Detox

Part 1: Discharge

When Tanner arrived at the spa ten days before, he wasn't sure what to expect. He had always treated his body as a temple, but the idea of doing a nine-day detox course seemed extreme. There would be massages and mud baths and wraps and yoga and all sorts of stuff that appealed to him, but also a very strict vegan diet, and he was quite the carnivore.

By day four, he was always feeling hungry, but he wasn't wasting away. By the last day, he felt empty, yet energized, lean and mean. He had admired himself in the mirror after getting up that morning. His blonde hair was a bit shaggy, but his face was still rather clean shaven after a real barber's shave the night before. Years of soccer had already given him a solid physique, but his definition had visibly improved in just a week. His abs popped when he flexed them, grooving his torso up to his defined serratus and pecs, glistening under an almost invisible blonde fuzz, bleached out by days of tanning over the summer. Even his eyes seemed to have gotten brighter.



As he packed his bags for check out for his trip back to Warsaw, he was already hotly anticipating the seduction of a local girl he had met on the way in. They had gotten hot and heavy outside a bar one night, but she didn't put out then. She would this time. He didn't want to drink alcohol for a few days, but she would and he'd be in perfect shape to get her back to his hotel for one last fling before he flew back to the states. It would be a perfect end to his backpacking adventure.

This resort spa was in the Owl Mountains and frequented mostly by wealthy Russians and a few western Europeans. Tanner had learned about it from an aunt who had come before. When he expressed an interest in trying it, she bought the detox package for him to be the end to his journey.

As he walked to the door, he saw a note had been slipped underneath. He picked it up and read it:

Honored guest,
Your package entitles you to private town car service. After check out, proceed to the garden for pick up.​

He smiled and thought to himself, "Thanks, Aunt Doris."

He was grinning the whole way down, through the short line and still grinning when he went out to the garden area, where a tall, handsome young man was standing in a linen shirt and pants with a bag slung over his shoulder. Tanner pegged him as Brazilian (and he was right). The linen was a bit rumpled and loose, but could not hide the muscular frame beneath. Almost certainly another soccer player.



"Are you...with the town car?" Tanner asked.

The young man blinked. "Uh, I am waiting for one, yes," with a slight accent and friendly tone.

"Ah. So am I." Tanner looked around. Beneath an arched hedge he saw the front of a black car. "Maybe that's it," he said and pointed. At just that moment, a tall, burly man in a suit stepped into view. He beckoned the two young men.

When they were on the other side of the hedge, they saw that there was a private drive connecting this back to the main road, passing the cul de sac where others were packing into a shuttle bus. The driver had opened the trunk and was facing them, his eyes behind dark black glasses.

"Other car is running late," he said with a Russian accent. "We can fit both of you, if you don't mind."

Tanner turned to the young man. "If you don't mind, I don't mind."

The young man flashed a bright smile. "No. I don't mind. I'm Diego." He offered his hand and they shook. The driver took their bags and loaded them into the trunk while they got settled in the spacious back seat. Tanner immediately started asking Diego about himself and confirmed his suspicions that he was a fellow soccer player, on holiday from Brazil (Rio de Janeiro). He wasn't heading home just yet. He was off to see Moscow next. The conversation mixed travel, girls, and soccer. When the car had descended from the more scenic leg of the trip into the lower town area, they stopped looking out the window and focused on each other.

Tanner felt he was having the quintessential backpacking experience: taking the road less traveled, meeting people spontaneously, even imagining building a rapport with Diego and thus having a contact in Rio.

Then the car stopped and the two looked around puzzled. They were in a narrow road or alley between the back of a large brick building and what looked like a long bunker. Tanner was on the side near the brick building and could see two men standing just inside large, wooden french doors with filigree glass windows. The men looked out at him, then looked back at each other.

Diego asked, "Is this where we are stopping."

The driver did not turn around, laughed a little. "Just our first stop."

Another face, a thin man appeared in the door that Tanner was watching.

Diego said, "Well, neither of us are getting off here, so why are we stopping here? What kind of town car is this? Are we picking up another person?"

The driver just laughed in response. Diego was ready to shout back, but Tanner said, "Who are these guys?" Diego looked out and saw a thin man approach with two heavies flanking him. His blood ran cold. Tanner was naive, but Diego, growing up in Brazil around more crime and kidnapping, had an intuition for when things were about to turn sour. He muttered a prayer under his breath.

The window in Tanner's door lowered and the thin man peered in, right into Tanner's face, and smiled. He muttered something in Russian to the men beside him, and they opened the door. Tanner was just puzzled, did not sense that Diego was in a full blown panic and wondering if he should try to get out and run on his side. He surreptitiously tested the handle of his door and found that it would not open. When he glanced at it, he realized that there were no visible locks. He began to pray again.

"Step out of the car, please," the thin man said to Tanner.

Tanner turned to look at the driver, "What is this?" He turned to Diego and saw that the caramel skin of Diego's face had somehow turned sallow. When he turned back to the men outside, he saw a gun pointed at his chest. "What the fuck is this?"

"Step out of the car," the thin man repeated. Tanner obeyed and one of the men pulled him forward and put the gun in his back, which was starting to show a streak of sweat down the spine. The thin man said something menacing to the man with the gun. He was actually telling him not to bruise the merchandise, but Tanner perceived the threat as being directed toward him.

"I don't speak...that language," he said, unsure what language it was.

"Don't worry," said the thin man. "You'll know when I'm speaking to you. I will always be very clear when I am speaking to you." He turned to the other heavy and nodded. The gunman nodded back and climbed into the car, shutting the door behind him. He gave a command to the driver, and the car started down the road.

"Where are you taking him? What is going to happen to him?"

The man smiled, but did not bother to look at Diego. "A dance. He's going to a dance," he said with an accent that sounded more Scandinavian than Russian.

Diego sunk back in his seat. It was clear that if he got a worthwhile answer, he wasn't going to like it. Still, he could not help but ask, "Where are you taking me?"

The man smirked. "Back to the mountains. Just not the same part of the mountains as before. A different view for you."

Diego wanted to throw up, but he managed to stutter, "My family...they will pay whatever you want if you don't injure me. I promise."

"The men who just took your friend could buy that spa, this car, your family home and his family home and burn it to the ground just for fun. Money is not the object here," the man said, and finally turned to face Diego, eyes behind glinting black glasses. "You...are the object."

Part 2: Introductions

Tanner similarly tried to bargain as he was led through the musty halls of the brick building, down to a lower level which, despite being well beneath ground level, was warmer and no less adorned with old world flourishes in the woodwork and hand-blown glass sconces. No one said a word to him. Though the thin man quietly shushed him twice as he led the way to a sparsely appointed room. Tanner was pushed in at gunpoint and the thin man followed, shutting the door behind him.

"Strip."

"Look, man, I'm telling you, I..."

"No. I am telling you: Strip."

Tanner stared in wide-eyed disbelief and panic. He heard voices in the other room.

"Hey! Someone help me!"

"You are very attractive," the thin man said. "But not very bright." He looked Tanner over. "And shorter than I expected. I think the spa is inflating your numbers, but once you are on stage, no one will know the difference."

"On stage?"

"Strip!" the thin man barked. "I'll explain a little while you undress."

There wasn't much to undress, but Tanner sullenly took his time. He didn't know what to expect, and even the thin man's explanation left him with questions he dared not ask.

"You are one of two men who will serve as entertainment for a crowd of about thirty connoisseurs of this sort of entertainment. We realize that this is coercive, and illegal where you come from. Know now that any attempts to protest or even speak of how badly you are being treated will be met with very unpleasant treatment. We want smiles. We want you to look like you are enjoying yourself. You will dance with another man. Then you will fuck him..."

Tanner's eyes darted up as he was trying to peel off his jeans. He nearly fell forward.

"Then we will release you."

Tanner stood pantsless for a moment, looking at the ground. He muttered, "So...I fuck him."

"Keep stripping," the thin man said. "Mustn't keep everyone waiting."

Tanner peeled off his shirt, "I mean, I don't get fucked by him. He gets fucked by me, right?"

The thin man nodded as he appraised Tanner's body with a smile. He was an inch shorter than they had hoped, but his legs were so developed and balanced with a beefy, toned chest that no one would care. Nice arms, too, but the legs were the real prize.
"Everything," the thin man said, pointing at Tanner's socks and briefs.



Tanner started sweating again. He had never been shy about stripping in front of guys, but this was obviously quite different from every previous case. The briefs went last of course, and when they did, revealing his thick, plump cock, the Thin Man said, as if to himself or the man next to him, "That will do nicely. Karol will enjoy that." He then repeated it in Russian to the man next to him, and followed it with a command. The heavy turned and opened the door slightly, said something to someone outside. With the gun no longer pointed at him and one back turned, Tanner fleetingly considered running through one of the two doors to his left and right. His eyes darted around, then fixed back on the Thin Man, who was smiling wider than before.

"I'm glad to see you are in a hurry. You'll be going through those doors presently." Two other men in plainer clothes came in. They were older and ugly and surly. "But first these men will groom you a little. It shouldn't take long to get you cleaned up, but we want to trim some hair and make sure you are ready to perform your best for the guests."

