A gay story: Onus 02 *This is one of my darker stories. On the level of ‘The Bottom Tier’, or possibly a notch lower.
You have been exhaustively warned at this point. So if you don’t like it, take a hike. I’m a little sick of making excuses for myself at this point.
If you are a fan, then thank you, for staying with me. Thank you for reading my stories, and thank you for heeding my warnings.
All Characters are 18+*
The man was completely ordinary.
A bit shorter than average, with a bit of a pot belly. He had a receding brown hairline and an ordinary face. He was about forty. Even shorter than average, he was half a head taller than me.
This completely ordinary man was staring at me with a thoughtful expression. I looked down at the ground between my feet. The heater had been turned off. I was cold.
“I don’t know how you do it, Rudy.” He said. I heard his shoes clicking on the floor, and I took a tiny step back. My heel bumped into the wall. I was as far back as I could go. I felt his hand clenching my jaw, turning my face back and forth. I kept my eyes fixed on the ground. Waiting for the touch to go away.
“Training. You just gotta get them into the right mindset. It’s not hard, with the right tools. They train easier than horses.”
He let go of my chin, and I let my head droop back until my chin was touching my chest. I was grateful for the withdrawn touch. Until I saw his hand coming, and I only had half a second to tense up.
I let out a pained whimper when he cradled my balls and penis in one hand, squeezing and fondling, like he was feeling a plum for bruises. I buried my face in my arm, moaning until he stopped.
“First male I’ve ever seen that still has his junk. He’s real trained, wont complain or talk, unless you ask… look at his patches, not too many or too few and–”
“You don’t have to sell me, Rudy.”
They bickered. I stood, and dragged my left foot in little circles on the concrete. I was so bored, so scared. I didn’t know that it was possible to feel both of those at the same time, but I did.
I was sold to the completely ordinary man for thirty thousand dollars.
Nelson was the one who manhandled me down from where I was chained. I did whatever he wanted. I was too tired, and too badly cowed. I walked behind the completely ordinary man with my hands cupped over my crotch, and with Nelson’s hand on my shoulder.
I cringed when they opened the barn door. The draft hit me like a solid wall. My nipples peaked, my skin rashed into goosebumps. My sensory patches stung, my eyes watered. I took two small steps back, before Nelson just picked me up.
He carried me outside. My body curled up tight in his meaty arms. I was letting out frantic mews of hurt and cold. I was barely aware of my surroundings.
Suddenly I was dropped into a nest of warmth, and closed off.
I shivered piteously for a few minutes before my muscles could unclench enough for me to look around. It was pitch black, but I could tell that I was in the trunk of a small car. The trunk was padded with pillows and blankets. I could feel a fat rubber pouch filled with hot water. It was warm. I hugged it to my chest, and then put it by my feet.
I bundled myself in blankets, making a cocoon. I could feel warm air coming through the thick wall separating the trunk from the backseat of the car. I felt as the car started to move.
The motion was soothing. I was covered in warmth, wrapped in real soft blankets. It felt so good. Maybe things would be better with him. At the same time, I felt motion sickness starting to set in.
It was going to be a long ride.
—
When the trunk opened, I leaned out and finally released the buildup of nausea. I had desperately tried not to vomit inside the enclosed space. Afraid of the discomfort it would bring, but even more afraid of the punishment. I leaned out of the car, dimly aware that I didn’t feel the harsh outside air on my skin. I leaned out and a gush of acidic mush leaked between my lips. I heard a disgusted grunt, but I was too sick to take notice.
I felt a hand on the back of my neck. Cold from the outside air. Holding my head still as I puked. It wasn’t a comforting hold, he wasn’t holding me up or trying to get my hair out of my face. Just holding me still.
I finished up. I spat a few times, and breathed raggedly. I looked down at the shallow brown puddle on the slick concrete floor of what was some kind of garage. The air was cold, but it didn’t have the deadly edge of the outside air. I couldn’t look to either side, because my hair was in the way and he was keeping me still.
“You finished? You want to yark up some more?”
I weakly shook my head.
“Okay then.”
He dragged me out of the car. I tried to grab the blankets, but they slipped out of my fingers.
