By Brewt.Blacklist
March-April 2015
I’LL TELL you what I’m afraid of. I am deathly afraid of what I so deeply hate. Or maybe it’s the other way around, I’m not sure. I am afraid of that movie. What happened in it, in that one part. The one of the men going down the river in canoes one last time before it gets flooded into a lake, and how they ran into some bad men who made the fat one do things. I can’t even bring myself to say the line of what they told him to do, how they wanted him to act, what they wanted him to say, let alone what they did to him. And if it were to happen to me, I’m afraid the hero won’t be there to save the day, to kill the bad men, to tell me it’s alright, and that we will never speak of what happened again.
I know. It’s just a movie.
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I AM afraid of being kidnapped. Crazy, huh. Grown man being afraid of that. Of being taken out someplace I don’t know, blindfolded so I can’t find my way back, and forcibly stripped. I will be embarrassed over being ridiculed about my body which I know isn’t that great. Then, in my fears, I will be tied facedown to a bench of some kind, with my legs spread out wide, and my arms pinned, with a gag or something in my mouth so my captors don’t have to listen to me complain. I will be blind, defenseless and silenced, and it will be awful and terrifying. Oh, I will fight for as long and as hard as I can, but the truth is that they will outlast me in my efforts to struggle against the inevitable. They don’t even have to do anything at this point, they just have to wait for me to expend all my energies against ropes that will not let go. When I have no strength left is when they will start in on me, and I will be completely helpless to do anything about it.
They are going to tell me, over and over, how I have already spent more time with my own hands on a p-penis—my own—than I have ever spent with a woman. And it will be true. They are going to say that that alone is proof positive of what I really am, and that I am here, with them, to live up to myself. They are going to touch me all over, putting their hands on me everywhere, even where I don’t want them to. Especially where I don’t want them to.
The horror that keeps me up at night is the idea that in the midst of all this, one of the assailants will come up behind me, and force his penis into my anus. Just like that. I know it is going to hurt, and that is not the worst of it, no. I am afraid he will push himself in, and pull himself out, and go right back in, over and over, until he ejaculates semen inside of me. And that the whole band of villains who are with him are going to do the same thing, one after another after another. And it will feel like it will never end.
The entire time, they are going to watch me like a hawk, and if anything happens to me or my penis that even remotely suggests I feel anything but abject hate for what is happening, even to the point that I am just too tired to fight any more, they are going to point and laugh and carry on about how much I like it, not to mention how much they want me to like it. They are going to tell me that they accept me, that they want me to relax, that I am just like them, that I am among friends, that I don’t need to be afraid any more. To go with the flow.
Just to prove their point, one of them is going to get down underneath me, while all this is going on, and he is going to put his lips onto my penis. He is going to draw me into his mouth, and he is going to prove to them that I like it by making my penis become erect, and getting me to ejaculate. Now, make no mistake, I will do what I am supposed to do, and urinate into his mouth. The thing of it is, he isn’t going to care. Which will alarm me, because another message is going to get through to my reptile brain that I know is a trick, and it will say that he liked it, and that he accepted that—even that—about me, and I won’t know what to do. No one could possibly like that about anybody, could they? I will be confused, and the first chink in my armor will appear, and my descent and my fall will become inevitable. And when he is done having a good laugh about how I tried to defend myself by doing something horrid he actually likes, he is going to nestle in and stay there, licking and kissing on me until my penis is erect and straight and hard and long and deep in his mouth, with him going relentlessly at me, putting his hot wet lips right to my root, right to the very base of my penis no matter how far back into his mouth my penis extends, and when that is all I can feel, he will draw back slow, suckling on me, driving me insane with pleasure, going all the way back down and staying there, convulsing around me and letting me experience how good that feels, doing everything he can to make sure that it feels unbelievably wonderful there, right there in ways no woman has ever done for me before, not like this, until my penis pulses and my own semen flows that I won’t be able to do anything about. Which is only the beginning.
