Chapter Fifteen
Wes
I thought they were going to shove pills down our throats and drag us out, but no. More waiting. Hours of waiting.
At first I didn’t notice much. A sense of relaxation, which a still-lucid part of my brain told me was odd given the circumstances. Some sleepiness.
Then the tingles and the shivers on my skin. The horniness. Did they mix ED meds into whatever they gave me?
All I know is I’ve been desperately, painfully hard for a while now. This must be how they do it.
When I offered myself, I did so hoping either Adam or Troy would step in. If getting fucked bought us time, at least it could be with someone who, for better or worse, also turned me on.
It made sense in the moment.
Also, this is the worst idea I’ve ever had.
Without question.
Proposing to Gina the second I found out she was pregnant, that was stupid. Staying married when I found out she was cheating might have been worse. Setting my brother up with a male escort because I thought it would break him out of his grief funk if he got laid? Downright awful.
Offering myself up to get drugged and have my asshole torn open? Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
How can I be so proficient at solving problems at work and so terrible at it in my personal life?
Still, I’d do it again. What was the alternative? Sitting in here while they drugged Nadia? Listening to her scream, or even worse, having to participate?
The thought of it turns my stomach.
Or maybe that’s the drugs.
Stuff is going on around me, but I can’t manage to open my eyes. Every time I try, things look warped and blurry. All the dark shadows swirl and morph into monsters.
Someone, or a couple of someones, hooks their arms through mine and hauls me out of the room into one so bright I still can’t see.
“Spit roast,” someone says. “Make him scream.”
Ohhh no.
Are they talking about me? Because I think…
Yeah. I think I oversold it when I pitched them my virgin asshole.
Or Troy did, when he acted way too excited about ripping me to shreds. That was an unnecessary level of enthusiasm.
Psst! Wes. Remember when you were diagnosed with leukemia and you thought you were going to die? Is this better or worse?
This is next-level ridiculous.
I’m thrown onto a mattress, and someone starts giggling. There’s nothing funny about this situation. Also, I think that person is me.
The mattress dips and moves. There’s pain and pressure as someone cuts my hands free. Someone’s blowing air on my face. They’re pulling at the buttons on my shirt. I try to brush them off.
I’m horny, but also my limbs don’t want to cooperate.
“Fucking hell, Wes. Let us do this.” Is that Adam? I pry open my eyes to see warm brown ones staring back at me.
“Adam,” I murmur. Some of the worry eases from his face. “They want you to make me scream.”
I think. I’m not sure, but I think I heard that somewhere?
Is there really any chance of someone finding us here before we’re killed or carted off to parts unknown? Shit, I hope so. The possibility seems so far away now.
We don’t know where we are. In a fair fight, the three of us might be able to take on the three guys who seem to be running things. Except right now I don’t know if I can touch my nose to my finger.
Wait. I give it a try, but I can’t tell if it’s working.
“Get his clothes off faster,” someone insists. Someone with a deep, gravel-filled voice.
Footsteps approach. There’s clicking noise.
“Christ, let me do it.” Troy sounds like an impatient dick. An even bigger dick than usual.
“You’re going to tear up my asshole,” I mumble.
Troy appears in my line of vision, blue eyes sharp and icy. “Dammit, he’s gone around the bend.”
He sounds awfully sober. How is that possible when I saw them give the pills to both of them right after me?
“You look like you did the day you ate my cum.” I’m pretty sure I’m babbling.
Usually I’ve got a decent filter. You have to, working around rich folks. But now it’s all dribbling out, isn’t it?
I feel like I can think clearly. I can hear myself. But my inside thoughts are all on the outside now.
Troy leans down, gripping either side of my shirt and ripping it the rest of the way open. He must’ve taken his own off already because his bare chest touches mine. His lips brush my ear.
“No way around it, Kitten. This is going to hurt. Do us both a favor and act like I’m killing you. The more you react, the less I’ll have to make you.”
“Make me.” My lips feel funny. “Make me. Make me. Make. Me.” It’s like that thing where you say something over until it sounds weird.
“So, he’s really fucked up,” Adam whispers.
“Not…” Oooh. The place where their skin touches mine? It’s like little prickles of static electricity. I think I like it. “Not really fucked up.” I insist. “Only sort of.”
See? My brain is working fine.
Really, though, what do I know about being fucked up? Once in high school my friend’s cousin got me to take a hit off a joint. My mom was at home needing her medication, and my brother needed someone to make him go to bed. Actually getting high would’ve been irresponsible.
The only other drugs I’ve ever taken were the legal kind.