The thin man walked to one of the doors and opened it, revealing a tiled interior. "Come," he said curtly. Tanner turned and followed mutely. There was another man sitting in a chair by a desk looking at his phone. In front of him, Tanner saw scissors, an electric razor and a straight razor. Tanner started to struggle when he felt the two older men grab his arms but a quick prod with the barrel of the gun stilled him and he was brought to a gynecological chair at one side of the room. This chair had an addition that most OB-Gyn offices did not have, however: a series of restraints that were applied to his arms and torso, and then to his legs, which were lifted in stirrups to reveal the dark, deep crack of his ass.

One of the older men wheeled over a colonic pump while the other fastened a ball gag in Tanner's protesting mouth. He watched and puffed and moaned as one of the older men knelt between his legs, applied lubricant to a gloved hand and smeared it around his ass. He tried to clench his cheeks, and the older man looked into his eyes with a leering smirk. "Open," he commanded.

"He doesn't want to hurt you," said the Thin Man in a soothing tone. "This doesn't have to hurt. In fact, after your detox treatment, this colonic will be very easy. It is still necessary, however. Just relax and it will soon be over."

Tanner had never been so angry and humiliated in his life. His fear had subsided into a boiling rage, but his ass opened around the nozzle and he threw his head back and grunted as they fed it into him. The machine started, and as he felt himself slowly begin to fill he just shut his eyes and whimpered. He didn't see one of the men approach with a syringe, but he looked up when they swabbed his arm, and examined his veins. His forearms were thick and vascular, easy to stick, and the needle went in easy.

The injection had a slight burn in his veins and he yelled into the gag. He was pissed again, blathering pointlessly at them.
The Thin man explained, "I should hope you know by now that I am not interested in hurting you. Everything we are doing is to improve you for your performance. This injection, for instance, will ensure that you can perform."

Tanner's body began to tingle. He could tell immediately that there was some sort of mild stimulant in the injection. He soon figured out the main purpose of it, though. His dick began to harden...and soon he had the most powerful erection of his life. It was so hard it was uncomfortable. Everything felt more sensitive, too.

"Beautiful, Tanner," said the Thin man admiringly. "I am sure the audience is more excited than before, now." He pointed to a corner, and Tanner shifted his head to see a video camera pointed down at him. "Now, let's get everything else set up so we can get on with the show."

The Thin Man started giving more commands in another language. Over the next hour, Tanner was shaved and washed thoroughly. His head was shorn to a buzz cut. His groin was shaved bare, as was his ass. His torso, too, was shaved smooth, but they left the light stubble on his face and the blond fur on his thick legs. At the end, they made him stand as they wiped him down one last time with a soft rag.

"We are ready," said the Thin Man. Tanner glared at him. His jaw was still sore and he felt a bit crazed from hunger and the stimulants in his system, which had made his skin more sensitive as it was depilated, including his cock, which still stood steel-rigid and 7-inches long, parallel to the floor. "It's time for you to meet the audience and Karol."

A light push sent him marching slowly through the room where he had stripped and toward the other door, which opened into a large chamber with a low ceiling, covered with paintings and baroque flourishes. The dominant color of the walls, drapes and floor was burgundy and the light was all focused on one end of the room where a circular dais about 8 feet in diameter sat. Tanner peered into the darker half of the room as he marched to the dais. There were people seated in three rows, slightly elevated. He couldn't see faces, but everyone seemed to be wearing a suit.

Tanner muttered, "Fuck. What kind of weird cult shit is this?" The Thin Man didn't answer, only directed his attention to another young man: buff and lithe, pale skin, jet black hair, brown eyes glinting with tears, looking absolutely petrified, shaking.



Both of them were prodded on stage and forced to stand straight, facing the audience. The Thin Man began to address the crowd in French. Tanner did not understand, but Karol seemed to, and in his peripheral view he could see Karol look at him. Tanner almost turned, but then he heard Karol whimper as a hand whacked his ass and growled a directive in some Russian or Slavic tongue. Karol faced the audience again.

The Thin Man finished his speech quickly and turned to address the two young men. "We are ready for your performance. Karol..." he broke into Russian and said a few sentence. "Tanner, Karol is a gymnast. Not an exceptional one, but he is very flexible, and we want to see you really bend him and twist him. You can fuck him hard or slow. You can rape him or make love to him. Part of the joy of watching such a performance is not knowing how the men will handle the situation. We want you to show your strength, and we want him to be stretched. That's all we ask."

"Karol..." more Russian. Karol hesitantly stepped forward and bent at the waist, turning to expose his pert, muscular ass to Tanner, folding himself until his shoulders were behind his calves and he was staring back up into Tanner's face.

"To begin, we'll want you to eat his hole."

Tanner snapped. "Fuck you, you fucking pervert. Fucking faggots. I'm not fucking do—"

His right leg went out beneath him and collapsed onto the dais with one whack from a baton.

"Don't make them hurt you, Tanner. Enjoy yourself. Give yourself and Karol a good time. You might be surprised at how much you like it." The Thin Man smirked and stepped away.

Tanner slowly, dutifully got in his knees and peered at Karol's hole. He knew Karol was looking up at him, but he couldn't bear to look back. He leaned forward and brushed his hands over the ass.

Imagine it's a pussy, he thought to himself as he shut his eyes and gave it a first tentative lick.

"You can do better than that, Tanner," said the Thin Man's voice, now coming over a speaker. He opened his eyes and sensed figures looming behind him—cameras and weapons in hand.

Tanner licked again, letting his tongue linger over Karol's pucker. The young man shivered slightly and let out a slight coo. Tanner actually felt sorry for him.

We're in this together. We're gonna survive this. I'm gonna survive this. I'm gonna give them what they want, and we will survive this.

He gripped Karol's thighs and began to dig enthusiastically into the hole with his tongue. It was sweetened lightly by something, though unmistakably the flavor was of sweat and young skin. Karol shifted and lifted his head back to the front, leaning slightly into Tanner's face and giving himself over to the pleasure of a straight stud rimming his hole. He was still terrified, but he found himself growing erect as Tanner pushed copious saliva into him.

Tanner leaned back to catch his breath. They were both panting, though Tanner was not really in lust. His erection was painful at this point. He needed to release soon, but he was truly concerned that he would rip Karol if he didn't get him really wet. He went back in, bathing Karol's crack with his tongue and inserting a finger to loosen him.

"You're good at this, Tanner. I'm not sure it's your first time."

Tanner pulled his face away. "It is, faggot. I'm just working him like a girl."

For his part, Karol was in fact enjoying it as much as he could under the circumstances.



"More of of it, Tanner. And I think Karol should show you how good it feels. I think you should eat each other's asses at the same time." Some in the crowd applauded lightly. He gave a few quick orders to Karol, who went still, then knelt and turned to face Tanner. They looked warily into each other's eyes. No affection, but a sense of empathy if not camaraderie in this nasty little game.

Karol laid back and flicked his finger to beckon Tanner over him. Tanner crawled alongside him and lowered his ass to Karol's face. He quivered as the first lick grazed his hole, then another. Karol's hands slid atop his ass and pushed it down so he could dive deeper in. Tanne moaned in a way that shocked even him. His head dropped, embarrassed by his own ecstasy. He gripped Karol's legs and pulled them back, revealing the pink hole again, starting to open more. Tanner's dick bobbed as he considered what a tight, smooth fit it would be. He let a string of drool descend into it and it puckered around it, bubbling up over the edges and splling down the young man's crack. Tanner dove in, and they worked each other's holes for a good five minutes before the Thin Man made another brief announcement.

"Time to fuck."

Great overture. Can hardly wait for the first act

Part 3: Last Dance


They both froze. Moment of truth. Tanner dismounted and looked down at Karol's face. It was glistening with a film of juices, a little flushed, too, but somewhat peaceful. When the Thin Man gave him a quick command to present his hole, he nimbly turned on his back and spread his legs into a full split, thenbrought his right leg up to his chest, still straight as an arrow. Tanner had unimpeded access to his hole, and he was so gooned up he had almost forgotten where he was. He spat on his hand, and rubbed it over his dick, very lightly. It was more swollen than ever before...he couldn't get his hand around it. He surged with pride at the thought, no longer worried about Karol's hole. He could be gentle, but he was ready to stud this guy.



We're gonna survive this.

Karol was ready, too. He had bottomed before and knew how to do it right for both sides. He nodded, to Tanner, who nodded back with the hint of a smile as he crawled over Karol and aimed his dick down at the hole. Two cameras were trained on them now, getting different angles of the penetration as it happened. Tanner's dick nestled in the hole and he very slowly pushed in as Karol pushed out. They both gasped as the head popped in, and then both groaned as Tanner sank a few more inches in.

"You okay?"

"Okay," said Karol. At least he knew that word.

Tanner withdrew, then sank all 7 inches in. Karol clenched his eyes, as he was stretched. Tanner, however, went bug-eyed. The sensations were so intense they bordered on painful. He wasn't going to last long. The slow long-dicking continued for a few minutes. Tanner could hear the crowd shifting and murmuring. On the one hand, he wanted to piss them off. On the other hand, he felt like this might lead to a bad end for him. They probably wanted something rougher. It was time to give it to them.

Karol gasped as Tanner grabbed both of his legs and pushed, stretching him further and pinning his ass down as he suddenly began a harder, faster fuck. A camera captured Tanner's bubble butt flexing with the thrust, projecting it live on a screen behind the dais. Karol caught a glimpse of it and for a moment smiled.

Tanner was gritting his teeth. He knew he was going to cum fast at this rate, so he pulled out and flipped Karol onto his hands and knees, then rammed his cock back in. Karol was starting to get into it himself and slid back to meet Tanner's thrusts, actively milking the cock filling him up. Tanner slowed down, but Karol picked up the pace. The top tried to resist, but it was too late—the seasoned hole clamped down and sent him over the edge into one of the most intense orgasms of his life. Over a week's worth of pent up spunk splattered the inside of Karol, who just kept going as a petty torment, all part of the show.

He was still shaking and trying to catch his breath when the Thin Man's voice tsked over the speaker. "That was too fast, Tanner. We can't end the show there."

Tanner was still kneeling limply, dripping with sweat and with his cock still hard and plugging Karol's back end. The slightest move still sent shivers of pleasure through him. He was too sensitive to fuck and just pulled out with a groan.

Karol tightened his ass to keep it from leaking out Tanner's jizz and turned to face the top again. The two young men looked at each other, not sure what to do or what was to happen next.

"Do you..." Tanner started. "Should I suck your cock?" It keeps the show going and my ass stays intact, he reasoned silently.

"Karol's cunt still needs attention, Tanner."

"My dick is sore," Tanner snarled. Sinister chuckling emanated from the dimly visible audience.

"So give it some rest. Fist him."

"What?" Tanner asked, genuinely not comprehending.

Two heavies closed in around the dais. Tanner shrunk back, but their target was actually Karol. They pulled his legs out in a split, fighting Karol's instinctive jerking, which quickly came to an end when one twisted his foot roughly. They slammed his legs down on the platform and pulled manacles out from the drape beneath the platform, secured them tight around Karol's ankles, then turned winches until Karol's legs were stretched taut. Karol was whimpering again, lying face up. His asshole was oozing a stream of Tanner's cum onto the platform.



"You will fist him now, Tanner. You have lubed him up already. No need for more."

We're gonna survive this. I'm gonna survive this. I'm gonna give them what they want, and we will survive this.

Tanner repeated this silently in his head, but he was beginning to doubt that they would leave intact. He leaned down and dipped his fingers in the small pool of jizz and smeared it around Karol's hole. Two fingers went in easily. Three made Karol gasp.

"Sorry," Tanner whispered. Three central fingers to the hilt was not too much. But four... "Try to relax, man." Tanner coached as he tried to coax more jizz out of the hole to lubricate his hand. It was more sticky than slick once it was spread on his hand, though. Adding the pinky wasn't difficult, but sliding more of the hand in was more problematic. Karol shrieked as Tanner's palm breached his ass and slid against the silky interior of his cunt. He took short, panicked breaths and winced as he tried to relax.

"Your fist, Tanner," coaxed the Thin Man.

"Fuck you. We're getting there." Tanner pulled out and Karol heaved a relieved gasp and started cursing under his breath as Tanner looked at his sticky palm and made different configurations with it, trying to decided the easiest way to get his hand in.

"I see you are new at this," remarked the Thin Man. More chuckling. Tanner managed to figure out the "swan" shape and looked at Karol.

"Sorry," he whispered again. Karol just winced and let his head fall against the dais, trying to relax as Tanner's fingers probed into him. To some in the audience, seeing the action projected on the screen, Tanner's facility at this was remarkable. Had he been given sufficient lube, Karol would have been worked very gently. But there wasn't sufficient lube, of course, and the whole process forced Tanner to flex his arms against the resisting flesh beneath him. He was starting to resent Karol slightly. The base of his thumb was almost in when he heard Karol squeak and then whine horribly. He didn't know it yet, but Karol had torn a little inside. Tanner spat around the hole and smeared the saliva where the taut, magenta lips gripped his hand. With one last push, his hand sunk fully into the hole and came to a rest when the ass was opened around the narrowest point of his wrist.

He and Karol did not move, just breathed steadily until the Thin Man's voice said, "You need to fuck him with your first, Tanner. Because you can't fuck him with your cock just yet, you need to work your fist into him. This does not end until his ass is around your elbow."

Tanner gaped silently. That's not possible. It will kill him.

"We will hurt you both if you do not do this, Tanner."

"He's already hurt, you sick fuck. You're asking me to kill him."

"This will not kill him if you do it right. Some men can take an arm to the shoulder. Karol can take your arm to the elbow."

We're gonna survive this. I'm gonna survive this. I'm gonna give them what they want, and we will survive this.

Tanner was sweating heavily, as was Karol. He wished he could direct all that sweat to the ass in front of him, because this was going to be a pretty dry fuck. He started pushing deeper in. Karol shook his head. He didn't understand what had been said and Tanner could not explain it. Still, the young man fisting him had such sad, expressive eyes, he knew that nothing good had been said. He tried to say that he had enough, but could only say, "Okay...okay..."

Tanner interpreted this differently and kept pushing in. Karol started frantically shrieking, "Okay! Okay!" as he felt his ass tear further around Tanner's thick forearms.

Tanner was bewildered, thought Karol had gone mad. He started crying as he worked his arm in deeper, twisting it to try to wiggle it in. He had to stoop lower to the ground and one of the camera was able to get both his face and his arm in the frame, showing both the action and reaction: tearing and tears.

We're gonna survive this. I'm gonna survive this. I'm gonna give them what they want, and we will survive this.
It took ten minutes of agony and panic for Tanner to get his arm in to the elbow. His face was contorted in anger and disgust by that time and Karol's face was flushed and streaked with tears and sweat.

"Now you can fuck him properly with your fist, Tanner. We want you to drive in and out, do whatever it takes to bring him off because this will not end until he orgasms."

Tanner was shocked to silence, could not even protest. It was just as well because the Thin Man then started giving Karol instructions. When he was finished he just let out a cry and feebly reached for his dick. The fact that was even slightly erect at this point indicated to Tanner that he, too, had received a stimulant injection. Karol breathed raggedly through his mouth while snot bubbled from his pert nose. He stroked himself as Tanner slowly extracted his hand, easing the stretch of the youth's torn hole and rubbing his prostate. Karol pumped his dick and tried to relax again. He couldn't feel his legs and his ass was burning, but he knew he had to cum.

The Thin Man was not interested in helping him along.

"Tanner, you aren't fucking him. Work your arm in and out like a cock."

We're gonna survive this. I'm gonna survive this. I'm gonna give them what they want, and we will survive this.

Tanner did as instructed, causing Karol to squeak and groan, but he kept pumping his dick, desperate to cum just so this torture could end. Tanner was absentminded and not terribly gentle as he just tried to forget where he was and what he was doing. Tanner just gazed into space as his automatic pumping went deep. Karol was crying again as he masturbated furiously. No one was moved.

Tanner could smell blood. It was the smell that brought him back to a state of awareness, and he slowly withdrew his arm again to the wrist. This respite was all Karol needed, and a surge of cum flew across his chest, pooling between his straining pecs. Tanner felt the torn ass constrict around his arm and seized the moment between spasms to pull out quickly. He was horrified to see the hole would not close and a red, puffy mass of flesh was pulsing inside. Had he not been emptied out,h he might have thrown up.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Karol looked up at Tanner, and then saw a close up of his own destroyed cunt projected behind him and he sobbed.



"He is rather ruined now, Tanner. You really made a mess of him." Tanner leapt up but a quick swat from a baton again brought him crashing down on top of Karol, knocking the wind out of both. "It is time to end the show, Tanner, and if you want to leave her alive, it can only end one way. You need to fuck Karol's sloppy, bloody little cunt again while you choke him. And yes, we mean choke him hard. Choke him out. At maximum, only one of you is leaving here."

Tanner could not believe what he was hearing. They were to make him a murderer for their own sick pleasure. At that moment, he didn't even believe he could do it.

"You know, Tanner. Karol never really had a chance in this world. His only asset was his cunt, and that is gone now. It will be an act of mercy to end his life now."

Tanner looked sadly down at Karol beneath him. The youth was still beautiful in this wretched state. Tanner was in disbelief. Karol had no idea what was happening, but he knew it couldn't be good.

Tanner brought himself on his hands and knees. He couldn't bear to look at the youth anymore.

I'm gonna survive this. I'm gonna give them what they want, and I will survive this.

He looked down at his still swollen, aching cock and aligned it with Karol's gaping hole. The bottom hissed and shook his head. Tanner drove in, bluntly mashing the flesh back up where it belonged, but this was no comfort to Karol, who wailed at the knowledge he was going to be fucked again.

Tanner shifted his hands to the youth's shoulders, inching them toward his neck as he pumped the soft hole. In terms of sensation, it actually felt really good, but he wasn't enjoying it. He was steeling himself for the next move. His fingers crept around Karol's neck and started to squeeze. Karol, suddenly comprehending, gasped and flailed his arms upward, slapping and clawing at Tanner's face. Tanner released him and leaned back.

"Fuck!" He backhanded Karol, splitting the boy's pert lower lip.