It will completely sicken me, sending waves of upset and fear through my belly. Just like it did the first time I was with a woman, and she let me put my hands on her breasts, and then between her legs. I was amazed that she didn’t slap me, that she actually wanted me to touch her, and to kiss her, and feel whatever I could with her, and it was like I couldn’t stop. She didn’t want me to stop. Unlike now, when I want all this to stop more than anything in the world. My face will flush and blanch and I’ll get dizzy and swoon, just like what happened the first time I made love to a woman—my wife—the first time I ejaculated into her mouth, her vagina, her anus, and my whole world changed.
What’s worse in all this, is that they are going to do it again. Someone else is going to end up down there, underneath the bench, and whoever it was that was in there first, beneath me, between my legs, is going to come around, and take the gag out of my mouth, and try to shove his tongue in, a tongue that is covered with my own semen. I will spit it out, and he will lap it up like it was good. The blindfold will come off, and I will be shocked to see that everyone in the room is going to be doing the same thing, and all the penises of the entire gang are going to be in each other’s mouths, deep and long and erect, going in and out of each other’s mouths, driving hard until they are all pulsing and thrusting and ejaculating with everyone collecting mouthfuls of semen, before they come around to force semen-covered tongues into my mouth before shoving the gag back in to make sure it all stays in there.
At some point, someone is going to come to stand in front of me with his pants down, and my face right there. He is going to rip the gag back out of my mouth and pull my head up by my hair, and slap my face, over and over, shouting at me about what he wants me to do, and present himself to me to do the same thing to him that yet another one of them is continuing to do to me, and I swear, I’m going to bite him. Even though I know it isn’t going to work out well for me. Because then they are all going to set in on me and start beating me. And I will hold out for as long as I can, keeping my lips sealed up tight, refusing to service anyone for as long as I can; I don’t want to do that. I really don’t. It would be the worst thing ever.
But somewhere along the line, they are going to figure out that they are going to have to do something drastic to me, to get me to cooperate, and they will. When they’re tired of using me as a punching bag, they’ll threaten to break bones in my hand—hand injuries always get my stomach to turn—and then they will squeeze my hand after they have shattered it and they will do it hard, and the very notion of that is going to overwhelm me and I won’t be strong enough. They are going to win. They are going to keep it up and they are going to torture me into it, until I give in, and give them what they want.
I am going to hate it. I am going to despise it. But somewhere out there, I am going to open my mouth, and a penis will go in, and I am not going to bite it, and it is going to get shoved in and pulled out and forced it back in again, just like has been going so relentlessly on behind me in my anus all this time, until, until I have semen in both ends of me at the same time.
I won’t swallow. Which won’t stop them from going at it again, and then again, squeezing my unbroken hand so hard it scares me, bellowing at me the whole time how I can make the pain stop, and they will probably threaten to break my other hand, too, and maybe an arm or a leg or a rib or even my jaw, grinding the bones, making me scream until I think that is all I can do—scream—and I let down the last of my disobediences as I do what they want. They will outlast my resolve, my conditioning, my own feelings. Torture works. Eventually.
I will swallow semen, and they will tell me that that wasn’t so bad, now was it, see, and some part of me I don’t want to acknowledge will start to believe, despite the fact that I am going to throw up, which will only give them something else to laugh at. They aren’t going to feed me or give me anything to drink until I do what they want, and my own body will betray me in its desire to stay alive, and I will cave in and do what they tell me to do and swallow semen right on down and keep it down. They will all line up, and they will all use me, in my mouth and in my anus, and it will never end. They will compliment me and pet me and reward me by suckling on my penis constantly until I expend semen, telling me what a good boy I am—that I am finally becoming what I am supposed to be—all along the way, whenever I do whatever they want, and I will begin to lose ground. I will begin to lose my sanity. I will begin to lose myself.
They are going to put their penises in my mouth after they have been in my own anus, and it will be covered with my own excrement, and they will make me clean them off. They will try to get me to expel all the semen that has been accumulating in my anus, and they will succeed in that, one way or another, so they can feed that to me, too. And then, every penis they have at their disposal will end up in my mouth no matter whose anus it has just been in, and I will be expected to clean them all. They will demand that I do so graciously, enthusiastically, voluntarily, and eventually, I will have to tell them how much I like it. I will lick and kiss and suckle penises all the live long day. Under threat of even more torture—like, say, with rubber bands wrapped tight around my penis that they will pull back and snap, from all directions at once, dozens of them at a time, until the rubber bands break, or with gallons of hot wax poured onto my penis and anus—they will expect me to convince them that I love doing this, and eventually, I will become convinced that maybe, just maybe I do.
