Mark gets a foot up his ass then gets forced to eat his rapist's ass.

Subway Savages - Page 4
by Jeff Kincaid
Art by Etienne
Series: Subway Savages

"This," Toby sniggered, looming up between the wishboned legs and using the remainder of the sticky man-scum on his foot, smearing it up the instep and the sole from the big and other toes. "All the way to the ankle, baby. All the way to the ankle." He brought the lower extremity forward, aiming the toe.

"A toe-fuck," Griff anticipated, grinning evilly.

"For starters," he leather capped buddy confirmed, the tip of the toe now touching the center of the sensitized man quim, proving, digging, turning first one way and then the other.

"Haven't you done enough?" their face-down victim sobbed, feeling his elasticized ass pussy flower open around the insistence of Toby's invading toe. "Haven't you?" His reward was his forearms in Griff's brutal grip, yanked forward on the floor over his head.

"Take it, big boy," he advised, cruel, deliberately rubbing Mark's unblemished torso on the floor of the subway car, humiliating him further. To Think that Mark Holton - Mark Holton! - the high-and-mighty star of college football and big business, the proud scion of a proud family, should be brought so nakedly low. So grovelingly down, his flawless, muscle-covered body now violated by a toe.

"Take it out," he begged. "Please- no more?"

Snap! Followed instantly by the loudest outcry yet: were they not alone in a moving train in a well-insulated tunnel beneath a deep-flowing river someone would surely have heard. But there was no one to come to Mark's rescue here, no one to save him. The whole foot was now completely through the broken asshole, up to and including the ankle bone, and the sadistic rapist was deliberately moving it around within the confines of that singularly violated rectum, the toes testing the elasticity of the inner walls. "Told you I'd get it all in," Toby said to his henchman who, depraved as he was, had never seen anything like this.

"You're a first," he wanted the All-American super salesman to realize. "A goddammed foot fucking first, oo-ee!"

Mark hardly heard him, limp now in their obscene grasp, not really aware when they rolled him over onto his back, legs thrust upward in the air, Toby's entire foot in control from within as though the sixth savages' victim were no more than a ventriloquist's flopping puppet. "I think he digs this just as much as everything else, though," the foot fucker couldn't help but note, looking with contempt and derision down between the upturned feet to see that, if anything, Mark Holton's formerly unsullied pecker was up like some carving by Giacometti, only wet and smeary with leaking gleet. "I think if he don't watch out he just might shoot both his fucking balls off, that's how hot I think I'm getting him."

"Bastard," the wailing stud spat from the grimy floor. "Goddamm faggot bastards!"

"And you love it," Griff shot back as, on malicious impulse, sweaty Toby twisted the heel and then the sole of his foot out of Mark's distended anus, snatching up the boot he'd yanked off in order to foot fuck in the first place- one of those thick-soled, high-topped motorcycle jobs, spit polished to a mirror-like finish.

He held it up for his unshaven partner to regard. "This fucker digs feet up his ass so much he's gonna go bananas over a boot, a whole fucking foot."

"Yeah, I think he is," the mean-faced hood with the sweatband agreed, feeling the fires gathering at the base of his bugling boner, swelling the swollen shaft to unheard-of proportions, making the rubbery skin of the mushroom-shaped head almost translucent. "Specially with this rust ol' joystick of mine filling up his mouth all tasty and wet." It was jabbed forward, the prophesy made fact in less than a second.

"Mmmmmmuuummmmppphhhkkk!!" the limp jock gargled, Griff's massive endowment pumping violently over his tongue and slamming hard against the back of his throat while, at his other end, Toby sank the nose of the heavy boot through the ripped-up rectum, pushing and twisting to get more and more of the hard leather object further and further into the battered bowels. "Mmphwgh-!"

"You like that, faggot? You going crazy from the heat, all that hot leather jamming up you goddammed ass-pussy? Huh?"

Gurgles were the only reply, Griff pressing the entire weight of his hairy pelvis down against Mark's scratched-up countenance, pinning the loverboy's head with his rigid dork as it spasmed and gushed. Bolts of liquid fire shot furiously out of the popping dickhead, copious, viscous, gummy and bleachy. With his wrist, head and ass pinned mercilessly the sweat-smelling victim could only writhe, helpless, his succulent body undulating beneath the brutality of the combined attack, muscles striating to no avail.

"Shit that boot out," Toby warned him, "and I'll ram it in so far it'll come out your fucking mouth." What was coming out of Mark's fucking mouth was an excess of Griff's gelatinous sperm, long strands of it jellied and colloidal. Pearly mucilage which dropped lavalike off the squared-off chin, puddling in piles in the hollow beneath the Adam's apple.

"Whew," Griff had to wheeze, tuckered from all the hard work. "Cumming like that always makes my ass itch."

"You hear that?" Toby addressed the question to the upchucking Mark Holton, patting his cheek mockingly as he chose his words....and tone. "What're you going to do about it, huh?"

Page 5 available on May 30


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