Short Stay - Ended (1/2) SNUFF warning

Short Stay - Ended 

Chapter One   

He can’t be finished too quickly, because we need thirty minutes of footage – it’s a value for money thing.

It might take twenty-five to see him off, but that’s fine: critical moments will be seen more than once in the final edit, as they looked from multiple camera positions. Very little will be left on the hard drive equivalent of the cutting room floor, for my customers are big spenders who disapprove of discontinuities.   

There’s a barcode inked in black on the boy’s outer right thigh, six inches across by two in height, and his sweat trickles over those thick and thin uprights. Naturally smooth, it wasn’t necessary to shave his limb before our tattooist set to work for an afternoon.

The kid’s identifier was marked for this evening to rechristen him digitally, by stock number rather than name at his end. It’s been scanned several times as a silent alternative to roll call, tracking Kaden’s whereabouts as we moved around the facility keeping him busy with processes, over the 48-hours of run-in.     

Kaden’s barcode was zapped a final time when the boy’s bondage was confirmed as complete, for final assurance that the correct detainee had been presented to the chamber, in accordance with the paperwork. As though terror was insufficient, the tedium of audit protocol served to frustrate Kaden in the last room he’d see.

Once a date is set, they’re practically meat. And as near-meat, number not name becomes the way of things. 

Set-up finalised and double-checked, my men have withdrawn from the chamber. Barring technical difficulties that would make me curse and result in some crew bonuses being withheld, the boy will remain alone, now.

In the control suite, alongside me as producer/director, are three camera operatives working their allocated arrays, a sound and lighting technician, and two machine operators driving The Impaler remotely, from their laptops.

There are twenty inches of insertable length, but that’s just the start of it.

The crown – an unremarkable size-L phallus head, to ease Kaden into this – has already been aligned and wedged in the boy’s sphincter, as part of the preliminary work undertaken in person. Kaden has been forced open a lot, during his short stay, so a biggish prick at his back door is not a crisis in itself.

In the boy’s line of sight is a countdown that started at 10:00 when my crew closed the door behind them, and is now ticking below 02:00.

Emptiness: nobody to swear at, or plead with, on site. If necessary we can talk to Kaden from our remote monitoring station, but whether we do or don’t use that speaker option, he’ll figure he’s being watched, live, and before long he’ll become chatty as an extrovert after three pints – just wait and see.  

It’s 01:00 on the countdown and the apparatus begins a sequence of self-checks, whirring and hissing and clicking, testing electronics and hydraulics to confirm all is good to go.

The boy has seen the monster at the end of the ram, and he can’t forget it because there’s a monitor ahead of him, providing a crude feed of the butt machinery, like a rear-view mirror.

What Kaden doesn’t know, for sure, is whether tonight will be another brutal test, or his termination. I’m a callous head fucker, after all, and this has landed after three days of respite from sex work. So he’s not without hope, despite the beast gaping his hole.

But SHIT, this is crazy. Part of Kaden stays disbelieving, because it’s his only way to cope.  

00:20

Now he’s vocal and jerking at his restraints, temples throbbing:

‘FUUUUCCCCK!’

***

The attachment is for the customer to choose or – as here – to commission something bespoke, beyond the catalogue. But the powerhouse is one of a range: top of the range, in fact. It’s a Hi-Torq Maximus 9800 that’s the engine of my fuck machine, known more simply as the Maximus.

Their marketing is on-point:

Looking for a ram to batter reluctant doors? Wanting to ask searching questions of tight holes? Won’t consider taking ‘NO!’ for an answer? Think nothing could out-punch your faithful Hi-Torq 7500? Think again, and let us introduce you to the fully featured, capably complete, Maximus!

But in the consensual, near-vanilla BDSM scene, Maximus hasn’t sold well. Reviewers have critiqued the top quartiles of the outputs as being unusable in the real world. Therefore, the price premium over the well-regarded 7500 machine was difficult to justify.     

More seriously, a number of critics placed in writing an opinion that Maximus, when dialled-up to its more frantic settings, was dangerous to a quite irresponsible degree on the part of the manufacturers. In the hands of an inexperienced operator – it was said – a Maximus was liable to cause catastrophic (accidental) injury.

The reputational damage was such a shame for a precision engineering business, trying to improve their product. I mean, there’s no obligation to use the top of the output bands, is there? If you want to play safe, then keep it turned down. Not difficult!  

For my facility, Maximus was the only choice.

Kaden is arranged for the convenience of the machine in a passive doggy position, hands and knees flat on the platform with his muscular dumpster raised proud. Of course, he wants to wriggle off the prong, and the risk of him doing so is one we’ve mitigated with the tightest bondage, preventing him from drawing forward and away. Cuffs, chains and straps trap ankles, wrists and his waist, anchoring Kaden to the dais on which he’ll be opened-up and turned-out.  