"You seem to need some help, Tanner." The Thin Man gestured to the heavies, who circled the platform and knelt behind Karol's head, grabbed his wrists and cuffed them with more manacles beneath the dais.

Tanner looked into Karol's eyes again. They both were crying, but then a fury came over Tanner and he leapt forward, squeezing Karol's throat between both hands as he slammed his cock to the hilt, over and over. Karol sputtered and croaked as his air was cut off. Snot bubbled grotesquely around his nose and his eyes went bloodshot, the skin darkening around it as his whole face took on a bluish cast.
Tanner didn't notice at first how wet everything was around his cock, but when he looked down he saw that Karol was pissing himself.

"Fuck!" Tanner reared back again and released Karol's neck. The youth croaked and gasped, feeding air into his lungs as deeply as he could. His vision had begun to dim and his limbs and lungs were burning. Feeling was returning, but his brain was still a cloud of fear and pain.

"You're a real monster, Tanner. A gentleman would have finished him off, but here you are prolonging his death." The Thin Man repeated this sentiment in another language to the crowd as Tanner breathed heavily, seething with hatred. His mind finally snapped and with a roar he pounced back down on Karol and squeezed as tight as he could as he fucked the dying body. No sound emerged from Karol's throat for a good thirty seconds. There was no air going in or out, and his face quickly started to blacken and swell. His beauty was gone; it was monstrous to Tanner, who in his rage got a burst of strength that ended the silence in Karol's mouth with the crunching of cartilage. The graceful throat collapsed in Tanner's hands and blood began to pour from Karol's right nostril. The body spasmed horribly, and the contractions around Tanner's cock became stronger and wilder. Before Tanner was even aware, he was seeding Karol's guts one last time as they worked toward stillness. With the rage and release, Tanner began bawling like a baby and let go of the throat. Karol wasn't dead yet, but his mind was gone, drawn into a burning darkness. Tanner collapsed atop the body with a wet plop joining the sheen of sweat on both bodies into a streaming puddle. Both bodies were in throes: one orgasmic, one terminal. And then both were still.



The crowd applauded.

Tanner lifted his red eyes to glare over Karol's dead face at the crowd in the darkness. He wanted to kill them all. He knew he was capable of killing now.

"An excellent performance, Tanner," said the Thin Man, walking up to him. "You really are a brute."

Tanner was too weak and the platform was too slippery for him to pose much of a threat, but he tried to scramble up from the corpse beneath him to crush the Thin Man's throat next. Two heavies grabbed him, one on each arm, dragging him back off the platform onto his shaky legs.

"You should save your energy. You have a long night ahead of you."

Tanner snorted. "You said you would release me, you lying sack of shit."

"We are releasing you, Tanner. Your time with us is over." He gestured to a hulking man in a suit, obscured by the spotlight behind him. "We are releasing you to Mr M. He will take you now."

Fear and fury surged through Tanner again, and Mr M smiled at the wildness of his blue, bloodshot eyes just before they disappeared beneath a black hood. They secured it with a cord around Tanner's throat, tight enough to draw the cloth against his face. You could make out his nose and his gaping mouth, gasping as they stuck him with a needle and he slipped into the darkness.

Part 4: Retreat

At about this time, back in the mountains, the town car holding Diego was pulling up a long private drive. He had stopped bargaining, just sat and sweated in silence, trying to remember the roads so that if by some chance he could escape or need to know the way back, he would have a chance. They were miles from the town, though, and on some level he knew it was futile to even attempt to keep track or hope that he could wander back.

Maybe I could steal the car. The hero gets back however he can. He sought solace in imagining scenarios where he escaped and took down everyone of these criminals. Gunning them down, watching them fall from cliffs—he could be the hero. He needed to believe that, despite his cynicism.

The private drive divided and the car went down a narrower road, but Diego glimpsed a huge, old manor above them. It had to be at least a century old, he guessed. The same thought occurred to him regarding a little stone house that they passed shortly before they came to a stop and the engine shut off.

Diego turned to the man sitting beside him. It was the first time he had looked at him in an hour, and he still had a smug smirk.

The door behind Diego opened and he was dragged out by four hands before he could even turn to see who was there. A hood went over his head and he was dragged kicking and cursing to the ground, pressed face down while they bound his wrists together with a zip tie, then dragged him back to his feet. He felt them drop a rope over his head and around his neck and he took a panicked breath as it tightened slightly. Someone tugged on it, pulling him forward. The voice from the man in the car said, "Come," and he was pulled forward along an uneven path. He took high slow steps to avoid tripping, which looked awkward enough to draw snickers from the guards behind him. Diego gritted his teeth. They left the path onto soft earth and sparse grass. A guard stopped him by grabbing his shoulder. Diego heard the creak of a metal hinge, felt a cool draft and then felt the pull of the rope again, felt the temperature drop and the dampness of a subterranean space tingle on his skin. The floor became concrete, then metal and he was stopped again. The sounds of an old elevator filled his ears and they lurched a bit, then descended—not very far, Diego thought.

Another brief walk, another stop, and he was shoved into a room which he could tell was smaller because it didn't have the echo of the tunnel he had left. The guards hefted him onto a table and bound his legs before beginning to cut off all his clothing. Diego squirmed and cursed.

A voice commanded, "Stop that or else it won't just be your clothes getting cut."

That settled him down as they peeled his shirt from him, revealing his smooth, golden, muscular back.

"The man will love that," the voice remarked. "That spa does good work."

The man? Diego was now almost certain he was there to be raped. But that won't happen! I'll cut their balls off!



Four hands held his arms firm as another pair of hands snipped the bonds of his wrists. He struggled and thrashed as they flipped him. He got a good kick in to the side of one of the heavies with his bound legs, which brought a retaliatory punch to the gut that winded him. It was easy to get him down then and strap his arms down at the wrists, elbows and shoulders, over his head, accentuating his lean triceps and the broad flare of his lats and thick pecs. His statuesque legs were also strapped down separately. His torso was not bound, allowing him to arch and pull upwards, putting every muscle into high relief, but to no effect. He was cursing again when they pulled the hood off. He squinted against a light aimed right into his face.

"Go ahead and get him stretched out straight while the man gets here."

There were three men in the room. Two heavies, and the man from the car giving orders. He had shed his jacket and shirt to reveal a sculpted, fighters physique framed by a tight tank top. He was putting on a white coat as a doctor would wear. The room, though dingy and poorly lit, had a clinical vibe to Diego's eyes: a few wheeled trays and a table with jars and metal utensils on it.

Diego's assessment was cut short when a heavy started manually turning a crank attached to the platform where he was lying. It took several turns for him to feel the tension in his arms and legs as they were pulled straight. He thrashed again, as if he could pull back. The man kept cranking him tighter until there wasn't enough slack in his body to thrash that way. There was no pain, but the discomfort and humiliation was enough. Diego started to crack.

"Por..." he said and sniffed back tears. "Por favor...Oh, Deus."

"God is coming," said the white coat. "In fact, you should probably address him that way. He'll enjoy that." He nodded to the heavies, who promptly left the room. "He's going to be happy with you in so many ways," he said softly as he stroked his hand up Diego's thigh and then flicked Diego's limp cock, shriveling in the cold but still looking plump on his big balls. "I should go ahead and get a few things done while we wait, so he can have you all to himself."

The white coat disappeared behind Diego's field of vision. He heard rustling of plastic, tearing of a paper. Then he felt a cool swab on his forearm, then the stab of a needle.

Diego cursed and wailed. He did not like the sight of his own blood, but he wanted to see what was happening to him. "Just taking some blood draws to make sure that you are as healthy as you look," said the white coat. "Appearances are deceiving, after all."

Several tubes were taken. Another needle was inserted into his other arm. "An IV to keep you hydrated," said the white coat, who then patted Diego on the head. Diego glared at him silently as he came back into view holding a length of tube with a glistening plastic tip. "And a catheter to give that water some place to go."

Diego squirmed as much as he could (that is, not much) as the white coat grabbed his plump cock and began feeding the tube into it. It wasn't as uncomfortable as Diego expected it to be at first, until it was forced past his prostate and into his bladder. The humiliation of the intrusion was the greater sting. Immediately, piss began to drain through into a bag below, but Diego could not see it, just felt a strange pulse in his groin.

"I will see you tomorrow," said the white coat. "I hope you enjoy your time with the boss man." He shucked the coat and grabbed his other clothes. "Or, 'god,' as you might call him." He took a tray with several vials clinking in it and left.

There was no way to track the time as Diego waited in his stretched, supine position. He played different escape scenarios in his head, different ways he would kill the white coat, but even this lost its luster as time passed and his limbs grew weary.

Two hours had passed when he heard footsteps outside, some muttering, then the creak of the door handle being turned. The door opened and in stepped a tall, stocky man in a business suit. His face was hard and masculine, not terribly handsome, but well groomed. Hair cut short in an unfussy manner, a shadow of dark hair around the thick, square jaw, steely eye staring down a flat nose. He stopped a few feet from Diego, staring down his captive and appraising his body. There eyes met, and a staring contest inadvertently began, then ended when The Man revealed his gleaming white teeth with a wolfish smile.

Diego snarled. "Quem diabos és tu??"

