Mark eats furious ass until his rapists finally leave what's left of him naked in the subway car just in time for the morning commute....

Subway Savages - Page 5
by Jeff Kincaid
Art by Etienne
Series: Subway Savages

If the sagging jerk on the floor didn't know they'd tell him- "better yet: show him." Griff sat down. He sat down right on Mark's square-jawed Ivy League face, adjusting his cheeks as he did so that the cracks between the globes fitted squarely over the nose and the mouth.

"Lick," came the order. "Lick that asshole, punk."

"Nmmmuuhhh-!" A punch to the stretched out belly. "Whoophh!"

"Lick it." If the big football hero could lap up the sweat in a hairy-pitted jock's armpit he could just as easily learn to like tonguing shithole, could he.


Couldn't he??


Was the fucker licking yet?

"Just starting, now," Griff reported. "Could use a little more tongue."

"You got that, toilet-face? More tongue! C'mon! Now!" Another whack to the gut, and then a squeeze of the ball sac, a rough squeeze that hurt bad. Real bad. "Lick it!" He shoved the boot further up into Mark's gaping quim.

The sound of active slurping filled the subway car, still inching along. "Better." Griff's voice was filled with approval, albeit the grudging kind. They had to work too hard to get the stupid ass to comply. A reward was in order- a "reward" they hoped their quivering victim would find the most awful thing yet.

Two bladders full of pee, all over his naked jock body, the tits, the pits, the pubes, the balls. The mouth. Toby and Griff weren't just washing him down on the outside. "Swallow it, fucker, gag on that pee."

Mark did, but still it came, buckets of it cascading and frothing and smelling. He rolled up into a naked fetal ball, whimpering and dripping, sweat and cum as well as piss, a few bruises on his face and body starting to black and blue. He'd have one hell of a shiner by morning, yeah, that kind that turns every color of the rainbow before it goes away....four weeks down the line. "A little memento of your night in the subway," Toby grinned, tossing a canister of spray paint to his partner in man-rape, Griff using it to draw a big number sex(!) on the bench next to the moaning Mark, sprawled out-of-it with arms akimbo and mouth gaping slack.

"If it's any consolation to you, you were the best we fucked so far," the blond hunk wanted him to know as the train finally arrived at the station on the far side of the river, the conductor making the announcement from the security of oblivion of his booth. "Ride the subway next Tuesday night; we'd like to do it again."

The escape of compressed air heralded the opening of the doors. The subway savages, capping each other on the caps of their shoulders, sauntered casually off the car onto the platform, the morning's first commuters making way for them before boarding.

"Ohhhhm" they heard, a groan barely audible.

"My ass, awww..."

A woman shrieked. "He's naked! My God!"

"The Subway Savages," one of the men realized, wheeling at the closing doors too late. They slid shut with a rubberized bang between the commuters and the platform, their last sight of the criminals the soles of their jack boots ascending the stairs to the street above, accompanied by their smug, satisfied, ball-drained laughter.

All true, like I said. What I haven't confirmed yet is whether Mark Holton took himself down into that subway the following Tuesday night.



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