Aesthetically, that riser in ebony stone is in perfect contrast to Kaden’s pale skin. For black boys, my alternative alabaster dais presents better on screen.

Micro-movements will remain possible for the plundered youth: the inevitable balling of fists and clenching of toes; tautening of muscle groups under assault, and demented jerking of the neck. Capturing reaction is key to viewer pleasure.

But Kaden can’t dip his back into an arch because there’s a chain, winched tight, running from the ceiling to a D-ring on the back of the thick leather belt he wears as one of his bondage accoutrements. For his own longevity, when The Impaler starts to piston his A-hole we can’t have Kaden thrashing his core, so his abdominal poise will be enforced even when his instinct is to surrender and slump.

The drama unfolds in the centre of the room, which is overwhelmingly black to minimise visual distractions. Our camera banks are everywhere – above him, looking down to his back; below him (on the platform) viewing up to his sweaty torso; on his face, in close-up and at panoramic distance; covering his flanks, and recording the progress of The Impaler from alongside that vicious shaft and behind it, square. The most popular feeds, though – and therefore to feature extensively in our edit – will be intimate shots of the boy’s ring dilation, as the prong at the end of hydraulic Maximus pillages his cunt, to absolute destruction.

***

Control the pace, and pace the agony

That’s the saying we have, in the control suite. My crew briefings talk of building pressure, and layering the intensity. My words could become trite, but we find – as one team, anticipating each other’s thoughts – that they bring focus to our conduct of Kaden’s brutalisation.

The first four inches of The Impaler are those of the boring size-L dick mould, and Kaden started with three inches inside of him, snared. The latex is firmer than forgiving.

Maximus powers the fucking, at speed settings variable from 1 thru 9. And it receives instructions as to how much length to fuck with, initiated at just those four untroubling inches.

Kaden the footballer. Kaden, with his steady girlfriend. Kaden the straight boy: None of these characters wanted to undergo anal penetration, period. But you’re aware he’s been forced and trained over his short stay, building his resilience for this evening. So, Kaden hates every minute, yet he can cope with what we’re throwing at his pussy – to a level.   

The kid’s boy hole was lubed at the attended preparation stage, and the front of the phallus (at least) was made slippery, too. There’s gliding going on, through a ring of well-shattered virginity. It was fun to pop Kaden’s unripe cherry, that one time, and he wouldn’t have endured long enough as an anal freshman plowed by The Impaler. 

Kaden’s petulance at his opener is expressed in gasps, as his ass is pecked by sequences of rabbit fucks towards the upper reaches of the speed dial. There are inactive interludes of 5 - 20 seconds – avoiding predictability – and then the machine is off again, hammering boy ass.

The anal ring slops with a generosity of lubricant and the easy, early penetration sounds slick. This isn’t difficult for Kaden – a boy introduced to fists, after all. But his solitariness is new, as is his fear that there’s nobody around to hit the big red Emergency Stop! plunger that he presumes exists, unseen.

Yep, it’s No Safe Words.

Muscle memory in Kaden’s sphincters keeps him reluctantly receptive to this first length. In the four corners of the chamber are candles on tall stands, flickering peripherally for the cameras but sufficiently distant to avoid interference with the studio-grade lighting. I hope viewers will appreciate the sepulchral look, and lick lips in anticipation of what’s to come, even as Kaden yields to this cinch of a starter.   

In section two, the shaft expands in girth to a dimension beyond that of the well-endowed prick. Our size reference point changes from man dick to Coke can, but the additional ask feeds-in gradually over the next four inches of length, in the form of a progressive flaring.

To start with, there’s no in-and-out fucking as we introduce Kaden to the new demand in thickness, with his penetration calibrated to be determined, but measured. My male + female team of two, operating Maximus from their computer terminals, are working well together as they manage pace effectively, gauging Kaden’s condition from the cameras on his asshole and face, and from the audio feed.

This step-up is a struggle for the 24-year-old: a savage dilation, and an unreasonable parting of his sphincter as the gross circumference drives into him. Kaden shows us it’s becoming a battle via his bloated cheeks, puffing hard as section two is propelled further. He’s hot (both meanings), and wetter. The fists have clenched white at this anal rigour, and Kaden squirms in his bondage, testing the tiny limits of his wriggle room. The noises of the machine are mechanical; those of the bondage, variously creaking and metallic… and from the boy himself, new distress at this beyond human girth, well-stuffed inside him:

‘Ahh, shit.’

‘Ahh…. FUCK!’

He doesn’t yet talk to me, though. This isn’t worse than a forearm in respect of size, though the density and lack of ‘give’ in this back door burglar will feel tougher than squidgy human flesh.

