From the moment he walked into the room, Andy knew something was different about the scenario he had been brought into. It wasn't just the group of leering men; he had been used as a bottom slave in countless orgies before. It wasn't just the cameras sitting around the rooms; he had been filmed before, too, probably more times than he knew. It wasn't the bondage equipment at the far side; he had been stretched and tortured in a hardcore BDSM scenario the first month of his captivity. It wasn't even the Happy Birthday banner strung from the rafters just overhead in this dark, basement somewhere in Bangkok. He had been given as a birthday gift before.
No, what struck him as different was the configuration of the men and the room. To his left side, eight men were standing with grins, drinking booze and leering anxiously. To his right, a single, burly man, in his mid-30s stood smiling with his hands behind his back. The man's black hair was cut high and tight. Heavy, expressive eyebrows sat level above the polished rims of aviator glasses that sat on a sharp straight nose. The jaw was broad but came to strong, cleft chin. He was a hunk, Andy had to admit, but dangerous looking.
“Hello, Andy,” he said. The sound of his own name being spoken gave Andy chills. He had not forgotten it, though he had not heard it for years. It made him sad, but more than that it made him curious to know what was happening.
The man read the confusion in Andy's face and flashed a gleaming, wolfish smile framed by three days-worth of dark stubble. “I can see you haven't heard that name in a while. You probably don't even know how long it has been. I would guess it has been a very long time. You certainly haven't heard it from your family in almost ten years. You were a tow-headed 14 year old when you were taken, while on holiday with your parents. You'll be happy to know that they are still alive and well, though I can't be sure if they still think about you.”
Tears began to well in Andy's eyes and his fists clenched behind his back, cuffed and held firm by the handlers on both sides. They sensed his tension and clamped harder, forcing Andy to straighten into his stiff “presentation” pose instinctively.
The man continued, “Ever since then, you've mostly just been Boy, or Blondie, or Slave...any number of things, but not Andy.”
It was true. Only some of the other captive boys whom Andy had befriended over the years had known his name and used it in private moments...but even that was a long time ago, when they were all young peers, trying to survive the abuse together. He was alone now, as the others had disappeared over time and he had moved from being the property of high end hotels (offering him as a guest service for a certain clientele) to this loosely organized cabal of traffickers and businessmen.
“Today, you are Andy again, Andy,” said the man. “And that's because today is a very special day. It's your birthday. Or rather, it's the day you ceased to be Andy and became Boy. Today is the 8th anniversary of when they took you, Andy. How does that make you feel?”
Andy bit his lip and opened his mouth to speak. Nothing came out. And then he began to sob.
“I know. It must be overwhelming. I was surprised myself when I came across the evidence a few months back that made it clear. You see, we don't usually keep track of these things, but my former associate, the one who took you, he made a few entries about it in a ledger, and when I saw those notes I knew we had to make a special occasion, so I started planning this party.”
The man took a few steps forward, but Andy just kept looking at the floor and weeping. “I suppose I should tell you my name is Wallace, but you can call me Wall. I figure you should know my name, since I have been planning this party for you.”
Wall put his hand under Andy's chin and gently lifted the youth's head to stare him in the eye. The rage and sorrow he saw there excited him.
“It's your eighth birthday, and I want it to be special. And it will be a very special day for you, Andy. Because by the end of it, you will be free. Isn't that what you most want in the world?”
Andy stopped crying and stared at Wall, stunned. He couldn't even process the idea of being free, of what his life would be outside of this hell he had come to know. He started sobbing again.
“Oh, Andy. You shouldn't cry at your own party.” Wall dropped the boy's head and slapped him hard across the face. “I want you to stop blubbering right now, or you'll regret it.”
Andy managed to do just that and return to his stiff posture, suddenly enraged again. Wall admired his ferocity. The boy was far from broken after all.
“Good man. I know something that will cheer you up. My first gift to you is to tell you that the man who took you, my former associate...he's dead. I put three bullets through his head myself a few years back.” Wall studied Andy's face. There was no joy there. He wasn't thinking about revenge, only reliving the horror of being taken in the first place, the self-hatred he felt for having wandered away, in spite of everything his father and mother had said. At a certain point, Andy had started to blame himself, but being reminded of the man who orchestrated his kidnapping and enslaved him filled him with anger and horror again.
“He was a pig,” Wall said with a touch of tenderness. “What he did to you and so many other boys...it was just awful. But worse than that, he got greedy, and so he had to go. Pop pop pop.”
Wall mimed a gun with his left hand, and then started stepping back, gesturing for the two handlers to move Andy toward the center of the room. Andy glanced to his left at the men waiting in the wings, some removing the last of their clothes and stroking their cocks.
“That's just my first gift, though,” said Wall, as he peeled his own shirt off. Andy immediately got a hint of why the man had been given his nickname: His torso was a broad, lean wall of muscle, each element like a smooth stone stacked upon another. As part of his acclimation to slavery, something in Andy had learned to admire the beauty of other men, and he was quite taken with Wall's physique even as he knew the brutality of it strength would probably bring him agony. This sort of conflict and trauma was what made it impossible for him to comprehend freedom. What was life beyond this?
This flashed through his mind as the handlers removed his cuffs. He crossed his hands in front of his body, shielding himself instinctively while rubbing his wrists. Under the glare of the lights, the definition of his own muscles was brought into stark contrast for his audience. As a slave, he was kept on a regimen of exercise that kept his assets in top condition, especially his ass, a pair of perfectly rounded domes of creamy white flesh. At 22, he was technically in his prime, but the clientele coming to this part of the world wanted something more exotic, younger, as he had been once. Pretty jock gigolos who wanted abuse were no great rarity elsewhere, so his value had diminished over time, even though most would agree that he had never been more beautiful.
“Let's give you another present, Andy,” said Wall. He turned to a table full of whips, dildos and paddles and grabbed a small black box. Handing it to Andy. “Open it. I hope you like it. It's what every 8-year old boy wants.”
Andy took the box tentatively, lifted the lid, and parted the tissue paper inside to see something gleam in the light. He plucked the object out and let it rest in his palm. A stainless steel cock ring.
The anger rose in him again as he closed his fist around it. He thought to fling it at Wall or the men, but then a handler nudged his side and snarled, “What do you say, boy?”
Andy straightened and glared at Wall. “Thank you, SIR!”
Wall smirked, “Oh, Andy, you don't have to Sir me. I already told you. You can call me Wall.”
Andy was disarmed. He lowered his eyes again and muttered, “Thank you, Wall.”
“You're welcome, Andy. Now, go ahead and put it on. It should be just your size.”
It was indeed measured to just fit around the root of Andy's thick, 6-inch prick, pushing his nuts outward. Andy grunted as he pulled everything through and then stood at attention again as his constricted dick began to swell.
“You look gorgeous, Andy. Now, I am not the most experienced man when it comes to planning parties,” he stepped back and beckoned Andy and the handlers toward a leather padded bondage horse. Andy saw the men swivel the cameras to focus on it and knew what was coming next. “I think I may be doing the whole party thing out of order, but we have a lot of activities planned, and to start I really want to ice the cake.”
Wall cupped Andy's ass and pushed him until his thighs met the bondage horse. Andy, without thinking, leaned over it and allowed himself to be buckled into place. His arms hung down with his wrists cuffed to the sides of the wooden stand and he stared down at a large grate positioned beneath his head, extending to the wall. His legs were strapped in at the knees and ankles, spreading his big, glutes for a full display of his crack, which had been waxed just that morning, after a colonic had completely cleaned him out.
The handlers stepped aside and began working the cameras. Wall took a knee on the concrete behind the bondage horse and inspected Andy's hole. It was clearly worse for wear after 8 years of savage abuse. It had been split many times, and sewn back together at least three times, fucked by fists, inhuman dildos, non-human cocks and—on one rowdy occasion with a sheik—a live python. And yet, in the cleft of those stunning mounds of boy butt, it was still a thing of beauty. Wall unzipped the fly of his black cargo pants and pulled out a thick, seven-inch prong which he slapped against Andy's hole.
