PROLOGUE
Disgust. That was the only thing he could possibly feel at this moment. Laying on a cum and blood satined mattress could do that. Make you feel worthless, used, cheap. how long had he been these men's toy? In a windowless room it's hard to keep time. For all he knew he could have been here for weeks, months even. . . but time didn't matter anymore. He spend his last "caring" time poraying to god that someone would save him . . . save him from the endless torture that now engulfed his miserable existence.
He now used that time to stare at the aging, sagging ceiling. He stopped, idely to wonder how old a building would have to be for a roofto start decomposing to such a degree. Why was he wondering a damn ceiling, when he could die at any moment! Fuck! He had just been raped an uncountable amount of times! And yet he was wondering about a fucking ceiling. Was he losing his mind? It would make sense if he was. He'd been in the dark now for so long. Waiting. Wondering when the next onslaught of pain and humiliation would come. But why does he need a mind when he's just someones fuck toy? Hmmmm. Fuck toy. Could he even be considered one of those? He never participated. When one is being fucked, don't they have to take equal part in the act, to be considered a fuck toy?
Yeah he had lost his mind. He could only use the last strand of hope that someone would come. . . and save him before his mind was completely gone . . . forever . . .