Date: Tue, 9 Sep 2014 12:52:25 -0400
From: Rafi Daud <rafidaud69@gmail.com>
Subject: In the Darkness, In the Silence
This story is a fantasy. Obviously any similarities between the
characters appearing in it and the real world are purely coincidental.
This is also copyrighted material. So while any reader is welcome to make
a personal copy for himself or herself, any other reproduction or reposting
is not allowed without the prior written consent of the author.
This story, or more properly single scene, came to me out of the
blue. I found myself awake at 4:00 a.m. one morning last week and, in the
darkness and the silence of the pre-dawn hours, the scene impressed itself
on to my consciousness. I was unable to shake it, even after the dawn and
the morning noises intruded, so I wrote it down.
The story which follows is unlike either of the other stories I have
posted on Nifty and I realize that it may not be to the liking of a number
of readers who enjoyed those efforts. But it at least has the advantage of
being short, so the amount of time wasted will not be too great. Any
comments or criticisms should be directed to Rafi at rafidaud69@gmail.com.
One last thing. While Nifty provides its service free of charge to
both budding authors and readers, it is not free of costs. Please consider
donating at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html.
IN THE DARKNESS, IN THE SILENCE
They're using me again. One of them. He's deep in my pussy now,
rummaging around, probing and poking, thrusting and pounding. Faster and
faster. Harder and harder. Soon he'll be spurting inside of me, coating
my male twat with a load of a man's ball-seed. Like so many have done
before. So very many. I lost count long ago.
Every thrust of the hips behind me forces my belly hard against the
saw-horse I am bent over. At least I think it is a saw-horse, even though
I cannot remember how I know what a saw-horse is. For the past few hours,
days, weeks, I have been standing bent over at my waist, leaning over a
slab of wood, my body stretched flat over an open space with my chest
resting on another wooden slab, another saw-horse. At least that is what I
think. In the darkness and the silence I cannot be sure.
My legs are spread far apart, very far apart, by heavy metal
shackles around my ankles attached to the wooden legs of the wooden horse.
I am sure my entire pussy is obscenely exposed whenever it is not in use, a
continuous trickle of man-seed bubbling out, but there is nothing I can do.
No modesty is allowed me in the darkness and the silence.
My arms hang down from my shoulders, rigid, each wrist attached by
its own metal cuff to the wooden legs descending from the other saw-horse.
My head, with no support, dangles down from my neck except when it is
lifted for some special task or a particularly vicious thrust up my pussy
causes it to rise on its own in pain. It rises often when I am being used.
Although, in the darkness and the silence that surrounds me, I
cannot see how it has been done, I know the saw-horses I am stretched over
are attached to the floor. While they sway and bend as the assaults I
endure increase in violence, they never move along the floor. They always
remain in place through the endless hours that my pussy is in use.
There was a time, I think, when there was no pussy between my legs.
I had an asshole, like other men. I remember that. At least I think I do.
In the darkness and the silence that is now my world, images appear in my
consciousness with such vividness that I think they must have been real at
one time. But with each passing minute, hour, day, I become less sure.
Are they memories or just dreams? Was there ever a time when I wasn't
here? In the darkness. In the silence. There must have been. There had
to be.
In those dreams/memories I had a name. I can't remember it now,
but it will come back to me. But in one of those dreams/memories, I see
myself in a mirror. Naked, like I always am. Was I ever clothed? I must
have been at one time. But that was days, months, years ago. I can't
remember. Time is a total blur to me now. At times I think I must have
always been here. In the darkness. In the silence. But my
dreams/memories tell me no. It was not always like this. There was a time
when I could hear. And I could see.
And what I see in a mirror is a young man at the peak of his
physical beauty. He is good-looking. Stunning, almost. Masculine. He
has a lithe body, rippling with muscles and a thick cock hanging down from
his belly. And it is obvious that the young man looking at himself in the
mirror is pleased with what he sees. He softly tweaks his own nipples,
smiling as they plump up. Soon he reaches down between his legs and begins
stroking his cock which quickly thickens in excitement and raises itself
proudly into the air. And then, as he continues to stroke his hard dick
with one hand, he glides the other hand around his torso and snakes it
between his ass-cheeks and begins to finger his hole. He turns so he can
see his ass in the mirror, a pair of melon-like globes now intersected by a
probing finger, a finger thrusting slowly, gently, in and out of his tight
asshole.
