It was no different from what I’d endured at Bluebell. They had groomed me to be a perfect whore, and I had grown into a perfect bottom. Behold—fourteen men had all been brought to climax inside my asshole. Oh, how thrilling it was… I loved feeling them come deep within me. I loved them filling me with their cum. I simply loved it—and before I knew it, I was erect.“This fucker’s made for this, huh? Look at this, you bastard!”A steel‐toed boot spread my legs apart. The workers burst into raucous laughter—and then ground my erection mercilessly beneath their boots.“Ugh—ahh…”A whimper escaped me as the leather crushed my cock. A mocking whistle sounded; I couldn’t make out the words. One boot rolled in place, pressing down in a circle.“No—ugh… please, no…”My hips bucked of their own accord. My butt clenched around nothing.“Hey, you bastard…”The torch came closer. Not Oligamy this time, but the guy who sometimes smoked with me at lunch—the loader operator.“All that cum I fed you—didn’t even get it all, so now you want more?”“No—ugh, ah—!”His boot pumped back and forth over my cock. I felt I would die. My hips began to thrust with the boot’s rhythm before I even realized it. The rough sole ground and rubbed my shaft, sending lightning‐bolt thrills through me. My nape tingled, my toes curled. I wanted harder, rougher, more brutal… My mouth hung open as I came, clenching the unused asshole so tight it felt like shards of glass. Ecstasy pierced my skull. I threw back my head as my body trembled, unable even to moan, and exploded in cum. It was so good—so unbelievably good, I felt I might die. Trembling, I convulsed, then slowly came back down.The torch hovered above me. Hidden eyes watched me reach orgasm from first gasp to last tremor. Shame followed the pleasure, seeping through {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} me. I wanted to feel ashamed—wanted the humiliation. All along, ever since I fled Bluebell, I craved it: the rape they inflicted.“How was that? Still want to crush a few fingers and dump her?”Mr. Acacia’s hiss broke the silence. No one answered.“Think it over, boys. I’ll keep her safely until morning.”With that, the torches receded without a word, plunging me into darkness once more. I heard boots shuffling away, cloth brushing, until all sound cut off. Silence fell as when I first woke.I lay on the floor, regaining my breath. My feverish body cooled slowly after climax. Only my own breathing filled the quiet. What would come next? I blinked slowly. My mind was empty—only the afterglow remained, still dominating my consciousness.Bootsteps broke the stillness, drawing closer one by one. First one, then two, then three pairs of shoes approached in the pitch dark. A single voice cut through the black:“Well then, Raymond… I told you not to leave before granting permission.”It was Jérôme, his voice as mischievous as at twenty. I heard a zipper slide. I rested my cheek on the cold floor and closed my eyes. But what came next was not what I expected: a hot stream of piss poured over my face.“Ugh—no, please!”I turned my head, trying to avoid the filth. A boot came out of the darkness and pressed onto my shoulder, forcing my face into the urine. I could not move; I had to lie with my face under the stream. The stench of piss assaulted me. I gagged and coughed.“Filthy thing—ignorant of shame,” Mr. Acacia’s raspy voice declared.The boot lifted. I rubbed my face on the floor, stifled sobs escaping me. Even if I opened or closed my eyes, there was only vivid darkness. I felt abandoned, rolling alone in the dark. Tears welled up. Goddamn, the afterglow still lingered—more painful than anything.I scrunched my shoulders and wept silently. As I pressed my forehead into the floor, a large warm hand touched my shoulder.“Raymond…”It was Simon. He whispered as he held me gently.“Ah, Raymond…”His hand, which had cradled me, moved to my bruised neck and tenderly stroked my piss‐soaked face. He caressed my cheek wet with tears, then bent to press his lips to mine. He did not recoil from the filth, but lapped at it—kissing my forehead and nose, licking the tears from my cheeks. Then he pressed his lips to my jaw as if that still weren’t enough. His body heat was unbearably warm against mine. I could feel him crying too. He kept pressing his tears onto my cheeks, rubbing faces as if begging affection.“Raymond, I thought I’d lost you forever.”Simon whispered into my ear and drew me close.“G-go away…”I shivered, barely able to speak. The warmth of his touch on my cheek revolted me—like an alligator’s tongue.