A Chance Encounter

He reached in the pocket of his bathrobe and pulled out a glass vial with a plastic screw cap. He opened it, held it under my left nostril, pinched the other nostril shut, and said, "Inhale... deeply."

I complied. He repeated. Over and over. Then the right nostril.

I began to feel a little lightheaded. He handed the vial, and a second one, to Ashley, who was now standing behind the sofa, chin resting on a clenched fist, elbows resting on the back of the sofa. She smiled at me. A warm, engaging smile. She really is beautiful, I thought, incredibly so. She reached out a hand - a perfectly sculpted Goddess hand, with neatly polished gloss pink nails - and tousled my hair a bit.

HEART OF THE MATTER

Ashley leaned forward and told me to close my eyes. I complied. She put a hand on each of my shoulders. Those hands that I so longed to hold, and kiss, and feel, cool and smooth, against my warm cheek, stroking it tenderly. She whispered something in my ear, something that echoed, still echoes, deep inside my head.

"And this wittle piggy went 'wee, wee, wee' all the way to fag-ville..."

...and then, "Population: youuuu."

She cooed this even more gently, purring the last word as she licked the tip of my hearkening ear with a deliciously feline tongue.

A seed of debauchery was planted from which I would not escape, from which there was no escape. A seed that had been seeking fertile ground, and had so readily found such in my timid, frightened mind and eager, if somewhat wan, corpus.

She bent down slightly, spread her legs, bent her knees, thrust her buttocks out behind her, and pushed down on my shoulders. At the same moment, I felt Deke's hands clasp behind my lower back, squeezing, forcing me onto that fully engorged and perfectly erect pole. The glans transgressed my anal sphincter as a bolt of lightning burst inside my skull, splitting my mind and body with white light.

I opened my eyes. The smile never left her face. Ashley still stood there, pushing down on my shoulders with all her might, learned in the physics of forced faggot lovemaking.

My eyes widened. I let out an involuntary, guttural howl of pain and anguish. Followed by another.

Regardless, they each held their positions and managed to force much of that meaty shaft through my rectum and up into my anal canal.

I couldn't breathe. Contemplated never breathing again. I suddenly understood why death by impaling was such a sinister endeavor. Looking at Ashley's smiling face, I felt a slight, strange tinge of vicarious satisfaction. I wondered: Is hers the same visceral pleasure that bestial old Romanian himself, Vlad, felt upon witnessing his victim writhe and wriggle prior to succumbing on his sharp pole?

I gasped for breath. Attempting speech: "Please..." "Stop..." "Please..."

To no avail. The downward force vector reduced momentarily for Ashley to provide more amyl nitrite, considerably more, which I inhaled eagerly and gratefully.

Then, it was back to the grind. I cried out: "Oh, fuck!" "Motherfucker!" Along with the more primitive, but equally expressive, "Aaaaaaaahhhhh!"

This must have bothered Deke because he put a hand over my mouth and whispered in my ear.

"Shhhhhhhhhhhhh..." And, in a deep, hoarse whisper, "Keep quiet, bitch."

More poppers were offered. The room, its inhabitants and furniture, all spinning. Not all in the same direction.

The pain softened, never ceasing, but somehow becoming bearable. Ashley moved from her position, as I was now bouncing up and down on that Wallachian spike by my own impetus. Something deep within me was compelling me to do so. As I did, I continued to moan, but the pitch of my voice rose - naturally, unconsciously. It sounded so strange to me. But it was mine - my voice - becoming effeminate and seductive, as cries of pain gave way to soft, gentle moans of pleasure.

After some time, Deke must have tired of this position. He lifted my frame off of his moist, fibrous member and tossed me back down next to him on the sofa. Cuffed as I was, my chest landed with a "thud" against the back of the sofa, knocking the wind out of me for a few seconds. Deke stood up and was now directly behind me, one hand pushing down on the small of my back, while his other hand pushed at the rear of my thigh, forcing me into a position of full estrus and offering him complete access to my exposed rectal region.

He thrust his huge dick back into my hole, causing me to lurch forward, arch my back, moan loudly, and move my knees one after the other as if crawling away from the pain. Though, in fact, I was squeezed so tightly into the folds of that sofa there was nowhere for me to go.