It was an asshole then. It is a pussy now. I know that is true.
Like any pussy, mine is always open. It has not closed completely in days,
weeks, months. It seems like it's always in use, like it is now. Always
being speared by a hard cock - or a toy - or something else that might
amuse them. It's not an asshole any more. Its main purpose is no longer
to expel anal slime, to rid my body of its wastes. Now it's an entryway.
A way to make deposits inside my body - cum, piss, whatever else they want.
It's not an asshole anymore. It's a pussy, now. But it was still an
asshole back then, when the young man fingered it for his own enjoyment.
Sometimes, when I see that image of the young man I think I once
was in my mind's eye, exuding vitality and youthful self-satisfaction, I
wonder, is that why I'm here? Is that why I'm now in the darkness and in
the silence? Is this a payback being exacted for some insolence of youth?
Is that why the tender nubs I once aroused for my own pleasure are
now so often a source of aching pain, crushed and pinched by serrated
clips, weighted down so heavily they hang squeezed and stretched-out
beneath my chest? Is that why the cock I happily fondled with such
enjoyment is now only a stunted growth appended to my groin, so encased in
twine and metal that it can never provide the pleasure it once did with
such ease? And is that why the asshole I once teased and prodded,
pleasuring myself with a gently rubbing finger, has been turned into a
pussy, gaping wide in welcome, servicing anyone who would desire its use?
Or is that all an illusion, too? Could it be simply chance that
brought me here, a hapless twist of fate that yanked me from the world out
there? Not part of any master plan. Not payback for some thoughtless
slight. But simply the workings of the randomness of life.
Or could it be that I have always been here? Do all of my
memories/dreams play me false? I do not know for sure, but I cannot
believe that. Yet I also realize that I will never know the truth as long
as I am in the darkness and the silence.
Right now, I can tell whoever is using me is getting close. He
seems bigger inside of me. More urgent. More violent. Suddenly I feel an
eruption of pain from my nipples. They are being mashed and crushed so
hard in his fingers I scream out in anguish. At least I think I do. In
the silence, I hear nothing. And while the pain is awesome and makes my
body writhe in agony, for all I know I might be begging him to squeeze my
nubs harder, to hurt me more.
But what I do know is that it will make no difference either way.
He will keep using me as long as he wants, as long as it takes to get off.
And, after he does, after he finally shoots his load of spunk into my guts,
there'll be someone else. There always is. And then I'll feel his cock
ramming its way into my pussy. And my pussy will open wide to let him in.
It always does.
Now, though, the one using me is almost there. I can feel his
pelvis slamming into my ass-cheeks with an increasing fury. His fingers
are like pincers on my tortured tits, so agonizing that I can scarcely feel
the pain from the pounding my pussy is taking.
Suddenly, the fingers on my nipples are gone, leaving only an echo
of the pain they inflicted behind. And I feel his hands on my shoulders,
pulling my entire torso backwards as he rams into me, driving his cock so
deeply into me that I should be able to feel it in my throat.
One final frantic battering of my ass-cheeks and then I feel him
collapsing on my back, his pungent sweat mixing with mine as he sprays my
ravaged hole with his slimy load, adding his deposit to the mixture left
behind by those who have preceded him, providing increased lubrication for
those who will come after.
As he lies on top of me, I can feel his breath slowly easing. And,
as his body weight presses me down and I can feel his cock losing some of
its urgent rigidity inside of me, I remember. Haigan. My name was Haigan.
Not that it means much. Not that it means anything in the darkness and in
the silence that surrounds me. I have no need for a name here. In the
silence my name is useless. Except. Except, I had a name, once. And it
was Haigan. At least, that is what I think.
I can feel him pushing himself up now, using my back for leverage.
