The Cellar Pig

That same night they pulled a filthy canvas sack over his head. The stiff material, crusted with old piss and sweat, reeked so strongly of ammonia that his eyes burned and watered even in total darkness. They tied it brutally tight around his neck with coarse rope, leaving only a tiny slit for air.

Inside was absolute oblivion. No light. Almost no sound except the thunder of his own heartbeat and the desperate rasp of every panicked breath. The short chains kept him locked in a crushing kneel, unable to stretch or lie down. His knees quickly became raw and bloody. Time stretched into an endless nightmare.

When they returned, they forced him forward as much as the chains allowed and rammed a huge rubber dildo, thicker than his wrist, deep into his ass without warning. The burning stretch was excruciating. He screamed into the hood as they fucked him violently with it, twisting and pounding, deliberately trying to wreck his hole. They left the massive toy buried inside him for hours while continuing the sensory deprivation, switching between the canvas sack and a crushing leather hood that compressed his skull like a vice.

By the time they finally removed the dildo, his asshole was swollen, gaping, and already beginning to prolapse.