When it’s lodged, to 7.5”, we stop all progress temporarily, allowing sundry cameras to capture Kaden ‘at rest’. His ass lips in that (now) hairless perinium stretch outrageously wide in accommodation of The Impaler but, of course, the majority of the pole lingers in shot, yet to be rammed home. Despite the static equilibrium, the boy’s face registers something beyond pain – it’s agony – in his contortions and slitted eyes.

Doggy-crouched, Kaden is bubbling moist, his fading holiday tan so incongruous in this place of final reckoning. Without active fucking the barcoded boy has quietened; his thoughts now issued under his breath:  

‘Aww damn!’

‘Ahh!’

He’s re-adapting to a big one up the ass. Destiny, in this modern morality tale.  

My laptop sub-team dial-in a little fucking, now. In scarce dialogue passing between them – always constructive – the girl is, by default, stricter in her requirements of Kaden, suggesting earlier implementations and higher speeds. At this stage we need spectacle not sympathy, to satisfy our customers, and the girl is fully bought-in to the notion of digging Kaden deep, and hard.

The apparatus fucks with those 7.5 inches of length that Kaden has taken, across the flare of girth. He gets a 30-second trial run at speed setting 2, and then it’s cranked right up to 6 with no consideration of intermediate numbers. 

Now (and hereafter), it’s a proper workout for the semi-pro soccer player. Working until failure is a standard gym bro trope, good for motivational Instagram posts that generate high engagement: but with his weights, a boy can stop anytime – it’s all under control. This evil can’t be tamed. It’s a total loss scenario that’s developing, and for sure, Kaden’s petrified by this alternative, sexualised form of character testing.  

‘Aww fuck! FUCK!’  Kaden’s vocabulary remains limited, but it’s yelled with fresh urgency.

It may be a range topper and overengineered, but don’t assume Maximus runs as silently as it does efficiently. Pleasing noise was a design criterion, included in the specification though it would have been simple to construct a machine that purred unfussed, like a Rolls Royce.

When the ram retracts as far as it’s going to retreat from boy ass, there’s a clunk as it hits a stop at the back of the machine. Prior to the next auto-fuck there’s a hiss, likened to the escape of air from a tyre. And then, the penetration, accompanied by a rattling from the mechanical parts as though the travel was along aged, jointed train track.  

Kaden can do nothing but listen for the cycles of clunk-hiss-rattle, preceding each and every rape of his ass. When the speed is set low, his wait for the next inevitable fuck is a torture itself, but when the speed is at midpoint there’s only just enough time to brace for a penetration, once the clunk is heard. Now, though, with the output cranked-up way high, there’s no fraction of a second for Kaden to ready himself, and consequently his torture chamber is a cacophony:

Clunk-hiss-rattle …. ‘FUCK!’

Clunk-hiss-rattle …. ‘FUCK!’

Clunk-hiss-rattle …. ‘Oh my…’

Clunk-hiss-rattle …. ‘…God!’

Clunk-hiss-rattle …. ‘Please…!’

Clunk-hiss-rattle …. ‘Stop!’

Clunk-hiss-rattle …. ‘No…STOP!!’

We pace Kaden’s escalation with several minutes at this, section two, because customers love to see a straightforward intense fuck, at the edge of possibility. The boy is at that finely balanced stage where his struggle is immense, but his tenacity sees him keeping-up, barely, with the pressure we’ve loaded anally. The edit will feature lots of facial shots over these minutes, of a boy who’s been made so utterly miserable by this ramrod, grimacing and sexually moaning and calling his obscenities to an empty room.

The anal dilation is sure to get plenty of screen time, too: such a savage gaping of young hole. If you didn’t know about Kaden’s cheating with a whore (etc), you might almost feel sorry for him.

***

There’s a short respite, during which Kaden pants like he’s just come off a heavy cardio session. The kid’s recovery of composure, sufficient to garble brief sentences, takes thirty seconds.

‘Please… no more,’ he puffs.

‘For fuck’s sake.’

‘No more… please.’ 

Sure enough the boy has started to address me directly, now things are hairy for him. He knows I’m there, though I’m not here with him. The appeal has got to be worth a try.

The duo at the desk extend his downtime until it’s longer than Kaden expected; in fact, long enough for him to wonder whether further escalation has been abandoned, or was ever intended? It’s one of those induced glimmer of hope moments. 

‘Let me off?’ Kaden suggests, with a rising naughty schoolboy cadence.  

‘Please… no further,’ he says – more realistically – re. the many remaining inches yet to exploit him.

The next is a toughie, it’s fair to say. Only another four inches of length, at the prevailing girth, but broken midway by a knot in the shaft like a dog dick, bulging the heavy latex.

Our incremental demand is teased lovingly up the boy’s chute. Had the lubricant not changed in this same section, from oil to Deep Heat rub, then Kaden may have taken the extra length with stubborn stoicism. But instead, his ass is on fire:

‘FUUUUCCCCCK, NO!’

‘YOU CUNTS… FUUUUCCCCCK!’