Soon, his cock will be withdrawn and my pussy will know a moment of
emptiness. A moment in between cocks, in between use. But my pussy will
not close up. It never does. Not anymore. I'm not sure whether it stays
open simply because it is no longer able to close or because it realizes
after all the days, weeks, months, years I have been here that closing
serves no purpose. There will be only a short period of time before it is
back in use.
I know what is coming next. I raise my head and turn my face to
the side and wait, knowing the wait will be brief. When the rank aroma of
spent sperm and anal slime assaults my nose, I open my mouth wide and take
the dick deep inside, laving it with my tongue, tasting his ball juice and
my own anal scuzz as I've done tens, hundreds, thousands of times in the
past. My head suddenly spins from a sharp smack even though none of my
teeth has made the slightest contact with the cock in my mouth. I gurgle
deep in my throat and continue working on his penis, licking it clean,
removing any anal crud that has been smeared on to it, prepping it up for
the next time it wants to use my pussy.
Soon, his penis is slick with my saliva, washed clean of all
evidence of its recent pleasures. I stop licking it and wait as it rests
quietly on my tongue. After just a few seconds I can feel the slit on its
head open and the piss begins to flow into my mouth. The first few spurts
are tinged with the taste of his orgasm but those that follow come from
deeper within his bladder. While this piss is warmer with a more acrid
taste, it is flavored with some scent or spice I cannot pin down. It is
vaguely pleasant. I have become a connossieur of piss in the days, weeks,
months I have been here in the darkness and the silence, and I would like
to sip this piss slowly, savoring the taste. But I gulp the load down
quickly. His piss is spewing into my mouth with increasing force and I
know I cannot let a single drop escape. I know what they would do to me if
I did.
The spate continues for a while but eventually slows to a mere
trickle and then dies. I move my tongue around the crown of the penis and
lick off the last few drops. Then, without warning, the cock is gone and
my mouth gapes open as wide as my pussy. I move slightly, steeling myself
for my my next use. I feel a hand on my face, turning my head. A hard
tube is roughly jammed into my mouth. It is feeding time. I had no idea
it was so late. Or are they feeding me early, today? I have no way of
knowing in the darkness, in the silence that is now my world.
I feel the coarse, gritty porridge on my tongue and I begin to
swallow rapidly, ignoring the foul taste and the stench that accompanies
it. I have no idea what is in the mixture, what disgusting foods I am
being fed, but I am famished and I consume the offering avidly, not knowing
how long it will be before I am fed again.
At the same time, I feel another tube - this one being forced into
my pussy. I brace myself for what is coming even as I try to speed up my
intake of the gruel down my throat. This is the way they do things. They
fill me up at one end even as they prepare to empty me at the other. But
while the food they feed me is always the same, I never know what to expect
in my other hole. It is cleaning time. Time to clean my pussy.
Sometimes they use warm piss from a collection of sources, making a
joke of cleaning me by using their own filthy discharges to do it.
Sometimes it is piping hot water fresh from a stove, scalding and burning
my abraded hole. Sometime it is some liquid, cold as ice, causing
incredible cramps to wrack my stomach. But whatever it is, they will pump
gallons of it into me causing my belly to bulge out obscenely until I can
take no more, until I am completely full. Then they will remove the tube
and my pussy will briefly regain its function as an asshole, spewing out
waste instead of taking it in.
Today the liquid entering me is warm. I am getting a piss enema.
I am grateful for the reprieve since the last three enemas were all
ice-cold and piss is better, easier on my tortured body. It only takes
minutes, though, for my gratitude to evaporate in the discomfort I feel as
my belly becomes distended. Already I have begun pissing myself, the
weight of the liquids being forced up my anal channel compressing my
bloated bladder so much that even the twine and rope wrapped so painfully
tight around my scrotum cannot hold back a continuous seepage of my own
dirty urine.