Deke realized this and found it amusing. He spanked my ass and commented, "Where you goin', faggot? You got somewhere else to be?"

I could faintly hear Ashley's amused laughter at his mockery of me, but it was distant, as from another room.

A DEEP AND TROUBLING PAIN

Deke plowed into me, plunging deeper and deeper, slowly at first, and then with a quickening pace. With each thrust his scrotal sac slapped into my much smaller sac. My testes had retreated far into my loins, fighting for space there with my retracted urethra, which had curled up there like a frightened reptile.

As his thrusts became faster and deeper, I felt something in the recesses of my abdomen, a slowly building, uncomfortable sensation. Someone who had survived a burst appendix and emergency surgery once told me the feeling was like water suddenly trickling deep inside the body, followed by cold, and then intense heat. This was something like that, and I wondered if serious internal damage was being inflicted.

I let out a long moan, muffled by the cushion against which my face and mouth were squeezed. A strong, rough hand around my neck raised up my head and propped my chin on the back of the sofa. Poppers were offered. A towel laden with that same sweet smelling chemical was pushed in my face. I inhaled deeply, and again, and found some relief.

A hand holding a cell phone was thrust in front of my face. An attractive hand. A delicate female hand. I was being filmed for posterity, torment, humiliation, blackmail. All I could do in the moment was bite my lip. My eyes rolled back in my head. My eyebrows lowered into an expression of intense concentration.

A particularly deep thrust enveloped me. Deke's strong arms pushed down on my back while his torso drove into me, curling me further into a moaning ball of flesh. A deep, painful intrusion. Another. A final push, this one extended in time and accompanied by a man's mournful, spending howl.

Then, it was over. Deke stood up, slapped my ass once, and called out cheerfully, "Spanks a lot, bitch," followed by a hearty laugh.

My only response was to flatulate loudly, repeatedly, involuntarily.

Ashley smiled and sang out, "You queef like a pro, little sister."

Deke reached a hand around my shoulder, turned me around, and rolled me onto the floor in front of him. My anus continued to produce short burping spurts of sound, like a duck hurrying to cross a street in front of an oncoming car. My legs were twitching. I suddenly felt ashamed and alone. There was laughter in the room as I struggled to sit up on my knees, unsuccessfully at first, rocking back and forth on the carpet in a fetal position.

Deke ordered: "Clean off this cock, faggot."

I rolled myself into a kneeling position in front of him. I licked and sucked the remnants of my experience from his still erect penis. Bits of fecal matter, viscous mucosal slough, blood - which I conjectured by the color and texture was the result of dermal abrasion and not, as I had feared, from any tear or rupture of the intestinal membrane. Nevertheless, I thought, I won't be eating sesame seeds any time soon, followed by a soft, consoling chuckle from my deeply wounded internal monologue.

Deke pushed my head back away, picked up my underpants from the floor, and wiped the rest of that mess onto them. He then turned the shorts inside out and draped them over my head, so that the sticky, spunk-filled slop clung there to my face and nose. More laughter in the room.

"And you better not drip any of that faggot goo onto this carpet, or the cleaning bill's coming out of your faggot ass, bitch!"

A timely admonition. I could feel liquid beginning to pool at the interior surface of my anal sphincter. I sensed that it was only moments until it would burst forth from that now wounded, and soon to be gaping, fleshy ring.

Ashley looked at Deke and said, "Now, you see, that little dysphemism right there, that's a perfect example of irony", raising the pitch of her voice to accentuate the word "irony".

Deke's blank stare reflected a distinct lack of cognition regarding the ingenuity of what she had just said. Ashley turned away from Deke to look at me, and repeated the word "irony", but now in a more serious, hushed tone. I chuckled meekly - to acknowledge her clever wordplay, and to avoid further incurring Deke's wrath.

Successful in the former, less so in the latter, Deke reached out and grabbed me by the limp wrist to pull me up, only to let go in mid-lift so that I fell backward and hard, hitting the back of my head on the wooden frame to the arm of the sofa. I slid down the side of the sofa, and rolled over in a crumpled heap, momentarily dazed.

"What a fucking useless piece of shit," Deke spat at me as he walked past where I lay. He paused briefly for one final insult, a swift kick to the back of my thigh - hard - before continuing up the stairs to the landing, turning left and heading toward the master bedroom. Moments later, I heard the sound of a shower stall opening, then closing, and water sprinkling.

