Michelangelo's sprung-out mattress groaned and creaked almost bowing to the concrete. A giant, three-fingered hand muffled the young turtle's high-pitched cry.
A thick, greedy tongue suffocated the smaller mutant. The stench of cheap beer washed all over Mikey's face. Pinned, he thrashed his neck back and forth unable to move in any other way. "Get off!" Panic set in like hardening concrete. "I can't breathe!"
Raphael slurred. "I promise ta be gentle, Leo."
A hundred thousand volts seized through Michelangelo's body. "I'm not Leo, you stupid drunk fu-ugghhhh!"
Mikey's neck cracked to the side, and blood painted an orange pillow; strangely, he wasn't crying yet. Someone had definitely heard him. Help was gonna burst through that door any second. Totally not going to be raped.
The hulk shifted around on the bed and whispered. "I ain't no drunk. Baby."
Blood flecked from Michelangelo's lips. "You're right, you're right! But, please, Raph, look at me." Glassy amber eyes reminded the young ninja of those kids they found on trace, this weird-ass new drug that'd been popping up all over the city. "I'm Mikey."
The bear flipped his ragdoll belly-down. "Likes I said, I'll be gentle." A paw extruded Mikey's scared-stiff tail from its hiding spot under shell. "If you're quiet."
Michelangelo had never eaten his own scream before. It burned his throat. Made him hiss.
"Quit your whinin'." Raphael squeezed and tugged the flaccid cock in a way that told Mike, there's an easy way, and an, 'I can rip your shaft off' kind of way.
A spit-soaked finger dipped in the virgin's puckering asshole.
"No!" Michelangelo swam for shore. Then, his vision drowned in stars from the force of the blow to the back of his skull. His face planted. Shame gurgled and groaned out of him.
Raphael took the opportunity to dismount.
Barely conscious, Mikey slapped at the sheets, his hands were floppy, dead fish.
The clink of a belt on the concrete echoed around Mikey's rape-room. The turtle squeezed his appendages inside his shell.
Yeah, right, you can't do that. There was no escape.
The little turtle's ass got yanked skyward. A foot crushed the side of Mikey's swollen face. Raphie was all saddled up.
The bulbous end of a slimy dick rammed one frightened, pulsating asshole.
Mikey opened his mouth to scream. A big toe stuffed that hole, too. And, when the cock sank into his unstretched flesh tunnel, only the bed protested coherently.
Michelangelo sounded so fucking stupid.
The merciless rod carved deep into colon, ruining the tender tissue. Nothing helped with the pressure and pain, not even Raphael cooing, 'Take it. Take it.'
Baby blue eyes crossed with every inch pumped into the teen's core.
When Mikey's arms flailed around lamely, Raphael grunted in annoyance and reined in his pony. The rider pulled out. Both holes.
Michelangelo spat out toe jam and snotted on his sheets. Deliverance from that demon cock felt so fucking good. Blessed, uncorked relief.
Raphael rubbed his cock, slick with ass juice, on the teen's already destroyed butthole. "Break time's ova."
The rapist's weapon was fully-automatic and it riddled Mikey's fuckslit. Every so often, Raphael would stop to check out his target. That's what the teen hated most, the sheer joy Red took in gaping.
Michelangelo focused on the Orange soda, over there, dripping out its can, instead of picturing his bloody, raw orifice ingesting a veiny purple shaft. In and out. In and out. God, it hurt! God, it hurt!
Why'd he stop?
Raphael reared up. He churred and headbutted Michelangelo.
That was some pain to focus on, alright. The teen almost didn't feel his insides tearing as he was skewered almost all the way through. Mikey's cries embedded into the mattress forever.
A sick, muddy heat coated his insides. His tummy hurt like he'd swallowed spray-foam insulation. Some cum trickled out his anus, even though the jagged hole was knotted up by Raphael's over-inflated penis. Or, maybe it was blood.
Red was a lead blanket. Orange was a cum dumpster. The only movement, Mikey sobbed, was a happy cock unhooking from his asshole. Sewage drained out Mikey's sphincter and drenched everything with slop. Hot soup.
He hung his head over the mattress and wormed his way out from under Raphael. After a few minutes, he worked most his torso out. His forehead vein scrapped the concrete. Finally, sweating, bloody, and exhausted, he splattered head-first on the floor. Born again.
Raphael still looked like Raphael.
The shivering younger turtle hugged his knees watching Leo's mate cuddled up to a soiled pillow. Like nothing had happened. Nothing.
Michelangelo's clock had fallen on the floor. Five AM. He crushed it into a ball after his reflection caught his eye in the display. Who the fuck was that?
The bundle of gears and springs dropped from his hands. Another day. Just another day. Go cry in a skin-peeling, hot shower, then perhaps, force some nice, runny eggs down. Lots of protein.
The vomit mixed with all the rest. The young turtle scooted all the way to the door. What a mess he had made. Michelangelo was disgusting.
No more comfort. No more quiet. Time to clock in to ninja academy.
With a light click, Michelangelo shut last night behind him.
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A/N: Probably to be continued, I wasn't sure if I would like T-cest but I did! I hope you enjoyed as well, thank you for getting this far, lol, poor Mike. xoxo