your dumped, by Majalis.

She kept him on a leash, blindfolded, and led him out of the car, down a gravel driveway, and through a door, which she closed ominously behind him. She ignored his increasingly distressed inquiries about where they were or “what was going on.” His complaints all but ended when she sat him down in a chair and started to undress him. But then, something off happened: she started to redress him. And she tied his hair up, once on each side. She slipped new shoes on, boots, in fact, and then told him to stand. He nearly fell over. He was wearing heels. She fastened something in the front, and he could feel cold metal on his bum. Bewildered and slightly embarrassed, he asked her to explain but she was silent as the grave, and merely pulled him by his leash and led him down a flight of stairs, not without difficulty.

She wrapped something around his hands and told him to lift his arms up. His patience wearing thin, he yelled for her to explain, and she told him to wait just one more minute. When he tried to let his arms fall, they stayed up; she had tied them to something. “What are you doing?” he said, and she finally undid the blindfold. She let go of the leash as he looked up at the wall: a brick, featureless wall, covered in mildew and dust, and adorned with only a single decoration: a sign that read, in his girlfriend’s handwriting, “You’re Dumped!” She picked up something; it was a can or a bucket, and a moment later, he felt her stroking along the inside of the metal thing, revealing it to be shaped like a ring, and then smeared something sticky and warm thoroughly on his backside. She placed the can down, and he could see it read “lube.” She grabbed hold of the leash and giggled. Before he could find any words, he recognized a presence: there was someone else in the basement. The mystery participant had a fairly embellished view of him, and he blushed at the thought, but never before had he blushed so crimson as when the person, whom he could not see, approached directly behind him, and he could tell by the sound of work boots on concrete that the person was a man.

The man put one hand on the wall beside him, hovering over the shackled boyfriend. His legs were spread at shoulder width, as he was unaccustomed to standing in heels, and he struggled to stand even in such a gait. The location of the man’s other hand became obvious with the sound of a belt buckle, followed by the soft thud of pants hitting the floor. Something was placed inside of the ring, and his now ex-girlfriend chuckled to herself again. With the unseen hand steadying it and guiding it, it had little trouble finding the entrance to the boy’s unexplored depths, much to his panicked realization. He started to squirm, and the girlfriend pulled tightly on the leash. He tried to free his hands as the man beside him started to apply pressure forward, his hips eagerly pumping forward in anticipation of the future, but the ropes were too tight. With the warm lube now coating it thoroughly, the man lurched forward, and the boy’s toes curled in his boots. He bit his lip and hoped more than anything that the metal ring would be the last to be filled.

With the softest of pops, barely audible, the sphincter gave up the fight, opening slightly, allowing the tip entry. With his hand now having served its purpose, it joined its counterpart on the other side of the wall, surrounding the boy completely. He grunted and swore, and using only the small, inevitable thrust of his hips, the man was able to feed it inch by inch into the boy’s shapely, unwilling, tight butt, while his girlfriend laughed and laughed and muttered helpful “advice” to the boy under her breath.

Soon the boy, whose legs were thoroughly tired and whose ass was impossibly filled, felt the man press up against his cheeks: proof that he was n

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