LAST EXIT TO GLORY

Ashley casually walked over to me and freed me from the handcuffs that had bound me for so long. I thanked her. She just looked down at me with a disgusted smirk on her face, as if I emanated some foul, lingering odor.

She spoke to me, issuing directions mechanically, efficiently...

"Get up, faggot."

"Cover your ass with your hand, faggot."

"Don't drip any faggot goo on the carpet, faggot."

"Go clean your mouth and your faggot ass in the bathroom to the right, faggot."

"And... When you're done with that, there's an adult diaper on the counter for you in there. You see, I think ahead. You're gonna need it. You won't be able to hold in shit for the next few days. I'm not being facetious, or 'feces-tious'. I'm totally fucking serious. You're gonna be like a fucking goose. Get used to waddling, bitch!"

And so, I inadvertently did just that. I walked up the stairs, and to the right, and into the bathroom, in a pained, waddling fashion - outstretched hands under my leaking faghole - one from the front, one in the rear. For once, my limp wrists came in handy, forming perfect cups to catch the ooze that proceeded from my inflamed rectum.

I cleaned up as best I could, put on the diaper as instructed, used some mouthwash in the cabinet to rinse, splashed some water on my face, and turned to reach for a towel.

Ashley knocked on the door and shouted, "And don't use any of the good towels, pig! Use the fucking paper towels under the sink. That's all pigs get to use here!"

I complied, once again.

When I opened the bathroom door, she was standing just outside, arms folded, hips tilted, tapping a sandal bearing a shapely, dainty, perfectly pedicured foot on the floor, impatiently.

"Go back in and rinse your mouth again. You don't want to go home with shit on your breath, do you, pig?"

"No, Ma'am," I said, and turned and re-rinsed my mouth.

When I finished this time, I saw that Ashley was now standing, impatiently, next to my clothing, which lay in a messy heap in the middle of the room. I waddled back down the stairs. She was contemplative.

"I can't decide if I want you to 'honk' like a goose, or 'oink' like a pig for me."

"Yes I can."

"Crawl on all fours like the fucking diapered little piglet you are."

"Oink for me, piggy, oink!"

I crawled to her, for her. Oinking and snorting, snorting and oinking, in porcine heaven, for her.

She walked behind me and gave me a firm kick square in the diaper-covered ass with her sandal.

"You just had to be a fucking faggot, didn't you, pig?!?"

Then I sat on the floor, slowly leaking into my diaper, and got dressed. When I finished, Ashley said, "Now, get up and get the fuck out, pig!"

As I walked past her, averting my eyes from her, cheeks burning red with shame, she smiled at me, and said, "You'll be back. I can see it already. You'll be back. And you'll keep coming back, until you're wearing a diaper all day, every fucking day."

With that, she opened the door, gestured for me to depart with a discarding, back-handed flick of her hand, as if tossing out a small bag of garbage, closing the door abruptly and loudly behind me as I exited.

It was dark now, and cold, outside. I stepped off the porch, feeling a twinge of pain in my rectal area as I did. Limping slightly, on unsteady, still-shaking legs, wearing a diaper under my jeans, like a covert toddler, or some new creation, of recent crawling, now walking, for the first time, slouching and struggling, toward my car, to make my way home. Yet, I had really just arrived at my destination.

I looked up to the clear night sky, that dark canopy with its multitude of stars. An indigo aura softening to pitch black pillowed the waxing crescent moon, offering solace to its lonely orbit. I marveled at the panoply of heavenly bodies.

How beautiful it all is...

How beautiful she is...

How wonderful it is to be of service...

To be an object...

To mince...

To swish...

To sashay...

To prance, prate, and preen...

In all my limp-wristed glory...

In front of her, for her, as she watches, smiling.

I could almost hear us giggling together as we chatted in confidence about the guys, our rough beasts, dressing in bright tops and mini-skirts to go dancing on a warm summer evening, or in bikinis, tanning, already perfectly tan, lying on some secluded beach, or beside a rich man's swimming pool, sharing a leisurely smoke, anonymous behind Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses, smiling and haughty, rejecting everything and everyone, since everyone and everything is less than, smaller than, inferior to...