I cried out and stars rocketed in front of my eyes. Somebody had hit me on the side of the head. I felt dizzy, and I felt the pain radiating out from the spot in a big throb.
“Walk straight ahead of you. Through that door, no funny business.”
We were in a garage. A single car, dusted with melting snow, the other side was filled with some junk. A lawn mower. A pair of skis, and boots. A ladder, an array of power tools. A coiled hose. Ordinary things. Even having lived an abnormal life, I was able to recognize how ordinary everything was.
I put my hand on the doorknob, and it slid open. We were in a kitchen. A perfectly ordinary kitchen. I was naked, but the windows were all covered by metal shutters from the outside.
It was warm.
I flinched as he put his hand on my shoulder, firmly leading me to a door straight ahead of me. “Open the door.” He commanded. I did.
Stairs. Long and down and narrow.
I went down, clutching the rail. The stairs were so steep. I felt like I was being swallowed by the earth. I felt small, and numb.
At the bottom of the steps, a tiny basement, clean, stacked with some old belongings. Boxes of books and old toys and clothes.
“Move that wall.”
I turned back to look at him. Not sure what he was talking about. I flinched as I saw his hand moving towards me, but I wasn’t able to do much to avoid him. I cried out at the vicious blow. I hunched over, touching the burning side of my face. He had a ring on his hand. I could feel the blood from the cut in my cheek.
“That!”
He pointed to a tall square of plywood leaning against the wall. It was behind a few boxes.
I went over, holding my fingers over the stinging cut, tasting my blood with the patches on my fingers. I shoved the plywood section over to the side.
Behind it, another door. This one was thick and squat, made of metal, with a number pad on the side, and a thick bolt running to either side. Like a prison door, or a safe.
He punched something on the number pad, with his hand on the back of my neck.
I flinched, whimpering under my breath, as the bolt made a loud sound, the metal bars going back into the bolt on the door. He pushed the door open and dragged me with him.
I saw a lattice of bars against the wall. He dragged me. I saw that he had put a cage within a cage. Inside this soundproof, code-locked room he had put up a wall of bars to lock me behind.
He shoved me in, and I fell to my knees on something soft. I heard him close the door, and lock it. I looked back, and he was looking back down at me.
“I have somewhere I need to be. I expect you to be ready for me.”
He pushed a painted wooden box under the bars.
Then he left.
—
When the iron bolt clicked back, I breathed a weak sigh of relief. I was alone.
He kept the light on. This chamber was lit by a single dim bulb. The room was split in half by the cage wall. It had a single door, locked. The lock was on an S-shaped hook near the door to the basement.
I was in a cage, in a cell, in a locked basement, in a locked house. Like russian nesting dolls.
I was resting on a big mattress, bare and silky. I looked around my side of the room. It was maybe a little bigger than the horse stall, over half of it was taken up by the mattress. The tiles on the floor were made of cork. They felt firm, but slightly spongey to the touch.
No blankets. Nothing to cover myself with. It was very warm in the room, but that was little comfort.
In the far corner, I had a five-gallon industrial plastic bucket. He had put a wooden board with a hole sawed in the middle over the top.
I had a sink. A small white porcelain sink with the H handle broken off. I stood up and went to it, cupping my hand under the trickle of cold water to bring it to my mouth. I splashed my face, and looked up.
I nearly fell backwards in surprise to see another face. Then I realized that it was my face. That I had a mirror, for the first time since I had lived with my mama.
I touched my cheek. I had a bright red streak, where he had cut me with his ring, and the skin around it was reddened.
My face was clean, and my hair was soft and clean, but something had changed. I was thinner. My cheekbones stuck out. My eyes looked dull.
The face in the mirror had seen, and suffered, a lot more than the happy, safe boy that had lived with my mama.
I looked to the other side of the room. I saw two large cardboard boxes, and a soft white carpet. The walls were bare and white. The floor under the carpet was more corkboard. The ceiling was covered with what looked like plates of styrofoam.
There was a vent on the other side of the room, next to the door.
I glanced down at the floor, at the wooden box.
The box was of light wood, painted with flowers. It was wide, but shallow. Able to fit through the four-inch gap between the bars and the floor. It had a small brass clasp on the side.
