The boy's legs barely held him up. Slick and shivering, his thighs sticky, he leaned against the cold wall with the stranger's seed dripping from between his cheeks- raw, wrecked, and aching for more.
The man zipped up, smug and satisfied, but he wasn't done. Not even close.
"On your knees," he ordered, and the boy obeyed instantly, sinking into the dirt, eyes wide, face flushed, tongue flicking out like the obedient little pet he was.
"You want to be my toy?" the man said darkly, pulling a sleek black collar from his coat. "You want to be everyone's little slut tonight?"
The boy whimpered. "Yes- yes, please.."
The collar snapped around his neck, tight and humiliating. A leash clicked into place.
Then came the cuffs. Not soft, not gentle. Heavy leather straps buckled around his wrists and ankles before the man dragged him to a metal post near the path- public, visible, perfect. He yanked the leash up slipped it to a ring, leaving the boy knelt with his arms behind his back, thighs parted, hole still leaking from the last round.
Passersby were few, but the ones who came... stopped. Watched. Some smirked. One or two even stepped closer.
"He's open," the man said to no one in particular, stroking the boy's hair like a proud owner. "Used once, but this hole's hungry. Any takers?"
The boy whimpered, face burning- but his hips rocked back slightly, shame fighting his overwhelming need.
Another man stepped forward, tall, gloved with cold eyes. He didn't speak. Just spat in his hand and shoved two fingers in without asking. The boy gasped.
"So loose already," the new stranger muttered, mocking. "You really are nothing but a street slut."
The first man chuckled. "Told you. He begged for it."
The second undid his pants. The boy barely had time to brace before another thick cock pushed inside, hard and unforgiving. His scream was muffled by a hand forcing two fingers past his lips.
"You make noise, you suck. No complaints."
The boy obeyed.
He gagged, moaned, arched- his body used like a public toy, spit-roasted by strangers who didn't even ask his name.
And he loved it. Every pump, every word, every sharp slap to his thighs made him spiral deeper.
People watched. Some touched themselves. One even recorded.
But the boy? He didn't care. He was floating, mindless, empty except for pleasure and pain and filthy, aching pride.
He was a slut- and now evervone knew it.
And when they were done- stuffed him full, used, body in filth- he was left tied to the post, trembling, leaking, waiting for the next pervert to come along and claim his ruined little body all over again.
The air grew colder as night swallowed the city, but the boy's body burned. Kneeling in the dirt, thighs spread wide, leash tight on the post, he was a sight no one could ignore- wrecked, soaked, and still twitching from the last round.
Hours had passed.
And he was still on display.
Hole gaping, used again and again, dripping every man's load onto the ground beneath him, face glazed with spit and release. His throat ached. His cheeks burned with dried tears and stranger's filth.
But he wasn't done.
Because the man who first broke him- his master now- whispered into his ear, "You're staying here, slut. Overnight. And everyone's gonna know exactly what you are."
He fastened a tag onto the boy's collar. It read:
'USE ME. ALL HolES. NO NEEd To ASK.'
Then he was left there. Alone. Cuffed. Leashed. A human fleshlight for the wicked, the curious, the cruel.
And they came.
One by one.
Some in groups.
Some shy, asking if they could touch- others didn't even speak, just pulled his mouth open or bent him over and took what they wanted. Some laughed, slapped him, pissed on him, made him beg for it. Some whispered praise like he was a perfect pet. Others degraded him like he was trash on the sidewalk.
He came again. And again. And again. From rough use. From choking. From having nothing but filthy hands around his throat and strangers' cocks in his holes.
At some point, he stopped counting, his voice was hoarse from moaning and whimpering. His knees raw. His belly and thighs painted in mess. Holes aching. But he never once asked them to stop.
Because he didn't want it to stop.
He was nothing now. Just a thing. Park property. A slut left out overnight to serve any dark need, any perverse craving. And the deeper it went, the more he loved it.
The more he needed it.
By sunrise, the boy wasn't even aware of time anymore. Just the next hand, the next body, the next load spilled inside or over him. Moaning softly in a daze, eyes glassy, smiling faintly like the good, broken toy he was.
He'd been claimed.
Used.
Marked
And he never wanted it to end.
He didn't remember how he got there.
After that endless night in the park used- stuffed, dripping- his consciousness blurred into darkness and need. When he awoke, the world had changed.
He was indoors now.
Chained.
Spotlights burned down on his trembling, naked body. Cold metal against his knees, wrists cuffed above his head, spread wide. His back arched in submission, his thighs bruised from use. And his hole... stretched, open, sore, still leaking the filth of strangers.
The tag on his collar had changed.
"LIVE DEMO - FULL ACCESS."
A crowd stood behind a glass wall- men in suits, masks, dripping luxury and cruelty. Women too, eyes sharp, amused, watching him squirm. Watching him present himself, like a good showpiece.
His master stood beside him, hand stroking down his spine, whispering sweet filth into his ear.
"Look at them, boy. They paid good money to see you like this. To see what a perfect obedient cumdump you've become. Show them what you are."
The boy's lips parted.
Tongue out.
He moaned, soft and desperate, eyes glassy as he rocked back against an invisible rhythm, begging silently for anyone- everyone- to fill him.
His master chuckled, pressing a slick toy deep inside his already-ruined hole. It slid in too easily. The crowd groaned in approval.
Some leaned forward, breath fogging up the glass
Some licked their lips.
And some pressed buttons on the console. Because this wasn't just a display- it was interactive.
Vibrations lit up inside the boy's hole. Shocks buzzed across his nipples. Every press of a button, every coin dropped into the system, sent a new wave of pleasure or pain through his twitching, leaking body.
He writhed.
He performed.
Moaning louder with each surge, his voice trembling.
"Th- thank you, sirs... thank you, mistress, use me, please- ah- l'm your toy- !"
One woman in the front row held up a black card.
The room paused.
She spoke.
"Can we see what he looks like gagged fisted, and crying?"
His master smirked. "Of course. He lives for it."
The chains were released- but only so the boy could be bent over a padded bench. Gag forced between his lips. A fist slicked and slowly pushed inside his stretched begging hole. His scream was muffled, his tears immediate- and the crowd lost their minds.
They clapped. They moaned. They
recorded.
They paid.
And he? He shook and twitched through another ruined orgasm, untouched, just from the sheer humiliation and overwhelming stimulation of being nothing but a showroom slut.
A living demo.
A perfect little object, made to be used.
Forever.