The Cellar Pig

Then one day — months or possibly years into his nightmare — they decided he had earned something special.

They ripped the hood off violently. Scabs tore open on his scalp, sending fresh blood trickling down his face. The bare bulb burned into his eyes like acid. He convulsed in the chains, whimpering pathetically.

“You’ve been perfect,” one of them said softly, stroking his filthy hair. “Never fought the feedings. Never closed your mouth. So here’s your treat. One last orgasm… before we finish you for good.”

They freed only his wrists. But first, they wanted more destruction. They forced him down and brutally fucked his already ruined asshole with the largest toy yet — a massive, veined silicone monster. The stretch was apocalyptic. He screamed hoarsely as they drove it deeper and deeper, twisting it viciously, pulling it out to watch his wrecked, prolapsed hole gape obscenely before slamming it back in.

Only after they were satisfied did they order him onto the inflatable sheep.

“Mount it. Fuck your reward like the desperate animal you are.”

He slammed into the cold, slick hole. The vinyl gripped him tightly as he thrust with frantic desperation. One captor planted a boot in his back, forcing him harder. The other twisted his bleeding nipples. Sweat poured down his filth-encrusted body. His destroyed asshole burned and leaked with every movement. When he finally came, it was shattering — his whole body seizing, chains rattling wildly as thick spurts jetted deep into the toy. He kept rutting desperately through the aftershocks, sobbing with grief because he knew this was the last pleasure he would ever feel.`