Mark is forced to lick his rapists' pits then has his ass invaded by increasing larger body parts....

Subway Savages - Page 2
by Jeff Kincaid
Art by Etienne
Series: Subway Savages

"My, my," the leather-jacketed thug snickered ominously, giving his partner yet another leering wink, "if I didn't know better I'd sure be convinced that this straight pussy-loving jock is drooling for a taste of my chewy ol' meat." What did Toby think?

A menacing chuckle, low in the throat.

"Start these assholes off on a little armpit and you never know what they'll go for next." His massive paw grabbed hold of Mark from behind, urging the tousled head forward. Closer. "Turns you on, don't it, now that you think about it, hmmmm? Big drooly boy-cock, hard as a fucking rock?" The grovelling executive couldn't wait to let it slide into his open mouth, wasn't that right? "Run that sloppy tongue all over it, g'wan, we'd hate to withhold what you wanted, especially since you asked so nice."

"Don't, no, please," Mark begged. actually, he didn't get all of the word "please" out, Griff's massive fuckstick cutting it off mid-vowel. It came out "pulufffkkk," and then there was nothing for a couple of minutes but the sound of the crawling train deep under the muck at the bottom of the river, punctuated with slurps and smackings from the abused mouth of the handsome ex-gridiron jock.

Then there was a little "awwwk!" of surprise: while the frenzied Griff was forcing his rampaging pecker past Mark's virginal glottis with a husked, "Take it, motherfucker, deep-throat, deep-throat that horny dick!" - Toby was amusing himself by widening the captive's anus a little more. If Griff could get two fingers through the sphincter maybe he could go for three?


Maybe he could get all five inside that gaping cave, and the knuckles, too! the whole fucking wrist, wouldn't that be something? If the black dude could take it why not the white? The globes of his ass looked ripe and strong enough for sure!

Mark struggled again, getting cuffed across the back of his neck for the insubordination. another quick karate chop shut him up-or should I say "shut him down?" In all honesty folks, the stuck-up sonofabitch was getting his back the way he should've been given it as long ago as high school. Had a couple of us been wild enough to jump him after school in the locker room, bring him down spread-eagled and stripped balls naked, had we tied him to the benches and dicked him a little while he fucking squirmed, hey, he just might've turned out a little more humble, yeah.

What the fuck: better late than never, and these two fuck demons weren't about to let the great and proud Mark Holton up until he knew exactly what it felt like to crasy. To say, "yes, sir" like a good little slave. I mean, picture the scene, man, this big 204-pounder with the perfect centerfold body beaten slack on the filthy floor of a dirty ol' New York City subway train who knows how many feet under the East River, a fist up his never-fucked ass all the way to the goddamned elbow, a pistoning cock down his never-fucked throat all the way to the belly button?

Making it even better, the fist-fucking Toby suddenly realized, was the absolute fact that this cunt-loving hero had a fantastically natural shitter just made to be plowed. "Lookit this, man," he advised Griff, stirring his wrist and forearm in the slimy sheath, widening the opening. "How much you want to bet it can stretch more?"

Griff's eyes gleamed with a crazy light as Mark groaned on the floor, spit bubbling over his lower lip, the head sagging and the bulging muscles going slack from the abuse already heaped upon them. "You wanna do a double, Toby? Two goddamned hands in this bastard's twat?"

"Two goddamned hands in this bastard's twat, yeah," Toby repeated in a gross whisper, pulling out to intertwine fingers with his smirking big-chested partner, the resultant club at least eight inches around.

Mark tried to slither away. "You wanna rip my ass," he blubbered, mind blown. "You wanna tear me apart."

They were all over him before he could crawl two feet up the aisle, forcing the thickly muscled, hair-flecked thighs apart so that they could drill through the portal. Toby kept his knee firm against the heaving chest, not worrying about the flailing arms while the anus took the double-armed club; they were big, sure, but helpless, just beating backwards against the seats on either side, fingers curling as his innards stretched to the limit, more and more arm impaling him good. A gigantic warmth spread out from his bowels into his belly and on up to his brain, sweat leaking in copious rivers out of his own hair-matted armpits, soaking what shreds were left of his beautiful dress shirt.

His cock got hard.

"What'd I tell ya? Hah?" Toby almost came in his 501's, seeing how the workout was getting to the captive, as promised. As expected! His free hand closed around the length of the rigid, blue-veined shaft, slipping and sliding from the root to the head just for the additional fun of it-to rub it in. "Lookit your fucking cock, straight boy; tell me you don't like getting queered!"

"God, no," that was all Mark could say, and the saying of it made his assailants snort derisively, bright work lights in vertical rows outside the slow-moving windows suddenly casting bright light into the car. The workmen on the tracks in the tunnel were too busy to see what they thought they saw, which was two big subway savages pulling their combined fists and forearms with a liquid slurp out of the semiconscious businessman's ravaged quim, dancing him over to a pole....tying his arms over his head with his own leather belt, tightening it with the elite designer buckle imported from Gay Paree.

Page 3 available on May 16


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