I begin to actively suck on the tube in my mouth, knowing its flow is
about to end. And even as I force one last swallow of the rank concoction
down my throat I feel both tubes being removed. Once the tube is yanked
out of my pussy, there is only a slight pause before my man-twat yawns open
and begins to expel the fluids it just imbibed. I can feel two huge bursts
of befouled liquid shooting out of my pussy, followed by what seems to be a
never-ending flow cascading over my ass-cheeks and dribbling down my legs.
And as the liquids continue to stream down my thighs and calves I become
aware that my feet are slowly being covered by a combination of the piss
which continues to leak from the slit of my penis and the effluvium still
draining from my permanently stretched man-hole.
I feel a hot blush spreading across my body. Though I can neither
see nor hear anything, I can feel the presence of a number of them around
me, watching me soil myself, laughing at me as I stand helpless in a
growing pool of my own piss and excrement. I am not sure why but I always
find this cleaning much more degrading and humiliating than all the other
uses to which they put me. And I think they know that, which is why I can
always tell that there's a crowd of them standing around whenever I am
cleaned.
I don't know how long they all just stand there, watching me in my
humiliation. But eventually the enema completely drains from my bowels and
the piss from my bladder becomes an intermittent drip and then stops. And
I am left with my feet soaking in a cooling pool of body wastes. The smell
is simply noxious. I don't know whether the darkness and the silence has
made my sense of smell more acute but I find it hard to believe that anyone
who had a choice would stand too long near the source of the odors that now
surround me. But I have the feeling that some of them are still there,
waiting for the final act in my cleaning.
Though I know it's coming, I am still unprepared when the ice-cold
water from the hose shoots on to my back, its stream pared down to fine
needles which feel like a hundred ice-picks wherever it lands on my skin.
I buck and struggle against my restraints trying to get out of the way,
trying to protect the tender parts of my body, but I have no success. I
never do.
Like a choreographed dance, the movements never change. It begins
on my back, the water shooting down at me, starting right below my neck and
slowly working down to the curve of my ass and then back up again to my
neck. This passage is repeated over and over again, veering slightly left
or right on each successive trip in a seemingly random pattern. The hard
spray tenderizes my skin wherever it lingers so that each pass is more
painful than the previous one. And as the seconds, minutes, hours tick by
there is soon no area on my back that has not seen a repeated visitation
and my entire back feels like one raw nerve being cruelly excited and
aroused. It is all I can do to keep from yelling out loud.
Eventually, though, the hose moves on and begins to shoot the water
up at me from below, raking my tender nipples mercilessly before moving on
to my testicles. They have roped my poor balls so tightly, separating them
from each other and each from the top of my ball sac, that at times it
feels as though they no longer connect with the rest of my body. But that,
of course, is not true. I can feel the pain all to clearly as the frigid
water relentlessly pounds into the hard spheres they have become, making
them sway beneath my body, utterly defenseless against the abuse they are
enduring. I moan and whimper in helpless despair. At least I think I do.
Those are the sounds I hear in my mind. But, in the silence, I can never
be sure.
In any event, the moans and whimpers are soon overtaken by shrieks
and screams as the icy stream is redirected so it shoots straight up my
exposed fuck-hole. It is a single stream now and with my pussy gaping wide
as it does, they can aim at any area inside my chute that they desire. I
can feel the water battering against my prostate, making my poor cock bob
and jerk in agonized excitement. But then it moves up so it is shooting
deep into my hole, searching out those areas that never see the light of
day, have never felt a hard cock or a probing hand, hurting me so deeply
inside that it seems that the pain is at the very core of my being.
But finally, just when I think I can stand no more, when I think I
really will lose my mind in the darkness and in the silence, it stops. No
longer stoppered by the force of the hose, my pussy drains again. Only
this time the water flows past my feet, down the drain in the floor. The
drain is always open when they use the hose. Just as it is always closed
when they are using me. I have no idea how it works, I just know that it
does.
I am stretched out in my restraints, my whole body shivering in the
aftermath of my cleaning, when I feel a hand on my face. I turn towards it
and allow the fingers to open my mouth. Immediately, I feel a long rubbery
shaft being forced inside, spreading my lips far apart, coming to rest
between the back of my tongue and my throat. I recognize what this is and
I am terrified. It is the penis gag and it is quickly fastened on to the
back of my head.