“I'm the master of ceremonies, so I'll be the first to frost your cake today, but all our guests will have a chance. This is what you want on your birthday, right, Andy? A nice frosted bundt cake?”
“Yes, Sir. Wall. Sir...” Andy stuttered. “Yes, Wall.”
“Good man, Andy. Now, open wide.”
Used as it was, Andy's hole still wasn't ready for the intrusion and he helped as Wall jabbed his first few inches in. “C'mon. Andy. Don't hurt yourself now. The party is just getting started.”
Andy's face burned red with anger, pain and the settling of blood in his head. He squeaked and hissed and cried out as Wall began to fuck him, not waiting for the hole to relax or produce enough moisture to ease its passage.
“Atta boy,” Wall said a few minutes in. “Nice and smooth now. Getting nice and wet with my precum, baby. I'm a leaky son of a bitch, I know. Just wait until you feel me fill you up, though. Been saving a load for a few days and you're really gonna feel it.”
Wall pounded away while the other men stroked themselves. Some of them had fucked Andy many times before. Andy had dimly recognize a few, but they were all a blur to him, especially now that the action had started.
Wall was not gentle with him. Wall's own glutes were a hard, stacked engine, made to throw a hard, fast fuck. Sometimes he'd slow it down and watch his thick rod slowly pull on Andy's hole like taffy, puffing and slurping audibly. The camera got a nice view of it all, and when he was satisfied that the viewers got the full impression of his prowess, Wall launched into a hard, speedfuck again, driving himself to a howling peak.
Wall was right about Andy feeling it when he came. Andy first heard him start to snarl and growl, then he felt the bruising grip on his hips, then he felt the cock swell larger in his hole, and then came the palpable bursts, six shots thudding in his guts as Wall roared again.
“Oh man, boys. I hope whoever's going next likes their seconds really sloppy. You're gonna be churning a pint of cream in there.”
Andy could hear high-fives and laughter and then he felt another cock slide right in and take over. This one didn't last nearly as long, but he filled Andy up with another generous load. All the men had been saving up and edging themselves to make the most of this occasion. When the big, slick cock pulled out, a burbling stream of cum followed and coated Andy's taut ball sac, dribbling down his own cock.
Then the next one moved in. As usual, Andy went into a disassociative state around this point. The occasional slap to his ass would make his hole tighten, but in general he was hardly aware of his surroundings.
Wall knelt beside him and grabbed a handful of hair and lifted his head. Andy's stare was far and vacant. “Andy, this is the last one. Your cake is nice and iced now. When this guy is done, we'll be ready for the games. You ready for some games, Andy?”
Andy became aware again of being fucked. His thighs, ass and cock were soaked and sticky with cum. He could smell the pungent puddle of it, on the floor inches away from his head. He couldn't really move his head, but he muttered an unintelligible word.
“Good man, Andy,” said Wall, and let the slave's head drop.
In a few minutes, they through a bucket of ice water over Andy's back. He raised his head and gasped, sucking a stream of it into his lungs and inducing a violent coughing fit. While he heaved, they uncuffed his hands from the bondage horse and lifted his torso up, just to recuff his wrists in a pair of soft straps hanging from the rafters.
“It's time for spankings, Andy, but unfortunately your ass is our cake today, and we can't go spanking a cake, right?” Wall stepped in front of Andy, “So we'll be whipping you instead.” He showed Andy a nasty cat-o-nine tails, whose tips glistened with little barbs. “There's another complication, though. You see, we're calling this your 8th birthday as Boy, but Andy is actually 22 now, isn't he?” Andy stared at the whip and held back tears. “So, Andy, we're in a little predicament. Do we give 22 swats or 8 swats?”
Andy whispered, “I'm Boy.”
Wall and the men all chuckled. “Well, of course you say that now, but you've been responding to Andy all this time, so I think we're all a little confused. I think, the best thing to do is flip a coin. Heads, you're Boy. Tails, you're Andy.”
Wall stood up and showed andy a single Bhat coin between his fingers. “Ready?” Wall tossed the coin up and stepped back, letting the coin tinkle against the grate...and disappear with a plunk into the darkness below.
“Aw, fuck. Now we'll never know.” Wall sighed. “I guess that means, to be safe, you are Andy Boy, now. And that means you get...” Wall paused and theatrically counted on his fingers, “30 swats!”
Andy started shaking with anger and fear. “Fuck you! Fuck you!”
A man stepped forward to put a ball gag in Andy's mouth, but Wall stopped him. “No, let's hear him scream.” He strafed quickly around and everyone stood back.
Andy was in mid scream, “Fu--” when the first blow landed. He howled as his flanks were stung and he felt the skin tear just slightly.
“One, Andy Boy,” said Wall, circling his target and spinning full force to strike Andy's other side. “Two!”
Blows three and four attacked Andy's chest and arm pits. Five and six slashed his abs. Seven and eight slashed his obliques. Sweat was pouring from Andy's body, and blood was starting to trickle down, too. Wall worked quickly, ferociously, and methodically, keeping his strikes more or less symmetrical, leaving a criss cross of cuts and welts around Andy's torso. Blow twenty one actually split Andy's right nipple open when one of the barbs caught on it and yanked the tip.
“Have you been keeping count, Andy Boy?” asked Wall, and then slashed across Andy's left pec.
Andy screamed. “Thirty!”
“Wrong, Andy Boy! We need to know you are counting, so we're starting over.”
Andy screamed, “No!” as Wall struck his back again.
“I don't hear you counting, Andy Boy!” he struck the other side.
“Two!” Andy sobbed.
“Wrong, Andy Boy. You start from one!” And he struck again.
Andy wailed, and then gasped, “One!”
“Good, Andy Boy,” Wall had worked up his own sweat, but he was just getting warmed up. The whip cracked across Andy's lower back.
“Two,” Andy croaked.
“Good man! Keep it up, Andy Boy!”
And on it went, by the time Andy counted “Twenty-three” the words were coming as dry little croaks. Blood droplets had speckled the top of his ass and his body was beginning to look as red as raw meat, even where the skin was relatively intact.
“Thirty...” Andy finally counted, as the whip ripped into his left side.
“And one to grow on, Andy Boy,” sneered Wall as he threw his whole body into one last slash straight down Andy's spine, just nicking the top of that perfect, blood spattered ass.
Andy went limp and sobbed again. He had been promised freedom at the end of this ordeal, but he had been tricked before, and he knew things were only going to get worse before they even had a chance of getting better. His body was shutting down with pain.
Wall sensed this and ordered the men to give Andy a drink. They held a squeeze bottle to his lips and fed him a drink of water laced with electrolytes and some amphetamines to keep him going. Andy sucked it down greedily, unthinking, just happy to have some relief and a moment of rest and tenderness.
It didn't last long. As soon the bottle was empty, Andy was blindfolded and a spider gag was jammed into his mouth, prying his jaw wide open and letting watery drool pour from it.
“Now its time to play pin the tail on the donkey. Unfortunately, I am not a very good planner again,” said Wall, “So I have pins and tails and a blindfold, but I don't know exactly what we're doing with them. Can you explain the game to me, Andy Boy?”
Andy coughed and gurgled futilely in the gag, disoriented by the pain and the sudden darkness.
“Oh, I see. Well that's simple, isn't it, boys?” Wall said to the men around him. “We each grab a pin and find a place to stick it. I like this game already.”
Andy started shaking violently. Of all the abuses he had suffered over the years, needles were the worst of all. He had a morbid fear of them. This was his idea of hell, precisely.
He could hear the light clatter of needles on a tray as each man picked one up. Each needle was a decimeter long, with a sharp point at each end that widened to about half a centimeter in diameter at the middle.
“While the boys are figuring out where to put the pins, I'm going to get to work on that tail,” said Wall. The tail was in fact a double-headed dildo, over half a meter long and 20cm in circumference. He bent down behind Andy and pushed his fingers into the puffy hole, still dripping cum thirty minutes after the last load had been deposited in it. “This'll go in easy,” he remarked. “But will you be able to keep it in? You have to keep your tail in or we'll use a different one, Andy, and the next one may not be nice as this one.”
