This story is an original work. It should not be reposted or reproduced in whole or in part without the author's consent. Copyright 2020 by Jeff Hamby. All rights reserved.
Warning: This story contains sexual acts between adult males and/or females. If you do not enjoy this type of material, or if it is illegal in your country or place of residence, please stop reading immediately. This story is not in any way an accurate depiction of reality, and any relationship to real persons or acts are unintentional. This story is fiction.
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Brandon's Boots
Chapter 9
It wasn't just a long night. It was the worst night of my life.
At first, I didn't realize just how bad the dog cage itself was. Sure, it was humiliating to be locked into a dog's kennel, especially one still dirty and smelly from the real dog that had lived in it. But the pain from the cruel, giant plug buried deep inside me, as well as the constant torment caused by the chastity cage with its tiny spikes, was fully occupying my mind and overwhelming my senses. As I lay there on the floor of the cage, cramped for space, I tried to find any position that would allow a small degree of comfort; even a small respite from the torture going on in my guts would have been a huge relief. It wasn't possible, though. I began to realize how much the dog cage was adding to the torment. It was just big enough for me to move around in, but not big enough to stretch out my legs nor even turn around. I couldn't get comfortable in any way. I basically had two choices: I could kneel on all fours, facing the back of the cage, or I could lie on the floor in a tight fetal position, which only caused the plug to stretch my ass more, increasing the pain. Each time I shifted position even slightly, or rolled from one side to the other, the massive plug inside me moved. It felt like an arm buried inside me, and as it moved with me, it pressed and stretched and rearranged my insides, bruising me deep in my anal passage in ways even the cocks of all those men hadn't managed to do. It was agony. An agony which wouldn't end. My hole throbbed with each beat of my heart, as if each of the blood vessels in my ass were pounding against the sides of the plug. Every time I inhaled, the plug and chastity cage would shift just slightly - just enough to bring a new wave of agony to both the inside and outside of my body. The first few times, I let out gasps and cries from the pain, but quickly stifled myself, afraid that the sounds of my suffering might wake up Travis. I couldn't even fathom what type of punishment might result from that.
Time lost all meaning to me. Had I been here for an hour or a year? Minutes blended together in the dark; each seemed like an eternity. My entire consciousness became focused on the pain in my dick and my ass, and also on forcing myself to remaining silent, no matter how badly I wanted to scream.
Soon, another form of torture started, one I hadn't expected: I needed to piss. While Travis's friends were using me, I'd lost track of how many had pissed in my mouth. Plus, I'd licked up both Travis's and Josh's piss from the bathroom floor before the "party" started. My bladder was full of the recycled piss of all those cruel men who had decided to use my mouth as a urinal. I tried holding it in as long as I could. The last thing I wanted was to piss on myself here in this cage. As the pressure from my bladder grew, so did my desperation. I couldn't squeeze my dick due to the chastity device locked on it. I couldn't even cross my legs; if I did, it just moved the plug, pressing it deeper into my prostate and making my bladder ache more. I began to sweat from the effort required to hold all that urine in.
As my bladder swelled and I grew increasingly desperate for relief, I remembered the dog bowl behind me in the cage. I had to lie down on my side and wiggle around to be able to reach it, as it was against the front of the cage. It was a big water bowl, molded from heavy plastic, the kind that is designed to be hard for a dog to accidentally turn over or spill. I managed to hook it with my foot and move it up where I could grab it. The hard part then was positioning myself just right, so I'd be able to piss without spilling any on the blanket in the cage, which was already too nasty to think about. I finally managed to crawl up on all fours and position the bowl under my crotch. I spread my legs and lowered my hips so that I could piss into the bowl. The sweet relief of finally releasing my bladder was tempered by the sudden realization of what I was actually doing: I was pissing just exactly the way a female dog or neutered male dog does, squatting and panting. I knew I had no choice under the circumstances, but felt deep shame that I had ended up here, like this, so far from where I had once been in life. I had a terrible image come into my mind of what would happen if my family or former co-workers knew what I'd become, if they knew how I'd been used.
