room. He was in a musem! He and the two men he found from the support group had been placed in various poses into an art museum. Panic filled every fiber of his being as men in tuxes filed into the room from the front door. They appeared to be obscenely wealthy and a few of them had their arms draped across one another, smiling as their pack leader, who wore a glittery purple suit, maintained a brisker pace. He had dark chestnut hair and pale tight skin giving him the look of being in his late twenties. El Matador fixated his gaze on the shiny man as he approached the Greco-dressed wrestler. "So," the man spoke in a deep, intoxicating voice as he drew closer to El Matador. "Here we have one of my personal favorites: El Loo-chaw-door in Fear. Now, unlike the others I have shown you tonight, I plan on keeping this piece in my personal collection and is definitely not for sale!"

"Really," asked a lithe older man who had wrapped his arm around that of someone appearing to be half his age. His streaks of gray in his sleek hair suggested that he was over forty. "I'm pretty sure that I can make you a better offer than anyone here for it."

"No sir, I am an artist and can't be bought. This piece is one of my personal favorites. I saw it live and in living person once and plan on giving it a good home."

"Are you sure? I'm almost certain -"

"Sir if you can't respect my artistic choices," the purple man's tone suggested that of anger and frustration. "Then I shall ask you to leave at once and be black balled from any future sales from any other artists like myself."

"There are no other artists like you," another man chimed in. He stood alone and looked about the room at the two other pieces that occupied the same space as El Matador. It was Tomas and Marley that were in percarious positions just like the nude wrestler was. Marley was hung vertically upright via leather padded shackles and a ball-gag in his mouth He was held spread eagle while his lenghthier penis, like the luchador's penis, was soft. A look of terror had crossed the ex-porn star's face as his eyes darted madly about. No more than three inches away was a device on some sort of robotic arm that appeared as though it could be raised and lowered through some sort of mechanization. At its tip sat something that looked like a spray bottle with an empty chamber and a hose attached directly to the base, connecting the inside tube directly to the hose. El Matador shuddered to think what sort of chemical came out of the nozzle and wished that he hadn't seen it to begin with. The fan left Marley's side and glided across the room to Tomas's postion.

Tomas was suspended horizontally in mid-air via a rope-based pulley system. The pullies had been attached to a metal frame, ensuring the naked Brit would not fall. Wires had been attached to his nipples and genitals and some sort of red ball-gag had been placed into his mouth. The wires ran all the way back to a small, black metal box of some sort which in turn had wires that ran to a metal post. On the post was a red button and a lever that had some kind of face on it that El Matador couldn't really make out. Tomas's eyes were wide with fear as he started making terrified squeels and muffled cries into his ball gag. It took him a few seconds to meet El Matador's gaze and gauging by his reaction, the naked Mexican wasn't any better off than he was.

"You're too kind sir," the man in the flashy purple suit said to his aodring fan.

"No really; your artistry is on a whole other level, more than any I've seen before. Plus the little tidbits that you have on their lives... chef's kiss icing on the top of your cake of wonder. Tell me, how did you obtain that info?"

"An artist, like a magician, never reveals his secrets." The fan looked over Tomas like he was shopping for a new watch or some exquisite food. He ran his hands all over Tomas's quivering body as the Brit moaned in fear and anguish. He gave the nameless fan a pleading look before the smartly dressed fellow turned his back.

"This one," he declared, "I must have it! How much?"

"Ohhhh, I think I am willing to cut you a deal," the artist placed his hand on his patron's burgeoning bulge. El Matador squeezed his eyes shut as tears fell from his eyes. Truly he had been bested!