The Man said nothing. He just proceeded to remove his tie and set it on the table behind him. His jacket and shirt were laid neatly there as well. His back was turned, and Diego gulped when he saw just how beefy this captor was, especially when the undershirt came off to reveal a back bulging with flesh and swathed with fine black hair. The Man turned, still smiling. His massive chest was also swathed with hair, trailing down a muscular keg of a stomach. He strode over to Diego and leaned over. He proved surprisingly agile, too, as Diego tried to spit in his face. He reared back in time to avoid it and chuckled lightly when the spit instead landed on Diego's own face.

"Bosta! Bich—" Diego's obscenity was cut off as The Man clamped a massive hand over Diego's mouth and nose and gripped tight. Diego shook his head, at first just repulsed by the clammy touch crushing his spit against his face, but he then quickly realized that his breath was entirely cut off. His shaking grew more intense, but so did the grip. His body convulsed in its binds for half a minute before the hand was removed and he could at last gasp for air...for one brief moment before the hand clamped over him again. His lungs burned as they pumped futilely for oxygen. His dark brown eyes seemed to turn darker as they rimmed with blood and he stared pleadingly into The Man's face. His lids began to grow heavy at the one minute mark, and his vision was blurred and dark when the hand came off again. His chest pumped and heaved, sucking in all the air it could, but he was only half-conscious. He wasn't even fully aware of the tightening of his limbs as the man turned the wheel to stretch him further. Oxygen was his only concern, and the stretching of his torso only made it more difficult to inhale fully.

He was dizzy, but regaining awareness when the man again loomed over him, then smashed a sheet of plastic over his face. It glued itself to every feature immediately as he tried to inhale, pitting the clear material in his gaping mouth, but drawing no breath. Involuntary thrashing began immediately, attenuated again by the stretch in his arms and legs. His wrists and ankles were bleeding from "self-inflicted" wounds, but the pain of this seemed far away. The real pain was radiating from his chest, a black flame surging through him and burning away his brain. Everything slowed down—time itself.

Beneath the plastic, his face was turning livid and his eyes were awash with blood. A sheen of sweat gave his whole body a glow as its struggles started to cease and his tongue flickered against the window in to his dark, throat. The plastic came off and there was no explosive intake of air this time. Just a light gurgling. The Man smashed his fist down over Diego's heart. The explosion happened then, shuddering the whole body despite its restraint. The chest heaved piteously, trying to bring the brain back from complete collapse, though some minor damage had irreparably been done. The Man tightened the restraints some more. Diego—the shred of consciousness that still existed—did not notice, though his ligaments were burning with the tension.

The Man added another IV bag, as the first one was nearly drained. He then had a smoke and breathed the fumes into Diego's face, who was still gasping like a dying fish. He flicked the ash in to Diego's mouth. Diego tasted it, but did not even acknowledge it. His brain was still too dulled to bother.



He was aware enough, expectant enough of further assaults to begin to sweat and moan when he felt a cord being pushed up just near his jaw. The Man fed it through a hole in the platform on one side, drew it across Diego's neck, then fed it back down through a hole on the other side. Diego shut his eyes and began to cry softly as he felt it tighten. The Man had tied it to a dowel and was slowly twisting it. The slack disappeared and Diego let out a horrible sob. The roped began to compress his throat and he instinctively drew deep breaths, trying to flood his body with oxygen while he still could. It became harder and harder as his throat closed...and then it became impossible as the cord sank deeper into his throat above his Adam's apple. The Man halted there, not wanting to actually collapse the throat and kill him. He could just relax and watch Diego's body convulse, the face darken, the lips and tongue swell. The body streamed with sweat and quivered tensely. The Man didn't time it, but he knew more than a minute had passed when he allowed some slack into the rope and a subtle wheezing began to emanate around the tongue, beginning to protrude between Diego's white teeth. More slack was given, and the face paled a little, the eyes popped open and the chest heaved irregularly. A foam of spit was pushed up over the corners of Diego's lips. More slack. A deep intake followed by a cough sent a spume of mucus up and then back down across Diego's cheeks and nose, joining streams of tears and sweat on the fevered face. Deeper, unconscious wheezing...which attenuated as The Man began to tighten the cord again until the air was cut off and the slight convulsions began again. The swelling and lividity returned faster than before. Diego's consciousness had ebbed away in a sea of pain that consumed his body.

The Man let the cord loose, stood and looked down on the near-corpse. He pounded the chest twice and, again, the body ejected a spume of mucus, this time bubbling around the mouth and down the chin. When he was sure that Diego would not die, The Man put on his shirt and jacket and left, turning off the light. Diego was not even aware that The Man was gone. His consciousness slowly returned into darkness and silence. His whole body ached, but his thoughts could not sort out why. At first he could not remember where he was or how he got there. Being immobile, he at first thought he might be paralyzed...and then he thought he might be dead. Had he died on the slab? Was this hell?

He passed out and awoke throughout the night, each time awaking into confusion and panic. The only assurance he had that he was still alive but imprisoned was the sound of his own sobbing.

Wow! Amazingly excellent! More please!

Tecpatl said:

Wow! Amazingly excellent! More please!

Click to expand...

Actually, I posted this after part 3. But when it posted, I saw there was already a part 4. Apparently my wish is your command. Thanks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Part 5: Rare

Tanner awoke to an unusual sight. It was a concrete ceiling reinforced with metal, and there were chains rising on all sides, connected to those metal slats. His hands were also visible, attached by cuffs to the chains. His head was resting uncomfortably on something rounded and stiff. He could tell that if he shifted down, it would support the back of his head, so he did.

He looked down to see that he was still naked, but no longer hard, lying in a sling with his legs also pulled up and spread apart and cuffed to chains overhead. He glanced around the room and saw a dozen naked men chatting and drinking wine. Though he was not fully awake and perceptive, the position he was in and the state of the men in the room immediately made clear that he was to be fucked.

"Fuck no..." he muttered.

One of the men turned and saw that he was conscious. The man pointed and said something to the group, who all turned and looked at Tanner and let out a cheer. The chatter became more boisterous and three of the men started approaching Tanner. The captive thrashed in the sling getting a laugh from several of the men. One said something to him in a language he didn't understand. It didn't matter. It was said so derisively, the meaning was clear enough.

They were all quite bulky. One bordered on fat, but was clearly quite strong, too. One grabbed Tanner's chin and yanked his face up so their eyes could meet. A flash of memory came to Tanner and he recognized the outline of the man's shaven head as Mr M, the one to whom he had been "release."

Mr M said something to him, again in a language he could not understand. The two other men chuckled. The leanest man among them said in a think accent, "He says he is going to enjoy looking into your eyes for a while."

Tanner sneered, "I'll bet he is. Faggot."



Mr M smiled. He had understood that much. His thick fingers lowered to Tanner's chest and took hold of his right nipple, crushing and twisting it. Tanner howled. He had no idea nipples could hurt so much.

"You should be honored. We are going to make you part of our group."

Tanner looked at him in confusion, still wincing from the pain in his chest. "What? What the fuck? Why would I become part of your group? You fucking psychopaths, I could never..."

"You don't understand, but you will," said the Anglophone, who stroked Tanner's calf and thigh firmly. Tanner flinched but didn't attempt to pull away. He was still sure that they were going to rape him, but becoming part of their group meant they might not kill him.

The three men turned and Mr M addressed the crowd. There was a back and forth and some laughter. Tanner was sweating under spotlights and with growing dread. He didn't understand a word, but he knew they were planning his rape, and possibly worse.

M turned while the other two men joined the group. Another, younger man approached with a bottle of lube. He was stunningly beautiful and had a perfect, smooth swimmer's build. Even Tanner—straight, but newly introduced to the pleasure of fucking a man—could appreciate the looks of this Adonis. The lube, however, was a bad sign. The Adonis knelt, pumped some onto his hand, and began applying it to Mr M's cock, which was rapidly growing erect. Tanner was looking at it straight on, so he couldn't surmise how long it was. That didn't seem as important as how this it was...and that he could see...and it made him wither inside to think what it was about to do to his ass. Not as bad as Karol's, but... He wouldn't allow himself to finish that thought, even in his own head.

The Adonis smeared a little lube on his ass and plunged a finger in. Tanner gasped and trembled as the cool gunk was pushed into his virgin hole. "Please, no..." he whispered. The Adonis glanced up briefly with piercing green eyes...smirked...and pushed a second finger in. Tanner threw his head back and then felt the fingers withdraw. He could feel Mr M approach, but he didn't want to look.

"Look!" he heard the deep voice above him command, but he refused. Two hand roughly clasped his ears and yanked his head up. He shrieked at the sharp pain and opened his eyes to see Mr M's prong bobbing between his legs. It was a beer can...a tall boy. Tanner whimpered, and M shifted his grip to turn Tanner's eyes up toward his own. Tanner let out a soft gasp as his head was crushed between the meaty palms, turning all sound into a dull throb, He could hear his own heart pounding above all. He could hear his own breath as the head prodded into his hole. He could hear a sort of thud and he swore he could hear his own flesh tear as M lunged forward and buried several inches into him, and then a second later he could hear his own scream...and loud laughter from behind M. And the entire time, their eyes were locked together.