Moving the water bowl out of the way was a real challenge. I'd filled it almost to the top. I don't think I've ever pissed that much in my life! I had to concentrate in order to move it back to the front of the cage where it would be out of the way. The piss in it was vile, dark, and rank. It had already been through some other man's body before it went through mine, so now all that waste was concentrated. The cage already smelled of dog, while the smell of piss and cum on my body was powerful. The stench of the twice-pissed urine in the water bowl overpowered those other scents, though. I was very careful each time I moved not to kick the bowl and spill any.
I didn't sleep. There was no way I could. After a while, the pain deep in my hole turned to a dull, throbbing ache, punctuated by sharp stabbing sensations any time I moved. My dick deflated some, relieving the pain from the spikes inside the chastity cage, only to swell again when the plug moved and pressed against my prostate more.
That night broke me. Not physically, but mentally. Something inside my mind was fundamentally changed from the combination of the pain and the accumulated degradation at the hands of Brandon and his friends, especially Travis. Travis had sent me over the edge, whether that was his intent or not. By the time the sun was coming up, there was no fight left in me. Even the desire to resist was gone. All I wanted was an end to the pain, to have some time where I wasn't being abused or hurt. If that required submitting to all their demands, then so be it. It was better than this. I couldn't continue with this much suffering. Moreover, as I lay there in the dog cage, I began to take ownership of my own role in my situation. I was nothing. They hadn't made me into nothing, though. I was this way already, a worthless coward. Brandon had recognized that right away, it seemed, and brought it to the surface. Why else was I so quick to kiss and lick his filthy boots? A real man would have fought back, taken some punches, stood up for himself. He would have maintained his dignity in spite of the pain, not immediately given into a younger bully. But not me. Instead, I dropped to my knees like I belonged there and submitted to whatever disgusting orders Brandon gave. And worst of all: my dick was hard through it all. On some level, I must have enjoyed it. Some part of me, deep inside my brain, knew this was what I deserved, even if it wasn't what I wanted or even enjoyed. I hated every second of what Brandon, Jesse, and Travis had done to me, but apparently some part of me craved their abuse, or at least recognized it as my due. Brandon, as thick and dumb as he was, spotted it and capitalized on it. Travis, the skater punk, stoner, jailbird -- he exploited it. He took this inherent flaw of mine and manipulated it to fulfill his cruel desires, in the process reshaping my mind the way he wanted it. I began to recognize that, despite my education and life experience, these young bullies were truly more perceptive than I was, more capable of manipulating others and bending them to their will than I had even been. That's what broke inside me during that long night: my ego, my pride, my sense of identity, and my will to resist. Suddenly, I stopped thinking of Brandon, Travis, and even Jesse as lesser than me. Quite the opposite. To my pain-addled and sleep-deprived mind, they suddenly took on mythic proportions, like some sort of dominant gods that must be obeyed at all costs.
That's where I was mentally as the sunlight filled the front room of Travis's trailer. I heard what sounded like a truck pull up outside, and then a loud knocking at the door. Finally, Travis came stumbling out of the bedroom in nothing but a small pair of shorts, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes. I heard him open the front door, then heard Brandon talking behind me. I couldn't turn to see them, but I could hear as both walked over to stare at me in the cage.
"Holy fuck, Trav!" Brandon exclaimed, laughing, "Looks like you really did a number on the fag. What'd you do?"
"Ah, you know," Travis replied, sounding like he was still sleepy, "I invited a few guys over and we had a little party. We made the fag part of it."
"What's that all over him?" Brandon asked. "And what's that thing on his dick?"
Travis said, "Oh, some of the guys got a Sharpie and decided to tag the bitch after they'd used him. Pretty funny, huh?" Travis and Brandon both laughed. "You remember my buddy, Josh? He used to have this faggot he used before he went to prison the last time. I told him about what was going on, and he brought over some shit he said we could have. Stuff he'd made his bitch buy for him. So that's where the collar and cuffs and shit came from. He also brought over that chastity cage that's on his dick. Dude, lemme tell ya, that thing is fucking evil. Got these little spike things inside it? You should have seen this fucker's face when we locked it on his little wiener and those things started pressing into it. It was fucking hilarious!" They were both laughing, my suffering the source of amusement for these young sadists. "Best part, though, is that thing up his ass. Wait till you see it, man! It's unreal! You're gonna love it. I wish you'd been here to watch when I put it in. Josh got some awesome video of it, though. I'll send it to you." Travis walked into the kitchen. "You want something to eat, dude?"
