The stranger’s face didn’t seem to match his body. Parts of his face didn’t even match other parts. One side was soft and pale, with a blue eye, the other half was rough, with thickening stubble, and that eye was darkening–in a moment, it was an unnatural black. (Bernard had said something similar, as had Marcus–the similarities were enough to shake some of my conviction in the moment). The softer half caught up quickly, but that was the last look Steven got, before the man grabbed him by the head with both thick hands, and rammed his cock into his mouth. It was even larger now, large enough to stretch his jaw slightly, and the man was merciless. He didn’t allow him a breath, didn’t care if he gagged. He slammed down his throat with a constant, even rhythm, saying nothing, giving no indication that he even enjoyed it. Steven felt like nothing more than a receptacle for him, for his force and cock. It was humiliating. In the moment, he just wanted it to stop–and yet, there was a voice inside him. A voice he’d always heard, a voice screaming out in joy, because he had been seen. Seen for what he was, for what he’d desired to be, and he didn’t notice himself cum all over the front of his jeans and the floor of the bathroom, didn’t know what to do with that sudden joy except to deny it with all the force of his ego.
He didn’t know how long that fuck lasted, but it ended, eventually. The man came, and the load was massive, flooding his mouth, Steven choking on it…and as hard as he tried, he couldn’t seem to swallow it. Instead, it poured back out his mouth and down the front of his face and shirt, spewed from his nose, his hands running through it and spreading it all over himself, and the cock finally pulled away, and he could look up at the figure looming over him, now seven feet tall, thick as the stall itself, but the eyes. He couldn’t look away from the eyes, how cold they seemed, how focused and unmerciful. He grabbed Steven by the collar and dragged him out of the stall. He fought him, and the man simply slammed his head to the wall hard enough to knock him out…and after that, he didn’t remember anything until he next woke up.
He didn’t know where he was, when he did, though he did recognize what sort of place it was, from the lifts and the garage doors. It was an abandoned mechanic’s shop of some sort, and he was alone, still in the same cum coated clothes he had been in, and shackled to the floor. Near him, was a bowl of food and a bottle of water. He drank and ate, and then tested the chain and screamed–but no one came to his rescue. Slowly, a different ache began to overtake him–something he recognized as a bodily ache, like a growing stomach or a dry throat, but it was like a dryness of his skin, a tingle in his tongue and upper palate. It grew more intense, and he became obsessed with trying to decipher it, and as it grew stronger, so did that voice. The voice he’d heard in the stall, but now it didn’t sound quite like his voice. Not like the narration of his thoughts, but like someone else speaking to him, trying to overwhelm him. Here, I recall that Cumster said it was his voice–and that was the first time in the story he referred to himself in the first person.
The rapist returned, again, with more food and water to give him, and he took more sex. Fucked his mouth, fucked his ass–but he never came inside him, only on him, and the more the cum soaked into his clothes, the more he tasted it (but never swallowed it, just swished it through his mouth before spitting it down onto his shirt and pants) the more the unnamed need began to fade, but the voice, Cumster’s voice, only grew stronger, more insistant, and he found it impossible to resist its desires.
The rapist would leave for hours at a time, return with more food and water, abuse him, and then leave again. When he was gone, with nothing to occupy his mind, Steven found himself masturbating helplessly and constantly. Soaking himself in his own cum helped ease his desires, but it wasn’t enough–he found himself aching for his captor, begging him for more cum, begging him to not leave…but the stranger never spoke. Never even acknowledged him. He would plead for an explanation, beg him to release him, but he said nothing. He would just stare at him with those black eyes, and when he did, Steven could almost…feel the man probing into him, testing the depths of his desires and his mind, cocking his head slightly like he, too, could hear Cumster’s voice inside him, gauging its strength, but doing nothing beyond that.
He paused there in his story, thinking. Perhaps he was wondering if he was telling me too much, or perhaps he was just wondering what words to use next. I felt like he wanted to be precise, and so, I remembered what he said clearly. “The next part was the…most difficult. Not everyone can make it through. I can’t tell you about that–you’ll…see for yourself, one day soon. But I can say that Steven wasn’t there anymore afterwards, it was just me. Cumster. I didn’t need to be chained in place, because there was nowhere else in the world that I wanted to be, than there, waiting for Master, waiting for him to return and abuse me more, to use me…to free me from Steven’s chains. I hadn’t been strong enough to break them without him. Steven hadn’t even noticed them, not once in his entire life. But afterwards, I was finally free. I could be something else, someone better than that…worthless man I’d been before. I could be everything he wanted to be, but was too terrified to chase.”