Andy couldn't see what was coming, but he only grunted as the head of the dildo pressed in with a squelch.
“I know this thing is heavy, so there's no way you can keep it in if I just leave it here, Andy Boy. That's why I'm going to help you by making sure this gets nice and deep inside, so you can get a better grip on it. You ready?”
Andy could only grunt and shake, and he stiffened as Wall began to force the dildo up and one of the men grabbed his left nipple (the intact one) and then squeezed it between a clamp, pulling it out taut. Andy huffed and panted and then he felt the tip of the needle against his nipple, and in a moment it was jabbing through the flesh. He screamed and his ass clamped down.
“You aren't helping me help you, Andy Boy,” Wall said wearily. “Open up, man.”
Andy did involuntarily once his howl ended and his body relaxed to draw in air again. The dildo sank in another few centimeters.
“Atta boy,” praised Wall. “Suck that tail in deep, baby.”
Another needle poked against the side of Andy's left pec, just to the side of his nipple, perpendicular to the first needle. It drove in through the muscle itself, gradually and inexorably. His ass spasmed wildly, and Wall kept up the pressure, losing no ground, but working with Andy's body to plunge deeper as it relaxed opened. More jizz ran in sticky rivulets around the black rubber as it bloated the boy's rectum and started to press at the entrance to his colon. Wall wasn't stopping there. He wasn't stopping until the at least half of that rubber monster was embedded in hot boy belly.
The clamp was removed from Andy's chest, but the needles stayed in place. The third man took his time poking Andy all over, up and down his tender abdomen, dragging the point across his swollen dick, eliciting a guttural shriek of protest. Eventually, the man grabbed Andy by the bridge of his nose with one gloved hand and used the other to slowly slide the needle through the septum. It wasn't as painful as Andy expected, but the sound of it crunching through cartilage was a horror in itself.
Wall wasn't making much progress, so he really started jabbing upward, and as Andy got accustomed to breathing around a needle, he felt the dildo bust up into his colon, and then keep sliding upward. It was not painful. He had been invaded that deeply before, and had even found it pleasant, but under the circumstances it was such a violation that after a moment, he began sobbing again. He did not stop sobbing, only screamed and dry-heaved when the next two needles went in, one through each testicle. In spite of all the abuse his body had suffered, the bruising and bleeding, it was still an object of beauty and desire to the men, and they rubbed their hands over his abdomen as it heaved in and out, tracing the faint bulge of the dildo deep inside him.
Wall stood up and observed the scene for himself, watching carefully to see if the dildo was staying in place. The next needle was slide directly into Andy's urethra, a few centimeters into his stiff prick. The youth started hyperventilating, surmising what would come next. A hand roughly grabbed his cock shaft and twisted it and the needle, and the point began to sink through the flesh, emerging at an angle just beneath the end of his glans. Andy's head slumped down, and went limp. Wall saw the dildo shift, drop a few inches. He smirked. He knew it would slide out and then...
The penultimate needle was placed against Andy's circumcision scar. He had a foreskin when he had been nabbed, but a few years in, a client decided to take it with him as a souvenir and it was removed in a vicious, impromptu surgery. The needle prodded against the darkened tissue and slowly began to drive in. Andy's body convulse hard in rapid succession and as the needle burst out the other side of his dick, his tail burst out of his gaping asshole with a wet plop.
“Oh, Andy Boy,” mocked Wall. “You lost your tail. One more needle to go, but while the boys get you ready for that, I need to find a tail that will stay in.
What Wall grabbed next was something you will never find in a sex shop. This kind of device requires an unscrupulous artisan and a twisted intellect. It was a special kind of plug, about as wide as the last, a pillar of inflexible black rubber about twenty centimeters long, ending with a thick, handle. It resembled a closed pinecone, however, because its surface was covered with metal scales that hooked down into sharp points. It was designed to go in with relative ease. Coming out was another matter.
Wall just jammed it in without any further preparation. One thrust got it halfway home, the next nearly finished the deal, it just took a little more pressure and poking to finish the job, allowing the busted, puffy ass lips to close around the neck of it. Andy felt a horrible, burning pressure in him as gravity tugged it down and the hooks sunk into his soft tissue. He didn't know exactly what was happening and didn't have time to think about it because there were soon pliers pulling on his tongue. He knew then where the last needle was to be aimed. The tough muscle didn't yield easily, but the men eventually go it through and then freed his tongue. The length of it forced Andy to twist his tongue so it didn't prod up his nostrils.
It wasn't as painful as he anticipated, but the complete violation of his body ate at his mind. He was going insane. His bladder released under the pressure, sending a stream of urine, pink with blood, through the grate.
“How are you holding up, Andy Boy?”
There was no reply.
“Ready for some pinata action, birthday boy?”
Andy stirred slightly and moaned as he heard the swish of a cane through the air. “Let's see how many swings it takes to bust you open,” Wall said. The word “open” came as a roar as he lunged forward and smashed the cane across Andy's shoulder blades. The skin split immediately and a stream of blood began to seep down. The strikes came hard and fast at first, all landing on his back before Wall took a breather and switched positions. A few men tightened a winch, stretching Andy's arms higher and giving more access to his chest and abdomen. After a few blows, the cane ripped on needle out of his left nipple, leaving both of them split and trickling blood. The abdomen then became the point of interest. Wall absolutely smashed the air out Andy with some blows, striking so deep that he could feel the cane meet the resistance of the truncheon embedded in Andy's hole. The hooks were slowly pulling down, and blood was trickling from an expanding rose of prolapsing tissue around the edge of it, and off the devilish dildo's handle.
When Wall had exhausted himself, he motioned for Andy to be released. It took several men to catch the bloodied birthday boy, rubbing their hands over his raw, tenderized muscles and dragging him to an inclined board at the center of the room. They flopped him against it and strapped his arms down firmly to it, then cuffed his ankles to cables, each attached to a winch. After Andy was in place, the blindfold and gag were removed, along with the needles in his tongue and nose, and he was fed another bottle of water and stimulants. He was fading, but he wasn't mortally wounded. There was still suffering to come and they needed him alert.
“Andy Boy, I need you to think now. I know it's already been a big day for you, and I know you have so much to be grateful for after being showered with gifts and playing all these games. I know you must feel so blessed, but there is still something you must want.”
Andy lifted his head as best he could and looked around him. He saw the men, smeared with his blood and sweat, kissing and fondling and fellating each other. But Wall was right there, giving him all his attention. Wall's body, cruel in its flawless muscularity, glowed with sweat beneath the light. Andy glanced down at his own body and for the first time the extent of his injuries became clear. He was disfigured. He would never be the same, and he knew it. His head dropped back and his eyes shut tight, praying for it all to be a horrible dream, one that had to end.
“Andy, it's time to make a wish. I know people usually do that, but we'll be putting the candles in the cake late and I need you to make a wish now.”
The winches attached to his legs began to tighten, spreading his legs wider. He became aware again of the awful weight of the dildo inside him, dragging itself downward with his intestines in tow.
“I know you were born in New Zealand, Andy Boy. You Kiwis don't have Thanksgiving like we do in America.” Wall stood back and flexed for the cameras. “Semper Fi. Ex-Marine here. You might have already guessed that from the accent and the tats.”
Andy hadn't noticed any tattoos. It didn't matter. He was hardly comprehending any of Wall's words at this point.
“We have this tradition with the wishbone, though, ya see, and you have to make a wish before it breaks.”
Andy didn't follow the words as Wall kept talking. It didn't matter what he was saying. It was clear enough from the growing strain in his legs that those winches weren't stopping any time soon. Connective tissue burned and muscles spasmed as his body was pulled downward and apart. His arms were immobile, but his shoulders also began to burn as his torso was pulled down between them. It became harder to breathe.