"Yeah," Brandon replied. "Whatever you're having is cool. Long night at work. I'm not gonna stay too long."
I could see into the kitchen, and saw Travis pour two bowls of cereal, which he brought into the living room. "Probably need to feed the faggot, too," he remarked casually. I could feel him standing right behind me, staring down at me. He walked into the kitchen, then returned, jingling the keys to the cage. He unlocked the padlock and ordered me to crawl out. I carefully backed out of the cage, then immediately began kissing and licking Travis's bare feet to show my obedience. He allowed me to continue worshiping his feet for a moment, then reached behind me and grabbed the water bowl filled with the double-recycled piss. He upended the cereal box into the bowl. The smell of the piss grew strong when he did. Even Brandon remarked on how nasty it was. Travis began telling him how many guys had pissed in my mouth the night before, then grabbed my collar and pulled my head over to the bowl.
"Look here, faggot: that bowl stays empty at all times, you feel me?" Travis instructed, forcing my nose down to touch the top of the piss and cereal-filled bowl. "If it's got food in it, you eat it. If I put water in it, you drink it. If you or anyone else pisses in it, you drink that, too. I better not find that bowl with anything in it ever, or your ass is fucking done. Got it, bitch?"
"Yes, Sir, thank you Sir," I replied, bending down again to kiss his feet. Each movement forced the plug inside me to hurt again, but my new mindset accepted the pain. It was nothing more than what I deserved.
"Well, get to it, cunt," Travis ordered.
I turned to the bowl. It was filled with soggy cereal flakes, floating in that rancid piss. The stench alone was enough to make me retch. I was terribly hungry, though. I suddenly realized I hadn't eaten anything the day before. Nothing had been in my stomach except cum and piss. I needed food, but not this badly. As always, though, there was alternative. That had become the story of my life recently, and I was finally accepting the fact -- there would be no choices for me, as long as this continued. For as long as Brandon and his buddies continued to control me and use me, I was theirs, with no choice but to obey. The depth of my new willingness to submit shocked even me. I lowered my face into the dog bowl and began to slurp up the disgusting mixture of dark yellow piss and soggy cereal. I did my best to close my mind to the recognition of what I was consuming: the cold piss of multiple men, mostly strangers, which I'd swallowed and then pissed out myself. Each time that thought entered my mind, I started to gag. I pushed it from my thoughts, concentrating instead on my raging hunger -- both my hunger for food, and my newfound hunger to obey Brandon and Travis.
I choked it all down, all the soggy flakes of cereal and the recycled urine that served as my breakfast. Brandon and Travis watched, laughing the entire time. When I was done, I crawled over to where they were sitting a few feet away. Without being told, I kissed Travis's feet and thanked him, then crawled to Brandon. He was in uniform, having just come from working the overnight shift. I began kissing and licking his boots, cleaning the dust and dirt from them which inevitably collected there from the construction sites where we did security. I hated it, just like I hated everything else I'd been forced to do, but at the same time, it felt right somehow. Something inside me needed this treatment, and I was too tired, too weak, and too broken to fight it anymore. I licked Brandon's boots like they were covered in chocolate, carefully cleaning every inch, even around the laces and in the creases.
"Fuck, dude, you got this bitch performing good, Trav," Brandon remarked, pleased.
"Told ya, man, you got to know how to handle bitches. Especially faggots. Josh taught me all about it when we were inside together. He's owned several of them. Made good money off of them, he said," Travis replied.
"Owned them?" Brandon asked. "Interesting. Never really thought about it like that, but I guess that's about right, huh? We do kinda own this faggot, don't we?" He laughed, then took his boot and put it on the back of my head, forcing my head down into the floor. "You hear that, fucker? I own you! Say it!"
"You own me, Sir!" I said into the bottom of his boot.
Brandon lifted his boot off my face. "Sit up, fucknut. Say it again, louder," he demanded.
"Sir, you own me Sir!" I practically shouted. Travis reached over and slapped me hard across the face.
"What about me, perv? Huh?"
"Sir, you own me, too, Sir!" I shouted again, then leaned down and spontaneously kissed his bare feet. I kept my lips pressed against Travis's feet, licking around his toes, running my tongue down between each toe to clean his feet thoroughly. The movement caused the massive plug inside me to dig deeper against my prostate, making my dick press harder against the spikes of the chastity cage. The feeling of hatred/craving inside me grew even stronger.
