The Manwhore

There was no escape. Sweat trickled down from every pore. The wood chafed against his skin. The tension in the air hung as taut as his engorged cock, straining against its leathery prison.

He hated every second of it. The meat of his thighs were forced apart, inviting in the slight, teasing breeze as it brushed the inner sanctum of his puckered hole. It lay stretched, reddened ever so slightly. His eyes watered, trying to make peace with the bulging dildo in his throat, nearly snuffing out any and all vocal resistance. He still remembered that look in her eyes when she shoved it in; raw, pure pleasure burning alongside contempt. Watching his jaw slowly distend over its rubberized length; hearing his frantic breath catch and choke as it snaked its way across his tongue; his Adam's apple sliding up and down in futile resistance. He let out a deep, angry groan when she had finished, eyes shut in quiet fury.

Now, he found himself playing a cursed chandelier in the air, each arm wrapped tight in leather gauze wound behind his back. Each breath shuddered through lean muscle. His legs spread-eagled behind him forced the globes of his ass to bunch up, exposing the prints where her cruel fingers had squeezed.

"Look at you. Hung out to dry like the manwhore you are."

Blood turned to ice. He stiffened, feeling the sharp edge of steel softly trace the outer creases of his ass, dipping occasionally into the deeper crevasse. Once or twice, it would venture in too deep, and she would let it quiver before resurfacing. It was agonizingly slow, more so when she used the tip to poke at one of his balls. As if she were a chef handling cuts of steak, the cool, flat side would playfully roll against the wrinkled, steamed skin. Then she would tug harshly, jolting him back to attention.

"I have a surprise for you. A little extra oomph. Really will make you bleed and beg."

He could not see what she meant. He could only listen in; the crinkle of the zipper, the smooth slide of rubber. It was another dildo. She was going to punish him.

Leather bands whimpered. He could not reach around and stop her from nudging possibly the biggest dildo he'd ever felt up against his hole. It circled slowly, following pace with her other hand which deceivingly massaged a globe of ass fat. All of a sudden, a painful pinch. Then two, then three. The dildo never stopped circling, finding refuge within the cleft of his ass.

"Feel that, you little bitch? Feel it?" He could only shift uncomfortably in response, earning him a stinging slap to the ass. He swayed back and forth, resisting the urge to cry out.

"Nothing?" She raised the dildo further up the muscled cleft, brushing against his lower spine before withdrawing  completely. "We'll see about that."

Within moments, a strange shaking sound filled the air. The head of the second dildo reappeared against his puckered anus, burning. He could not help it; a small yelp leapt from his throat, muscles aching as they tried in vain to escape the scorching of his entrance. She kept it there awhile; enjoying the rippling, struggling clench of his lower muscles, forced to writhe like a fish in his bonds. "Mm, that's right," she murmured lustily. "You feel a difference now, you little cocksucker?"

As if to emphasize her point, she plunged the tip right in, pressing against his spine. The last bastion of protection, his sphincter, barely held it back. He tried to moan a few words of mercy, turning his head halfway. The smell of spice filled his nostrils. Was that... cayenne pepper?

Dread roiled and coiled inside him like worms, nerves alight with animalistic anxiety. She began to shove the dildo deeper, as if his ass and the dildo were nothing more than a pencil sharpener at work. There was no lube to soften the blow; every inch was paved in dry agony. Pain scorched and pillaged the walls of his anal canal. Tears flowed freely down his bulged cheeks, sobbing moans intermittently gargling through the slow plunge of the rubber spear. Her other hand deliberately began milk his turgid cock meanwhile, cutting just short of letting him cum. The mix of pain and pleasure highlighted each other in a dark, humiliating dance, complimenting the violation.

"That's right," she said, breathless from the exertion. "That's right. Cry, you little bitch boy. Cry for me. I want to see you suffer."

Those last words came with a final push and twist, burrowing the dildo into the deepest points of his rectum. In an effort to expel the invader, his walls closed in tighter and tighter, while his throat expelled a strangled cry. Consciously, he distilled the last of his strength into flexing his hip bones, as if to show the anger and indignity coursing through his veins beat back whatever pain she could put him through.

She had strength to spare though, and in a frightening show of that womanly strength, she pulled the dildo out in one fell swoop and plunged it in again, and again, and again. A violent cadence, infused with an endless sadistic twisting and twirling of the device. Flakes of cayenne pepper raked and ravaged his insides, and soon it felt as he were no better than a beast, being speared by a hot iron.

Finally, with a wet pop, the sweat-soaked toy popped out, leaving a gaping, blistering, bleeding hole in its wake. As the moments stretched on, it was clear she was admiring her handiwork yet again. The salt-tinged sweat that trickled into the blasted crevasse of ass flesh compelled him into a state of permanent quivering. Exhausted, the humiliation of those few moments felt to him like a millennia. Flakes of cayenne pepper raged on inside, suppressing whatever pleasure his prostate could trickle in. As if to taunt his condition further, he felt his leg muscles stretch as far as they could go, until he could only whimper away the pain of his reddened, torn flesh being stretched to its limits. The most erotic sight was the way his pecs heaved, proof of how hard his lungs were working in order to rake in whatever air his stuffed throat could bear.

Every tremble of flesh linked directly back to his inflamed, puckering hole. A slender, cool finger slid its way in, circling the rim, the size of a golf ball. Lightly, teasingly, her nail just long enough to scratch the thousand little irritated cuts. It left as quickly as it came, finding refuge on the rest of his cheeks. Silent as the grave, both hands began a soothing requiem; massaging thumbs pressed deep into his ass flesh, pressing rotating chunks of ass into her palms. The real objective however, was felt in the way her thumbs hooked into the edges of his cheeks, spreading them, stretching out his ruined hole for her visual enjoyment. As if stringing away on a harp, she played with it, unfolding every rounded curve like a note on a musical sheet.