“So don't tell me your wish, but keep holding onto it while we see which side snaps first, okay? Got it, Andy?”
Andy just howled and bellowed as the winches kept turning. His whole body flexed and strained, seeking a way to find relief somewhere, struggle against the machine ripping him apart, but no relief would come.
His left knee popped first. The involuntary thrashing that followed ended with him snapping his own right ankle. Then he went still as the hips slowly came out of joint and his shoulders pressed up to his ears. His bladder released again, and the flow from the head was vividly redder and thicker.
The winches stopped. “We'll count that, Andy. I hope all your wishes come true now.”
Wall let Andy spasm and heave quietly for a few minutes while he made the preparations for the party's denouement.
“Ya know, Andy. Here, we've been giving you all these gifts, all this attention, but what have you given us, Andy Boy? I think it's customary for the birthday boy to give his guests some party favors for showing up and celebrating his big day.”
Wall got up close and sniffed around Andy's body, taking in the heady odor of blood, sweat, testosterone and fear. He whispered into Andy's ear, “We got eight fellas here who need something to remember this day.” Andy felt Wall grip his right hand tight and then flatten the fingers against the board. “This will take care of four.”
A cleaver at his side flashed up and then slammed down with pinpoint accuracy, crunching through bone and mangling Andy's left hand. Andy screeched and the cleaver went up and down and again leaving only the thumb attached to a crushed stump. Wall held up the four fingers in his palm still attached, to be divided later between the knuckles.
“And now for the other four.”
Andy was beyond reason, beyond comprehending at this point, but he instinctively knew to draw his right fingers into a fist, trying to protect them. Of course it made no difference to Wall. He smiled, aligned his blow, and then hacked into the exposed flesh of Andy's wrist. The hand went limp, and Andy just gasped and vomited a stream of blood and bile. It took three more blows to crack through the bone. The whole hand was pried away and a man immediately brought a torch to the wound, and then to the other hand. The aroma that Wall had savored a few moments before was overpowered by the stink of burning flesh. Andy passed out at last.
He didn't stay out. The amphetamines in his system made him easy to rouse with a few swats to his belly and face.
“Andy Boy,” Wall crooned, dragging his nails across the open wounds across his abdomen. “I really need a party favor, too.” His hand slid down and gripped Andy's still bloated cock. “Seeing as I gave you a package, I think maybe I should get a package, too. Whaddya think, baby?”
Andy felt the serrated edge of a knife dig lightly into the root of his cock, clicking against the metal cock ring. Andy squirmed lightly, mouthing “No.”
“Yea, baby. Can't wait. Gotta open that package right now.” The knife started to dig in, just scraping the flesh, “No” Andy said screwing his face up into a mask of agony, even before the real agony began. And then Wall began to saw through. Andy gasped and wailed.
“Nooooo.”
In a matter of seconds, it was over. His cock was held aloft before his eyes and he watched as the ring slowly slid off and clattered to the floor. The scrotum flopped down and one testicle was visible, nestled in the bloody skin. He almost passed out again, but instead the eyes just rolled deliriously in their sockets, between the red darkness beneath his lids and the galre of the lights overhead.
“Time for the candles, Andy. Time for you to go free. Up over the clouds, Andy. We're gonna launch you straight through the ceiling and over the clouds today, birthday boy.”
Wall set Andy's severed cock and the knife in a little tray offered to him by one of the men. He then leaned down and got a solid grip on the handle of the dildo still embedded in Andy's guts. Without preamble, he began to yank on it. Andy bellowed his most horrifying scream yet. One camera fixed on his face saw his eyes go completely white and red as his pupils rolled up into his skull, catching his every expression, the great climax of his party. The other camera focused on the inhuman birth occurring between his legs.
It took several rough tugs, but Wall finally dislodged the dildo, taking with it a blown out wad of soft tissue, still hooked to the beastly thing, a gory newborn of viscera. Andy's beautiful, bloodied, corrugated abs caved inward partially emptied of the contents they had carried for 22 years. Wall ripped the loose tissue and left a mangled, purple coil of intestine hanging from the crater between those still perfect glutes. It din't dangle for long, though. The men swarmed in, shoving a bundle of roman candles into the hole and strapping it in. Wall grabbed a single stick and leaned over Andy, stroking the dying youth's hair as he stuffed the rude rod into the hole where Andy's cock had been, ramming it until it was securely in place.
“Damn boys. I swear we loaded him up so good I can still here our seed sloshing around inside him. Let's hope these fuses don't get snuffed out in all that juice, eh, boys? Wouldn't that be a shame”
Wall held a silver lighter aloft, winking at the cameras and then looking at Andy, who gazed catatonic back at him. “Ready boys?” He lit the bound fuses of the bundle and the single fuse of the firework lodged in the youth's bloody groin.
“One...two...three...Happy birthday to yoooou,” the men all sang. “Happy birthday to yooooou.” The sparks of the fuse crept up. “Happy birthday dear Andyyyy!” The spark disappeared inside the torn hole and the men went quiet, wondering if it had been snuffed out.
And then there was a thud, and another and another in quick succession. Andy's body was thrashing madly, his stomach bloating oddly and his chest heaving. Wisps of smoke began to spill from his mouth and nose as they opened in a silent scream. Wall was still gripping the candle in Andy's groin, somewhat annoyed that it hadn't gone off. The fuse had died somewhere inside him...but then, the cinders of the other explosions ignited it again and he felt the first charge go off. He grinned wide and tightened his grip to make sure it stayed in place. His free hand lifted to conduct the chorus in the final line.
“Happy birthday toooooo yoooooouuuu!”
The voices died down and a few more thuds came from inside the destroyed body. Amazingly, they could see Andy was still alive, though just barely. Wall had hoped for this. The audiences watching this film later would want a coup de grace. Ordinarily, he would do it by hanging or winching the neck until the spine popped, but there wasn't time for that.
He leaned over the boy and close his mouth over to Andy's steaming, gawping lips. He felt the tongue fluttering inside. He chewed on the lips lightly. He tasted the sulfur of the smoke, the iron of the blood. His tongue roamed deep, savoring the flavor, like a good rare steak. When he leaned back up, he let go of the candle, leaving it dangling like a grotesque, cardboard cock beneath Andy's concave gut. Standing behind the boy, he hooked his arm over the board, across Andy's chest, feeling it pulse lightly as the boy stared into the light above.
“Happy birthday, Andy Boy.” With a firm grip that accentuated his bulging bicep and would show his USMC tats to the audiences at home, he brought the knife to Andy's neck, sank it deep, and slit the boy's throat wide open. More smoke poured out of the wound, along with the rich, black flow of blood. Andy twitched and gurgled, and then it was over.
Andy had been put to bed, but there was still cake to be served.
The men pulled out the roman candles, freed the ruined body, and flipped it over. The perfect ass was drenched with blood and other fluids, but still domed out enticingly. Wall fetched a different knife for the next task. First he sliced around the contours of the ass, freeing the edge of the skin and peeling it up so he could see where the muscle disappeared into the thigh. He started slicing along the fiber, detaching the glutes in large chunks and setting them in a bowl.
Once he was satisfied with the work, he began flaying the legs and removing the meat from them. There were pounds and pounds of flesh there, but these were set aside for other meals, special dinners in the coming days. Cake was the main course tonight. He looked at a camera. “We'll be taking a break to go start baking this here cake, and we'll show you a bit of that celebration later, but for now, I think it's time to put our birthday boy to bed.”
He stood up and moved closed to Andy, beckoning the cameramen closer. He gripped the blonde, sweat-soaked mop, lifted and twisted the neck so that the gaping face stared at the camera with unseeing eyes.
“What do you say to everyone watching at home, Andy?”
He brought a finger up and tucked it into Andy's mouth, tugging on it to mimic the speech of a ventriloquist dummy. Blood drooled from the lips with each tug.
“Thanks for being here, everyone,” Wall said in a light, boyish voice. “Best birthday ever!”
