The Last Photograph
by Wrestlr
4.
A door opened, and the lights came on. I flinched, blinded, eyes clamping shut, dazzled after so long in darkness. A man I didn’t recognize in a generic uniform led in a naked youth. I didn’t recognize the youth either at first—he was glassy-eyed and freshly shaven, body hairless as a newborn’s except for his eyebrows, and even his head was shaved—but it was Paul’s friend, the one I’d tackled at the ziggurat. He had something around his head, a gold metal strip, maybe a quarter-inch tall and as thick, running around his forehead and cranium, a small bandage over it at the back of his skull. He shuffled along, as though sleepwalking, behind the stranger. The stranger led him to another cage, the same as mine, with a mat across the bottom. The friend climbed in, curled up as if going to sleep. The stranger shut and locked the cage, pulled a small device from his pocket, poked at a few buttons on it, and walked away.
“Hey! What happened to him?” I asked, nudging my head toward the youth.
The man ignored me. He switched off the lights and left.
I’d seen the room, though. I knew the layout now.
I was still going over my memory of looking around the room when I heard someone near my cage. I’d gotten used to the sound of the kid breathing quietly in the cage several feet from mine. The sounds covered the someone’s approach.
“Sir?” I asked the darkness, hungry for food, for the bathing when Mick would touch me, the simple human contact.
The cage door opened. “Out, Filth.” Mick’s voice. I found myself grateful for his company.
He hosed down my cage. He hosed down my body. But this time, after he soaped and rinsed me—“On your knees.”
I knelt.
“Lean forward. Further. More.”
My hands were still restrained behind my back. I feared if I leaned forward much more, I’d lose my balance and fall face-first. My shoulder met something, solid enough to bear my weight, and I leaned against it.
Mick positioned my ass in the air. With my hands restrained behind my back, balancing on my knees and shoulder was tricky. His fingers poked between my ass cheeks. He found and jabbed them up into my hole. “Uhng!” I protested, surprised by the sudden invasion.
His fingers entered me as far as they could go. My ass spasmed and contracted and tried to eject the intruders, but Mick worked them deep inside me. He had lubed them, and I was thankful for that.
Mick took his time working his fingers around inside my ass. I’d had fingers inserted for medical exams, but never like this. I could take this. No matter what he threw at me, I could take it.
“Tight ass, Filth. You a virgin back here? Get ready for my dick.”
I felt him kneel behind me. He slapped my butt a few times, the suddenness made me gasp. Mick laughed and spanked me again, harder. Then he placed his erect cock between my butt cheeks and shoved. The head felt like something the size of a fist inside me and I yelped—”Ahh!“—before I could stop myself. Mick kept pushing until the head and shaft of his cock was inside me.
Pain roared through my body, stopping me from thinking about anything except the intrusion in my ass. I trembled and my shoulder nearly fell off its prop.
Mick pulled back, then slammed back in, repeating that maneuver over and over. He moaned.
I felt the excess lube drip down the back of my ball sack. I was getting used to the pain. My cock was soft—this was not erotic for me at all—and I could handle the pain. It was proof I was not dead inside yet.
Mick reached under my stomach and grabbed at my cock. His fingers were lube-slick, but my cock refused to get interested. The pounding in my ass prevented my cock from getting hard for his massaging hand. He tugged at my flaccid prick with rapid, yanking strokes.
He fucked me without mercy, and I refused to beg for any. “Gah!” he cried finally, and his body tensed, and he collapsed across my back. My shoulder slipped and, and my head fell against the concrete. Mick clung to me for a minute. I felt his softened cock slide from my tormented asshole.
Mick pulled away. I heard a plastic snap, the sound of a condom being removed.
Mick’s hand gripped my arm and he hauled me to my feet. He led me through the darkness. The friction of walking made my asshole protest.
“Kneel.”
Cage time. I went down to my knees.
“In you go, Filth.”
I crawled forward.
“Stop.”
I was halfway into the cage, but I froze. Mick fiddled with one of my wrists, and my hands came loose. “Thank you, sir,” I breathed, feeling the ache of my long immobilized arms suddenly swinging free.
“Inside.”
The gate closed behind me.
I said, “A question, please, sir?”
Mick sighed—but I had said please and sir. “What?”
“The kid.” I nodded toward where I thought the kid’s cage was in the darkness, knowing Mick could see. “What happened to him, please?”
“He cannot be trained the usual way. Perhaps his time alone in the jungle is to blame—it can make a man crazy sometimes. He has been haloed. That will force his obedience. You would do well to remember and learn from this. Otherwise, a man like you?—nosing around where you don’t belong, asking questions—you might’ve disappeared into the jungle never to be seen again. We know you were military. Your training will be an asset if you learn your lessons. That is the only reason you are here and still alive, Filth, instead of rotting under some tree back there in the jungle.”