I sat down on the mattress, and took the box into my lap. I pulled the items out one by one, feeling sicker and sicker with each one.
A small disposable razor made of blue plastic, with a single blade.
A tiny aerosol can of shaving foam.
A tube of bright red lipstick.
Mascara, and eyeliner.
A piece of silky pale fabric.
I picked up the fabric with a shocked kind of gratitude, but when it unfolded, it was a short silky slip, with lacy straps to go over my shoulders.
I kicked the box away from me, an indignant sound on my lips. I wouldn’t doll myself up for him. I wouldn’t humiliate myself.
I looked at the scattered makeup tubes and cloth. I didn’t cry, but I wanted to. I felt so miserable and scared. I just wanted things to go back to the way they were. I wanted to be at home, with mama. Or even back on the street.
My limbs felt so heavy, when I got up to pick up all of the scattered things.
The lipstick was ugly and smeary. Even when I finally got it right, it made my lips look like a bloody gash against my pale skin. I drew black circles around my black eyes and blackened my pale eyelashes. It made my eyes look even bigger, soulless.
I shaved. I only had a few long hairs under my chin.
Putting on the slip was the hardest part. I had gone so long, wanting clothes, but now that I had this insubstantial twist of cloth, it made me physically sick to feel it against my skin.
It was pale pink, and see-through. When I looked in the mirror, I saw myself. A fetishized doll of an Onus. Rouged and feminized.
I curled up on the mattress, facing the door, so he wouldn’t be able to see my ass. The slip rode up, so when I curled up, I could feel the gentle draft from the vent on my coveted balls.
—
The clank from the bolt made me stir. The voices dragged me awake.
Voices.
I started awake.
The perfectly ordinary man had brought a man back with him. He had ragged brown hair down to his shoulders, and a beard. He had a leather case by the handle.
“Can’t believe you found an intact Onus. Their skin is so much softer than humans, they have very little body hair. Very fun and easy to work with. These will get infected for a while, so I have the antiseptic for you in here.”
I cringed against the wall.
“We discussed your payment. I have to give him an enema, and I want to take him first, but what would you like to do?”
The new man glanced at me. “Give him a quick washing-out when you’re done. I have some toys I’d like to try out, if you don’t mind.”
“Course not. You’re doing me a great service.”
—
I dangled from the ropes that tied me to the ceiling. My toes barely scraped the floor. They had shoved the silk slip above my hips, and he had filled the bag again.
I shook my head back and forth. My face was wet with tears. My eyes were so sore that I could barely see. I spoke my first words in weeks.
“No…” I begged. “No!” Out of my mouth the sound was an animal moan, weak and inarticulate.
“Your own damn fault.” He grunted. “I told you to get ready for us, and you didn’t shave like you were supposed to. We had to take time to do that ourselves. Now you need to get nice and clean.”
I let out a little shriek with the last word as he shoved the narrow rubber plug of the enema tube up my ass. The rubber bulge was small, and it didn’t encounter much resistance because my anus had been softened with three bags already.
“Clench on it, or my friend will burn you again.”
I let out a weak sob. I had a small cigarette burn between my nipples. The pain was enormous.
I clenched tight on the enema tube. I groaned as he squeezed the bag, filling me with saline water.
His ‘friend’ replaced the tray between my legs.
As the man who had bought me forced water into my ass, I saw his friend go to his leather case. He started unpacking needles. Large curved needles, small straight needles, and rings of various sizes.
He yanked the rubber cord from me. A spurt of water splashed into the pan, and I could feel the cold rivulets running down my legs. I wept with the pain of trying to keep the water in. I wept with fear from the needles.
I keened as the muscles of my sphincter softened and the rest of the water rushed out of me. It was a terrible, cold painful feeling. My entire lower body ached. The muscles inside felt like they were being torn apart.
I whimpered as his friend came at me with the needles. Whimpered because I was too weak to scream.
—
LATER
—
For a while, I tried to make him happy.
It had just hurt so much. He had hurt me so much. I figured, that if he was happy, he might treat me better. He might give me a blanket. A book. Maybe he would let me walk up the stairs and see out the window, if I asked.
So I tried. I tried to make him happy.