The worst of it all is that through all of this, they are going to make me ejaculate. They are going to make me ejaculate constantly, into mouths, into the air, into anuses, and it will make them happy whenever that happens—they will be convincing—and they are going to reinforce verbally how obvious it is that I like it, that my penis likes all of the ways they are treating me, and they are going to wear me down. This isn’t going to go on for just a day or even two. This is going to go on for weeks. Maybe months. They are going to break me. And then break me some more. And then break me some more after that.
They are going to tell me that they love me.
And I am going to cry and I am going to weep and bawl like a baby, because they will have broken me. They are going to say and do whatever they have to to comfort me over the loss of my pride, of my arrogance, of my hate, and another part of me will believe. Somewhere along the line, whatever man who is doing that horrible thing to my penis with his mouth—that I must confess that until now, I have so liked to have happen to me, whenever a woman would do it—will stop, and somehow, I will continue to be erect before them all without him and his efforts.
They will also point and laugh and call me that shameful name that I use to be such a terrible insult to other men, and they will call each other that name and even worse ones, and it is all going to go on and they will do what it takes to make me laugh, too. There will be pleasant intelligent conversation that I would have never thought possible with these kinds of men, not with all the penises in my mouth, until they make mention of the idea that they aren’t even behind me any more, not with a penis in my anus but a tongue, and a finger finding its way inside me there onto the place inside a man’s anus that makes his penis erect and can even make him ejaculate semen without otherwise touching him, and they are doing that to demonstrate to me that they aren’t applying their lips to my own penis, and that I am still erect and that my own penis is throbbing and dancing around simply because one of theirs is in my mouth. I understand that they are trying to trick me into connecting the idea of having a penis in my mouth and having my own penis be erect, and, I’m sorry to say, that sooner or later, it will work. They are going to go at that spot inside my anus so I am erect all the time, and ejaculating all the time, until they can point out to me that just the very idea of applying my mouth to penises will make me erect, and it will be true. They will celebrate, and cover me with semen. They will urinate on me to wash it off. And they will cover me with semen again. I will be made to drink the urine that I am drowning in, with the promise that I will be punished if I don’t look like I like it. My mouth will fall open of its own accord, my anus will pulse and contract in anticipation of being penetrated by penises, and my very own penis will become erect without my permission and I will even ejaculate without anyone touching me over the whole idea of everything that is happening around me, all the time. The last part of me that can do so will despise what my own body will do for them, as even more of my resistances will collapse.
They will assure me that this is what is going to happen to me all day, every day, all night, every night, for the rest of my life. They are going to show me endless dirty movies that have men doing to each other what they are doing to me. I will be constantly surrounded by penises, erect and not erect, all touching me everywhere all the time, with the order being given to me that I have to do what is necessary to make the non-erect penises into erect ones, and for the erect ones, I have to do what it takes to get them to ejaculate, to emit semen which I will be expected to consume or welcome into my anus, until they are no longer erect, at which point I have to start all over again.
Just to drive it home, to prove beyond the shadow of a doubt that I am in fact now responsive to men and their penises, they are going to bring women in when I am utterly exhausted and unable to do anything, and say that if I really wasn’t like them, my captors, that if, deep down, I didn’t love what was happening to me, that I could have the woman, right there, right then, and they would let me go, and I won’t be able to do a thing about it. Now, I know that part of this is a trick: they are going to pick women that are very unattractive, and nagging, and generally unhappy and nasty, and I won’t mind that I do not respond to them, that I don’t become aroused to them. It won’t matter; by hook or by crook, my captors won’t let my penis become erect whenever some horrid woman is in there naked before me, complaining, only to throw her out and go back to putting my penis into their mouths, telling me how much they enjoy having my penis become erect in their mouths, and easing their penises into my anus and my mouth, gently guiding themselves in and out of me on both ends at the same time, until I ejaculate, until we all ejaculate, and they will periodically bring another ugly woman in who will do nothing but criticize me for not being good enough for her, all to reinforce the idea that I will simply no longer become aroused to any of them. My captors will parade endless naked grotesque and appalling women in through before me who will be miserable and unpleasant, and the men will torture me hard when they do, making me sick by poisoning me if they have to, only to bring in naked men who are all erect, and sculpted and fit and beautiful, and they are going to pet me and coo at me and tell me how beautiful I am when my penis is erect and in their mouths, not to mention the loving compliments they are going to give me when a penis is in my mouth or my anus, or my own unbroken hands, being adored.