Tanner's head fell back as Mr M let go of his head and grabbed his hips to drive him fully down to the hilt of his cock. It was hitting a wall in Tanner, leaving two inches exposed. Mr M drew him up and slammed him down three times before it broke through and sunk fully into Tanner's bleeding hole. Every thrust brought searing pain. Tanner could not understand how anyone could have ever enjoyed this and he pitied the girl he had coerced into anal once. Mostly, he pitied himself and screamed himself hoarse as M powerfucked his ass into hamburger.

Other men had started to gather round and stroke their cocks, muttering with curiosity and admiration. Tanner shut his eyes and tried to drift away, knowing then that they would probably each have a turn with him. M wasn't having that, though. He barked so loud and brusquely that Tanner's eyes popped open with terror and met his. M grinned and snatched Tanner around the neck, pulled him forward and spat a thick wad into his left eye. Tanner cursed as M dropped his head and the thick slime made its way down his face. M made another loud command, but Tanner shut his eyes this time. He didn't know that it was directed to other men, who swarmed hands around his head. Tanner kept his eyes shut but screamed at them, which was helpful to their task—putting a spider gag into his mouth and strapping it tight. Tanner gurgled with rage. The gag stretched his jaw to the limit and was digging into his gums and cheeks. Other men began hocking up and spitting into his mouth and Tanner tried to heave it out of his mouth with explosive breaths, only to suck thick strands into his lungs, bringing him to a coughing fit. His ass involuntarily tightened with these convulsions, milking M's cock. He growled and barked more orders. More spit was directed into Tanner's gaping maw, clogging the back of his throat. He tried to swallow as much as he could to avoid gagging on it, but there mere revulsion made him flex his body, down to his cunt.

M built up speed, then roared as he slammed his prong hard into Tanner, delivering 5 strong, thick blasts of cum deep into the torn chute. Tanner groaned at the feeling of being seeded. It revolted him even more than the loogies coating his lips and chin. M kept fucking a little longer, churning the cum into a froth that seeped out of the puffy hole, tinged pink with blood.

When M pulled out, Tanner lifted his bleary eyes and saw M grab the Adonis' shoulder and force him down. Wet lips and tongue were soon swirling and massaging Tanner's hole. It felt strangely soothing, and for his own benefit he tried to force M's load out. He should have known it wouldn't go to waste. The Adonis gathered it in his mouth, sucking greedily, then stood. Tanner looked at him, at the glistening lips and chin, beautifully pert and dimpled, the high cheekbones somewhat attenuated by the Adonis' mouthful.

Oh no.

The Adonis leaned forward, grabbed Tanner's head with both hands, and poured the contents of his mouth over Tanner's flailing tongue. He tasted his own ass and blood mixed with M's salty, bitter load before it began to slide like a dissolving slug down his gullet. He hissed and gargled as it went down slow, and the men all laughed and twisted his nipples lightly, making him squirm.



M made another curt command and Tanner looked blearily at him. M looked back and lifted two fingers, to point at his own eyes, then at Tanner, and then he just raised one finger. Tanner's brow furrowed into a hateful glare, but then two gloved hands smashed around his face, holding his right eye open and pushing his head back to the point his neck felt ready to snap. A thin, older man with a shaved head was right behind him and had a metal implement. Tanner could not focus his vision to determine what it was before the man had brought it just under his eye, then pressed in. Tanner gasped and screamed. There was a little pain, but mostly a strange and terrifying discomfort as metal slid under his eyeball. His vision blurred and warped. The eyeball was being manipulated and then, to his greatest horror yet, he felt it pop free, felt the cool air enter his socket, and saw things spinning at odd angles in one eye while the other twitched aimlessly. They released his head and as bent it forward he vomited up a stream of mucus and cum over his chin and down his chest. He heard a snip and the vision in his right eye went black forever.

His eye was brought before him in a gloved hand. He saw it plopped into a small jar filled with a clear liquid and given to M. The man lifted it as if to toast, then downed the glass and swallowed it whole. The men cheered merrily and patted Mr M on his arms and chest. The man of the hour then approached Tanner again, gave another command. The men held Tanner's head forward as M aimed and then began pissing across his victim's chest, up to his face. Piss flowed into the hollow eye socket and back out in straw-colored tears, into Tanner's open mouth, down his chest, washing away some of the gunk that he had vomited on himself. M soaked the shivering young man with piss before stepping aside for his beefy second-in-command to make the seconds even sloppier. His piss spray went all over, spewing from his erect dick, and he didn't stem the flow when he pushed rammed into Tanner's hole. Tanner only uttered a wet "urk," as seven thick inches pierced him, refreshing the pain. Another man—Tanner could not see who—grabbed Tanner's head at the side and started pissing more directly into the eye socket. It was such a disturbing, disorienting sensation, like an itch from a part of the body that hadn't before existed to him, itching within the throb of the bruised flesh around it.

The second man wanted Tanner to tighten up a bit, so he gave a quick but nasty gut punch that made him thrash and lurch in the sling, and also—more importantly—clench his ass for a moment. The second man worked his nips, choked him, slapped him around, tenderizing his torso and face to get a tighter cunt. It worked well enough, and he backhanded Tanner one last time as he erupted into the ruined ass. He pulled out and immediately the Adonis dove in to slurp up the spunk leaking from the hole, and when he was satisfied he again spat it into Tanner's open mouth.

Tanner was starting to go into a daze. This was for the best, but unfortunately, the men had a new part of the ritual. His head was again grabbed roughly and forced back, and the thin man (the surgeon, one might say) was there with pliers and a scalpel. Tanner screamed in fresh agony as the blade sliced into his gums and peeled away the flesh a little so the pliers could get a solid grip on his front incisor. It took a few nasty tugs and turns but the tooth came free, sending a fresh stream of blood straight down Tanner's throat as the tooth was then placed in the hand of the second in command—a souvenir.

The Anglophone was next to fuck Tanner. He was as strong as M, but more lean and wiry—meaner and rougher. Other men were still using a hot file to cauterize Tanner's torn gums when the new fucker plunged his steel hard, tapered prong in—all seven inches in one easy stab. Tanner hardly noticed he was being fucked again until the man started clamping and twisting his tits. Even in this haze of excruciating pain, the sensitivity of his chest had not been dimmed and he bucked and wailed as the nerves surged through his chest. Every muscle was straining, but his strength was giving out. The men could sense it, so they gave him a shot of adrenaline in one arm. Almost immediately, Tanner was brought back to full alertness...though in a state of delirium. There was no fear of death, just a desire for the suffering to end.

He was hardly aware when the Anglophone pumped him full of cum, even though he could feel that it was the most generous load yet. Even when the muscular fucker slapped him, his head just kept on swiveling. They had to hold it still when the Adonis unloaded a few tablespoons of mucus and cum into his mouth.

What got a more conscious reaction is when they extracted the next tooth. He could hear the crunching of the bone and dentin as the other front, top incisor came loose, then popped free. He could hear his heart beating and the sizzle of his flesh when they soldered the wound again.

The Adonis fucked him next. In his delirium, he gazed with one eye at the beautiful youth. The flawless skin and physique, the sparkling green eyes, the mop of wavy brown hair, the pouting lips, wet with jizz and Tanner's blood—it was a vision of a beautiful death itself. Tanner longed for death then.

He would have to wait another two hours, as he was used by every man in the room, filled with cum, then fed it, then maimed as more teeth were removed, then his nipples, which were sliced off and sealed in jars for a purpose he could not fathom. He could not fathom any of this as real any more.

At last, everyone had a turn, and it was back to Mr M. Blood was streaming down Tanner's arms and legs from his wrists and ankles, where the skin had torn in his thrashing. They dropped limp when the men unfastened the restraints and hefted the traumatized body out of the sling and dropped it on a slab. Tanner was on his back and his head was hanging off the ledge. He barely had strength to lift it. They had removed the gag from the destroyed mouth, now a mangle of burnt flesh. It still gaped, though, from the stretch and the pain that occurred when the top and bottom touched. The breathing was shallow, the face pale and glistening with countless fluids.
The surgeon approached and jammed a metal scoop under the left eye, popped it out and snipped it. Tanner was plunged into complete darkness at last. He could hear the laughter, could sense M lower himself next to his ear. He heard a slurp and a gulp, and more cheering. He heard another voice, "Now you will become a part of all of us."

He heard sharpening knives and then felt hands bear down on his arms and legs. He didn't have energy to fight back, but he involuntarily tensed and moaned as the first incision was made into his stomach, opening him slowly from navel to sternum. M barked an order and the cutting stopped. Tanner's panicked breath heightened and his head was lifted. He felt something slide into his right eye socket and poke around, heard a strange, soft noise...which was the sound of an incision being made into the back of the socket. M's hands pressed down on Tanner's shoulders and his dick dragged down along his face to that socket, then pressed in. Tanner thrashed again involuntarily...then thrashed again and again as M shoved forward more forcefully, breaking through the membrane toward Tanner's brain.