"You're nothing but a cocksleeve now," she murmured. The soothing song she stretched out in his ass was a stark contrast to her words. "A used hole. By the time I'm done with you, this cock-cunt will be able to take in horse dick. You hear me? You'll be chained to stadium ground, fucked raw on all fours until the horse tires out. There won't be a moment this cock hole will be empty."

The prospect sent terror-tinged ice down his spine. He felt a growl burgeon from the base of his throat, cut short by a strangled cry. The meat of his left thigh rippled from the impact. A baseball bat. She'd hit him with a fucking baseball bat. He flinched, feeling a few playful, light swings hit the curves of his ass.

"Batter up."

There was no need to spare a thought as to where it would go. Fulfilling her earlier promise, the rounded, smooth top bludgeoned against his hole. Circling this way, that way, even bouncing a few times just to watch his ass meat jiggle. Once again, lube was nowhere to be found.

Once the first few inches became lost to his canal, he was crying out bloody murder. The dildo in his mouth began to vibrate, squashing out his pained, pitiful cries as she impaled him with no mercy. Something raw and wooden was being forced into his already blistered ass. A thousand more splinters added to the thousand already there. He could feel every tear, every bloody skidmark it would leave on the bat. She twisted it at times, forcing him to cry harder.

When all was said and done, he looked the part of a roasted pig; the handle stuck out like a sore thumb, and to induce further misery, she began to milk him. His cock was a mastiff in her expert hands, and she made no secret of watching him. Staring deep into his reddened, teary eyes, fingers forcing his cheeks together as if they were play dough. She'd smile a little more every time she forced his hips to jerk, forced the pre-cum to ooze out, sliding a slender finger up his shaft and spreading the steamy semen across his obscenely-stretched out lips. She would collect the drool and spread it across his meaty tits, twirling and pinching each nipple one at a time, squeezing so hard he thought she'd twist them right off.

Never, for one second, was there any ounce of relief. Though every cell and the deepest recesses of his soul hated her for this, his poor, abused cock would have surely jumped right off his body and into her warm, wrangling hand if it meant he could finally cum.

But there was only one problem. He only existed for her pleasure and hers alone.

PART II

His thigh muscles burned. Frog-like with the way they'd been spread wide open, he was held against the wall by bolted strips of cold metal. His back formed an uncomfortable arch against the block of wood it rested against, while his shoulders and triceps stretched upwards, wrists bound by thick, unforgiving chain. It was a strange, humiliating squatting position. His cock was never left alone either; a single rope had been tied to the head and lifted by a separate pulley system. One tug would bring unimaginable strain to the organ, forcing his balls to jiggle and sway endlessly. His feet barely brushed the cement ground, and resting snug against his sweaty, bunched-up pecs was a rope, which bit into and around his throat, dangerously close to cutting off his airway completely if tugged. In his mouth, a bright, shiny apple of a ball gag. True to her word, out of the clefts of his meaty globes poked the shined, green head of a long, slim cucumber.

"Mm," came the long, drawn breathy murmur he'd become so accustomed to. "Look at you. So delicious, just for me."

She appeared in front of him. A single, steel-toed leather boot lifted delicately against the base of his ass. Parked right against the cucumber, she began to slowly gyrate it, while playfully flicking the taut rope next to her shoulder, which controlled the pulley system that held his cockhead captive. In response, his dick began to bounce slightly, coupled in by the little whimpers that leaked out of his throat. His chest heaved, and she simply couldn't resist. She took an erect nipple into her supple fingers and pinched, forcing a stronger arch out of his already strained back. Her flicking hand now wrapped around the rope tied around his throat and pulled hard. The chains around hs wrists rattled in response to the force, arms feeling like they would be dislocated off their sockets as she pulled his upper body to her. His breath caught suddenly, struggling to breath as she leaned forward, breasts inches away from offering his chin a place of refuge. She did nothing but stare deep into his bleary eyes for a few long moments. His pecs heaved as her finger mindlessly rubbed against his raw erect nipple, as if she were contemplating. It sent sharp tingles of electricity up to his collarbone.

She seemed disappointed, in a way. As if the exotic, erotic humiliating sight in front of her wasn't enough. She needed to see him crushed to the floor like the maggot he was, blasted through that crackwhore crevasse he called an asshole until she could run through its fleshy strips like a curtain in utter tatters. She wanted to see him choked to oblivion by something so terrible, his mind would forever remain tormented after the fact, fucked to pieces even in his dreams.

She wanted to see those smooth, rock-hard abs distended terribly by something so hellishly big, it would leave a dent the size of a bus. She wanted to see him so stuffed to the brim with cum, she could hook him up like a common farmland cow and milk his tears and hole for weeks on end without mercy. She wanted to force and deny a thousand orgasms from him, drive him so insane with need that he, and his crackwhore cock would tremble in her mere presence. She wanted those lips, once easily able to slip into cocky smiles he thought she loved, to forever remain open and obedient, caked in days-old, dry cum, choking and spasming on the strap ons she'd force down his good-for-nothing cock-throat sleeve. She wanted his whole body to be on fire, always. There would never be a second of rest from sensation; something of his would always be bound or tied or stuffed to oblivion, and if hell were kind, she'd have him bouncing on some manner of cock every night.

......