Kane lasted about 6 months. After the initial meeting, he'd sworn he was never going back to that house—never going back to that *man* who had assaulted him—but as time went on, his resolve began to waver. Dreams of being used so thoroughly that even his own consent didn't matter encroached on his sleep, dreams of fat cocks and plugs and that *tongue.*
He woke, more often than not, drenched in sweat and gushing fluids. The plug lived in his sock drawer, away from all his other sex toys; he'd meant to throw it away, to rid himself of the humiliation of feeling it knock inside his ass every time the bus went over a bump, but instead he'd cleaned it and told himself he'd get around to it, someday. Now, though, it was back in his hole—back where it belonged, because he was going back where *he* belonged.
***Can I see you again?***
***friday nite. wear the plug and dont plan on doing anything else all weekend. i told u so***
The exchange still sent a shudder down his spine, and Kane wanted to back out, wanted to take his hand off the doorknob and leave the egomaniacal rapist alone with his hardon. But his pussy ached, and something inside his head or heart craved the absolute devaluation of being taken and used by Girthy.
The house hadn't changed, still a long, dim hallway leading to a cluttered living room. Girthy wasn't in his chair. In Kane's brain he lived there, the throne from which he ruled over whatever pathetic submissive he'd chosen to violate.
"Hands behind your back, boy." Kane jumped as Girthy emerged from the bedroom, closing the door behind him. He looked the same, too, no change to the thinning hair, rotund belly, or glinting eyes over his predatory smirk. Kane quickly followed his instruction, and he circled the younger man before clicking a pair of handcuffs around his wrists. "On your knees."
Obedience brought Kane eye level with the cock that haunted his dreams, and he was almost ashamed at the immediacy that his mouth watered with. It was flaccid in front of a pair of massive, unshaven balls.
"I knew you'd come back," Girthy said, almost conversationally from above. "Took you longer than I'd have liked, but I'm more than ready to remind you of your place. Open up and be ready to swallow."
Kane tried to stifle his eagerness as he opened wide, remembering the near-jaw dislocating size of the fully hard member. He didn't see the widening smile on Girthy's face as he let loose a stream of pee.
It was bitter and salty, and Kane sputtered through it, choking. The stream stopped short and Girthy laid a solid *smack* on Kane's cheek. "I said *be ready to swallow,"* he ground out, shifting his weight and readjusting his cock. Kane moved to speak but Girthy cut him off. "No, you don't get a say, remember? That's why you're here: you're a subhuman fucktoy who exists to pleasure better men. And you *deserve* to be my urinal. It's an *honor* for you to swallow my piss. Understand?"
"Yes, Sir," Kane mumbled, honorific slipping out unintentionally. Squinting his eyes shut and trying to ignore the quickly cooling warmth soaking into his clothes, he reopened his mouth wide.
"Sir," Girthy mused. "I like that." And he let loose again, directly into Kane's waiting mouth. "See, you're made for this; maybe I'll take you out and let other men use you. Bet you'd like that, huh? A belly full of strangers' piss?"
Tears were gathering in Kane's eyes again as he swallowed through his lack of oxygen. When the stream stopped the taste remained, heavy in the back of his throat; he almost hated the slick that was cascading out of his pussy. "What a good toilet. Thank me," Girthy commanded.