I am frequently gagged but usually it is a large O-ring gag,
designed to keep my mouth open as they force their dicks deep down my
throat, keeping me from expelling a cock even when I choke on it. I can
scream and beg with the O-ring in my mouth, though I am sure that the words
must come out distorted and strange. Not that that matters to me. I hear
nothing in the silence. Not that it matters to them. They never listen to
any of my pleadings. But I can do it and I think they enjoy hearing me
scream and beg. If they did not enjoy it, they would simply keep me quiet
- they would use the penis gag.
They use the penis gag sparingly. But when they do, I know what is
coming. It always does whenever they use the penis gag. I gurgle around
the gag in my mouth, forming words they cannot hear, pleading and begging
for them not to do it - not when my pussy is so sore and tender right after
its cleaning, not when all the natural lubrication left behind by its
continuous use has been washed away. Not now. Please, not now.
But my unspoken pleas have no more effect than the ones they can
hear and I feel three fingers rudely thrust into my pussy. A fourth is
soon added. Already my pussy hurts as it stretches to make room for the
four fingers. Now the thumb is added, the five digits pressed together at
their tips, the hand forming almost a funnel at it slowly invades my ass.
Its entry is easy at first, but as the hand inexorably penetrates
my hole, its passage becomes more difficult and more painful as the rim of
my pussy tries to stretch itself ever wider. Finally, it reaches a point
where it can stretch no more. But the hand does not stop. Relentlessly,
it pushes the fingers inward, ignoring the limits of tissue elasticity,
ignoring my frantic struggles against the bonds that hold me down, as the
discomfort turns to pain and then to excruciating agony.
But the hand is persistent and slowly it makes progress, past the
central joint of each finger, drawing ever nearer to the bony knuckles. I
have no idea if they can hear me with the gag inside my mouth, but even in
the silence that envelops me I know that my squeals have turned to shrieks.
I do not need to hear to know that.
At last the fingers stop, defeated, it seems, by the remnants of my
crippled sphincter. But then I feel the fingers separate inside my hole,
each one pressing against a different point on my anal ring, probing for a
weakness. It hardly seems possible but the pain increases.
The battle goes on for seconds, minutes, hours. My entire body is
dripping sweat and I can feel the drool leaking out of the sides of the
gag. I fear I will lose this battle. I have lost so many already. But
then, to my surprise I feel the fingers withdrawing. And then my pussy is
empty. Gaping wide, but empty. Have I won? Have I finally won? Before
the thought can even take hold in my brain, I know that I have not. I can
feel the fingers once again pushing against my pussy. But now they are
curled into a fist.
The fist feels huge, massive against my hole. It is not the first
I have felt. I have been fisted many times before. But never by anything
that felt this massive, this incredibly large. A horse's cock would seem
small by comparison. I know there is no way that I can stretch far enough
to allow this fist to enter me. I cannot imagine having it in me.
But the fist is undeterred by the limits of my hole. It presses
against me. Harder, ever harder. I am biting into the penis cock now.
Gnawing on it continuously as a way to compensate for the pain emanating
from my stretching pussy. I can feel my well-used man-twat growing larger
as the fist applies even greater pressure against it, spreading it further
than it has ever gone before, wider than seems possible. But still my hole
refuses to completely surrender. The battle goes on.
But, suddenly, in an instant of excruciating agony, it is over. I
know my sphincter has been completely destroyed as the fist bulls its way
into my hole, filling my pussy as it has never been filled in all the
weeks, months, years I have been here. I howl into the gag and bite down
so hard on the rubbery penis that I am surprised that I do not bite it off.
Never, never, have I experience such pain. Even here. Even here, in the
darkness and in the silence.
The fist does not stop simply because it has now gained a purchase
inside my pussy. Instead, it pushes on deeper and deeper into my anal
channel, punishing it, ravaging it as if the fist were an invading army
intent on total destruction. Behind the fist I feel the arm that has now
joined it up my hole, widening the entryway as it proceeds higher and
higher into me, exploiting and expanding the destruction that the fist
began.