"Fuck your brains out," came the voice. But Tanner barely heard it. He was getting cold as they pulled his torso open and began the process of harvesting his organs and taking cuts from his muscular flanks. He felt the hands leave his limbs, which were now too heavy for him to lift. They just tingled and burned as blood ceased to reach the extremities, oozing out of cuts into his biceps instead. He heard sizzling and smelled meat cooking. He could not have known it was his own flesh being prepared for consumption. He was too far gone. And then he truly began to dissolve as M's cock busted into his skull and bruised his brain. Tanner babbled and a foam started to pour from his mouth as Mr M thrust in and out, mushing the cerebral cortex. The men watched in amusement as Tanner's personality was completely erased by Mr M's cock, bursting out along side the thick tool in a chunky slurry. Brain death occurred from blood loss before Mr M could finish fucking the grey matter to a pulp...but he did, blowing a final load into the mush at the center of Tanner's skull, oozing around the cock and down his forehead to puddle on the floor.

Mr M pulled out and the Adonis dropped to his knees to clean the cock. This was a delicacy he had tasted only once before, but looking up into Mr M's eyes and seeing the lust and pleasure still burning in them, he felt certain that it would not be the last time. Other men were taking their first savory bites of Tanner's arm meat and flanks, while the surgeon flayed the chest, setting aside the meat before cracking open the sternum to harvest the lungs and heart, to be packed in other coolers beside the ones already containing Tanner's liver and kidneys. People were eager to butcher Tanner's legs and get the thighs grilling.



All the while, M continued to dip his cock back into Tanners skull to then have the cooling brains sucked off his prong by the Adonis, whose eyes were glazing with pleasure. When they were satisfied, the Adonis stood and was wiped down with cloths and placed himself on a reclining bench. He sighed and grew erect again as fine slices of Tanner's flesh were artfully arranged on his skin, a red bouquet of cooked and uncooked slices of meat, cut precisely by a team of three men and arranged by two other chefs. The Adonis' chest was soon covered with pink and red furls and filets, leading down his torso. When the arrangement was complete, M and his closest associates took a seat around him and the feast began in earnest. They toasted to his birthday, wishing him many more.

Part 6: Churrasco

Diego was asleep again when the door opened. He stirred, but did not awaken until the lights flickered on and he heard the rattle of a metal cabinet behind him. His eyes opened and he tried to sit up, only to be painfully reminded that he could not. His head thudded back against the metal platform and he looked around in a daze. His whole body was throbbing, especially his joints, stretched as they were nearly to the point of tearing. Only bits and pieces of the last 24 hours came back to him at first. He could not remember who had brought him here, but he sensed that someone was behind him.

He started to speak, but found that his throat was too sore and his lips too parched. The man behind him was adding another IV bag to help rehydrate the young captive, but that wouldn't be of immediate help. That man, the white coat—though actually not wearing any clothing above the waist—came into view. Diego looked him up and down, assessed the beefy, corded physique and then remembered who he was. The man lifted a thermos and poured it gently over Diego's lips and into his mouth, allowing him to lap it up slowly, soothing his throat.

"Well, Diego, I have great news. Your tests came back all clear, so we are ready to discharge you."

Diego blinked. He had forgotten the blood draws along with much else. He questioned whether he remembered anything properly at that point. His brain had taken a beating from the lack of oxygen and it would probably never recover, but he didn't know that.

"Test..." he whispered hoarsely.

"Yes, we tested you for a whole slew of diseases and you have a clean bill of health. Great news, isn't it?" The white coat was genuinely enthusiastic. "Let's get your down from that platform, eh?"

The white coat went to the wheel and relaxed the tension in Diego's limbs gradually. Diego cried as the soreness seemed to escalate at first. It felt like a thousand pins and needles were pricking him from his toes to his fingers as he took deep breaths.

"Looks like you nearly filled up that catheter bag," remarked the other man. "Let's get that out."

The man deflated the balloon and rather roughly extracted the tube, bringing a shriek from Diego, who then sighed and relaxed again. His body was still sore, but it felt ten times better than it had for the last 12 hours.

"Now, I'm going to give you one last bit of medicine, and then I'm going to release you from the table and get you to the exit."
Diego nodded dumbly.



The white coat disappeared behind him again and Diego heard him tap a bottle and adjust some things. He didn't know when the injection into the IV tube had started, but he did feel a strange tingle and a slight nausea set in as the white coat began to unbuckle his restraints. The IV needle was removed, but the hole was not bandaged and continued to leak blood down his forearm as he leaned up and shifted his legs to the edge of the table. They were too shaky to stand.

"Give yourself a moment, Diego. You don't need to rush it. Give yourself a moment to let the blood flow back in and then get on your feet."
Diego just nodded. In a minute, of his own volition, he put his feet on the floor and took a few shaky steps forward. His knees started to buckle, but the white coat caught him and steadied him.

"Very good, Diego. We'll take it slow to the exit, okay?"

A nod. The white coat shouted something in a foreign language and the door opened for them. A large man held it for them as they made their way out and slowly marched down a dark tunnel. Diego was recovering quickly, even starting to get angry. He knew this was the bastard who kidnapped him, but he was naked and didn't know where he was, so he decided to bide his time. He also knew he wasn't thinking clearly.

They turned the corner, and at the far end Diego could see a stone wall with a shaft of light and a rope dangling down to the floor. They continued together to the entrance of that narrow shaft, where Diego could peer up and see a hazy, morning sky. He turned and saw the white coat and a heavy standing just outside the shaft.

"This is the exit, Diego. You have to pull yourself out. It should be easy for you. You are strong and you can even use your feet to balance on the wall there. It's only 8 meters up."

Diego fumed and cursed in Portuguese for a few seconds. The two men were unfazed.

"Sure, Diego," said the white coat. "But if you want to leave this place, you must pull yourself out."

Diego clenched his jaw and put his hands on his hips. His whole body was weakened and sore, and he could not shake a lethargy that seemed to be sinking into his very muscles. But he would do this. He would get out and then he would make them pay. He'd find a way.

It was remarkable to the two men, actually, how well Diego managed. He never came close to falling, though they saw him shake like a leaf in the wind halfway up. Every muscle, from his bulging calves to his sinewed thighs and rounded ass, all the way up and across his grooved back and shoulders and flexed arms, every muscle was pumping at capacity and on the verge of failing despite its strength...and yet he persisted. At the top he had to drag his belly and legs across the wet, rough stone over which the rope was draped. The white coat enjoyed a glimpse of Diego's ass flexing while his plump dick was crushed against the rock. After that last view, knowing that Diego would succeed, he turned and started walking back down the tunnel.

Diego dragged his legs out of the pit and got on his knees to crawl forward before collapsing again. He was spent. He was starting to lift himself when he heard a few hands clapping behind him. He twisted his torso, then flopped onto his ass to look at who it was. Shot at his brain was, he remembered The Man, who was standing on the other side of the pit wearing just a pair of tight black shorts. Two other muscular men stood astride him, similarly attired. One stopped clapping, bent over and hoisted a large metal grate up and let it crash down over the pit. That man had more strength in one arm than Diego had in his whole body at the moment. The torture, the stress, the emptiness inside him, even the detox for the last week had absolutely sapped him. He knew that much, but he didn't realize that there was another factor.

The other men made a few remarks to each other, then advanced on him. Diego tried to stand to fight, but was too weak to get on his feet. Two of the men grabbed his arms and hoisted him up, though he tried to pull away. His feeble attempt amused them. The Man walked along with them as Diego was dragged to a large, stone table standing waist-high. They grunted to lift his dead weight onto it and lay him out on his back with his ass hanging off, then lifted his legs up and apart to expose his hole. It went quick and unceremoniously. The Man hocked some spit onto his dick, stood between the two men, aimed his cock head into the virgin pucker, and started to squeeze in. Diego panted and screamed and cursed, flailing his arms at the two men holding his legs open for the rape. The Man gut punched him, both ending the struggle for the moment and causing Diego's hole to first tighten, then open, allowing the head to push past the clenched ring, along with four more inches of thick, vascular meat. There were still five more inches to go, which had to be pounded in over the next minute. Diego actually felt his new cunt tear three distinct times by the time The Man had opened him sufficiently to fuck without hindrance. By then he had ceased resisting and was just weeping softly as the men spoke to each other with malice and lust burning in their throaty voices.

It went quiet for a moment, but then The Man spoke. Diego was trying to ignore it, but a subconscious part of him sought the meaning in whatever was said. It didn't have to wait long to determine what the latest directive was. A sheet of plastic was suddenly stretched over Diego's face and pulled tight. The men began to laugh as his struggle was renewed and The Man pumped more vigorously into the wounded hole, constricting in spite of how it would only tear further as the assault. It was all automatic for Diego, whose vision was already blurred beneath the stretched, translucent material plastered against his wet face. That vision steadily dimmed, but little pulses of light shot through as pain seemed to burrow into his chest from his throat down, much as the pain in his ass seemed to burrow well into his stomach. The men watching could see the eyes and mouth twitch, the whites of the eyes darkening beneath the wet membrane.

A new pain caused him to convulse as The Man began to roar and delivered three sharp punches to his gut. His body thrashed feebly, still held taut by the men on all sides. Suddenly, the plastic was removed and he took a deep breath that felt like inhaling fire and water simultaneously. Electric shocks radiated from his chest and through his limbs. He hardly felt the fourth gut punch, even though it was the most brutal, delivered just before The Man locked up in an intense orgasm. He jetted his seed as deep as it could go into Diego, who was past feeling at this point.

