Hell Without An Invite

That’s him. Eddy selected his target from a sea of bobbing heads, crashing over the bar. His eyes fished out a wavy, brown-ish haired boy with big blue eyes. The bearded, forty something year old man in midnight overalls almost snarled. He chocked back a mouthful of bourbon as he squared up with his soon to be Slave.

Liam O’Brien, slurred up a storm in an attempt to order what was probably his 87th drink. That poor excuse of a shirt was so badly misbuttoned. It was almost funny. Calvin’s were of course on display for all to see… All in all? A total cliche!

#87 as Ed had already coined, began to dial up that inevitable Uber trip home, Marlboro wedged between beautiful, naturally full lips. And that was indeed Eddy’s cue. He left that dark & dank, underground basement type venue, out into an isolated congregation of battered old warehouses where his “taxi” was parked, then got in.

It was a perfectly choreographed stakeout. Some might even say it was planned, he laughed to himself. His pray stumbled out like clockwork. That ever so freckled face of his, all scrunched up. Boy was too frustrated to organise a safe journey back home so he approached a nearby cab.

“Get in,” Ed hollered. The man-child’s face lit up from all corners. Ed couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Did he really just choose the back seat, as well? Ed thought. It’s like fish in a fuckin barrel! Liam hadn’t noticed, nor did he even care that somebody else was ‘waiting in the wings’.

A self-destruct such as his was as fascinating to witness as it was poignant. And he continued on through his campaign of utter chaos; quite frankly getting sexier by asking Ed if he can do a ‘bump’. Then arranged a thick, Snow White bolt across his forearm before receiving any permission.

Of course Ed didn’t mind. He wanted so badly for #87 to be present, for what was to come. The dopey fuck handed over to his driver an envelope with his free arm, sealed in thick, red hot wax.

A look of ambivalence muddied up Liam’s typical, boyish expression - if only for a second.

Now that the package had been received, tucked away, safe into an oversized denim jacket, Ed lit up the four to five person cab’s ignition. It was more like a backward hick’s rxpe van, to those of us who were sober.

That oh so delicately drawn rail, beamed up into Liam’s left nostril just as swiftly as Ed’s hired muscle came into peripheral.

Tom as we would soon come to know him, seized ahold of Liam by the scruff of his neck. Then buried his head down into the upholstery so that his arse was high in the sky. He barely had time to react, poor lad. “What the fuck are you doing?” He blurted out.

Torrents of alcohol-laden blood, saturated every square inch of Liam’s skull, sapped from his pricked, stretched out little ears, collecting around those trademark baby blues. His vision had been positively staggered by floaters of all shapes & sizes.

Tom proceeded to cuff their catch’s wrists. We were already driving out of town by the time its protests came about coherent, Ed laughed to himself, no going back now he thought. Maybe it thought that we’d take time out for tea, prior? Ed joked. He smacked his chapped lips together at the thought and further settled into the driver’s seat.

The great big oaf of a man went on to slide off Liam’s worn out, old Vans. All amped up & bug-eyed. He licked his top lip. Then continued to peel away at those tacky, cannabis print socks. It was like O’Brien had been grown in a gay porn laboratory. Ed’s thoughts crackled. And wow oh wow did those feet stink. Even from the front of the car, over that piss-poor cologne every nineteen year old student seems to wear.

Liam blushed away into the crusty old yellow fabric. The cockier than ever Ed, smirked away into their rear view mirror. What is it about robbing a straight boy of his socks & shoes that makes ‘em so damn vulnerable? Ed asked himself. Then he briefly grabbed at his own junk. 

Chaos continued, out back. Tom more or less descended onto the youth. He clamped down those godly fingers, each a small dildo in their own right, over Liam’s nose. A compulsion to gasp out for air through his mouth followed. So Tom whipped out what looked like a can of shaving cream, squirting it generously into the lad’s mouth.

“Try not to swallow it, kid,” He gave fair warning. He kept his bison grip over the lad’s mumbling mouth. Those big blue eyes ricocheted around the car. The taste was almost too much to bear. A sweet & salty kind of poison. We knew exactly what he was experiencing, Ed continued to smirk.

Then the foam began to coagulate in a matter of moments. Sweat had began mustering in every which way sweat can. Back. Sack. And Crack. You could see him contemplate. Then adjust his stupid boy mouth around the mass. Their big mistake was when they let it roll back into that special nook, everytime without fail. That place where it’s at its most effective. It cast a perfect mould of Liam’s innards.

“Now wiggle your tongue around a bit, then bite down,” Tom demanded. Those big beautiful lips, now framed an immaculate, very much tailored ball gag. Air and probably almost watertight. So much so that his nostrils began to flare out for any oxygen. Too fuckin hot, Ed’s mind raced. He grabbed at his trousers once again.

A boy next door type of face, kind of unkempt, completely distorted by a big, juicy red ball. It’s a horny, repressed psycho’s wet dream. And the way that they can only communicate with their eyes? M-mmph, Ed’s thoughts rallied. Only anger, confusion and fear dominated Liam’s expression.

