I envy Luis. He was tortured horribly but he died. I was tortured but forced to live. But what kind of life? Scorned, demeaned, humiliated, a sex toy for a band of Cartel killers. I was a handsome, muscular, virile young man who was disfigured, emasculated, and mutilated to become an object of ridicule. Shorn of my manhood. Fucked daily by men, dozens of men, even total strangers. My body cut and burned by anyone who felt like hurting me. This is Hell. I wish I were dead.

It began when they found us in the woods. Luis and I were both nineteen and in love. But we were also members of a Cartel, accomplished killers. Talented, imaginative killers. Cartel members are swaggering and macho. Never fags. But Luis and I had been fucking each other for two years, always careful to hide our love from the others. Until we were caught. Beaten, kicked, stripped naked and dragged to the main camp, we knew we would die. And it would be painful.

Ronaldo, our leader, looked coldly at each of us. “Mierda maricon! You are shit! Faggots!” He looked at me. I was his cousin, his favorite. “You have betrayed me, Pablo. Humiliated me. My own blood. I can’t kill family but you will wish you had died today. Watch Luis die and remember it. His death will be Heaven compared to the Hell you will suffer for the rest of your shitty life.” I was tied to a tree. Punched. Kicked. Burned with cigarettes.

Luis was strung up to a tree, spread-eagled from the branches. Cigarettes were pressed to every part of his body. He screamed as they burned his cock and balls, his armpits, and his eyes. In the camp fire, they heated iron rods. Ran the red-hot irons across his back, belly, legs, arms. Ronaldo sliced off his dick and nuts, walked over to me and shoved them into my mouth. “These have been in your mouth many times, haven’t they? Now eat them!” He untied my hands so I could hold Luis’s jewels as I chewed. I puked. Ronaldo held his knife to my crotch. “I said EAT!” And so, with the entire camp surrounding me, and with Luis’s glazed eyes staring, I began to nibble and chew. Once I broke through the sac, the balls were easy to chew. But a cock is tough, and it too two hours before I swallowed the final piece. The men let out a cheer and a lot of filthy expletives. I was the lowest of the low, a faggot, a dick eater.

They turned back to Luis and began to cut pieces of flesh from his body, which they tossed in my direction. As Luis’s cries subsided, four men picked him up by his ankles and wrists. He was carried to the fire and held with his face above the flames. As he screeched, someone pushed a hot iron into his butthole and then he was lowered, until his drooping head was in the fire. His hair was singed from his scalp and his flesh bubbled, then burned. His body went limp. He was carried over to me and propped up in front of me. “Your hot lover, Pablo”, snarled Ronaldo. “Give him a last kiss. On the LIPS!” I was sobbing as I looked into the face of my sweet Luis. Then, when a hot iron touched my back to prod me, I leaned forward grabbed his head with both hands and kissed his black, peeling face. A deep, passionate kiss, just to spite my tormentors. But they only laughed when I pulled back, and a part of the charred lips stuck to my mouth.

Luis was dropped into the fire. The smell of his charred body permeated the camp, but that was nothing new for any of us. We had tortured and killed so many of our enemies that the smell of death was persistently in our nostrils. It was our deodorant, our perfume. Luis’s body was pulled from the ashes of the fire and laid on the ground. Then I was laid on top, and tied tightly to it. He was still warm from the fire and his blackened skin stuck to mine. “Sleep with your faggot lover one more time, Pablo.” They left us there overnight.

My torment began early the next day. More cigarettes. More beatings. Small cuts with knives. And the hot iron. I could hear the chop of an ax and the grinding of a saw as Luis’s body was cut into small pieces. Miguel, our doctor, appeared beside me. He wasn’t really a doctor but had been a nurse once and he tended to our medical needs in a very primitive way. “Sorry, Pablo”, he whispered as he began to clip off my fingers and toes with pruning shears. As I screamed in pain, he cauterized the cuts with a butane flame, which made me scream even louder. Almost immediately, they tied my wrists behind me and two of the stronger guys grabbed my ankles. One stood on my right ankle while the other held my left one far to the side. So there I was, naked on my back, my body bruised and cut, my legs spread wide, and my crotch wide open.

Then I saw Diablo walking toward me and was seized by an intense fear. Diablo was Ronaldo’s pit bull. Solid, 60 pounds, sharp teeth, and mean. We had used him to attack our rivals, and I had seen many times how he could rip a man to shreds on Ronaldo’s command. Diablo walked to my crotch and sniffed. His hot breath on my cock and balls made me cringe. “Pablo, you’ll never fuck another man.” “NO! Ronaldo, PLEASE! Don’t! I’m sorry. I’ll do anything!” “Little late for that, Faggot. You and Luis disgraced our gang and you have to pay. Luis yesterday, now you.” He took a stick and jabbed at my dick, flopping it side to side. “Say adios.” Ronaldo snapped his fingers and Diablo pounced. In a flash, his jaws clamped down on my balls, and I screamed…and passed out.

I came to with Miguel holding an ammonia capsule under my nose. Another scream as I felt the intense pain coming from my groin. I lifted my head to see Diablo pulling at my dick. He let it go and started chewing at it, then grabbed it again and pulled. My balls had already disappeared down his throat and, little by little, he was ripping my cock off. The pain was agonizing. I felt every bite as his teeth tore at me until, pop, my dick was in his mouth and swallowed whole. The dog continued to rip into my crotch, pulling and biting and chewing at my flesh. I screamed in agony until I passed out again.