Wall turned to the camera and winked. “Why, thank you, Andy. Maybe I'm not such a bad party planner after all.” He let the head flop back down.
The camera stayed on Wall as he ducked off to the side and grabbed a white beret, which he then put on his head at a jaunty angle. His hands left red smears on its brim.
“Now...let's see what kind of chef I am.”
No, what struck him as different was the configuration of the men and the room. To his left side, eight men were standing with grins, drinking booze and leering anxiously. To his right, a single, burly man, in his mid-30s stood smiling with his hands behind his back. The man's black hair was cut high and tight. Heavy, expressive eyebrows sat level above the polished rims of aviator glasses that sat on a sharp straight nose. The jaw was broad but came to strong, cleft chin. He was a hunk, Andy had to admit, but dangerous looking.
“Hello, Andy,” he said. The sound of his own name being spoken gave Andy chills. He had not forgotten it, though he had not heard it for years. It made him sad, but more than that it made him curious to know what was happening.
The man read the confusion in Andy's face and flashed a gleaming, wolfish smile framed by three days-worth of dark stubble. “I can see you haven't heard that name in a while. You probably don't even know how long it has been. I would guess it has been a very long time. You certainly haven't heard it from your family in almost ten years. You were a tow-headed 14 year old when you were taken, while on holiday with your parents. You'll be happy to know that they are still alive and well, though I can't be sure if they still think about you.”
Tears began to well in Andy's eyes and his fists clenched behind his back, cuffed and held firm by the handlers on both sides. They sensed his tension and clamped harder, forcing Andy to straighten into his stiff “presentation” pose instinctively.
The man continued, “Ever since then, you've mostly just been Boy, or Blondie, or Slave...any number of things, but not Andy.”
It was true. Only some of the other captive boys whom Andy had befriended over the years had known his name and used it in private moments...but even that was a long time ago, when they were all young peers, trying to survive the abuse together. He was alone now, as the others had disappeared over time and he had moved from being the property of high end hotels (offering him as a guest service for a certain clientele) to this loosely organized cabal of traffickers and businessmen.
“Today, you are Andy again, Andy,” said the man. “And that's because today is a very special day. It's your birthday. Or rather, it's the day you ceased to be Andy and became Boy. Today is the 8th anniversary of when they took you, Andy. How does that make you feel?”
Andy bit his lip and opened his mouth to speak. Nothing came out. And then he began to sob.
“I know. It must be overwhelming. I was surprised myself when I came across the evidence a few months back that made it clear. You see, we don't usually keep track of these things, but my former associate, the one who took you, he made a few entries about it in a ledger, and when I saw those notes I knew we had to make a special occasion, so I started planning this party.”
The man took a few steps forward, but Andy just kept looking at the floor and weeping. “I suppose I should tell you my name is Wallace, but you can call me Wall. I figure you should know my name, since I have been planning this party for you.”
Wall put his hand under Andy's chin and gently lifted the youth's head to stare him in the eye. The rage and sorrow he saw there excited him.
“It's your eighth birthday, and I want it to be special. And it will be a very special day for you, Andy. Because by the end of it, you will be free. Isn't that what you most want in the world?”
Andy stopped crying and stared at Wall, stunned. He couldn't even process the idea of being free, of what his life would be outside of this hell he had come to know. He started sobbing again.
“Oh, Andy. You shouldn't cry at your own party.” Wall dropped the boy's head and slapped him hard across the face. “I want you to stop blubbering right now, or you'll regret it.”
Andy managed to do just that and return to his stiff posture, suddenly enraged again. Wall admired his ferocity. The boy was far from broken after all.
“Good man. I know something that will cheer you up. My first gift to you is to tell you that the man who took you, my former associate...he's dead. I put three bullets through his head myself a few years back.” Wall studied Andy's face. There was no joy there. He wasn't thinking about revenge, only reliving the horror of being taken in the first place, the self-hatred he felt for having wandered away, in spite of everything his father and mother had said. At a certain point, Andy had started to blame himself, but being reminded of the man who orchestrated his kidnapping and enslaved him filled him with anger and horror again.
“He was a pig,” Wall said with a touch of tenderness. “What he did to you and so many other boys...it was just awful. But worse than that, he got greedy, and so he had to go. Pop pop pop.”
Wall mimed a gun with his left hand, and then started stepping back, gesturing for the two handlers to move Andy toward the center of the room. Andy glanced to his left at the men waiting in the wings, some removing the last of their clothes and stroking their cocks.
“That's just my first gift, though,” said Wall, as he peeled his own shirt off. Andy immediately got a hint of why the man had been given his nickname: His torso was a broad, lean wall of muscle, each element like a smooth stone stacked upon another. As part of his acclimation to slavery, something in Andy had learned to admire the beauty of other men, and he was quite taken with Wall's physique even as he knew the brutality of it strength would probably bring him agony. This sort of conflict and trauma was what made it impossible for him to comprehend freedom. What was life beyond this?
This flashed through his mind as the handlers removed his cuffs. He crossed his hands in front of his body, shielding himself instinctively while rubbing his wrists. Under the glare of the lights, the definition of his own muscles was brought into stark contrast for his audience. As a slave, he was kept on a regimen of exercise that kept his assets in top condition, especially his ass, a pair of perfectly rounded domes of creamy white flesh. At 22, he was technically in his prime, but the clientele coming to this part of the world wanted something more exotic, younger, as he had been once. Pretty jock gigolos who wanted abuse were no great rarity elsewhere, so his value had diminished over time, even though most would agree that he had never been more beautiful.
“Let's give you another present, Andy,” said Wall. He turned to a table full of whips, dildos and paddles and grabbed a small black box. Handing it to Andy. “Open it. I hope you like it. It's what every 8-year old boy wants.”
Andy took the box tentatively, lifted the lid, and parted the tissue paper inside to see something gleam in the light. He plucked the object out and let it rest in his palm. A stainless steel cock ring.
The anger rose in him again as he closed his fist around it. He thought to fling it at Wall or the men, but then a handler nudged his side and snarled, “What do you say, boy?”
Andy straightened and glared at Wall. “Thank you, SIR!”
Wall smirked, “Oh, Andy, you don't have to Sir me. I already told you. You can call me Wall.”
Andy was disarmed. He lowered his eyes again and muttered, “Thank you, Wall.”
“You're welcome, Andy. Now, go ahead and put it on. It should be just your size.”
It was indeed measured to just fit around the root of Andy's thick, 6-inch prick, pushing his nuts outward. Andy grunted as he pulled everything through and then stood at attention again as his constricted dick began to swell.
“You look gorgeous, Andy. Now, I am not the most experienced man when it comes to planning parties,” he stepped back and beckoned Andy and the handlers toward a leather padded bondage horse. Andy saw the men swivel the cameras to focus on it and knew what was coming next. “I think I may be doing the whole party thing out of order, but we have a lot of activities planned, and to start I really want to ice the cake.”
Wall cupped Andy's ass and pushed him until his thighs met the bondage horse. Andy, without thinking, leaned over it and allowed himself to be buckled into place. His arms hung down with his wrists cuffed to the sides of the wooden stand and he stared down at a large grate positioned beneath his head, extending to the wall. His legs were strapped in at the knees and ankles, spreading his big, glutes for a full display of his crack, which had been waxed just that morning, after a colonic had completely cleaned him out.
The handlers stepped aside and began working the cameras. Wall took a knee on the concrete behind the bondage horse and inspected Andy's hole. It was clearly worse for wear after 8 years of savage abuse. It had been split many times, and sewn back together at least three times, fucked by fists, inhuman dildos, non-human cocks and—on one rowdy occasion with a sheik—a live python. And yet, in the cleft of those stunning mounds of boy butt, it was still a thing of beauty. Wall unzipped the fly of his black cargo pants and pulled out a thick, seven-inch prong which he slapped against Andy's hole.
“I'm the master of ceremonies, so I'll be the first to frost your cake today, but all our guests will have a chance. This is what you want on your birthday, right, Andy? A nice frosted bundt cake?”
