There were two of them this time.
Humans both of them. A guy of medium build, the other one of similar height but weighing at least 100 pounds more.
Greasy t-shirts, leather vests, cowboy boots. A faint smell of gasoline and motor oil. Typical bikers or truck drivers.
The fat one kept his sparse hair tied back in a thin ponytail trailing down his broad back. The other man's hair was trimmed short in a burr. The latter had something looking like a Hulibee Beard going on but not quite achieving the look so far. Tattoos of flaming hearts, names, skulls, and the bleeding Ghost Rider and the like covered their arms. How very original.
The fat one behind him pulled Spike's head back grabbing onto his hair. Spike clenched his jaw trying hard not to make a sound. He hated it when tossers like these made him wince or cry out even though it was very hard not to. The man's other hand was already busy jabbing two thick fingers up into him, roughly scissoring and stretching him painfully. Spike couldn't help but whimper pathetically at the stinging, tearing sensation. Christ, it hurt!
Every day he came to, tight as a newborn babe. Every day, each rape hurt just as much as the ones the day before.
"Nnngh," he moaned through clenched teeth, in futile protest between the pants, and painful sounding gasps, which he now had to make in order to somehow be able to bear the assault. Three thick fingers were inside him now, curling, and stretching and damaging him, making him bleed. God, it hurt so much! He arched his back uselessly trying to escape the pain.
The man in front of him had climbed the three steps and stood near his head.
"You ready yet, Carl?" he asked while he undid his fly and pulled down his jeans.
"Almost," came the grunted reply. Carl continued jabbing and stretching a bit. Then he finally pulled out his fat fingers from Spike's arse and began fisting himself, getting ready to push his cock hard into Spike's abused and bleeding hole. Getting ready for the two of them to start their small agreed mini gang bang rape.
Nothing like going for synchronization and timed orgasms, when you were raping in tandem. Spike swallowed and closed his eyes, trying to get himself ready as well.
"That's good," the man in front of Spike replied, licking his lips. Impatiently, he slapped Spike's face.
"Look at me, creep," he said. Spike opened his eyes.
"This is gonna be good, isn't it, you filthy little slut? You gonna suck me good, ain't you, bitch?"
Spike didn't reply, only kept peering warily at the man. His head was still pulled back tight by Carl.
"Carl, let go of its head, man. I want that blow job now."
The man grabbed hold of Spike's shoulders to get into position and Spike couldn't help but cry out. His shoulders hurt! The guy's dick hung dangling in front of his face but Spike couldn't reach it with his mouth because the wanker, Carl, still hadn't let go of his hair.
The slapping sound of Carl trying to get his dick up and ready continued behind Spike's back. Sounded like Carl was becoming frantic. In fact, sounded like Carl had a bit of a problem. Probably had one too many beers in order to do the job.
Spike sighed wearily at the thought. The humans who came to use him often did. Trying to drink up enough courage all evening before they got up and went to get what they'd paid for; meeting an actual vampire and fuck it. It meant that they would often be too sodding drunk to just be quick about it. Instead, they would fool around, humiliate him, piss on him. Or use the toys on the shelves clumsily and wrong and very painfully.
Right now, Carl here reeked of beers, and the kind of animalistic repelling lust that brain deficient human males got when they would get together in a group in front of a lone, naked victim.
The kind of lust that made them attack as a pack. That made them assault and rape and most times, kill the defenseless victim. Never caring for pleas for mercy. Never stopping.
That was the kind of lust that Carl stank of. The same kind rolled off Carl's raping fuck buddy.
It was going to be a long day.