“Let go, Simon!”I writhed, screaming to break free. But Simon held me firmly as one soothing a convulsing child. His strong arms were like iron chains; I could not escape. He held me until my strength gave out, and I lay in his embrace, panting with fear.Finally I could only weep in his arms. In the darkness, Simon’s embrace was the only solid comfort. I cried quietly at first, then couldn’t stop. Simon soothed me, stroking my back and pressing his lips into my wet hair. Though I still feared and loathed him, his resolute comfort made my body slacken. Simon too was still crying. Our tears—filth‐soaked though they were—mingled together, soaking our embrace.A light flickered in the darkness—a lighter’s flame. A cigarette tip burned to life. Then came the click of a switch: an electric lamp lit up. Mr. Acacia held it aloft, illuminating us.I blinked, stunned, still in Simon’s arms. Mr. Acacia inhaled deeply on his cigarette, then exhaled with a hiss.“A tearful reunion—quite touching. Isn’t that right, Jérôme?”The lamp swung to reveal Jérôme’s face floating in the dark. My breath caught. I remembered his laughter: in Room 401 at Bluebell, the afternoon they first raped me awake, he laughed as I held a knife to my throat—ecstatic with sadistic pleasure. He laughed as he strapped my leash to the railing, watching me tremble in fear. And now… five years later, there he stood in the darkness, his pale face lit, lips curled in silence. His green eyes glistened as he softly whispered:“Raymon—where have you been hiding? How have you been?”Mr. Acacia drawled, exhaling smoke, “Well hidden—took some effort to find you after you vanished upon discharge…”Jérôme stepped closer, studying my face. Simon tightened his hold as if shielding me—but Jérôme ignored him.“I saw you in photos sometimes, but you’ve filled out, Raymond. You used to be so skinny, doped up…”He reached out. His rough fingers brushed my cheek, turning my face toward him. His touch was strangely cold, though delicate—tracing my forehead, cheekbones, nose, lips, jaw, ear. Each touch made me flinch.He noticed my reaction and only smiled. He then examined the scar on my shoulder. Simon’s arms trembled as Jérôme rolled up my sleeve and traced the bullet wound. Mr. Acacia knelt beside him, bringing the lamp close. All three of them stared at the scar.“Did it hurt?” Jérôme asked suddenly. I stared blankly, then nodded slowly. He glanced at Mr. Acacia and grinned mischievously:“What’s worse—being shot or being burned?”Mr. Acacia met his grin with those dark blue eyes, then turned to me and said coldly,“I think we can test that.”Without hesitation, he pressed the cigarette’s burning tip into my shoulder wound.“Aaagh!”My body jerked. Mr. Acacia stubbing out his cigarette nonchalantly as if my shoulder were an ashtray, then tossed the butt aside.“Well?” he asked. “Which hurts more, Raymond?”“Hah—huh—ugh—huh…”Tears fell. My whole body tensed. Simon gripped me even tighter—not to protect me, but to prevent my escape, to make the torture easier.“Can’t decide? Want me to try again?”He lit another cigarette. I stared at him numbly. Our eyes met as he drew in smoke and laughed—a metallic, chilling sound, his lips forming an O while the rest of his face remained motionless, like a mask. I shuddered. He laughed again, then hissed kindly,“Don’t be so scared. There’ll be other opportunities… even so.”He fell silent. The lamp went out, plunging us into darkness again. Mr. Acacia spoke softly:“Shall we observe a moment of silence for our two friends, Hugh and George?”“Hah—ugh—huh, cuh-cough… cough…”I couldn’t tell if they actually observed silence. All was black. No one spoke. Only I whimpered and blinked in pain. My shoulder burned and ached, making me convulse like I’d been stabbed. Simon’s arms remained locked around me like iron.Tears fell again. I tried to stop them, but could not. My ears rang, my throat constricted. My head felt squeezed by pain, my chest tight, as if I wanted to run somewhere—anywhere away from the darkness. Yet the one to leave the darkness was Mr. Acacia. After a long silence, he quietly departed.I heard his distant footsteps, then Jérôme’s as he removed his hand from my shoulder. After another pause, Jérôme rose and walked away, his boots echoing in my ears. Only when they were all gone did Simon move.He gently stroked my cheek, then carefully unfastened the handcuffs from my wrists. I did not resist—I could not. My body was heavy as wet cloth. Only my eyelids could move.He laid me down on the cold concrete floor. My pants, already lowered, dropped from my ankles. Simon spread my legs and settled between them. He leaned over me.“Now sleep, please.”His voice was flat, but I sensed a fierce emotion beneath it. He was still crying—the tears running from his eyes into my hair. He continued softly,“So I can be reunited with Raymond.”Simon pressed his forehead against mine. His tears mingled with mine on my cheek. At that moment I understood: his tears were not born of grief but of ecstatic, obscene joy. Simon was thrilled at the thought of reuniting with his lover—who was me and yet not me. He had met me before but had never truly met me. Now he could finally have me.I closed my eyes. As I slipped into unconsciousness, I felt Simon’s fingers gently parting my filthy asshole.

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