I had done what I was told. I rode commando on the subway in loose basketball shorts and an oversized tee with cut-off sleeves, and I had a bandana in my pocket to use as a blindfold upon arrival. This was really happening - I, a 19 year old jock, was really about to walk into the apartment of an adult stranger whose ad I solicited on Craigslist, of all places, and although I had an idea from porn what it meant to be "used," the specifics of my intended role were intentionally left vague. Informed consent wasn't possible, yet my arrival to the dimly lit address I was given (and the unencumbered tent my semi was creating in my shorts) betrayed my intention to go through with whatever lay in store. I took a breath, hit my erection in my waistband, equipped my blindfold as instructed, and rang the doorbell.
I assume that my arrival was anticipated with a certain degree of impatience, as it couldn't have been more than a few seconds before I heard the door open. A moment of pregnant pause ensued in which I assume my form and compliance with directions was assessed.
A deep voice boomed: "Turn around. Slowly." Without even thinking, I tilted my head down, as if in deference, and did as I was instructed. I slipped a thumb into the waistband of my shorts and tugged down slightly to display my adherence to the "no underwear" directive (and, frankly, to tease my solicitor), which elicited two words that would eventually come to serve as a classically conditioned ejaculation cue in later years: "good boy." Without further delay, a hand pressed firmly on my right shoulder to guide me inside - the inspection was over, and the role I had come to play was about to begin.
It's funny how having one sense stripped away intensifies the others. Crossing the threshold, I was greeted with the intense odor of booze, the unmistakable scent of lube, and the bitter fumes of what I'd later understand to be poppers; the unique humidity of densely packed sweaty bodies thickened the air and coated my skin; and a cacophony of laughter from the guests in the house mixed with the thumping of music on nearby speakers and shrill moaning from background porn made orienting through space nearly impossible. Without words, the hand on my shoulder guided me through what felt like a maze of twists and turns, and numerous howls and ass-slaps from the various guests proved to me that my role had been made abundantly clear before my arrival. A confusing cocktail of nerves and excitement set in.
The parade eventually ended, and the hand on my shoulder squeezed as if to signify a clear command to stop. I did, and not a moment later my hands were unexpectedly yanked behind my back and unceremoniously bound with duct tape. Following this, my shorts were forcefully pulled down, and someone (with apparent brute strength) gripped my tee and quite literally tore it apart, leaving me stark naked in front of my audience.
Shock didn't have long to set up shop before a voice from my left broke my nervous daze. "Get the rest. We're starting."
Without missing a beat, a kick suddenly made contact with my back, and my bound hands forced me to break my fall with my knees, torso, and chin. Apparently this was the desired outcome, as my waist was then grabbed by a pair of hands to guide my hips back into a very literal "face-down, ass-up" position on the floor. In that moment, I felt my hole purse up as I wondered how many people were in the room starting at its exposed rawness, and I felt my balls tighten as the dangled vulnerably right below it. My erection was gone, but I somehow knew that me being erect or not literally did not matter to this crowd. My erection - my pleasure - was never the point, and I could feel that quite palpably in that moment as I lay exposed and bound.
Then came my scream.
I felt myself let out a screech in the microseconds before I understood why, but my pain receptors eventually caught up and I realized: something was just shoved up my un-lubed ass. And the laughter and the hooting followed from my numerous observers. Whatever was just plunged into me felt cold and against the warmth of my opening, and holy fuck it hurt. Then I noticed the feeling of something filling up my insides - almost a sense of sloshing - and then it hit me: someone had shoved a bottle up my ass and was filling me with what I would later identify as beer. Before I had time to process what this meant (i.e., that the goal was to get me as drunk as possible as fast as possible), I felt one of the on-lookers grab the bottle and pump it into me, fucking me bare with the bottle neck. Each push felt like it was splitting me open, and each felt more forceful than the last. My hole's assailant then grabbed my sack and pulled it in opposition to the thrusts of the beer can, and I couldn't help but scream again as the jeering continued. At that moment, someone dug their fingers into my jaw and lifted my face up as if in admonishment and snarled five words I'll never forget: "we're just getting started, bitch."
My face was released from the vice-like grip of my omen-bearer, and it was then that I heard the dangle of belts and the hurried unzipping of pants. At this point, I noticed the laughter was dying down, and the atmosphere seemed to turn from one of raucous partying to a more concentrated determination. I felt less vibration from the floor, indicating less movement - as if my audience had settled on some sort of formation or pause. My face still on the floor, my hole still plugged, I then heard one of the men around me let out a sigh (as if after a hard day's work) and then I felt something start pounding me lightly on my lower back, and I realized:
