straighthell-stories:The last thing Sandy remembered was that he was in the Ramrod drinking with his
straighthell-stories: The last thing Sandy remembered was that he was in the Ramrod drinking with his bros. And then, a moment later - or so it seemed - he’d awaken, naked, in this dingy cellar, getting his ass cored out by a guy he’d never seen before while half-a-dozen other strange dudes stood around urging his assailant to ‘fuck the shit out of the little faggot,’ and to ‘make the fairy feel it.’ Though it wasn’t his favorite position, Sandy wasn’t a stranger to being fucked and he could tell by the soreness of his boypussy that the cock pounding away at his guts wasn’t the first one that his hole had recently entertained. Sandy was lying face down on a scratchy pile of what he thought might be burlap bags and began pushing himself up with his hands. “Whoa,” the guy fucking him exclaimed, “guess the faggot is awake. Well, boy,” he continued, pushing Sandy’s torso back down, “you just stay where you are. We ain’t nowhere near done with your pussy yet.” Sandy thought about fighting - after all, he didn’t know who any of these dudes were - but even in his groggy condition he figured that probably wasn’t a smart move. There looked to be at least seven of them and there was no way he was going to win a fight against that many and resisting might just get them mad enough that they’d do some real damage to him. Besides, he thought, as he let himself be pushed back down to the sacks, he’d clearly been fucked some already and, for all he knew, the dude screwing him might be the last one to take his turn up Sandy’s hole. So Sandy just lay back down and let the dude fuck him. Just like he lay quiescently when the dude got his nut and the next stranger mounted up. And the next stranger. And the one after that. All told, Sandy was fucked at least a dozen times stretched out like that across the burlap bags, and that didn’t count any of the times he’d been fucked while he was unconscious. By the time the last dude got his nut, Sandy’s pussy was hurting like hell and leaking a steady stream of Man-scuzz that didn’t seem like it would ever end. But now that there was no one working away at his hole, Sandy wearily raised himself up and asked, “Can I go now?” while looking around to see where his clothes might be. His question, however, generated a cacophony of guffaws from the guys standing around him. “Go?,” one of the bigger dudes finally responded. “Go? You’re not going anywhere, faggot. At least not for a long time. This is your new home, faggot, and you’re our new fuck-bitch. You ain’t going anyplace till we tire of plowing your faggot cunt and, I gotta say after nailing it a couple times already, that ain’t gonna be any time soon.” “Fuck you,” Sandy responded. It was one thing to let a group of strangers gangbang you when you didn’t have any choice in the matter. It was something else when they wanted to keep you prisoner and fuck you whenever they wanted. There was no way Sandy could accept that without a fight. Unfortunately for Sandy, he was in even worse shape now than when he’d first regained consciousness and the outcome of the struggle was pretty much preordained. Once his captors had succeeded in subduing the boy, they spent the next hour taking turns beating the crap out of the blond’s naked ass, spanking it until it was so bruised and battered that Sandy had trouble sitting down for the next week and not stopping until the boy tearfully promised he’d be a ‘good little faggot bitch’ and let them fuck him whenever they wanted. That was at least a month ago though Sandy’s not sure how many days he’s been kept naked in the cellar. The days all seem to blend together after a while. He’s been fucked multiple times by multiple guys every day he’s been there and he’s learned that all of them will happily tan his hide if he shows the slightest hesitation when he’s ordered to get down on all fours or lie down and plant his ankles next to his ears. He’s their fuck-bitch and they fuck him long and hard whenever they want. And, with Sandy servicing so many guys - there’s actually nine of them - he’s lucky if can go four hours without having to endure a hard cock spewing its seed inside his now totally ravaged hole. Sandy still doesn’t know who any of these guys are or how he came to be their prisoner, though he did overhear one of his captors joking that, ‘considering how hot the bitch’s hole is his friends sold him cheap.’ But Sandy can’t believe that. He can’t believe that his friends ‘sold’ him to these guys. On the other hand, Sandy can’t explain how he ended up in the cellar, either. Regardless of how he wound up there, all Sandy can think about now is getting away. That’s all he can think of. He’s sick of eating dog food out of a bowl on the floor. He’s sick of shivering uncontrollably as he gets hosed down every morning over a drain in the floor and then has to turn around while they stick the hose up his pussy and ‘clean out his cunt.’ He’s sick of pissing and shitting squatting down over a metal pail as other dudes look on and mock him. And he’s sick of serving as a public urinal whenever any of his captors needs to take a leak. But most of all, he’s sick of getting ass-fucked like some back-alley bitch, taking one dick after another, day after day after day. He’s sick of it all but he realizes none of it’s ever going to stop as long as he’s there, in the cellar. He has to get away. He just has to. But how? He’s exhausted all the time, he’s naked, and he doesn’t have a clue where he is. How is he ever going to get away? And where are his friends? Where, the fuck, are his friends? -- source link