"Dude, you gonna take this thing outta his ass, or what?" Brandon asked.
"Fuck, man, I was saving that for you. Like, a surprise for you, bro." Travis chuckled. "Go on, give it a pull if you want. Let me shove something in the fag's mouth first, though." Travis tilted up his foot, then started working his toes into my mouth. He kept forcing my mouth to open wider until I had all five of his toes stretching and filling my mouth. He managed to shove his foot into my mouth almost to the ball of his foot, effectively plugging my mouth. I could feel him wriggling his toes almost in my throat, as my jaw was stretched to the limit to accommodate his foot.
"OK, dude, go for it," Travis said.
I felt Brandon's big paw on my sore ass cheek, rubbing the welts and marks from Travis's hanger, then felt him grab the end of the plug. As much as I wanted this monstrosity out of me, I dreaded what was about to happen. I only hoped taking it out would be less painful than having it put in.
It wasn't. As Brandon tugged, the two cones of the plug began to move inside me. The wide rim of each cone slowly scraped through my delicate anal passage as Brandon pulled on the plug. It was like having the end of a baseball bat run through my guts. As the plug moved out of me, the large ball on the tip aggravated every internal bruise I had. I screamed into Travis's foot as the widest part of the plug, the rim of the bottom cone, came out of my sphincter. It felt like Brandon was truly turning me inside out as he withdrew the giant plug. He gasped when he saw the size of the bottom cone as it slid from my battered ass, then let out a shocked laugh when he realized there was a second cone on top of it. Brandon suddenly jerked on the plug, pulling the top, smaller cone and the large ball on the tip through my rectum and out of my ass in one swift, painful motion. I screamed into Travis's foot, and had to concentrate hard to avoid biting down on it, something which likely would have resulted in him kicking out my teeth.
I thought having the painful plug out of me would be wonderful, but suddenly I felt...empty. I'd been stuffed and stretched for so long, it felt like Brandon had torn out my insides, leaving a gaping space where they'd been. The pain from the sudden removal was both staggering and enduring. Where the plug had resulted in a dull, constant ache that worked its way into my bones, now that it was gone, my ass began to throb.
"Holy shit!" Brandon exclaimed, holding the plug up so he could see it. "I can't believe you got something this size inside the fag. That's like...unreal, dude!"
"Yeah," Travis drawled, wriggling his toes against the back of my throat, "it was tough getting it in there, but fun as shit watching it happen. You should have heard this stupid bitch squealing like a pig, man!"
"Dude, you gotta send me that video!" Brandon said. "Is his ass gonna be OK? Looks like you could drive a truck up there right now." He laughed, slapping me on my ass.
"Yeah, it'll go right back to normal. Josh said he used that plug from time to time on his fag and it was never a problem. Just makes them sore as fuck for a few days. Really beats their guts up. Plus, I left it in there all night, so may take a bit."
"All night? Fuck, dude, you are one cruel bastard!" Brandon said, sounding impressed. "Yeah, I'll bet this faggot is pretty sore inside after that monster." He kicked me lightly with his boot. "Yo, bitch, quit perving on Trav's feet and clean this fucking plug off. It's nasty."
I slowly pulled my mouth off of Travis's foot, grateful my lips weren't stretched to their limit anymore. When I turned to Brandon, he shoved the plug at my face. Once again, I was staggered by the size of it, as well as the thought that something this size and this cruel had been inside me all night. I could see it was coated with slime from my ass, much of it the dried cum of the strangers who'd fucked me. The smell of it was terrible, but I stuck out my tongue and began cleaning off the plug.
"That's right, shit stain, make sure your new best friend is spotless," Travis sneered.
After I finished cleaning the plug, Brandon ordered me to stand up and bend over the arm of the couch. As soon as I did, he moved behind me and I heard him unzipping his uniform pants. Dear God, he couldn't be planning on fucking me! Not with my ass in this condition! Then I remembered what he told me the night the three guys fucked me at my apartment: the thing he loved most was fucking a sore hole. I don't think it would have been possible for mine to be any sorer than it was at that moment, and apparently Brandon knew it, too, and he had decided to take advantage of the fact.
