Becoming a Hole Pt. 02

I had done what I was told. I rode commando on the subway in loose basketball shorts and an oversized tee with cut-off sleeves, and I had a bandana in my pocket to use as a blindfold upon arrival. This was really happening - I, a 19 year old jock, was really about to walk into the apartment of an adult stranger whose ad I solicited on Craigslist, of all places, and although I had an idea from porn what it meant to be "used," the specifics of my intended role were intentionally left vague. Informed consent wasn't possible, yet my arrival to the dimly lit address I was given (and the unencumbered tent my semi was creating in my shorts) betrayed my intention to go through with whatever lay in store. I took a breath, hit my erection in my waistband, equipped my blindfold as instructed, and rang the doorbell.

I assume that my arrival was anticipated with a certain degree of impatience, as it couldn't have been more than a few seconds before I heard the door open. A moment of pregnant pause ensued in which I assume my form and compliance with directions was assessed.

A deep voice boomed: "Turn around. Slowly." Without even thinking, I tilted my head down, as if in deference, and did as I was instructed. I slipped a thumb into the waistband of my shorts and tugged down slightly to display my adherence to the "no underwear" directive (and, frankly, to tease my solicitor), which elicited two words that would eventually come to serve as a classically conditioned ejaculation cue in later years: "good boy." Without further delay, a hand pressed firmly on my right shoulder to guide me inside - the inspection was over, and the role I had come to play was about to begin.

It's funny how having one sense stripped away intensifies the others. Crossing the threshold, I was greeted with the intense odor of booze, the unmistakable scent of lube, and the bitter fumes of what I'd later understand to be poppers; the unique humidity of densely packed sweaty bodies thickened the air and coated my skin; and a cacophony of laughter from the guests in the house mixed with the thumping of music on nearby speakers and shrill moaning from background porn made orienting through space nearly impossible. Without words, the hand on my shoulder guided me through what felt like a maze of twists and turns, and numerous howls and ass-slaps from the various guests proved to me that my role had been made abundantly clear before my arrival. A confusing cocktail of nerves and excitement set in.

The parade eventually ended, and the hand on my shoulder squeezed as if to signify a clear command to stop. I did, and not a moment later my hands were unexpectedly yanked behind my back and unceremoniously bound with duct tape. Following this, my shorts were forcefully pulled down, and someone (with apparent brute strength) gripped my tee and quite literally tore it apart, leaving me stark naked in front of my audience.

Shock didn't have long to set up shop before a voice from my left broke my nervous daze. "Get the rest. We're starting."

Without missing a beat, a kick suddenly made contact with my back, and my bound hands forced me to break my fall with my knees, torso, and chin. Apparently this was the desired outcome, as my waist was then grabbed by a pair of hands to guide my hips back into a very literal "face-down, ass-up" position on the floor. In that moment, I felt my hole purse up as I wondered how many people were in the room starting at its exposed rawness, and I felt my balls tighten as the dangled vulnerably right below it. My erection was gone, but I somehow knew that me being erect or not literally did not matter to this crowd. My erection - my pleasure - was never the point, and I could feel that quite palpably in that moment as I lay exposed and bound.

Then came my scream.

I felt myself let out a screech in the microseconds before I understood why, but my pain receptors eventually caught up and I realized: something was just shoved up my un-lubed ass. And the laughter and the hooting followed from my numerous observers. Whatever was just plunged into me felt cold and against the warmth of my opening, and holy fuck it hurt. Then I noticed the feeling of something filling up my insides - almost a sense of sloshing - and then it hit me: someone had shoved a bottle up my ass and was filling me with what I would later identify as beer. Before I had time to process what this meant (i.e., that the goal was to get me as drunk as possible as fast as possible), I felt one of the on-lookers grab the bottle and pump it into me, fucking me bare with the bottle neck. Each push felt like it was splitting me open, and each felt more forceful than the last. My hole's assailant then grabbed my sack and pulled it in opposition to the thrusts of the beer can, and I couldn't help but scream again as the jeering continued. At that moment, someone dug their fingers into my jaw and lifted my face up as if in admonishment and snarled five words I'll never forget: "we're just getting started, bitch."