Eventually, they will bring in my wife, and show her. They will show her how my penis becomes erect for a man, and not for a woman, and then for a man, and not for yet another woman, until they send her in to take her place in line, and I will fail her. I will not become erect for her, at the sight of her, at her presence, not even if she touches me tenderly on my penis or even my anus, not even if she offers her breasts to me, her vagina, her mouth, not even her own anus. Then they will want me to show her what I can do to myself with my own hands, my own unbroken hands, all while I am suckling on penises, while I am getting penetrated by penises in my mouth and my anus, and I’ll do it. I’ll do it even though it hurts my very soul, and they will be rough and I will respond to that because they will have promised me something much worse if I don’t—something like wrapping my penis with stinging nettle leaves, and attaching them in place with needles driven all the way through my penis, that they will electrify—and I will ejaculate in front of her, and I will drink semen and urine and lick excrement with a smile on my face and she will be disgusted with me. She will sneer her contempt at me, and deride me for being so weak, so corrupt, and she will call me a filthy name, and she will leave me forever. After she is gone, they will comfort me and make me orgasm so long and so hard that it will hurt, and I will ask them to stop, and I will beg them to let me go back to having penises in my mouth and my anus and my unbroken hands. Then they will bring other people I know, other members of my family, and the exact same thing will happen. I will be shown to everyone I have ever met that I will allow myself be penetrated by men, and that my own body will betray everything I ever believed in before about how men and women should behave toward each other, and I will reliably respond by becoming erect and ejaculating as though I like having penises in my mouth and my anus. And I will not be able to deny it.
I won’t have any fight left in me by the time they finish untying me, and I will kneel down naked before them all, and crawl to them, one man after another, and I will put my mouth onto the first man’s penis until he is erect, and I will keep myself there, loving this man’s penis as if it was my own, keeping my lips all the way down to the root for as long as I possibly can, letting his blessed penis reach all the way into the back of my throat, staying there so I can convulse around him and empower him, with me suckling on him, going up and down, up and down, driving him insane with pleasure, until the man whose lap my face is in sprays semen, which I will not only swallow but make a show of being deliriously happy that I am swallowing it, staying there with my lips and my mouth and my tongue around his penis until he is no longer erect, kissing and licking him, staying right there with him until he urinates into my mouth which I will also swallow with a smile and a joy, cooing at him and murmuring how much I love him and his penis and all it can do and I will offer to put my tongue into his anus which he will let me do for him and I will thank god for that, with me remaining with him, encouraging him, assuring him how much I want him to ejaculate semen into my mouth again, as I gently slide my finger—on my broken hand, which will have happened by then over a ridiculous defiance in me to a word they wanted me to say—into his anus and then onto the spot inside his anus that will make his penis erect again until he is in fact hard and long and completely erect again so I can once again get his penis deep inside my mouth for me to adore and we will go through it all again and again until he doesn’t want me to do that any more for him for now and he dismisses me, before I go on to the next man and do the exact same thing for him, and I will so serve them all, my captors, my masters, all day every day, and all night every night, and that will be what I am from then on. A man who holds penises in his mouth as though they were important, who ravenously consumes other men’s semen; I will be what my wife called me. A c-cocksucker. A man who willingly offers his own anus up to be penetrated by penises. A man whose penis becomes erect at the very thought of men and cocks and assholes and mouths and tongues and sperm and piss and shit. And there will be no end to the torture they inflict on me, say, with rubber bands or hot wax dripped onto my penis and anus, no end to th-the derision they heap onto me, and I will choke on semen and urine and excrement and pain and I will retreat into myself and be surprised to find that I like it all and miraculously, I will bless my owners for doing everything they have to me, and I will insist that they do everything they can to me, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how degrading it is. I will plead with them to wrap my penis with sandpaper, and to hold it tightly in place by driving nails all the way through my penis, and to electrify them, every day for the rest of my life, so that hopefully, I can eventually learn to orgasm from that, too. They will tell me that I am finally what I have been all along, that I am at last true to myself, and I will believe. I will give everything I have and am to these men.