I don't think he even spit on his cock or my hole. One moment he was behind me, the next moment his dry cock was shoved in my ass to the root, skewering me like a pig on a spit. Despite how stretched out my hole was at that moment, Brandon's big cock still hurt! If anything, it hurt more than normal, since he was hitting all those tender bruised spots left by the other men and that devilish plug. He fucked me hard, right from the outset, pounding into my ravaged ass, using his hands to spank me while he did it. I was used to Brandon's fucks being painful; his big cock always hurt, and he was never gentle with it. But this time, the pain was at a new level. Even though the plug was wider than his cock (which is very thick), his ramming was pounding on my heavily-abused prostate and the delicate inner walls of my ass. Deep inside me, my second sphincter was desperately sore from the plug being lodged there and stretching it like never before. Brandon's big cock knob battered in and out of it repeatedly. The pain from his abusive fucking of my sore hole was intense. I began to squeal each time he rammed his cock into me. I not only felt like a spitted pig, I sounded like one, too. Brandon big hands came down repeatedly on my ass cheeks, smacking the welts and bruises on the outside of my ass while his cock pounded the ones inside me.
The feel of Brandon's thick pole up my ass made my dick strain against the chastity cage, driving all those evil spikes into my tender flesh. It felt like my dick was being pierced in a thousand places all at once, as if the cage, and by extension Brandon and Travis, were all punishing me for my dick getting hard. Somehow, under the circumstances, that not only made sense to me, but it seemed both appropriate and fitting that I would receive so much pain for feeling pleasure from their abuse.
Brandon could tell I was in pain. I know he could, since he rammed and slapped my ass harder the more I squealed. When the pain became overwhelming, I began to beg for mercy. That's what sent him over the edge, I think. Brandon reached forward and grabbed my hair, pulling my head back and arching me backwards, using my hair like a set of reins. He rammed all the way into my ass, then pumped his load deep inside me.
When he finally removed his massive rod from my ass, I didn't need to be told what he wanted. I immediately turned, dropped to my knees, and began licking his big cock clean. Once that was taken care of, I bent down and kissed both his boots, reverently and respectfully.
"Thank you for your cum, Sir," I said.
"Damn Trav, you've done a good job with this bitch," Brandon remarked. "One day with you and this fucker is already obeying a lot better."
"Told ya, man, you just gotta know how to treat faggots. Your problem is you're too fucking nice, dude."
Brandon grunted. "Maybe you're right. Anyway, I gotta get going. Need to get some sleep."
Travis got up and grabbed the red thong I'd worn on the way over, as well as my leash. He threw the thong at me. "Get dressed, fag."
I slipped on the thong. With the chastity cage locked on me, the tiny pouch in front was bulging even more, barely covering the cage. This also pulled the rear string tight into my ass crack, rubbing against my tender asshole.
Once I had it on, Travis attached my leash to my collar and handed the other end to Brandon. Brandon got a big grin on his face. I could tell he loved this new development.
"Fuck, yeah! Bitch dog on a leash! Let's go, cumdump." He turned and started walking towards the door. I followed obediently behind, given that I had no choice at this point.
"Hold up," Travis said suddenly. "Don't forget your new best friend, fag." He picked up the butt plug and handed it to me. I clutched it, wishing I had somewhere to hide it. As bad as it was having to go outside dressed like some sort of a freak, being led on a leash by my younger, bully boss, it was worse to be carrying this obscene monstrosity of a butt plug. I was deathly afraid people would see it and come to the exact right conclusion: that this entire thing had been inside me.
Brandon said goodbye to Travis and led me out the door to his truck. Fortunately, the trailer park was mostly still asleep. I don't think anyone saw me. Brandon stopped at the back of his truck.
"Get in the bed, fuckhole. You stink of cum and piss. You can ride in the back. That's where I carry trash." He lowered the tailgate. I climbed up into the bed of the truck and laid down on the cold metal floor as Brandon shut the tailgate and got into the driver's seat. I was thanking God at that moment Brandon's truck was a 4x4 and sat higher than most vehicles. I was less likely to be seen, as long as I stayed huddled on the floor and below the sides of the bed.