“Yes, Sir. Wall. Sir...” Andy stuttered. “Yes, Wall.”
“Good man, Andy. Now, open wide.”
Used as it was, Andy's hole still wasn't ready for the intrusion and he helped as Wall jabbed his first few inches in. “C'mon. Andy. Don't hurt yourself now. The party is just getting started.”
Andy's face burned red with anger, pain and the settling of blood in his head. He squeaked and hissed and cried out as Wall began to fuck him, not waiting for the hole to relax or produce enough moisture to ease its passage.
“Atta boy,” Wall said a few minutes in. “Nice and smooth now. Getting nice and wet with my precum, baby. I'm a leaky son of a bitch, I know. Just wait until you feel me fill you up, though. Been saving a load for a few days and you're really gonna feel it.”
Wall pounded away while the other men stroked themselves. Some of them had fucked Andy many times before. Andy had dimly recognize a few, but they were all a blur to him, especially now that the action had started.
Wall was not gentle with him. Wall's own glutes were a hard, stacked engine, made to throw a hard, fast fuck. Sometimes he'd slow it down and watch his thick rod slowly pull on Andy's hole like taffy, puffing and slurping audibly. The camera got a nice view of it all, and when he was satisfied that the viewers got the full impression of his prowess, Wall launched into a hard, speedfuck again, driving himself to a howling peak.
Wall was right about Andy feeling it when he came. Andy first heard him start to snarl and growl, then he felt the bruising grip on his hips, then he felt the cock swell larger in his hole, and then came the palpable bursts, six shots thudding in his guts as Wall roared again.
“Oh man, boys. I hope whoever's going next likes their seconds really sloppy. You're gonna be churning a pint of cream in there.”
Andy could hear high-fives and laughter and then he felt another cock slide right in and take over. This one didn't last nearly as long, but he filled Andy up with another generous load. All the men had been saving up and edging themselves to make the most of this occasion. When the big, slick cock pulled out, a burbling stream of cum followed and coated Andy's taut ball sac, dribbling down his own cock.
Then the next one moved in. As usual, Andy went into a disassociative state around this point. The occasional slap to his ass would make his hole tighten, but in general he was hardly aware of his surroundings.
Wall knelt beside him and grabbed a handful of hair and lifted his head. Andy's stare was far and vacant. “Andy, this is the last one. Your cake is nice and iced now. When this guy is done, we'll be ready for the games. You ready for some games, Andy?”
Andy became aware again of being fucked. His thighs, ass and cock were soaked and sticky with cum. He could smell the pungent puddle of it, on the floor inches away from his head. He couldn't really move his head, but he muttered an unintelligible word.
“Good man, Andy,” said Wall, and let the slave's head drop.
In a few minutes, they through a bucket of ice water over Andy's back. He raised his head and gasped, sucking a stream of it into his lungs and inducing a violent coughing fit. While he heaved, they uncuffed his hands from the bondage horse and lifted his torso up, just to recuff his wrists in a pair of soft straps hanging from the rafters.
“It's time for spankings, Andy, but unfortunately your ass is our cake today, and we can't go spanking a cake, right?” Wall stepped in front of Andy, “So we'll be whipping you instead.” He showed Andy a nasty cat-o-nine tails, whose tips glistened with little barbs. “There's another complication, though. You see, we're calling this your 8th birthday as Boy, but Andy is actually 22 now, isn't he?” Andy stared at the whip and held back tears. “So, Andy, we're in a little predicament. Do we give 22 swats or 8 swats?”
Andy whispered, “I'm Boy.”
Wall and the men all chuckled. “Well, of course you say that now, but you've been responding to Andy all this time, so I think we're all a little confused. I think, the best thing to do is flip a coin. Heads, you're Boy. Tails, you're Andy.”
Wall stood up and showed andy a single Bhat coin between his fingers. “Ready?” Wall tossed the coin up and stepped back, letting the coin tinkle against the grate...and disappear with a plunk into the darkness below.
“Aw, fuck. Now we'll never know.” Wall sighed. “I guess that means, to be safe, you are Andy Boy, now. And that means you get...” Wall paused and theatrically counted on his fingers, “30 swats!”
Andy started shaking with anger and fear. “Fuck you! Fuck you!”
A man stepped forward to put a ball gag in Andy's mouth, but Wall stopped him. “No, let's hear him scream.” He strafed quickly around and everyone stood back.
Andy was in mid scream, “Fu--” when the first blow landed. He howled as his flanks were stung and he felt the skin tear just slightly.
“One, Andy Boy,” said Wall, circling his target and spinning full force to strike Andy's other side. “Two!”
Blows three and four attacked Andy's chest and arm pits. Five and six slashed his abs. Seven and eight slashed his obliques. Sweat was pouring from Andy's body, and blood was starting to trickle down, too. Wall worked quickly, ferociously, and methodically, keeping his strikes more or less symmetrical, leaving a criss cross of cuts and welts around Andy's torso. Blow twenty one actually split Andy's right nipple open when one of the barbs caught on it and yanked the tip.
“Have you been keeping count, Andy Boy?” asked Wall, and then slashed across Andy's left pec.
Andy screamed. “Thirty!”
“Wrong, Andy Boy! We need to know you are counting, so we're starting over.”
Andy screamed, “No!” as Wall struck his back again.
“I don't hear you counting, Andy Boy!” he struck the other side.
“Two!” Andy sobbed.
“Wrong, Andy Boy. You start from one!” And he struck again.
Andy wailed, and then gasped, “One!”
“Good, Andy Boy,” Wall had worked up his own sweat, but he was just getting warmed up. The whip cracked across Andy's lower back.
“Two,” Andy croaked.
“Good man! Keep it up, Andy Boy!”
And on it went, by the time Andy counted “Twenty-three” the words were coming as dry little croaks. Blood droplets had speckled the top of his ass and his body was beginning to look as red as raw meat, even where the skin was relatively intact.
“Thirty...” Andy finally counted, as the whip ripped into his left side.
“And one to grow on, Andy Boy,” sneered Wall as he threw his whole body into one last slash straight down Andy's spine, just nicking the top of that perfect, blood spattered ass.
Andy went limp and sobbed again. He had been promised freedom at the end of this ordeal, but he had been tricked before, and he knew things were only going to get worse before they even had a chance of getting better. His body was shutting down with pain.
Wall sensed this and ordered the men to give Andy a drink. They held a squeeze bottle to his lips and fed him a drink of water laced with electrolytes and some amphetamines to keep him going. Andy sucked it down greedily, unthinking, just happy to have some relief and a moment of rest and tenderness.
It didn't last long. As soon the bottle was empty, Andy was blindfolded and a spider gag was jammed into his mouth, prying his jaw wide open and letting watery drool pour from it.
“Now its time to play pin the tail on the donkey. Unfortunately, I am not a very good planner again,” said Wall, “So I have pins and tails and a blindfold, but I don't know exactly what we're doing with them. Can you explain the game to me, Andy Boy?”
Andy coughed and gurgled futilely in the gag, disoriented by the pain and the sudden darkness.
“Oh, I see. Well that's simple, isn't it, boys?” Wall said to the men around him. “We each grab a pin and find a place to stick it. I like this game already.”
Andy started shaking violently. Of all the abuses he had suffered over the years, needles were the worst of all. He had a morbid fear of them. This was his idea of hell, precisely.
He could hear the light clatter of needles on a tray as each man picked one up. Each needle was a decimeter long, with a sharp point at each end that widened to about half a centimeter in diameter at the middle.
“While the boys are figuring out where to put the pins, I'm going to get to work on that tail,” said Wall. The tail was in fact a double-headed dildo, over half a meter long and 20cm in circumference. He bent down behind Andy and pushed his fingers into the puffy hole, still dripping cum thirty minutes after the last load had been deposited in it. “This'll go in easy,” he remarked. “But will you be able to keep it in? You have to keep your tail in or we'll use a different one, Andy, and the next one may not be nice as this one.”
Andy couldn't see what was coming, but he only grunted as the head of the dildo pressed in with a squelch.