They will dress me up in women’s clothes, and put makeup on me, and make me put my mouth on every man’s penis they can produce, and my anus will get penetrated by penises continuously, and my own penis will continue to become erect how and when they want it to, and they will have defeated me. I will become one of them. I will have no choice in the matter. They will have conditioned me to say what they want me to say, about how much I like it all, about how much I love to have penises inside of me, ejaculating, urinating, doing everything that penises can do to me, and that I will feel what they want me to feel, and I will think what they want me to think, and I will believe what they want me to believe, and there won’t be any question about it. They will expect me to crusade for them, and to bring other men in to do to them what was done to me, and I will. Cheerfully.
If they suggest to me that they want me to become a woman, to go through the treatment to change, to grow big breasts and to give up my penis and to have it turned inside out inside of me so men could f-fuck me there, as well as in my anus and my mouth, I would probably end up having to do that. I doubt they would give me much choice. I’m sure they will tell me that I have to become a woman so as to seduce more men into these ways, gleefully accepting whatever beating goes along with that when the reality of what I once was comes to light. It’s a powerful argument, my captors would say, to show angry foolish men the lengths we will go to to accept what they really are—men who would rather put their penises inside of other men than women, at least, certainly not real women—and it would take a strong man to make that case, especially as a woman, and they will tell me that I should pray that I may serve my true masters well. What else could I do?
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THIS IS the plan, the strategy, this is how they do it, and it keeps me up at night, and it is why I masturbate to as many dirty movies as I can. Dirty movies with women in them—real women—just to make sure I don’t slip into what I am so afraid of. Filthy pornographic movies in which bitches and sluts and whores get fucked by cocks shoved all the way up into their assholes so that it hurts and hurts hard and then all the way down into their throats so they can choke on everything a cock can do to them, and sometimes even into their cunts that they will respond to as though they want that to happen to them all the time all day and all night, every day and every night, for the rest of their lives. An endless stream of beautiful women with big breasts, all being covered with semen and liking it, re-affirming that men do the very most right things when they present their penises to them, to allow the women to love them, carrying on about how they can always be there when a penis becomes erect and needs to let some semen out.
The women in dirty movies propagate the myth that they will love men forever no matter what those men do to them, and that there is never a cause or a reason for a man to let the sort of thing that I am so afraid of—to take another man’s penis into my own mouth or anus or hands until it ejaculates—to happen to them. To the men. To me. All of which I believe in so hard, that to help defend myself against that most alarming notion, I will even expend semen into my own unbroken hands over dirty movies and dirty stories and dirty pictures in which the woman doesn’t want any of that to happen to her, and she is made to accept it anyway. By being tortured, if necessary. Preferably ruthlessly. The women in dirty movies always give in to the men in the end the way I wish my wife would, and I have conditioned myself to want that, to need that, to desire that to the very core of my being. That’s how happily ever after works.
Should work.
The men who want other men to do to them what they should be doing with women, who want their own penises to spend more time inside another man than anywhere else in the world, are the very abomination the lord has said they are. They are evil, and they want all men to do as they do, and not to have anything to do with women at all. Obviously, they want the human race to die out because of that. These kinds of men don’t have children: no women. No real ones, anyway. I’m not sure where they come from. Somehow, they made a choice to be like this. It’s the only explanation.
If it were up to me, I would not be part of that, and I would not allow for anyone else to be a part of that, either. The men who want that kind of atrocity to happen to all mankind deserve to have happen to them what they want to happen to humanity, and they should die out, preferably in agony. For what they want is awful.
How could they do that to us? How could they do that to me?
Kill them all, I say. Like pigs. Squealing.
Because what I am really afraid of, is that somehow, deep down, they might be right. About me.
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