Hello folks! I haven’t forgotten about Ghalib and Adel, I just want to give them the best of my efforts. So, I’m still working through Dark Fantasy, from Beautiful boy.

Please remember, this is much harder BDSM than I usually write. This goes past SSC and into RACK territory. There’s CBT, barebacking (in a contemporary setting), and quite a bit more. If that’s not your cuppa, that’s cool. Please keep it in mind, though, as you read.

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Next, he stood above my head, lifting it carefully and setting something under my face. When he laid my head back down, I inhaled and was filled with my Master’s scent. I was laying on his T-shirt, probably the one he’d worn to work out in that morning. The smell of sweat and Master was all I could breathe.

A moment later, I felt a slicked-up finger at my hole. “I’m not going to stretch you, slut. You love being wrecked too much, your sloppy ass gaping and used.” He leaned over and murmured into my ear. “But I won’t have you torn, either. Shake the ball if it’s too much, okay?” I nodded and he moved away, spreading more lube around my hole, pushing it inside, and working it around.

I thought I was ready, but apparently not. I heard the click of a cap again, then Master’s hand on my balls. I didn’t understand at first what was happening, until he was done and pulled his hand away. Then my balls heated up and I realized he’d put something on them—probably Icy Hot—to make me even more aware of them. The pain was intense, my cock swelling until the spikes felt like huge claws digging into my soft flesh and all of it pulling down, making my entire groin burn. Still, he wasn’t done. The final insult was the weights. He hung one on each side of the cuff until my balls felt like they were going to pull off of my body.

It took everything I had to keep my silence and keep still. Hot tears spilled down my face, soaking the blindfold. I bit hard at the gag and gripped the ball tight in my hand. Because in all of this, I needed. Six weeks since I’d had an orgasm. Six week since my balls had felt any sort of relief. I was so aroused, so desperately horny, and always in the forefront of my mind, I knew it would go nowhere.

Finally, he left me alone.

All of this: the binding, the blindfold, the gag, the smell, the cage, and the intense pain between my legs had me already sinking into a half-aware state, before anyone touched me. I felt my Master, moving around me, but very little registered yet. The room was more or less silent for the moment, except for Master’s movements. I heard him open the refrigerator, the sounds of dishes being set on the counter, a few other minor things. He turned on the stereo low and the first few seconds of Enigma’s Principles of Lust played. Our dungeon playlist.

I was lost in the music, sinking further into my mindspace when the doorbell rang. I tensed, realizing this was it. I was bound, exposed, marked up, displayed as little more than a piece of furniture.

My cock, having softened during the quiet time, tried to harden again. Pain slid through it, making it worse, making it want to harden even more. It filled the cage, spikes digging in hard and, with nowhere to go, pulled again on my bound balls, intensifying the pain. I groaned softly, thankful it was muffled behind the gag.

I couldn’t hear who was at the door. I heard it close, heard footsteps, then felt something at my ear. Cotton. Master pushed it into my ears and while it didn’t block everything, it muffled enough sound that I couldn’t make anything out. One more way to separate me from people.

I thought I heard the doorbell again, but I couldn’t be sure. As I lay there, exposed, lubed, slutty, and ignored, I realized it didn’t matter. It wasn’t for me to hear or worry. I was nothing that night, nothing but a receptacle for cock and cum. Nothing but an object to be used. I wasn’t even a boy that night, just a thing. I sank deeper.

The first cock surprised me. I hadn’t been expecting it. I’d been floating a little, aware but not of muffled sounds and people talking and moving around me. I had no idea how much time had passed.

The dick wasn’t Master’s, it wasn’t big enough to be. But it pushed through my sphincter with no prep except the existing lube, no stretching, and the burn was awesome. That too was the point. Objects didn’t need to be prepared. Holes were supposed to be tight.

Now I realized why Master hadn’t been in my ass in almost a week. I heard a grunt behind me and what I thought was, “fuck that’s tight.” Not too tight, I’d guessed because he started thrusting into me. Even though he was smaller than my Master, it took a little while for me to get used to him. The burn stayed with me then he hit my prostate.

And it started to feel good.

I bit hard on the cock gag to focus and hold in sounds. Furniture didn’t make noise. Cum dumps didn’t react. Objects were silent.

It was then I realized he, whoever was fucking me, hadn’t put his hands on me. The only thing that touched me was his cock. I felt pressure and fabric against my ass when he bottomed out—he was apparently fully dressed except for his cock—and something hit my stretched balls, making them swing and stimulate me. But nothing else. No hands, no other touch. I was an object, not worthy of that.

I sank a little further into my head.

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