It feels as if a massive tree branch is being forced up my hole,
inch by excruciating inch. And for once I am glad I am in the darkness and
in the silence so I cannot see what is being done to me and cannot hear the
degrading comments of those who are enjoying the spectacle of my complete
debasement.
Seconds, minutes, hours pass as the fist and the arm force their
way ever deeper into me. But, finally, they come to a stop. The fist is
so far within me that it seems as though my entire belly has been filled,
just like during the enema, though this time not by piss but by human
flesh. The arm moves within me and my whole body follows suit. I am a
puppet now. A tortured puppet whose strings are pulled from within, unable
to control my own movements, the total captive of the fist and the arm
inside of me.
I have never been so filled, so possessed, in my life. Slowly I
become aware that the fist and arm are withdrawing, gradually descending
down my channel, my ruined pussy slowly extruding the bulging arm, inch by
inch, until the fist is once again at the entryway it battered its way
through seconds, minutes, hours before. I prepare myself to endure the
fist as it exits my hole, fearing the pain that will envelop me. Instead,
to my horror, I realize that the fist has again reversed direction and is
once more forcing its way deeper inside of me.
This second passage is so much faster than the first that I gasp
for breath as the fist and the arm re-take possession of my entire lower
body, only to immediately begin another withdrawal. But, once again, as
the fist nears the tatters of my ravaged hole it reverses direction and
pummels back into me. And I realize, with an awful certainty, that the
fist and the arm are fucking me. I feel the muscles in my groin and belly
rippling as the fist passes up and down behind them, undulating like waves
on a stormy sea, and I am powerless to control them. It is as if my entire
body has become a mere appendage of the fist and the arm that are using me.
Inside the darkness and the silence I begin to cry.
I do not cry often. Even in the darkness. Even in the silence.
At least, not any more. I have become inured to my life. Inured to the
use and abuse of my body. Inured to having a pussy between my legs that
may be used by anyone who wishes. Inured to the total lack of control I
have over my body, over my life. Inured even to the pain. But this, this
massive fist and monstrous arm fucking me like I'm a toy, like I'm a mare
in the paddock who lets a stallion mount her and fill her with his giant
cock, this is too much. The pain is too much. The humiliation is too
much. It seems more than I can bear.
But I do bear it. I have no choice. So I lie there as the fist
and the arm fuck me, as the minutes, hours, days pass, lost in a haze of
pain, wandering so deeply into the fields of the mind that I only slowly
become aware that my cock is becoming excited. It is hardening. Or at
least trying to in the prison they have built for it, encased as it is with
fine string wrapped tightly along the entire shaft, from its base to right
beneath the crown. For the first time in days, weeks, months, my poor cock
is making an effort to rise in erection but the string constricts it and
the battle between excited flesh and resistant threads of hemp causes a
whole new area of my body to erupt in pain.
Despite the pain, my penis continues its struggle to harden. The
fist inside of me is now rubbing against my prostrate on every pass,
forcing me to become aroused despite the pain, exciting me against my will.
The sperm from my balls, imprisoned for days, months, years, begins a
tortured path to freedom, squeezing through the ball sac with a painful
urgency.
Every step of its journey is a separate agony for me as the flesh
of my penis struggles against the twine. Awaiting the bubbling man-seed,
boy-seed, slave-seed, my tortured cock hangs towards the floor, weighted
down, as it has been for days, weeks, months, by the metal cap they have
attached to it, screwed into the flesh of my cock, another source of
painful humiliation they have provided me. There is a metal tube attached
to the cap which impales my slit. I know it must be hollow since my piss
will pass through if they allow it. But they can close it when they wish -
for their amusement, for their pleasure. I do not know if it is open now.
What I do know is that despite the intense battering my hole is
taking, in spite of the waves of pure pain washing over me, my sexual
excitement is increasing. I can feel it inside. I can feel my cum as it
slowly forces its way up my penis. It feels boiling hot, scalding my cock
on the inside even as the encasing twine tortures it from without. It is
almost as painful in its passage as the fist and the arm up my anal
channel. I cannot imagine how it will burn if it is exposed to oxygen, if
it escapes its prison. I don't want to cum. I don't want to.