He was still trying to collect his mangled thoughts when he felt them grab his cock and begin to force a catheter in again. Again, what little resistance he offered was pure reflex. His will had been shattered by this point. He knew he was outmatched. He knew he was probably going to die in this place. What little processing power his brain had left was devoted to that, not to the odd sensation of a tube being forced deeper into his body. The mind knew something was wrong, though, when the pressure in his bladder began to increase, and his head lifted slightly to see one man holding a large, clear bag filled with a brownish fluid. It was being drained into his bladder.

He could smell smoke, but could not determine its source. His head swiveled feebly around. Voices were raised. His brain was starting to recover, but his body was only feeling weaker and weaker. His stirring attracted the white coat (at least, the one who had worn the white coat before. He wore nothing but combat boots at this point).

"Diego, you're probably wondering what all we have been putting in your body. This must all be very new to you, even after having your body pumped full of juices during your detox. Consider this the final step, to make you the juiciest, most succulent man you can be. We started you off this morning with a papain solution in your IV. That climb up the wall made sure it got pumped into all your muscles, and when you finally die it will make sure you are tender through and through while you slow cook. You smell the fire. Now you know that you are going in it. Not directly in it. We don't want to burn you. We're going to make sure you are clean and oiled for that part of it."

Diego's eyes had widened, understanding little but that they did indeed tend to kill and cook him. An attempt to lift himself caused his belly to ache and he gasped and then just sighed as the man gently pushed him back down. "Now, now. Just rest. I'm going to fuck you soon and I want to make sure you still have some energy left in you. I and a few others are going to have a turn with you, make sure both ends of you are nice and wet for the next step. It makes the process easier."



Diego began to weep again as his stomach cramped and bulged just slightly as his bladder ballooned with the brine they were emptying into him. When the bag was empty, one of the men began to tie his cock and balls off with twine. Diego's cock began to engorge painfully with trapped blood. Before long it was purple and bloated. Diego was moaning and weeping more openly...and then they yanked the tube out and tightened the constriction around his cock. He shrieked. A dribble of brine started to emerge, but they quickly slid a thick metal sound into his slit. Diego bucked, feeling as if his dick was tearing inside and out.

"So you have some fight left in you after all."

Diego was pulled to the edge of the slab and the white coat aimed a hard, sharply curved cock at the freshly bloodied hole. He gripped Diego's cock roughly with one hand, bringing another yelp just before skewering the ass, feeling it tighten from the agony that consumed his victim's entire midsection. Diego moaned and gasped through tears. His gaping mouth was easy to pry open a little further and fit with a spider gag. Another bearish man climbed onto the slab and guided his fat prick into the mouth. Diego gagged almost immediately, but the man pressed forward slowly, savoring the convulsions and sounds of retching beneath him, the spumes of saliva exploding around his shaft as it sank to the root, smashing Diego's nose into his heavy balls as the throat visibly bloated around the plum-sized head. Streams of saliva and mucus were slicking those balls as they cascaded down Diego's cheeks and into his eyes, again going bloodshot as the intruder clogged his throat and the fire of suffocation blazed in his chest again. It did wonders for the tightness of his ass, which the white coat could crank up even more, using Diego's tortured dick like a throttle. He squeezed and beat the now grotesquely swollen cock, punched Diego's kidneys a few times to shock the bladder again. The pain was so intense that even as Diego approached oblivion again by lack of oxygen, his body was experiencing its most intense hell yet.

The bearish throat-fucker was a master of knowing when to pull out, to keep Diego on the precipice, fucking just the mouth and swelling tongue for a minute before punching down into the throat again, coating Diego's face in a thick glaze of his own gorge, tinged with a little blood and precum. It took ten minutes—the longest of Diego's life—to bring the bear off, who slammed deep and roared , hammering Diego's head against the slab with punishing thrusts that blasted thick cum straight into Diego's empty stomach. Diego's mind was nearly as empty at this point—a candle burned down to a flicker, ready to disappear into a puddle of molten wax. His body was molten with pain.

The last man mounted Diego's face as the white coat was reaching a climax. Drenched with sweat, pumping at the ass and tearing at the cock, he grabbed Diego's nips and twisted hard, sending a fresh bolts into the chest, again starving for air as a thick pole plugged his pipes on the opposite end. Diego felt all this pain with unabating intensity, but his body was now too weak to move. His energy had been depleted, his muscles turned to jelly by strain and the papain, ready to be activated when he breathed his last.

They began to swab his lower body down with wet cloths while the last man continued to fuck his throat. As if it wasn't tight enough already, the man locked his hands around Diego's neck and compressed it even more, feeling his shaft beneath his fingers, through the layers of wet muscle. He wanted to savor it, but he knew they needed to start cooking soon. He relaxed and began a slow, near deadly fuck of Diego's mouth. When he sensed Diego had stopped breathing he pulled out and jacked off over the livid lips, the face almost unrecognizable beneath a veil of congealing slime. The veil was thickened and laced by the heavy load that the slow fucker unleashed, then fed into the gaping mouth, which had begun to take shallow breaths again. Diego was catatonic at this point, and for the ensuing bathing and oiling process. He only really came to some minor awareness when he felt his body being at the shoulders by two men. His head fell forward, chin to his chest, drooling. His bleary, crazed eyes could not even recognize the blackened stump of his cock. They lifted slightly to see another long, dark rod between his legs. Two men held it firmly, its sharp point aiming right at Diego. They came closer; the men holding him hefted him up and forward a bit more. The point rested against his dripping asshole, slick with oil and leaking jizz. It twitched as the point entered and began to gride the flesh with its rough, cold surface. Diego's body was manipulated again as the point began to push into the inner wall of his rectum. With the whole team working together, it punched through into Diego's guts. The body jerked once, then just sagged again. They began to lower him down as the men lifted the rod and began slowly feeding it into him. It didn't take long to meet the diaphragm. A one, two, and a heave ho punched through that as well.

Diego's body was shutting down. The fight had long been over, and it would have been easier to die much sooner, had they let him, but now dead was imminent, and a small part of him felt a sort of ecstasy just knowing the pain would end soon. The body quivered as if in anticipation as the rod was expertly threaded up into the esophagus. They took their time savoring this part, watching the chest stiffen and heave lightly as the rod drove forth toward the throat. They paused there and carefully pulled Diego, rod and all, onto a metal rack by the slab and rolled him so that he was face down. Stabilized by the impalement, this was a relatively easy process, as was the binding of his arms and legs behind him in a tight, almost bone breaking hog tie. Finally secured, the wheeled the rack close to a massive, covered stone oven, whose base was spitting yellow flame. The interior glowed red, visibly fluxing with heat. Diego was placed facing it. He was transfixed by the dance of warping air as they began the final push of the rod, up through his throat. Diego retched violently and blood spilled from his mouth and nose as the point of the rod emerged at the back of his throat. They lifted his head to guide it out between his teeth. They kept pushing until he had at least two feet of metal protruding on either side. The men threw on some protective coverings and threw back the side hatch of the oven, then together hefted Diego off of the rack and placed him in the oven, perfectly spitted over the flame. They each took one last look into Diego's eyes—his pupils like pinpricks, the whites awash in broken blood vessels, set within a darkened face, pulled taught in a permanent state of agony—and then shut the lid. Diego had enough consciousness left to feel the burning sensation penetrate to his core. His dick had gone numb, but was dangling lowest and charring, cooking from the inside, to, thanks to the metal spike still jammed inside it.



And then all feeling began to ebb away, and the redness that consumed his vision abruptly went to black. Diego was no more.
It was a slow cooking process, which allowed the papain to properly tenderize the muscles before the heat became too great and ceased the process. The men amused themselves as the hours passed, taking a snack at noon, drinking and talking about the women and men they would fuck next. They turned him slightly (only to the side, never 180 degrees) and applied a little more oil to the skin to make sure it didn't scorch too much. Diego would be ready for an early dinner.

When removed, Diego's face had tightened in such a way that he looked a hundred years old, but his physique was still perfectly statuesque, a glistening, deep brown. The feast was taken to the slab, the binds of the limbs cut, and the meat was allowed to cool a little before The Man brought out his tray of glistening knives. He would do the serving himself, starting with the moist, thick rump. He cut a wedge and dropped it steaming onto his own plate. The men looked on eagerly as he cut away a thin layer of skin and fat to the pure meat beneath, cut off a sizable chunk and put it directly into his mouth from the tip of the knife. The Man chewed pensively...and his eyes rolled back into his head. Perfection.

The other men grinned and leaned forward to take a whiff as The Man began to cut portions for each. Some had been born into Communism. All had known deprivation to some degree. All could appreciate a good, truly clean, lean cut of meat. Some had questioned whether it was really wise for the boss to invest in an ailing spa in these accursed mountains, where men had always disappeared, but times had changed and it had indeed proved lucrative. And so much more. One way or another, they knew they'd never go hungry as long as the spa was there and The Man was in charge.

One of the best stories I have ever read, I hope we will be able to see more stories from you in the future.

EXCELLENT

Wish I could mark this thread as a favorite..