“I know this thing is heavy, so there's no way you can keep it in if I just leave it here, Andy Boy. That's why I'm going to help you by making sure this gets nice and deep inside, so you can get a better grip on it. You ready?”
Andy could only grunt and shake, and he stiffened as Wall began to force the dildo up and one of the men grabbed his left nipple (the intact one) and then squeezed it between a clamp, pulling it out taut. Andy huffed and panted and then he felt the tip of the needle against his nipple, and in a moment it was jabbing through the flesh. He screamed and his ass clamped down.
“You aren't helping me help you, Andy Boy,” Wall said wearily. “Open up, man.”
Andy did involuntarily once his howl ended and his body relaxed to draw in air again. The dildo sank in another few centimeters.
“Atta boy,” praised Wall. “Suck that tail in deep, baby.”
Another needle poked against the side of Andy's left pec, just to the side of his nipple, perpendicular to the first needle. It drove in through the muscle itself, gradually and inexorably. His ass spasmed wildly, and Wall kept up the pressure, losing no ground, but working with Andy's body to plunge deeper as it relaxed opened. More jizz ran in sticky rivulets around the black rubber as it bloated the boy's rectum and started to press at the entrance to his colon. Wall wasn't stopping there. He wasn't stopping until the at least half of that rubber monster was embedded in hot boy belly.
The clamp was removed from Andy's chest, but the needles stayed in place. The third man took his time poking Andy all over, up and down his tender abdomen, dragging the point across his swollen dick, eliciting a guttural shriek of protest. Eventually, the man grabbed Andy by the bridge of his nose with one gloved hand and used the other to slowly slide the needle through the septum. It wasn't as painful as Andy expected, but the sound of it crunching through cartilage was a horror in itself.
Wall wasn't making much progress, so he really started jabbing upward, and as Andy got accustomed to breathing around a needle, he felt the dildo bust up into his colon, and then keep sliding upward. It was not painful. He had been invaded that deeply before, and had even found it pleasant, but under the circumstances it was such a violation that after a moment, he began sobbing again. He did not stop sobbing, only screamed and dry-heaved when the next two needles went in, one through each testicle. In spite of all the abuse his body had suffered, the bruising and bleeding, it was still an object of beauty and desire to the men, and they rubbed their hands over his abdomen as it heaved in and out, tracing the faint bulge of the dildo deep inside him.
Wall stood up and observed the scene for himself, watching carefully to see if the dildo was staying in place. The next needle was slide directly into Andy's urethra, a few centimeters into his stiff prick. The youth started hyperventilating, surmising what would come next. A hand roughly grabbed his cock shaft and twisted it and the needle, and the point began to sink through the flesh, emerging at an angle just beneath the end of his glans. Andy's head slumped down, and went limp. Wall saw the dildo shift, drop a few inches. He smirked. He knew it would slide out and then...
The penultimate needle was placed against Andy's circumcision scar. He had a foreskin when he had been nabbed, but a few years in, a client decided to take it with him as a souvenir and it was removed in a vicious, impromptu surgery. The needle prodded against the darkened tissue and slowly began to drive in. Andy's body convulse hard in rapid succession and as the needle burst out the other side of his dick, his tail burst out of his gaping asshole with a wet plop.
“Oh, Andy Boy,” mocked Wall. “You lost your tail. One more needle to go, but while the boys get you ready for that, I need to find a tail that will stay in.
What Wall grabbed next was something you will never find in a sex shop. This kind of device requires an unscrupulous artisan and a twisted intellect. It was a special kind of plug, about as wide as the last, a pillar of inflexible black rubber about twenty centimeters long, ending with a thick, handle. It resembled a closed pinecone, however, because its surface was covered with metal scales that hooked down into sharp points. It was designed to go in with relative ease. Coming out was another matter.
Wall just jammed it in without any further preparation. One thrust got it halfway home, the next nearly finished the deal, it just took a little more pressure and poking to finish the job, allowing the busted, puffy ass lips to close around the neck of it. Andy felt a horrible, burning pressure in him as gravity tugged it down and the hooks sunk into his soft tissue. He didn't know exactly what was happening and didn't have time to think about it because there were soon pliers pulling on his tongue. He knew then where the last needle was to be aimed. The tough muscle didn't yield easily, but the men eventually go it through and then freed his tongue. The length of it forced Andy to twist his tongue so it didn't prod up his nostrils.
It wasn't as painful as he anticipated, but the complete violation of his body ate at his mind. He was going insane. His bladder released under the pressure, sending a stream of urine, pink with blood, through the grate.
“How are you holding up, Andy Boy?”
There was no reply.
“Ready for some pinata action, birthday boy?”
Andy stirred slightly and moaned as he heard the swish of a cane through the air. “Let's see how many swings it takes to bust you open,” Wall said. The word “open” came as a roar as he lunged forward and smashed the cane across Andy's shoulder blades. The skin split immediately and a stream of blood began to seep down. The strikes came hard and fast at first, all landing on his back before Wall took a breather and switched positions. A few men tightened a winch, stretching Andy's arms higher and giving more access to his chest and abdomen. After a few blows, the cane ripped on needle out of his left nipple, leaving both of them split and trickling blood. The abdomen then became the point of interest. Wall absolutely smashed the air out Andy with some blows, striking so deep that he could feel the cane meet the resistance of the truncheon embedded in Andy's hole. The hooks were slowly pulling down, and blood was trickling from an expanding rose of prolapsing tissue around the edge of it, and off the devilish dildo's handle.
When Wall had exhausted himself, he motioned for Andy to be released. It took several men to catch the bloodied birthday boy, rubbing their hands over his raw, tenderized muscles and dragging him to an inclined board at the center of the room. They flopped him against it and strapped his arms down firmly to it, then cuffed his ankles to cables, each attached to a winch. After Andy was in place, the blindfold and gag were removed, along with the needles in his tongue and nose, and he was fed another bottle of water and stimulants. He was fading, but he wasn't mortally wounded. There was still suffering to come and they needed him alert.
“Andy Boy, I need you to think now. I know it's already been a big day for you, and I know you have so much to be grateful for after being showered with gifts and playing all these games. I know you must feel so blessed, but there is still something you must want.”
Andy lifted his head as best he could and looked around him. He saw the men, smeared with his blood and sweat, kissing and fondling and fellating each other. But Wall was right there, giving him all his attention. Wall's body, cruel in its flawless muscularity, glowed with sweat beneath the light. Andy glanced down at his own body and for the first time the extent of his injuries became clear. He was disfigured. He would never be the same, and he knew it. His head dropped back and his eyes shut tight, praying for it all to be a horrible dream, one that had to end.
“Andy, it's time to make a wish. I know people usually do that, but we'll be putting the candles in the cake late and I need you to make a wish now.”
The winches attached to his legs began to tighten, spreading his legs wider. He became aware again of the awful weight of the dildo inside him, dragging itself downward with his intestines in tow.
“I know you were born in New Zealand, Andy Boy. You Kiwis don't have Thanksgiving like we do in America.” Wall stood back and flexed for the cameras. “Semper Fi. Ex-Marine here. You might have already guessed that from the accent and the tats.”
Andy hadn't noticed any tattoos. It didn't matter. He was hardly comprehending any of Wall's words at this point.
“We have this tradition with the wishbone, though, ya see, and you have to make a wish before it breaks.”
Andy didn't follow the words as Wall kept talking. It didn't matter what he was saying. It was clear enough from the growing strain in his legs that those winches weren't stopping any time soon. Connective tissue burned and muscles spasmed as his body was pulled downward and apart. His arms were immobile, but his shoulders also began to burn as his torso was pulled down between them. It became harder to breathe.
“So don't tell me your wish, but keep holding onto it while we see which side snaps first, okay? Got it, Andy?”
Andy just howled and bellowed as the winches kept turning. His whole body flexed and strained, seeking a way to find relief somewhere, struggle against the machine ripping him apart, but no relief would come.