No. That's not true. I do want to cum. I do. It has been so
long since I came that I cannot remember it. Have I ever cum? Have I ever
achieved the sexual release I provide for so many? Maybe not here. Maybe
not ever here, in the darkness and the silence. But I did cum before.
Somehow, I know I did. Or at least Haigan did. I can remember Haigan
doing it. I can remember how it felt when Haigan did it. And if Haigan is
real and not just a fevered dream, than I did, too. I was Haigan. Once.
Before the darkness. Before the silence. At least I was if he was not a
dream, not simply a figment of my imagination and my despair. I hope he
was real. I hope I was real. That there is a reality that I once
inhabited beyond the darkness and the silence.
But whether these dreams/memories are real or false, it does not
matter to my cock. It is hard now. So painfully hard. I am close to
cumming. So close. But I don't cum. I can't cum. I stay there at the
edge, excruciatingly close, agonizingly far from the orgasm I have not
experienced in weeks, months, years, as the fist and the arm continue their
unending assault on my pussy. My entire body begins to jerk spastically,
like I do when they apply the electrodes to my nipples and my balls. I
have lost all control, even over the slightest muscle movements, and I know
it. And I am sure that they know it, too, and are laughing at me.
Suddenly, the fist stops at the very entrance to my gaping tunnel.
I can feel the fingers spreading apart and moving inside of me. Without
any warning, the fingers grab hold of my prostate and begin to squeeze and
knead it. The result is as if a lightning bolt has struck my cock. It
bounces around below my belly as if it had a life of its own until in a
moment of excruciating pain and transcendent pleasure my pent-up sperm
begins to dribble out.
It burns so hotly on the head of my penis as it bubbles through the
hole in the device encasing its crown that I am sure blisters will develop.
As the scorching liquid begins to drip on to the floor, flashes of
mind-numbing agony radiate through my body. Yet inside these coronas of
pain are slivers of a sensation I have not felt in weeks, months, years -
the ecstasy of sexual release. As painful as it is, as painful as they
have made it, it is still awesome to experience and my mind searches out
those thin tendrils of pleasure and uses them to sustain itself as the
endless assault continues. For having achieved its purpose, the fist and
the arm have resumed their ravaging of my body.
The assault by the fist and the arm goes on for minutes, hours,
days, even as the sperm continues to painfully percolate on to the head of
my cock and then fall to the floor. And as the pleasure of release
continues to intertwine with the agony of abuse, my mind finally becomes
numb to all sensation and escapes into the mists of unconsciousness.
I am not even aware when it ends; when the fist and the arm have
finally had enough of my hole, enough of my pain, enough of my humiliation,
enough of me; when the last white hot dollop of sperm has finally
splattered on to the floor and my tortured balls are completely spent. It
is only gradually that I am aware that the penis gag is no longer strapped
into my mouth, that the gaping hole at the other end of my body is finally
empty, that I am alone.
I have been alone before. There have been many short intervals in
the days, weeks, months, years I have been here that my body has not been
in use. But always, always before they have fitted me with some toy, some
device to keep me focused on the reality that the use will begin again.
Sooner or later, someone will return and will use my pussy, use my body, as
he desires. And someone has always returned to use me.
But now, I feel nothing in my pussy. Only a great emptiness. I
test the bonds that restrain my body. They are still there. I am not
free; I am simply alone. So I stay there, in the darkness, in the silence,
as the seconds become minutes; the minutes, hours; the hours, days. I stay
there long enough for the emptiness in my pussy to become a gnawing
abscess, an aching itch that cannot be scratched. And I hear myself, in my
mind, begging, pleading for someone, anyone, even the fist and the arm, to
come and use me. Use my pussy. Use my body. Please. Use me.
In the darkness and in the silence, I have finally discovered one
great truth. There is one thing worse than being used, much worse.
To be alone. In the darkness. In the silence.