Brandon drove fast. I was repeatedly thrown around each time he took a corner, as there was nothing in the bed of the truck for me to hold on to. I could hear the sounds of the morning rush hour traffic all around us but was mostly hidden from sight. Unfortunately, at one point, Brandon stopped at a light next to an 18-wheeler. I could clearly see the driver, which meant he'd see me if he glanced over. I made myself as small as possible, hoping he wouldn't look my way, but of course he did. I saw confusion on his face turn to revulsion as he finally recognized what he was looking at. I'm sure I made quite a sight in the tiny, bright red thong, bulging at the crotch, with a thick leather collar padlocked around my neck, along with matching wrist and ankle cuffs. I felt like a total freak on display, and the trucker didn't stop staring.
It was a long stop light, made even longer by the traffic. The truck driver stared at me the entire time, a look of disgust on his face. I knew he was taking in the entirety of what I'd become. He could see me exposed, collared like an animal, writing all over my body in bold, black ink from all the men that had used me like a party favor for their abuse and pleasure. He could tell what I was, and it disgusted him. I could feel his disdain from the sneer on his face and look in his eyes. Here was a normal man, probably a decent, family man like I used to be, and he found me disgusting; a creature as different from him as if I were another species. More than some of the horrible things Brandon, Travis and the others had done to me, this humiliated me to my core. The comparison between this normal man and what I had become was stark. It worked its way into my mind, continuing the destruction of my ego and self-image which peaked last night in the cage.
Finally, we arrived at the apartment. Again, I prayed no one would see me being paraded around like a naked freak. Brandon lowered the tailgate and grabbed my leash, leading me across the parking lot. Morning rush hour was in full swing, and a number of the neighbors were driving through the complex on their way to work or headed to their cars. Brandon was completely unfazed by the stares we received on the short walk to the door. I was mortified. Not only did I look like a freak, I was carrying that freakishly large butt plug, cradling it in my arms in a vain attempt to hide it. I was failing miserably, of course. Exposed as I was, it was foolish to even think I could keep anything secret, especially something the size of that cruel plug.
Once in the apartment, Brandon removed my leash and hung it on the front doorknob, I guess to keep it handy. He headed to the bedroom, and I followed him. He made me undress him completely, then fell on to the bed, sprawled naked and looking comfortable while I lay down on the hard floor and made a small pillow from his dirty clothes. They reeked of his sweat and body odor, but they were better than nothing, even if I did have to smell his scent constantly. His underwear was especially bad. It stank of his ass and ball sweat, a scent which got in my nose and I couldn't get out. I knew somehow it would even invade my dreams.
"Set the alarm, bitch. We both have to work tonight. Wake me up with a blowjob like a good cunt," Brandon ordered, then turned over and went to sleep almost immediately.
I crashed. As hard and uncomfortable as the floor was, it was paradise compared to being locked in that dog kennel and stuffed with a giant butt plug. My dreams were troubled. I was back at my old school, walking the hallways, only this time I was naked and collared, with Brandon leading me on a leash. Everyone, both students and staff, was laughing and pointing at me, talking about what a freak I was. It was terrifying, and I awoke with a gasp just as the alarm went off.
I silenced the alarm, then leaned up on the bed and began licking and sucking Brandon's cock. Soon, it was fully hard, and he was awake enough to shove it down my throat and feed me a load of his cum. After he came, he held my head in place as his cock began to soften. I heard him let out a long sigh as his morning piss began to flow into my mouth. I swallowed it as fast as I could, constantly fearful I'd spill some on the bed. It was foul and strong, but I managed to choke it all down.
When he was done, Brandon shoved me away and ordered me to go make him a sandwich while he took a shower. I had the food waiting for him when he finished showering. While he ate, he unlocked my collar, along with the wrist and ankle cuffs so I could shower. The chastity cage, however, stayed on, much to my disappointment.
I went into the bathroom and glanced in the mirror. I was shocked. This was the first time I'd been able to see myself since all those men had used me. My appearance was unreal. I had black writing scrawled all over my chest, back, and face. Even my neck had writing on it. I knew my legs and arms were bad, but this was unbelievable. The strangers that Travis had allowed to use me had written their names on my flesh along with what they did to me. Arrows were drawn on my cheeks pointing to my mouth, with the words "PISS HERE" on one cheek, "CUM HERE" on the other. "FAGGOT" was printed in bold letters on my forehead. Someone even took time to make them block letters and color them in with the Sharpie, making the word really stand out. On my ass was a tally of the number of times I'd been fucked. It showed 22 marks. I couldn't even conceive that I'd been violated that many times. I guess that's why I'd zoned out when it was happening. My upper chest had another tally. One side said "BLOWJOBS" with 17 marks below it; the other side said "PISS" with 24 marks. I didn't think there were that many men at Travis's, so I figured some of the men must have used me multiple times in multiple ways. I felt so unclean and violated. Complete strangers pissed in my mouth! And I swallowed it! The full impact of what I'd done and what had been done to me really hit home when I saw all those marks, as well as the names written on me like I was a trophy ball to be autographed after a winning game.
