As I turn my head, I see the other men moving in, unzipping their work clothes, cocks coming out, all sizes and shapes and colors. I lie there looking around at hungry men and feel the terror rising.
The boss turns away and leaves with the chilling words to the workers gathered around me, “The faggot is all yours for two hours. Consider this bonus pay for the week.” The men descend on me.
Two hours! Yes, for the next two hours, I am thrown into an unimaginable hell. My ass – they yell at me to spread my cheeks and show them my pink pussy – is constantly gripped and manhandled. Someone rams his hard cock into me, no prep, no loosening me up. I would scream but another shoves his cock in my mouth, actually strangling me with his hands, pummeling my throat from inside and out. My air is cut off. I am being spat on, my body is burning, spanked. slapped. Now I am beyond terrified.
I feel cum shooting in my ass – well, I know because he screams that he is cumming in my hot pussy. I hear laughter, but my eyes are shut. Then another and another. I am being assaulted in a frenzy of sweat and cum and fucking. I am dragged to the edge so that my head is facing backwards, upside down, making it so easy to force a cock down my throat, choking me as I swallow cum.
I am lifted in the air, gripped by two men, and pushed down on a hard cock. He is thick and deep in me. He commands me to move and, obedient as I have been trained to be, I gyrate my hips cowgirl style as I rise up and down.
“Look at the faggot go, what a pervert.” “She’s loving it. See how her pussy is sucking it in.” She? Pussy? I am sexually assaulted and they call me the pervert? The world is so fucked up.
I am pushed down from cowgirl onto the body of the guy who is fucking me, my mouth against his neck. It would be intimate if not for the violence and if I were gay and wanted to make love with a man. But of course this is the farthest thing from making love and certainly not with a guy. I feel someone jump hard on my back, flattening me, biting my neck, like a lion attacking its prey, going for the jugular. I cry out, wounded as he breaks the skin, and then my ass is being torn apart as I realize he is stabbing at my asshole with his hard dick. To my horror, I am being double penetrated. I scream as the guy forces his way in, but am silenced as my mouth is now stuffed with cock. I am being strangled, no breath. The pain is searing, the cum of so many men and I imagine my blood the only lubricants.
Are they crazy? Homosexuality is forbidden and these guys are rubbing their cocks against each other in my ass. Where are the police? Yes, I am sure that I am bleeding, the pain is tearing through me.
Two hours of sodomy by men so hungry for an orgasm that they are pushing each other aside to get their dicks into my mouth or my ass, smashing their hairy ass holes on my face demanding that I rim them clean with my tongue. To prove their masculinity and that I am not human, they punch and slap me, calling me a depraved queer, a disgusting faggot, a cumsucking bitch. It is as if the evilest instincts of man rain down on me. I am tossed around like a rag doll.
I stopped counting, cum and blood dripping out of me, my face plastered with sperm and spit and dirt, welts on my body blossoming from where I was hit and kicked. My balls ached from being squeezed and twisted. My nipples raw. Can you imagine, I am not even crying. I am dazed, catatonic, paralyzed by fear and pain. I am writhing naked like a captive animal in a cage filled with wild predator beasts.
And then, it is quiet enough to just hear the heavy breathing. I pray that this hell is over. They must be ashamed, seeing what they have done to another human being. But then, I am not seen as human.
It is not over.
I am on my back, surrounded, men panting, fire in their eyes. From each side, men pull back my legs and, one after another, without sounds other than moans and grunts of success, I am penetrated as if I am a ritual sacrifice that each man must perform. It is brutal, so much cum mixed with blood flowing out of me. Yes, it is so clear to me, I am the virgin sacrifice, like a sacramental gift to some primitive god. The bed is an altar. My legs are lowered and I lie splayed, my arms outstretched. I lift my neck as I await what will be the knife that will slit my throat as a final offering.
But that does not happen. Instead, with the seed of a dozen men inside my body, I am surrounded, and in eerie silence, they begin to urinate on me, flooding my face and mouth, eyes and ears, my shriveled cock, my bruised balls. It is an act of penitence. I am the lamb, beaten and bloody, and they the sinners who seek some demented blessing through my suffering; they must believe that they will receive a purifying absolution. The golden flow of urine on my body is the purification of their souls.
I am dying. Yes, I must be dying, finally. My soul is leaving me. I know it because my life flashes before me or, at least, these last months of suffering. I see and hear and feel all that has been done to me, my former father tasing me as I writhe on the floor, my evil brother and his friends humiliating me as their cocks punch down my throat, my silent mother abandoning me. Day after day, week after week, men after men making me do things that are beyond human comprehension. A town that turns on its sons with a hatred so deep that it knows no pity, no compassion. I am fading. I am floating in a sea of calm as I feel myself giving up my soul.
It does not happen.
I am dragged back into life when I hear the boss yell “Enough” and suddenly, as I open my eyes, the men are gone. There is silence. I do not, cannot, move. He drags me outside on the gravel of the construction site, pebbles cutting into me. And then the water jet hits me, freezing cold water from the hose, spraying me down, washing away the cum and spit, the blood and urine. Nothing gentle about this. I am hosed like an animal in the zoo, like a penned hog before slaughter. I have been brutally brought back to life.
“Get dressed faggot and get your ugly ass out of here.” He throws me a towel and my clothes and somehow, I painfully dry off and somehow pull on my black tee shirt with the pink triangle and my black biker shorts. The stupid pink bowtie is stained and wet. I slowly stand, barely, and, barefoot, numbly stumble toward the exit. I see the workers who assaulted me avert their eyes as they see me staggering. Now they feel guilt. Now.
I get to the front of the building where my former father awaits me. I see by his look that he is shocked. “What have you done to my servant? What did you have him do? He is a mess” he calls out to the boss. The boss shrugs and tells my former father that construction is hard work. And then he walks away.
I crawl into the backseat. My father, the man who has brought me so much suffering, has a shocked look on his face. He starts to drive and gently asks if I am thirsty. He has not spoken to me in such a voice for almost four months. He hands me his water bottle and tells me to drink. That is his sole act of charity. He drives me to the next job.