I tried to smile at him when he came through the door. I spread my legs for him, instead of clasping them together. I even tried to kiss his cold bearded mouth.
He got angry at me, and he burned me.
After that I stopped. I gave up.
—
For a while, I had tried to mark the days by counting my meals. On days that he remembered, he brought me down a plate with everything he didn’t eat from his meals. I got to two hundred and thirty before giving up, and losing count.
—
I forgot to wash for a few days. I… I was lost, and it hurt to stand. Even for a few minutes, standing by the sink. Sudsing the liquid soap in my hair and washing it off in the warm water.
Whenever I tried to think, the thoughts would slip away.
He punished me by forcing me to drink the liquid dish soap. For two days I was puking and shitting. My insides writhed and hurt. I cried weakly as I sat on the board with the hole in the middle, shitting out my insides. Burning.
When I was finally done, he called his friend over and gave me new piercings, to celebrate.
—
He stopped coming every day.
—
He stopped feeding me every day.
—
LATER STILL
—
I could hear the door.
I wasn’t sure if it was just my imagination or not.
Just in case, I slowly got onto my knees. I could feel the dull burning in my genitals. The pain in my lower back. The slow dull burn at the pit of my empty stomach.
I clung to the bars. I looked at the key. Across the room. Hanging from the S-hook.
The door opened.
I cringed back automatically. A pitiful strangled whine came from the back of my throat. A happy sound, choked with fear. I was so hungry.
He had a camera. And the box.
He grimaced slightly at me. He had not had sex with me for… for… for a long time. He was bored with me. I was gaunt and afraid of him. His friend had been over a few times. I looked forward to it. His friend made sure that he fed me. His friend always used lube.
He shoved the box under the bars and I crawled forward. Whining softly. He didn’t have any food. I felt like I was dying.
“Put the skirt on, stand up, and look sexy.”
It wasn’t a lacy nightie, like he liked. It was a short pleated skirt. I put it on, zipping it up the side. I stood. It hurt. It hurt my feet and it hurt between my legs to stand. I wobbled.
“Quit screwing up your face like that, make a kissy face, lick your fingers, pull up the skirt with one hand, something!” He was brandishing the camera. The anger in his voice made me cringe.
I put two of my fingers in my mouth and lifted up the pleated skirt to show the piercings. He snapped a bunch of pictures. I felt tears going down my face. My eyes leaked all day, but now they were pouring. I made a pleading noise. I touched my stomach.
“Good, good. Keep those eyes. Get down on all fours, and show your asshole.”
I fell on my knees with a painful crack. I turned around and hiked up the pleated skirt. I spread my thin cheeks and heard him snapping pictures. I rested my cheek on the soft filthy mattress. I could see a bloodstain. I tried to remember when it had happened.
Had it been from the night with the ribbed dildo?
Or from when he whipped the bottoms of my feet?
Had it happened after the newest piercing? The one in my navel? That one had bled a little.
He put the camera down. I heard the key in the lock. I tried to stay still, but I was moaning. I couldn’t help it, or stop it. I moaned as he got closer.
I closed my eyes, but I could still see the light getting blocked out. With the sensory patches on my back and sides, I could sense his body blocking the light.
“One last fuck.” He grunted, getting down on his knees, and twisting my arms up.
—
When he was done, he gave me some food. Fish bones and asparagus. It was hard to chew. I was crying, so the food kept falling out of my mouth. After he took it away, I crawled to the sink and used some water to rinse the blood from between my legs.
—
The door opened while I was sleeping. The noise jolted me awake. I cringed in the corner, making sleepy whimpering noises. I was shaking so hard that I could barely see.
“Shush-shush, honey, it’s me.”
It was his friend. The one with the long hair and the needles. I crawled to the bars, making soft happy noises. Near the bars I had to start dragging my legs. It hurt too badly to crawl, to move my legs. It jolted the hot painful skin of my genitals. Always burning. I tried not to look, at them, not to touch.
“I haven’t seen you in a while, honey, spread those legs for me.”
I did. I whimpered with the pain of turning onto my back, and spreading them. I felt the metal in the hot tight skin. My skin was swollen. My skin was torn.
“Oh… That’s not good. That’s not good at all.”