As if the writing all over me wasn't enough, I had very distinct welts visible all over my ass, upper thighs, and even on my scrotum. Most were the thin, deep welts left by the wire hanger Travis always beat me with. My nipples were also red and irritated from being twisted and pulled while the men fucked me. I saw some odd bruises on my legs near my feet. It took me a moment, but I finally recognized them. They were finger marks, left by the many men that that grabbed my ankles while they pounded my ass.
I couldn't get in the shower fast enough. Brandon used all the hot water, so I was stuck with a cold shower. I used as much soap as I could and scrubbed at the ink, trying to remove it from my skin, along with the memories of all those cocks abusing me. I scrubbed my face particularly hard, knowing it would be hard to remove that much ink. I pissed in the shower, since it was the only place I could pee standing up like a man, the chastity cage spraying my urine into the tub. It was that or sit like a woman any time I needed to urinate.
When I was done, I dried off and looked in the mirror. Better, but not much. "FAGGOT" was still quite visible on my forehead, even if it was more faded now. The arrows pointing to my mouth and the instructions on how to use it were still quite visible as well. My uniform would cover the rest. Even though it was summer, I chose a long-sleeved uniform shirt to cover the names my abusers wrote on my arms. That was some small mercy, at least. There was no way I could hide my face, however. Apparently, I was stuck like this until the ink faded from my skin.
Brandon laughed out loud when he saw me dressed, the obscene writing a stark contrast to my security uniform. He just shook his head and ordered me out to his truck. Apparently, he was going to be driving me to work now, instead of letting me take my own car. More control over my location, I suppose.
I had hoped to be allowed some semblance of kindness, since we were both dressed for work. Surely, he would let me ride in the cab. But no. He pointed to the bed of the truck. I climbed in, sitting with my back to the cab, trying to look as normal as possible, despite how I felt. The chastity device locked on my dick made my uniform pants bulge at the crotch, its appearance quite obvious despite the dark fabric. It also made the pants tighter, meaning the cage was pressed into my flesh even more. By now, you'd think I'd have adapted to the pain from the spikes, but no. They still hurt like tiny knives cutting into my dick. What was more concerning, though, was the fact that the pain was now starting to make my dick get even harder, as if my body was adapting to the increasing discomfort by craving more of it. I soon found myself with the closest I could get to a hardon while restricted by the cage, each one of the spikes forming a nexus of agony all on its own. The cumulative effect of all those spikes was enough to make it feel like my dick was being shredded. So why was it still so hard, straining against the rigid plastic cage?
Finally, we arrived at the job site. Brandon ordered me out of his truck, then drove off, leaving me standing there in the parking lot. This was the moment I'd been dreading the most: walking into the office, being seen by someone else, a "normal" person, as I'd started thinking of everyone else. Someone who wasn't treated as a sexual toy, an animal, a urinal. I made a quick, fervent prayer that the guard I was relieving was someone I didn't know, one of the fill-in people from another site.
Of course, it wasn't. No way I could be that lucky. I walked in to find Ben standing with his back to me. When he heard me come in, he turned. His expression changed to one of instant disgust when he recognized me, then something else showed on his face. He was obviously seeing the writing on my face. It was hard to miss, despite my attempts to scrub it away, especially the word "FAGGOT" in big block letters across my forehead. Ben just stared at me. I saw his eyes flickering back and forth from my forehead to my cheeks, taking it all in, getting a clear picture of how I had been used, and for what.
I couldn't look him in the eye. My shame was written all over my face, literally, and he was reading every word of it. I hung my head and mumbled a greeting, then moved to the desk, trying to act normal.
"Guess the truth finally comes out now, don't it?" Ben drawled, his voice practically dripping with derision. "Who wrote all that shit on your face?"