His left knee popped first. The involuntary thrashing that followed ended with him snapping his own right ankle. Then he went still as the hips slowly came out of joint and his shoulders pressed up to his ears. His bladder released again, and the flow from the head was vividly redder and thicker.
The winches stopped. “We'll count that, Andy. I hope all your wishes come true now.”
Wall let Andy spasm and heave quietly for a few minutes while he made the preparations for the party's denouement.
“Ya know, Andy. Here, we've been giving you all these gifts, all this attention, but what have you given us, Andy Boy? I think it's customary for the birthday boy to give his guests some party favors for showing up and celebrating his big day.”
Wall got up close and sniffed around Andy's body, taking in the heady odor of blood, sweat, testosterone and fear. He whispered into Andy's ear, “We got eight fellas here who need something to remember this day.” Andy felt Wall grip his right hand tight and then flatten the fingers against the board. “This will take care of four.”
A cleaver at his side flashed up and then slammed down with pinpoint accuracy, crunching through bone and mangling Andy's left hand. Andy screeched and the cleaver went up and down and again leaving only the thumb attached to a crushed stump. Wall held up the four fingers in his palm still attached, to be divided later between the knuckles.
“And now for the other four.”
Andy was beyond reason, beyond comprehending at this point, but he instinctively knew to draw his right fingers into a fist, trying to protect them. Of course it made no difference to Wall. He smiled, aligned his blow, and then hacked into the exposed flesh of Andy's wrist. The hand went limp, and Andy just gasped and vomited a stream of blood and bile. It took three more blows to crack through the bone. The whole hand was pried away and a man immediately brought a torch to the wound, and then to the other hand. The aroma that Wall had savored a few moments before was overpowered by the stink of burning flesh. Andy passed out at last.
He didn't stay out. The amphetamines in his system made him easy to rouse with a few swats to his belly and face.
“Andy Boy,” Wall crooned, dragging his nails across the open wounds across his abdomen. “I really need a party favor, too.” His hand slid down and gripped Andy's still bloated cock. “Seeing as I gave you a package, I think maybe I should get a package, too. Whaddya think, baby?”
Andy felt the serrated edge of a knife dig lightly into the root of his cock, clicking against the metal cock ring. Andy squirmed lightly, mouthing “No.”
“Yea, baby. Can't wait. Gotta open that package right now.” The knife started to dig in, just scraping the flesh, “No” Andy said screwing his face up into a mask of agony, even before the real agony began. And then Wall began to saw through. Andy gasped and wailed.
“Nooooo.”
In a matter of seconds, it was over. His cock was held aloft before his eyes and he watched as the ring slowly slid off and clattered to the floor. The scrotum flopped down and one testicle was visible, nestled in the bloody skin. He almost passed out again, but instead the eyes just rolled deliriously in their sockets, between the red darkness beneath his lids and the galre of the lights overhead.
“Time for the candles, Andy. Time for you to go free. Up over the clouds, Andy. We're gonna launch you straight through the ceiling and over the clouds today, birthday boy.”
Wall set Andy's severed cock and the knife in a little tray offered to him by one of the men. He then leaned down and got a solid grip on the handle of the dildo still embedded in Andy's guts. Without preamble, he began to yank on it. Andy bellowed his most horrifying scream yet. One camera fixed on his face saw his eyes go completely white and red as his pupils rolled up into his skull, catching his every expression, the great climax of his party. The other camera focused on the inhuman birth occurring between his legs.
It took several rough tugs, but Wall finally dislodged the dildo, taking with it a blown out wad of soft tissue, still hooked to the beastly thing, a gory newborn of viscera. Andy's beautiful, bloodied, corrugated abs caved inward partially emptied of the contents they had carried for 22 years. Wall ripped the loose tissue and left a mangled, purple coil of intestine hanging from the crater between those still perfect glutes. It din't dangle for long, though. The men swarmed in, shoving a bundle of roman candles into the hole and strapping it in. Wall grabbed a single stick and leaned over Andy, stroking the dying youth's hair as he stuffed the rude rod into the hole where Andy's cock had been, ramming it until it was securely in place.
“Damn boys. I swear we loaded him up so good I can still here our seed sloshing around inside him. Let's hope these fuses don't get snuffed out in all that juice, eh, boys? Wouldn't that be a shame”
Wall held a silver lighter aloft, winking at the cameras and then looking at Andy, who gazed catatonic back at him. “Ready boys?” He lit the bound fuses of the bundle and the single fuse of the firework lodged in the youth's bloody groin.
“One...two...three...Happy birthday to yoooou,” the men all sang. “Happy birthday to yooooou.” The sparks of the fuse crept up. “Happy birthday dear Andyyyy!” The spark disappeared inside the torn hole and the men went quiet, wondering if it had been snuffed out.
And then there was a thud, and another and another in quick succession. Andy's body was thrashing madly, his stomach bloating oddly and his chest heaving. Wisps of smoke began to spill from his mouth and nose as they opened in a silent scream. Wall was still gripping the candle in Andy's groin, somewhat annoyed that it hadn't gone off. The fuse had died somewhere inside him...but then, the cinders of the other explosions ignited it again and he felt the first charge go off. He grinned wide and tightened his grip to make sure it stayed in place. His free hand lifted to conduct the chorus in the final line.
“Happy birthday toooooo yoooooouuuu!”
The voices died down and a few more thuds came from inside the destroyed body. Amazingly, they could see Andy was still alive, though just barely. Wall had hoped for this. The audiences watching this film later would want a coup de grace. Ordinarily, he would do it by hanging or winching the neck until the spine popped, but there wasn't time for that.
He leaned over the boy and close his mouth over to Andy's steaming, gawping lips. He felt the tongue fluttering inside. He chewed on the lips lightly. He tasted the sulfur of the smoke, the iron of the blood. His tongue roamed deep, savoring the flavor, like a good rare steak. When he leaned back up, he let go of the candle, leaving it dangling like a grotesque, cardboard cock beneath Andy's concave gut. Standing behind the boy, he hooked his arm over the board, across Andy's chest, feeling it pulse lightly as the boy stared into the light above.
“Happy birthday, Andy Boy.” With a firm grip that accentuated his bulging bicep and would show his USMC tats to the audiences at home, he brought the knife to Andy's neck, sank it deep, and slit the boy's throat wide open. More smoke poured out of the wound, along with the rich, black flow of blood. Andy twitched and gurgled, and then it was over.
Andy had been put to bed, but there was still cake to be served.
The men pulled out the roman candles, freed the ruined body, and flipped it over. The perfect ass was drenched with blood and other fluids, but still domed out enticingly. Wall fetched a different knife for the next task. First he sliced around the contours of the ass, freeing the edge of the skin and peeling it up so he could see where the muscle disappeared into the thigh. He started slicing along the fiber, detaching the glutes in large chunks and setting them in a bowl.
Once he was satisfied with the work, he began flaying the legs and removing the meat from them. There were pounds and pounds of flesh there, but these were set aside for other meals, special dinners in the coming days. Cake was the main course tonight. He looked at a camera. “We'll be taking a break to go start baking this here cake, and we'll show you a bit of that celebration later, but for now, I think it's time to put our birthday boy to bed.”
He stood up and moved closed to Andy, beckoning the cameramen closer. He gripped the blonde, sweat-soaked mop, lifted and twisted the neck so that the gaping face stared at the camera with unseeing eyes.
“What do you say to everyone watching at home, Andy?”
He brought a finger up and tucked it into Andy's mouth, tugging on it to mimic the speech of a ventriloquist dummy. Blood drooled from the lips with each tug.
“Thanks for being here, everyone,” Wall said in a light, boyish voice. “Best birthday ever!”
Wall turned to the camera and winked. “Why, thank you, Andy. Maybe I'm not such a bad party planner after all.” He let the head flop back down.
The camera stayed on Wall as he ducked off to the side and grabbed a white beret, which he then put on his head at a jaunty angle. His hands left red smears on its brim.
“Now...let's see what kind of chef I am.”