‘STOP! OH FUUUUCCCCCK…..!’

Those tender thinned lips burn first, followed by his gaped sphincter.

The next push sees the onion-shaped knot jemmy at Kaden’s back door – high torque toying with his anal resistance for amusement, before smashing it down.  

A favourite angle of the moment will be the wide shot of Kaden’s flank. In picture – The Impaler spearing his butt way deep already, but probing even deeper; and the footballer’s smooth torso fixed doggy-style, barcode prominent, sweat-drenched from hair to calves, with muscles rippling in futile defensive efforts against the ferocity of the pillaging.

When the viewer gets to see Kaden’s face again, his neck will be thrown back in stunned agony, his mouth will be hanging open, and his wild eyes bloodshot. His colours of indignance will be reds and purples.

Our overhead cameras will remind the connoisseur of the breadth of Kaden’s slick back, but the orgasm trigger from this point of view is the girth of the phallus already entering his boy cunt, and the extent of what remains to be propelled, conspiring to mess with one’s sense of proportion and to make the athlete’s broad shoulders look (unfairly) unimpressive.

‘Control the pace, okay?’ I remind my crew, in gentle caution because we have a distance to go, with lots of hurty POV still to film.  

Fingers I caught hovering over a keyboard, on the verge of instructing an increase in the fuck speed, hold back, leaving Maximus at a sedate 2/9.

In scale, this assault has become beyond human in terms of length (c.11 inches are entering and extracting at each fuck), and well beyond in respect of ruling girth, and the rigidity. Add the torment of the knot in this latest section, and Kaden’s experience of the moment is akin to being raped by an ornate wooden chair leg.   

Still, my influence keeps the cycling nice and slow for him:

Clunk-hiss-rattle

Clunk-hiss-rattle

Each sequential process takes two seconds. It’s sufficient forewarning for Kaden to steel himself, whimpering. I hope, also, that Kaden is using these less busy minutes to reflect on the circumstances that brought him here – to the end of my ram – and not some other unfortunate boy.

It’s very hard work for Kaden, when it’s as long as a ruler and as wide as a soda can. And that’s fun/hot to watch, for those who’ll buy the curated edit, because opportunities to observe handsome boys under terminal duress, in high definition, are practically non-existent.

Alongside Kaden’s sweat, his tears have formed, and now the cliché is completed with blood on the brutaliser, discernible as smears when the ivory-coloured shaft retracts. He’s sniffling, around his under-breath complaint at every fresh nailing by the big one:

‘No, no, no… fuck!’

‘Fuck… please, make it stop… Fuck!’

‘Holy fuck… No!’

‘Why are you doing this!? (Inaudible - broken by sobbing) Please…you’re ripping me up…just stop…’

It’s not – quite – an irretrievable situation at this moment, but it’s asking a great deal of Kaden’s distended innards. Lots of spread, compression, and flexibility is forced. His tenacity too, of course.

This is an entertaining sequence for the footage. We talk of every production needing several climax shots, creating repeated ecstasy for our customers such that they’ll watch the file again and again, picking-up where they last spent seed, desperate to know what happens next, which is bound to be even worse! As a rule of thumb, if viewers are engaged enough to watch a movie four times, then they’ll place a pre-order for the next production. Loyalty is vital to the bottom line, in this game.

I nod agreement to the fuck speed being increased, because this boy deserves a proper slamming. It mustn’t be final use, though, and whilst I would have lingered at 5/9, I don’t overrule the laptop whiz kids as they dial Maximus up to 6/9. It builds to that pace smoothly, over three fuck cycles, treating the costly machine with mechanical sympathy.

When it settles at the new demand, Kaden’s reaction changes to one of drama borne of shock and critical fear. The youngster howls, sobbing freely and loudly, now.  

‘Tearing me apart… STOP!’

‘PLEASE STOP!’

Kaden manages his pleas, staccato around each silencing thrust of the ram. 

To mix metaphors inelegantly, this is such a fucking ride for Kaden, over rough seas on a bucking bronco. There’s a thread of snot, hanging from his nose. He’s got vascular in a profound way, corded along his pumped arms.

When the knot is driven into the kid’s A-hole he sucks his cheeks in distress, so they deflate like he’s biting lemon.

Kaden’s barcoded thigh, boiling in his sweat, is pure boy meat.

My operators alternate between 3 and 7 on the speed inputs, teasing Kaden in the cruellest way.

We finish this episode by challenging Kaden with a forty-second burst at speed 8, and the sprint produces from him a spectrum of broken noises, incoherent. The boy’s fat tears plop to the dais on which he labours, fast and furious.

This time, when the machine stops the ram hasn’t retracted, leaving those 11.5” cramming Kaden’s ass, but stationary.

We’ve had 20-minutes of retribution, and the time is right to say a few words to Kaden.