"I don't know. Some guys," I mumbled, still looking at the floor, to ashamed to meet his gaze.
"Some guys, huh? You even know their names?"
"No," I sighed.
"Uh-huh. And is that what they did with you? They cum in your mouth?" Ben demanded, his voice cold.
"Yes, Sir," I responded automatically. By now, calling guys "sir" had become an ingrained response in me, it seemed.
"Sir? Why the hell you calling me sir? They make you do that, too?"
I just nodded, not even looking up.
He walked closer to me. I saw his hand come up and was afraid he was going to hit me. Ben grabbed my chin and forced my face up, looking closely at the writing there. I kept my eyes down. There was no way I could meet his gaze. I was too embarrassed that this young man, who used to be quite friendly with me, was seeing my shame fully exposed.
"What about this? Those guys piss in your mouth, too?" he asked, staring directly at me. It felt like his eyes were burning into me as he waited for me to answer. Again, I nodded.
"Did you swallow it?" he demanded harshly.
I tried to nod again, but he held me too firmly, his hand like a vice on my chin. "Yes," I whispered. It was all I could do to choke out that shameful admission, to reveal to Ben how low I'd fallen.
He released my chin. I glanced at him and saw a sneer of utter disgust on his face. I knew he would never see me the same way again. How could he?
"Stay far away from me, you fucking freak. You're disgusting," Ben declared. "I'm gonna have to talk to Carl about you. We don't need no one like you working here. This is a job for decent people, not perverts like you."
Ben turned and walked out of the office without saying anything else, leaving me alone with my humiliation. I hoped he wasn't serious about talking to Carl, the owner of the security company. If I got fired, I didn't know what would happen with Brandon, but I couldn't imagine things getting any better as a result.
I had about an hour alone with my thoughts before Brandon showed up. He came strutting in the office and stopped near the door. The sight of the writing on may face made him grin and laugh again. Apparently, he thought having me labeled like this was hilarious. I knelt at his feet and kissed his boots before he sat down at the desk.
"I got paperwork to do, fag. Get over here and give me a foot massage," he barked.
I sat on the floor next to Brandon while he worked on his paperwork. I massaged his big, sweaty feet, then he had me lick them clean and suck his toes for an hour or so, until it was time for my next round of door checks. My rounds were the only respite I got from him that evening. He spent the rest of the shift in the office, handling paperwork and making calls, using my mouth in some way the entire night, mostly on his feet, occasionally on his cock or balls.
By the end of the shift, my mouth was exhausted from sucking his toes and his cock for almost eight hours. Brandon left just before my relief arrived, telling me he'd be back shortly. Fortunately, it wasn't Ben that relieved me. This time, it was young lady I'd never seen before. She took one look at the barely faded writing on my face and her mouth went all small and tight in a look of disapproval, her nose wrinkling as if she smelled something foul. I made as quick an exit as I could, only to remember Brandon drove me to work. I couldn't even get into my car to make a quick escape. I was stuck there, standing on the job site like an idiot, waiting on Brandon to return and pick me up. Construction workers that worked on the site were filtering in. I tried as much as possible to hide my face, but some of them saw it. I saw some nudging one another and pointing at me. A few even made catcalls at me, some in English, others in Spanish. The humiliation of these men seeing me like this was intense. I'd never felt less human, further from being the man that I once was, as I did while those guys read the writing on my face and called me names as they walked by: "faggot," "piss boy," "freak," and "pervert." Some grabbed their dicks through their jeans and jeered, offering to feed me if that's what I wanted so badly. I almost started walking home to get away from them but knew walking down the street like this would be even worse. Plus, my dick was once again getting hard inside my chastity cage, the spikes ratcheting up my pain level, punishing me for being turned on by this treatment. A punishment I clearly deserved, I thought.
At that moment, Brandon pulled up. I climbed into the bed of the truck, no longer caring how it looked that he was riding alone in the cab, while I rode in the bed like an object he was hauling.
As he drove towards the apartment, I suddenly realized a horrible truth: this wasn't an episode, a single day I had to get through. With Brandon living with me, Travis having the access which he did, and this cruel cage locked on my genitals -- this was my life now.
Every day was going to be like this, or worse. Every day.
Thanks to all of you who have written to me about this story. I love to hear from readers!
Please contact me at jeffhamby1025@gmail.com