One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

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One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

TheNewMason

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One. Two. Three. Four. Five. I would count. “I can deal with anything for 5 seconds. One, two, three, four, five. “Just five seconds more,” I would tell myself staring at the ceiling—the wall—the pillow—the inside of a hood pulled over my head.

I was taught not to cry. I was taught not to scream. So the hours ticked by in increments of 5 seconds. Different men. Different kinks. Different rooms. Different days. Different years. Same boy. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

The blood from my torn ass ran down my inner thigh with its sticky metallic smell as he continued to force himself into me with a constant pressure. I can’t catch my breath. One, two, three, four, five. “You feel so good,” he said.

Their hands pinning me to the table with their rough jagged finger nails digging into my flesh. He holds my erect dick thumbing the head to stretch my hole before sliding a metal rod into my bladder. One, two, three, four, five.

“One, two—” My eyes open in shock as he unexpectedly grabbed my throat. “Look at me when I fucking fuck you, you whore.” He squeezed my throat tighter “—three, four, five.”
 
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