He came in and I cringed, closing my eyes. I couldn’t help it. The sound of the cage door opening, the metallic squeak of the hinges, it made me shudder.
His fingers were down there, gently moving aside my limp penis. Resting it on my stomach. His fingers were cold. It felt good. Felt good on my badly swollen testes. On my chafed anus. Even though his fingers felt good, I was crying. Crying because I knew it would hurt soon.
He touched one of the piercings. The older one. The oldest one. The very first set of rings that he had given me. Two small silver rings in my perineum. They didn’t hurt anymore. My body had accepted them. Back then, the ordinary man had carefully cleaned them every day, and given me ointment.
He touched the navel piercing, a tiny silver heart dangling from a chain from my navel. I moaned. He touched the dydoe piercings on my penis, I fell back in a near swoon. He left the piercings alone, frowning, while I wept in a crumpled little heap on my back.
I suddenly felt the bitterly stinging cold of a wet wipe. He was gently wiping my piercings with a disinfectant cloth. Being as careful as he could with my swollen infected piercings. It still hurt. I bit down on my wrist to muffle a weak scream.
“This is going to be the last time I see you, honey. My friend is gonna sell you off. I’d love to buy you, but I can’t keep you. Not with the wife around.”
He touched the side of my face. His hand was cool against my feverish skin. I nuzzled into it. He had inflicted the horrible pain and misery of my swollen genitals. But he was so gentle with me. So gentle where his friend was so cruel.
Who would want me? Who would want to buy me after those pictures he had taken of me. A hollow-eyed fetish of an Onus, cringing behind cage bars. He hadn’t tried to hide the abuse. He had taken pictures of me, bruises and infected piercings and jutting ribs and all.
The only people who would want me would be people just as cruel. Or worse.
My eyes always seeped tears. Even when I slept. But now I made soft choking sounds in the back of my throat.
“No…” I whimpered. The only word I could ever bring myself to say.
He finished wiping. The wipe was pink and yellow. It had started out as white.
“I’m going to give you these wipes when you leave. That way, you can keep those clean. You don’t want to get sick.”
He put the wipes on my mattress. He touched my face. I kissed his hand. I nuzzled into it. He was the closest thing to a friend that I had ever had.
“Get on your stomach. I’ll go nice and slow.”
I crawled onto the soft mattress. I carefully rested my body onto the mattress, so I wouldn’t pull on the tiny barbels in my nipples, or the chain in my navel, or any of the horrible piercings on my testes. The two dydoes were the only piercings in my penis. I whimpered when one of them tugged slightly on the fabric.
I spread my legs for him, rested the side of my face on the soft mattress so I could look back up at him with one glassy eye. He was taking off his shirt. His body was soft and sagging and covered in hair. He had nipple piercings himself.
He got up and pulled down his pants. His cock was erect, a bright pink point, swaying as he stepped out of his jeans. He had a thick prince albert ring. I cringed a little.
He spread the lube thick on his pierced cock.
Then he knelt over me, blocking the light from my sensory patches. He went in slow. I moaned through my nose.
“That’s it… There we go…” He panted.
He fucked me. His ring hurt. It hurt my battered insides. The ordinary man had always been careful to stop short of tearing me wide open. He was afraid of injuring me too badly. There were no doctors that would treat me.
I moved my face, and pressed it into the mattress. It was soft. And it muffled everything out. It was hard to breathe. I focused on pressing harder, cutting off my air.
When I couldn’t breathe, it hurt less. I felt things getting fuzzy and warm.
When he was finished, he took a paper towel from his pocket and got it wet. He wiped my loose sloppy asshole.
Gently.
—
I was in the cage for a while longer. When the ordinary man came down with a trench-coat and handcuffs, I thought that it was another game. I had forgotten about the pictures.
Then he forced me to put on the trench-coat. It was warm and silky and secondhand. It fell nearly to my ankles, it had been made for a much larger man. He buttoned it in the front for me. I was leaning against the wall. My legs felt weak. My feet hurt.
He was so close to me. I was crying silently. He got angry at me when I was too loud. I was shaking while he touched me. He wasn’t hurting me. That just made me so afraid and sick. I kept expecting every movement of his big ringed hands to lash out at me. To turn from a careless touch to a vicious hold. I cried silently because I was terrified.