My face was released from the vice-like grip of my omen-bearer, and it was then that I heard the dangle of belts and the hurried unzipping of pants. At this point, I noticed the laughter was dying down, and the atmosphere seemed to turn from one of raucous partying to a more concentrated determination. I felt less vibration from the floor, indicating less movement - as if my audience had settled on some sort of formation or pause. My face still on the floor, my hole still plugged, I then heard one of the men around me let out a sigh (as if after a hard day's work) and then I felt something start pounding me lightly on my lower back, and I realized:

Piss.

I was being pissed on. One stream at first, then, almost as if in a round, others joined in, and I felt the shower of piss all hitting me at once. "Look at this fucking bitch," I heard one exclaim. "Bet you like that, you fucking piss pig. Nothing more than our fucking urinal, fucking whore."

Piss pig. Urinal whore. The second these words hit my ear, my hole relaxed. Strange though it may sound, they felt right. Correct. I felt myself let out a moan and I extended my tongue to signify my willingness to not just be pissed on, but pissed in - to further submit, to further relinquish my own power, to further demean and degrade any semblance of who or what I was before this moment.

And my audience took me up on the invitation.

One of the men grabbed my throat and pulled me up like a rag doll to a kneeling position and commanded me to "open the fuck up." I stuck my tongue out as if in desperation, as if only he could quench my never-ending thirst, and to my surprise, he didn't. At least not with piss. Slap. "You like that, you little pig bitch?" Slap. "Not much of a man anymore, are you, you fucking slut?" Choke.

I'd never been harder in my life. This pain he was delivering, this relegation of power, all of it was like cocaine for me. Addicting. And I wanted more.

Luckily for me, my brutalizer must have seen the precum leaking from my slit as he degraded me, and he decided that my arousal was unacceptable. He grunted, seemingly signaling to some of the other men, and after the bottle was suddenly ripped from my opening, I was lifted by my underarms and legs and dragged from the floor to another part of the residence. Quite literally, I was thrown on what turned out to be a bed, and in the first few moments, my bondage was re-arranged such that my hands were confined to a post on the headboard, and my legs were tied to be suspended in the air, exposing my still-throbbing hole. I felt the mattress shift as numerous legs crawled on top to surround me, and I began to detect the unmistakable musk of bush. Cock (what I had longed for) was no longer just an implication in my experience - it was near, and the pheromones filling my nostrils were telling me that satisfaction - pleasure - was demanded. And I was more than happy to oblige.

Just then, one of the men (I assume my initial brutalizer) gripped my face to open my jaw, and he repeatedly slapped his meat down on my tongue, as if to claim his right to invasion. To tease the whore he was ready to dominate. I could taste the skin, the bitterness of his sweat, and the dribbles of piss left over from his earlier act, and I was fucking reveling. I moaned, and as soon as I did, he shoved his entire length into my skull. "That oughta shut you up for a bit, bitch." To be clear, when I say shoved, I mean shoved. Rather than gently finding a perfect fit for his cock to maximize pleasure, he pile-drived his shaft into my mouth in a way that, though I imagine it must have hurt him as well, maximized pain for me. Breathing became difficult (except through my nose, which was pinned squarely in the man's bush and thus perfectly primed to overwhelm me with musk), but in truth, I didn't really want to breathe. Not really. I wanted to choke on his cock and his pubes because it meant I was prioritizing pleasing penis rather than even breathing. And it became clear - that was the goal: degradation, humiliation, and pain. Tactile pleasure took a backseat to power, and I was the thing (the literal "thing," not person) that made their power more accessible.

"You my little fucktoy?"

I moaned in agreement while his mushroom head pierced the roof of my mouth, while my air supply ran low."

Look at this cockwhore, fucking can't get enough."

After a few little thrusts and simultaneous gags on my end, he released me of his cock. I gasped for air (slap) and then, as if the first cock gave permission to the rest, felt numerous other dicks exploring my body. I felt a sack being drug across my forehead; I felt someone close my feet together to create a fuckhole, which he then humped; I felt someone's puffed-out cock-head tease my puckering hole; and two more cocks competed for my mouth. I wished in that moment I weren't blindfolded. I wish I could see the sea of pleasure surrounding me, guys lost in the pursuit of their own pleasure, irresistibly obeying the every whim of their dicks, with me at the bottom of the entire totem pole. The taste and scent sent me into a craze. I no longer felt the pain of the bottle from earlier, and all nerves were gone. I was literally one with each penis at my behest, and I fucking loved it.