I awoke on a table. In severe pain. My hands, my feet, my groin. Miguel gave me a shot that immediately relaxed me and eased the pain. I was hardly aware of anything going on around me. Eventually, I came out of my daze and saw Miguel. I still hurt. Badly. And I was tied down to the table. “You’ll be here for a few days while you heal. Your hands and feet are fine. You’ll get used to having no fingers or toes. It’ll be awkward for a while but you’ll learn to do without them. Your crotch, well, it’s a mess. Diablo is not a dainty eater. But it will heal. Ronaldo wants it to look as gross as possible, a reminder to you and everyone else of what you are. I’ve inserted a tiny tube into your bladder so you can pee, but you’ll never be able to control it. Your piss will just dribble out whenever it needs to. Embarrassing, yes, but the way you’ll be living, it won’t make any difference. Your bruises will heal, and so will some of the cuts. But the burns will always be visible. No matter, because you’ll be getting lots more. So, you’ll be confined here for a few days, and then be given lessons in how to live your new life.”

And so began my life in Hell. Luis was lucky. A few hours of terror and pain, and then nothing. My misery has continued for three years now and will never let up. I’ve been naked since I lost my manhood. I’m twenty-two now and made to move only on all fours, on the nubs of my hands and feet, bent over constantly. Usually, I’m led around by Ricardo, a ten-year-old brother of one of the gang, who walks me with a chain fastened around my neck. He’s a nasty kid who delights in making my life miserable. He walks me through the brush and brambles, laughing as my skin is ripped. He walks me into the small village nearby, showing me off to everyone who lives and works there. He walks me through camp, where my former buddies call me all sorts of foul names. Anyone is permitted to hit me or burn me with cigarettes. There isn’t a part of my body that hasn’t burned or cut.

But most humiliating, men are encouraged to fuck me. In camp or in town. The teenagers in town are especially nasty. Ricardo will stop and a boy will drop his pants on the street and fuck my ass, while his buddy fucks my mouth. And I have to stay still and silent. Sometimes there’s a long line of boys and men. Sometimes just one. If someone gets shit on his cock, he’ll shove it into my mouth to clean it off. And they all laugh at my crotch, a rough red mass of ripped flesh with a tiny dribble of dripping piss. As bad as my treatment in the village is, it’s worse in camp. I am nothing more than a fuck boy for a band of horny, smelly, crude killers. Human life is nothing to them, and a faggot is the lowest form of life. It isn’t unusual for me to be fucked fifty times a day. Pissed on, and worse. When Rolando has meetings with other gangs, I’m passed around like a party favor. No treatment of me is off limits, except death. I’ve had ribs broken from being kicked. So many teeth broken that Miguel finally just pulled them all out. Which made my mouth a much more inviting fuck. So often, my eyes were swollen shut from beatings. My crotch has never healed completely. It’s still sensitive and raw because the men constantly burn it, reminding me of who I am.

In the camp, my home is a low wooden cage. The floor is a rubber floor mat with holes so my piss drains out into the dirt. My hovel stinks of piss and shit. Three feet by three feet by three feet, with no ventilation. Too small to stand up or stretch out when sleeping. After three years of living here in this box and being forced to move on all fours, I can no longer stand upright. My body will not unbend. I take my food with the dogs. I have two bowls, one for water, one for food. My food is what the dogs get. And my bowl is next to Diablo’s. He never steals my food and, in fact, seems to like me because he’s always licking my face. I cringe, remembering the day his teeth tore at my cock and balls.

I have two bands on my ankles. One is a GPS tracker in case I ever try to run. And the other gives me a huge electrical shock if I get outside a certain perimeter. Ricardo tries to trick me and get me to cross the perimeter. Finds it real funny when I get that big shock. I try to remember where the line is, but he sometimes changes it and I suffer for it. Ricardo just hit puberty and has been having fun with his new-found hardon. Needless to say, at his age he has an unlimited supply of cum, so he fucks me several times a day. Not so bad because his dick isn’t big, and it’s better than before, when he delighted in poking me with a sharp stick. As long as he’s happy filling my butt and mouth with semen, he’s not doing other mean things.

Ricardo has been charged with cleaning me each morning. He walks me to the creek, through the brambles, of course. Then he shoves me into the cold water and I clean off the dirt from the previous day and the nighttime stink of my hovel. Rolando wants me clean-shaven, so Ricardo shaves me daily. He hates doing this but, with no fingers, I can’t hold a razor. He also cuts my hair when necessary but lets it grow long so people can grab onto it when they hurt me. Once I’m clean, Ricardo walks me through the brambles again to make my skin bleed again.

Three years on, my torment continues. The cycle is endless. Rolando was right, that day we were caught. Luis had it easy. He died. I must live. Every day is Hell. Endless Hell. No escape into death. Constant humiliation and degradation. And pain. Pain that will never end. I fucked my boyfriend and now, I’m fucked forever.

[Pablo’s torment lasted another four years, until a rival cartel overran their camp and killed the entire gang. Except Pablo. He was kept alive and adopted into the new gang. As their fuck toy.]