“Come on, Onus. New home.”
‘You’re going to a new home, beastie.’ The words were different, but the meaning was the same. I was being moved on.
He put his hand on my shoulder. He led me out of the cage. He only ever dragged me out of the cage to tie me to the ceiling. But he led me to the door. The big steel door.
He opened it, and pushed me out in front of him.
The stairs made me dizzy, looking up their long length, and then beyond. Looking up into this brightly lit kitchen. So far away. I hadn’t looked that far in so long. I whined with fear.
“Up, you numb cunt.” He twisted the handcuffs. The metal bit into my wrists and I yelped, going to the steps.
It was so hard. I fell on my bruised knees twice. I hobbled up the stairs, whimpering with the pain from between my legs. From my feet.
The house seemed so big, so huge. I strained for a glimpse out of a window. It was cold. I had not been cold in so long. He was pushing me along, fast, faster.
Shoved into the garage, and snow was caked on the tires of a car. Not the car that I had come here in. That car had been red. This car was black.
I moaned when my feet touched the cold concrete floor. I moaned again when he opened the trunk and shoved me in. I was shaking from the pain between my legs. I had the flat package of wipes in my pocket. I was surrounded by softness. The blankets, and a hot water bottle. I felt deja vu in a wave.
The car started up. The thrum was soothing. I curled up around the hot water bottle. I reached between my legs, to see if my movement had made anything tear.
—
We drove for so long. The hot water bottle lost it’s heat, but the trunk of the car was warm near the body of the car.
I rested my head on the spare tire.
I touched my tongue to the tire, tasting it. Tasting the cheap rubber and chemicals. I tasted my own skin.
I hadn’t dared to taste a human being since my own mother, but it had been unavoidable when they wanted me to suck their cocks. The ordinary man didn’t trust me without a ring gag. His friend had me suck his cock often.
Sucking a cock was soothing, compared to what else they had me do.
The car made a sharp turn. We had been making smooth turns, or going completely straight for so long. A sharp turn meant that we were nearly there.
Tears burned my eyes. I had no hope. Not a scrap of it. I was incapable of hope.
The car ground to a halt on a gravel road. I closed my eyes tight. I pleaded for it to just be a stop sign, or that he was waiting for a car. I didn’t want this to be the end.
I was so afraid.
The car turned off, and I wiped at my eyes. I weakly moved, sat up. I didn’t want him to drag me out. I didn’t want to fall in the snow.
The trunk opened and every rational thought fled. It was so cold. Like a worm recoiling from a finger, or a snail from salt, I curled up tight in the tiny pocket of warm air in the back of the trunk, crying from how brutal the cold felt on my skin. I had been warm for so long.
He reached in and grabbed me by my hair. I fell on the snow, and scrambled to my knees, weeping. The snow burned like acid. Like fire.
I opened my eyes and saw a massive house. I could make out a room made of glass, a wide bay window, a corner of the building that was rounded like a tower. A roof that wasn’t a gentle slope, but two large spires, one of the tower, and one of the rest off the house.
Icicles hung from the roof in a toothed fringe.
I closed my eyes and dragged my feet through the snow. It burned so bad that the skin of my feet had to be burning, had to be peeling off. The sensory patches at the top of my feet were raw with blinding pain.
I stepped up onto the concrete porch. He rung the doorbell. We were sheltered from the snow, and a little of the wind. My raw feet rested on a rough mat. I whimpered from the cold and tried to huddle tighter in the trench coat over my naked body.
My eyes were shut tight. It hurt to open them. The cold air stung them.
Through my lids, I could see the light as the door opened. I opened my eyes, and saw a man with only half of a face.
I took an unsteady step backwards, forgetting the step. I felt the sickening feeling of falling.
And a tremendous sensation of pain.
“This was a little late because I had no wifi over memorial day weekend. Apologies.
I recently got a new internship which is a massive time-and-energy sink, so I will be doing my best to write, but the third installment of Onus may take some time.
I will do my best to write in the evenings and on breaks.
I’ve been kind of touchy about this story, and I want to apologize for my behavior. But I will not apologize for the story.
Kisses and Spanks,
–Cruel*