Suddenly, the teasing of my hole was over. I will never know much about the guy who took my anal virginity, but given what I've fucked in years since, I'd estimate he was at least 8.5", and maybe it was just because he shoved himself in without lube, but his thickness felt monstrous. The second he plunged in, it almost felt as if time stopped. My insides could trace his entire length, and his spear throbbed in anticipation of its upcoming conquest. I let out a yelp, which was met with my mouth being stuffed with what I later discovered was a sock. No more screaming for me.

I heard my penetrant growl hungrily after his insertion. He then slowly slid partially out of me, and then as if in anger, slammed back in like a freight train. I swear I could feel him in my throat. In response, my hole squeezed around his enormity, which seemed to be exactly the fuel he needed, and after that, a jackhammer couldn't compete with what this man did to me. He was voracious. Animalistic. Inhuman. Or rather, I guess, I wasn't human. I wasn't a person to make love to: I was an object to fuck, nothing more than a glorified flashlight, and he wanted to fucking cum. He was desperate for it - probably one of those pent-up husbands whose wives don't put out or something. But my hole was his, and nothing was stopping him now - certainly not me. I loved being a cock sleeve, and in that moment, that's all I was or even wanted to be. After what felt like mere seconds, I heard his breathing quicken, he lowered himself down onto me, he dug his teeth into my chest as if in carnal craze, then suddenly he threw his head back, let out a growl that would terrify a bobcat, and without pulling out filled me with shot after shot of my very first dose of seed. The sweat he'd accumulated from his thrusting and orgasm began dripping onto my face and mouth, and I surreptitiously lapped it up like a fucking dog. After he collected his breath and slid out of me, he slapped my face, spit on my mouth, and said: "barely worth the humping."

Instantly hard again.

You may recall, of course, that this was not a one-man party, and there were many more cocks to please. Luckily, the first guy's load served more than ample lube for the rest, and I was the cum deposit for the rest of the night. Cock after cock entered me - some thicker, some shorter, but all implicitly superior to me. My bondage rendered me unequivocally available for all to use as they please, and used I was. Anally. Orally. As a punching bag. In every way I could imagine at the time. And although it hurt, and although I cried out, I enjoyed every fucking second of it. I loved the feeling of the first shot of cum splashing my hole. I loved the taste of the loads mixing on my tongue as guys competed to fill me with their jizz. I loved the feeling of being completely useless to every single one of these men once I'd drained their balls.

I was a mess once it was over. Cum and blood mixed in my ass; jizz dripped down my face; I still reeked of piss from the beginning of the night; and spit/slap marks covered my body. Eventually, after the last guy finished himself off in my mouth and made me clean him up with my tongue, I was given a towel and told to clean up and go. My shorts were all that was recoverable, so that was what I was given to leave. Blindfold still on, I was escorted out of the residence. After the door was closed, it was implied that I could take my blindfold off, so I did. I took a moment to pause and reflect on the enormity of what this experience meant for me, but before I could, I was struck by the sadness at the experience being over. That can't be it, I thought. I'm not... I'm not done...

As I was preparing myself to leave, someone came out of the house and waved after me."Hey! Wait up!"

I felt an urge to turn around, but I wasn't sure if that was allowed, so I simply stopped walking. The man ran in front of me and extended his hand."Jeff," he said. "Hey, listen, I know this is weird, but I'm in need of some help, and based on tonight, I think you're the perfect person to help me out. I know you've gotta go, but listen..." He paused to ruffle through his pocket, and in a flash, he pulled out what appeared to be a business card. "If you're up for some more of this kind of thing, but not on as big of a scale, hit me up, ok? I could use some help. Just gimme a call, I'll tell you more about it later. Thanks for the fuck, man. Your ass is fucking nice." He slapped me on the ass and traipsed back inside.

I looked down at the business card and briefly smiled.

I can't be done, I thought again.

And right then and there, I resolved to call that number. I wouldn't be done yet. My life as a whore had only just begun.