Liam’s handler proceeded to thread a tiny pipe through at the centre of the ball, before it hardened. It was just another job for this one. “Only purees & soups lie ahead little man. You can forget that 4am kebab. And make no mistake about it - you’ll never speak a fuckin word of English, again,” The maniac cackled. Liam simply wept. His weeps punctuated a dead silence for the duration of the journey.

They then let him adjust to his new surroundings. The absolute nutter known as Tom gave him a well deserved break. It was quite obvious that he was pleased with his work. He dusted off those great, callused hands together. And Liam sat himself up right as Tom sunk back down into his own seat.

Liam tested out his thorough bonds. He shuffled his obnoxious, possibly football playing hobbit feet around, in attempt to combat the anxiety. A coarse yet somehow slick material weaved its way between his toes. Not even a seconds worth of tactile distraction gifted, though. They’d already pulled into Ed’s driveway.

Liam was yanked out of the vehicle, strewn onto the concrete by his hair before his writhing frame was grappled & directed into the dwelling. A great country home. In middle of nowhere.

He was chocked into a black, cushioned leather collar upon entry. His floral patterned shirt was torn away. Followed by his silly cargo shorts. Ed managed to watch his partner at work with one eye whilst tracing his slave’s abdomen with the other.

Tom knelt before the gargling, five foot eight mound of tissue and jittering bone. Almost out of character. Then proceeded to fix matching cuffs onto its ankles. His shit-eating grin was ridiculous. He snatched a chastity device out from within his pocket, proceeding to fasten it onto Liam’s very much flaccid cock.

Liam hollered his first but far from final holler into the ball gag. It was fairly certain that he had no idea what was going on anymore.

His big & beefy new friend flicked at it. A childlike curiosity. They stood up to interrupt Liam’s line of sight. “That’s not your cock anymore, Liam,” He hissed. “That’s officially your boy clit,” Both captors mocked. He whimpered as his cock became subject to cold, hard steel. It pinched at him something awful. Liam thanked his lucky stars that he was a grower and not a showier. 

They proceeded to march their catch toward a cupboard under the stairs, which was actually a boarded up entryway to a spaciously sized cellar.

He bucked & shoved at the bottom of the hall. He’d seen quite enough. And frankly smelt quite enough. A pungent stench of God knows what draped over them, burnt chemicals? Or a potent sort of lubricant? And definitely body odours galore. Wall to wall prison cells lined either side of the room. Only a single space was vacant.

His thoughts were now out of his control. Ed coulda swore that he heard Liam try, muffled, of course: “I’ve changed my fucking mind!” He wasted no time crying out in terror. Liam threw him self at the walls. He even threw himself at the two men. They just continued to poke fun, though.

The journey continued on toward a work bench at the centre of the room. They loomed over poor Liam by the table. It was like Christmas Day, for them. His mouth piece was swiftly removed, albeit with some struggle, then replaced with a great metal ring. Tom fastened the device, securely, not taking his eyes off the animal before him, wagging its tongue around. The thing rendered O’Brien’s mouth a gaping, slobbering cunt.

“Now I’d like you to say ‘please give me some cock daddy, I’m very, very hungry’,” Tom sneered. Their noses almost touched. He was sadistically fixated on the boy. “And I’m not concerned about how you say it, I see those barely functional cogs turning. Just know that when you’re asked a question, you fuckin answer.”

The defeated slave dropped onto its knees. They looked up at that vile excuse of a man, pleading with whatever semblance of humanity was left in Tom through their big blue eyes. Then Liam held up his hands, so to speak. Even Ed was willing to pull the plug, just there. It had all gotten a bit too real. But in the end, they surrendered. And struggled through their script as requested, to which Tom nodded. A pat on the head turned into a ruffling of those dusty surfer waves.

There was the strangest of moments where Liam perceived some sort of affection from them. Then Tom withdrew an eight inch, cut to precision titan from within his own navy overalls and force fed the boy as promised. “Be very nice to it or it’ll find another, tighter space to fit,” He chuckled. The lad just wept into the appendage. He proceeded to guzzle away at it like a shipwrecked survivor. 

Ed hovered about in the foreground. Not too concerned with what was going on, really. He briefly checked on his other cattle in the briefest of paces. There was some shuffles, several sniffles and one of them might have even tried a ‘fuck you’’. But then he came to an abrupt halt. Not from those pathetic howls from cell #52, though. Nope.

His own stream of consciousness was awash, too. That newest’s adrenaline was bloody well contagious. Liam’s mortifying laments between each suckle, Ed enjoyed it quite a lot, this was fantastic, his thoughts honed in. Attention had returned onto #87 with a vengeance. Ed bared his pearly white teeth. Deep, brown eyes so seasoned, yet sunken. It was obvious that Ed remained to this day, a total lady killer.

After he & Tom’s latest charge ate a steaming hot load, Liam’s ever so comic mouth piece was forced back into his face hole. Nodules of month old seed, seeped out from whatever gap.