When I was going through treatment I took, like, half the number of painkillers they gave me.
Gina grew up in West Virginia, and her stories about the rampant opioid addiction in her hometown scared me into white-knuckling it more often than not.
“Hey, muscle dude,” Troy’s shouting to someone. “Hit me with some lube.”
More laughter. “No lube. You’ll have to make do.”
“These people make my family look like pushovers.” That’s Adam, I think. If today is anything to go by, he’s quieter when he’s stressed. Troy gets loud.
“Fuckers.” Troy’s growling again.
“Uh-oh, Daddy’s mad.” Why does that seem so funny right now?
Someone’s laughing again. Is that me?
Someone pulls off my pants. Someone’s crawling up my body. Straddling me. Straddling my torso.
“Fucking open your eyes, Kitten.” Troy looks weird. Sort of tortured and distorted but also pissed.
Is he mad at me again?
“Is this about my brother? I swear I’m not homo…homo…phobic.”
Anyway. I volunteered to get fucked, didn’t I?
“Whatever. Listen to me,” Troy growls in my ear. “You better get my dick so wet fucking gators try to move in on it. I don’t want to hurt you if I don’t have to. You got me?”
“Got you.” Wait, what did he say?
His hand brushes my balls, reminding me I’m not wearing any pants. Or anything.
Which means everyone in here can see my dick.
“Uugh.” Who’s making that annoying whining noise? “My penis is small, and now everyone can see.”
“Shut up, Kitten,” Troy snaps.
“Your dick is pretty, babe,” Adam whispers. “Perfectly average.”
Oh. Oh. That’s nice.
Troy shoves his fingers into my mouth, gagging me. “Get ’em wet, baby.”
I gag against the intrusion, but I swirl my tongue around anyway. Trying to follow directions. Trying to please him.
Which I really want to do, I realize in a bright burst of clarity. “Oh, this must be why people take drugs.”
But if I’d known I was getting fucked today I might have done more research.
One night I searched for “Is it weird to suddenly like men in your forties?” and then ended up on an extremely depressing Reddit thread. It’s where my research stopped.
Someone pushes my knees up. And then “Hey! That fucking hurts.”
Hell of a time to remember I tweaked my hamstring last time I went for a run. When was that? Feels like forever ago.
Adam leans over me, pressing his lips to mine and then whispering, “Good. That’s good. Scream, babe. We want to make it good for you, but you need to give them a show. Just don’t hate us later, okay?”
Troy’s pushing a finger—is it multiple fingers?—into my asshole. The pressure and the burning sensation send heat throughout my body. This must be the drugs, at least partly. What starts out as minor discomfort builds and spreads until it’s impossible to stay still.
Isn’t there usually some more foreplay involved in this sort of thing? Drinks or conversation? Maybe not. But, like, can you get fucked without feeling like your asshole is on fire?
Is there a word for not setting someone’s asshole on fire?
Adam told me to scream, I remember. So, I fucking scream. I writhe. I call Troy names like savage and bully and sadistic cunt, all while he fucks his fingers in and out of me.
“You’re a goddamn asshol—” Oh God . Pleasure zings through me. Like the burning sensation before, it builds and spreads until I’m a giant ball of need. “What the fuck ?”
My prostate. He must have touched my prostate. I’m familiar with the concept. I get annual checkups, after all. But this is very different. It must be, since I never had the urge to beg my doctor to do it more.
This is… “Holy shit. Holy…oh God,” I whine. “What is this? How does it feel good when it also feels like you’re tearing me in half? Oh my fucking Goddd.”
Waves of pleasure roll through me, centered around that magic spot he’s stroking and spreading through every nerve in my body. I can’t look. My head is too heavy. But I swear my dick is weeping. Every drop welling up is magnified like I’m a broken faucet.
“Hehe, yeah, someone’s starting to like having his ass destroyed.” This from a voice off to the side. I can’t see them, but it’s not Adam or Troy. This one is raspy and smug. One of those pieces of shit is watching us.
Do you really think you wouldn’t do this if you were sober?
Another moment of clarity. Maybe I was scared to want it, but I did. I wanted this. I wanted them.
I probably even would have begged. “Please. Please.”
Well, I’d like to think I would’ve at least demanded nicer conditions for getting fucked. Fewer audience members.
I hiss in pain as Adam bites down around my nipple. It hurts more because he’s getting the sensitive tip and not the muscley part like Troy did. And that weird thing where the sensation builds and spreads.
Someone’s yelling now. Yelling again?
“There you go, Kitten,” Adam murmurs. “Fucking scream for us.”