The Cellar Pig

They never washed him. Not once.

His body became a grotesque monument to degradation. Thick layers of dried shit and cum caked every crease. Piss burns blistered his thighs and groin. Whip scars covered his back and chest. His asshole, constantly abused, remained swollen, loose, and leaking. He had lost all control of it. The stench radiating from him was unbearable.

He had stopped fighting the feedings. His mouth now opened eagerly whenever they approached. He licked the bowls spotless with pathetic hunger.

As a twisted reward, they left the hood off for longer periods. While he knelt covered in filth, they continued destroying his ass with even bigger toys — including inflatable ones that they pumped larger and larger inside him until his screams turned hoarse and his insides felt rearranged. The pain had become constant. His mind was fracturing faster with every session.