They lead Liam into a back room. Vents made up every square inch of a four by four area. Drains did so on the floor. He scrunched up his face at those truly, rotten sights & smells. The area was lit up by some deep, dark red LED kind of light.

His masters were quick to equip themselves with gas masks. It was quite a shock for Liam. There was no where to run but that didn’t stop the boy from wriggling out from under Tom’s grip. It was all just too much. Although they barely reacted at all. Ed couldn’t help but think, taking a bite of his bottom lip, #87 is damn right convincing. Then they proceeded to crumple themself up into a nearby corner.

That fuzzy, light headed feeling you get after skipping breakfast consumed them out from nowhere. Their big blue, glazed over eyes darted back & forth. And a familiar smell had enveloped the room. They tried to get back onto their feet, only to stumble forward. Ed then made a move toward.

He latched onto Liam’s collar, dragging him into the centre. His head was then forced down against the rusty, metal panels, arse back up into the sky like before.

The masked men knelt before his behind like an alter. They were hungry wolves, staring into his pink virgin hole. Liam‘s humiliation was unbearable. It fascinated them how his almost certain exit had began to swirl open, like a vortex. Tom Ooh’d & Aah’d a little louder than Ed - in a clear attempt to upset Liam further.

That familiar smell was some sort of industrial strength, amyl nitrate cocktail, condensed into a vapour. Liam garbled away into his mouth piece, utterly confused, equally as powerless to resist his sphincter muscles parting like the Red Sea .

Ed’s assistant leant over to one side of the room. He helped himself to a metal rod, three to four inches wide by nine inches in depth, fixed onto a hosepipe by a randomly placed faucet and turned the wheel to full. The sound of running water, flowing, splashing, slapping against cobbled floors, echoed around the room. Liam’s eyes could only widen in angst.

The mad men loomed over #87. All he could do was mumble, weep and wriggle around. “We are going to craft that hairy man hole of yours into a boy pussy,” Ed almost sung his first, proper words unto the lad. They emphasised every syllable. A mystical serpent.

His prize screamed away into the gag - spittle, somehow escaped around the ball. He struggled & struggled to evade what was inevitable. It was as though he was wiggling his behind about, in anticipation, unfortunately. “It’ll match that brand new nub of yours,” Tom sniggered.

The object slid into Liam like room temperature butter. An unforgiving, icy sensation gripped tight ahold. Then relentless stream of water began to climb up the walls of his colon. He squealed as they hosed down his innards. And then it began to pool. It was as though he’d been without access to a toilet for three whole fuckin days. His guts were ultimately flooded but there was little to no way around it. Only through.

Then came the first of many eliminations. The liquid failed to run clear in what seemed like forever. Ed’s resolve was strong, however. I mean it was his first ever treatment, Ed reasoned, and certainly not my first rodeo, he continued. Although Tom was far less of a prince about it. “You dirty little whore,” He mocked. Liam could only blush a hole into the floor. His eyes were bloodshot & swollen, like a maniac.

Tom proceeded to excuse himself for what he perceived to be a well earned spliff. Not nearly as engrossed in the project as Ed. He wasn’t done whatsoever.

The atmosphere was quick to shift, almost immediately after Tom let himself out. Liam might have been down & out but he gave what looked like an expression of warmth up to Ed for just a second, even through those tears.

A similar type of foam from another can was introduced into Liam’s sparkling, clean rectum. It too began to coagulate & set. The second mould of Liam’s insides was complete torture. He felt his body accommodate & stretch around the foreign object. Again, air & watertight. Then there was a deafening sigh. This is how it has to be, Ed imagined his pet thinking, the price that I have pay.

Liam felt his prostate thrash around, against its bold, definitive surface. Ed punctured the mass with another tiny pipe, then proceeded to weave a lengthy chain into its opening. “Not to worry. It’ll be in & out with ease” He explained, jiggling the silver around. Liam’s laments had now snowballed into hysterics.

Then Ed had another moments pause. He looked down at that slobbering mass, that which was once a sexy young man, pissing daddy’s pay cheque up the wall between classes… with what looked like judgement. Or maybe it was pity? Only seconds ago was it Liam scowling through gritted teeth. The roles were indeed, quite in reverse. And Ed had a bewildering pang of remorse for the creature scattered before him.

What kind of tormented soul, actively donates their body to another, delivers themselves even, in hopes of escaping society forever? Can life truly be that wretched? Ed wandered, mouth agape. He rubbed a furrow, furrow brow, reached into his jacket for that envelope and proceeded to tear it open. A plethora of bills & notes flew out alongside a signed contract. A document, indefinitely scrolled by a former Liam O’Brien’s blood.

… It wasn’t exactly what they had in mind. But escape society, #87 certainly did. And they did end up thanking their new friends, eventually. It was this or that nine to five grind, apparently. Ed felt akin to him in that moment.

Although that career, house and wife orientated lifestyle we’re forced into was indeed a shit show, Ed wasn’t too sure if he could be on the receiving end of this experience, simply to evade it. I’m not sure if I’ll ever understand this generation, Ed winced, who am I to deny them what also benefits me, though?