7
The men left after defiling Sungho’s body again. He watched them go with quiet resentment, thinking that their quick departure was the only thing resembling help. When the meal tray arrived, he held the pill in his hand and hesitated for a long time.
No matter how he thought about it, this wasn’t a normal drug. If it could affect his mind like this, it might be narcotics. He feared what would happen if he kept taking it here—even if it made things easier for now, his brain might end up so damaged he wouldn’t even be able to testify about the rapes later.
Two thoughts warred fiercely in his mind: Can I even get out of here? and If I do, I’ll make sure these rapists pay. Sungho was growing exhausted. He’d thought I can’t take this anymore at least a hundred times. Even knowing the pills would make him lose himself, his eyes kept drifting toward them during meals.
“…I’m not that weak. I won’t let them control me.”
He muttered words he wasn’t sure were meant for anyone. But that resolve crumbled at the next meal. After facing a particularly brutal man who made his suffering worse, Sungho gave up his stubborn resistance. From then on, he dutifully took the pills and spread his legs as the men demanded. Aside from slight dizziness afterward, it wasn’t so bad. Time passed much faster. Before, he’d tremble with anxiety when no one came, lost in endless thoughts. Now, the pills erased that—sleeping like he’d been knocked out pushed those thoughts away. His days became a cycle of eating, sleeping, and sex, enduring inside the glass walls.
He couldn’t do it without the pills. Facing the men sober was literal madness. Sungho stared blankly at his spoon, pushing the tray away. It was absurd—they locked him up but still calculated the nutrition in every meal. He grumbled but ate everything each time. The food tasted mediocre, like cheap pre-packaged meals, but he wasn’t in a position to complain.
Ironically, the decent meals terrified him. If he let his guard down even for a moment, the thought This isn’t so bad slithered in. He’d barely paid off his debts, was unemployed, and after his divorce, he was scraping by in some cheap monthly rental—no money to his name. His decade-old car wasn’t worth selling, and he’d been planning to get rid of it since he couldn’t afford maintenance. There was no way he could’ve eaten proper meals in his state. Yet here he was, imprisoned, his only “job” being raped by men, and he was starting to rationalize it. His body and mind were being violated, numbing him, and he was growing accustomed to captivity.
The pills were always provided. He wondered what they were but decided ignorance was better. Unless it was drugs, nothing should mess with his nerves like this. Fortunately, he showed no signs of addiction—he only needed them to escape the torment. He didn’t crave them or suffer withdrawal when he skipped a dose.
Sungho tossed the pill into his mouth and swallowed with water. The thick tablet scraped his throat as it went down. He grumbled inwardly about how hard it was to swallow, setting the cup aside and pushing the tray away—when something felt off. Normally, he’d feel a slight drowsiness right after taking it, but this time, nothing. He was unsettlingly clear-headed.
“Huh…?”
Even after lying down, it was the same. No dizzy, floating sensation. His mind was shockingly sharp. He blinked.
“Why…?”
As he murmured to himself, he heard familiar footsteps—they were back. Sungho jolted upright. Scanning the small glass enclosure was useless. His body trembled.
“Hey, old man, you’re lively today. Usually, you’re collapsed like a sick chicken…”
“Ah, he’s just excited to suck cock.”
They taunted him as usual, surrounding him. He didn’t recognize their faces—between the drug’s haze and the rotating cast, he couldn’t keep track. Sungho flinched backward, his back hitting someone’s knee.
“Here we go again, playing hard to get.”
“You think acting like that makes you cute? We all know what we’re here for—let’s just get it over with.”
A hand grabbed his hair, yanking his head forward. A thick cock forced its way into his mouth. The stench made him gag as he was forced to suck. Struggling to move his tongue, his body remembered—it had done this before, drugged. Soon, he was spreading his legs, moving his tongue to their sadistic demands.
“Ugh… nnh… m-mn…!”
His shameless cock twitched upward. The moment the thick shaft rammed into his ass, his dick leaked pre-cum, already craving the pleasure of his prostate being pressed. The insertion alone made his body hunger for the ecstasy of being pounded.
“Ahh, ugh…! A-ah, nngh, th-there…! Ah…!”
It was overwhelming. The cock thrusting down his throat made him retch. He choked, eyes red. Traces of his youthful cuteness remained, but he was undeniably middle-aged. The men sneered about his looks, pinning his head down as they fucked his hole harder. One complained about lunch break ending and shoved another cock inside him.
Sungho wept, screaming Are you fucking insane? in his head, but his body took both cocks like it was nothing. They weren’t huge—just average employees—but two at once was beyond what he’d ever imagined.
Had it been like this every day?
The shock left him numb as his ass was violated, his senses scattered. The man fucking his mouth kept his head down, so he could see the black cocks pistoning in and out of his gaping hole. His ass burned, his stomach ached. His cock leaked nonstop—no cum, just clear fluid, even after he’d already come once.
“Nngh… ugh, h-hk…”
Warmth spread inside him as the cock pulled out, cum dripping down his thighs. Then another shoved in. Please, let this end soon, he begged silently. Being sober for this was unbearable.
His face and body were a mess. The men kept at him for five minutes past lunch, then finally left through the glass door. Sungho was abandoned alone inside.
“Hng… h-huu…”
He lay sobbing on the floor before dragging himself up. His body ached. With every step, cum trickled down his thighs. Clinging to the glass, he stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the water. Too weak to stand, he collapsed onto the floor, panting.
“Hk… u-uh…?”
Something stirred deep inside—a tingling heat spreading slowly. Sungho recognized it instantly. For some reason, the drug’s effects were kicking in now.
“Ah… h-ah, no…”
It felt like thin snakes coiling in his gut, sending chills and sweat across his skin. He groaned under the scalding shower, clutching his stomach, writhing against the cold tiles—no, grinding his erect cock against them. His insides itched. Knowing how to relieve it made it worse.
When he was drugged, the men’s violations at least left hazy memories, sparing him the guilt. But now, unable to control his arousal, desperate to touch his own ass—it was humiliating. Once more, his dignity was being tested. Yet he had even less self-control than his son. In the end, Sungho pressed a finger to his anus, pushing it into the cum-filled hole. One finger became two, then three, frantically thrusting. It wasn’t enough—he couldn’t reach deep inside.
“Ugh, nn… ah, mn…”
He didn’t care if water went up his nose. His body burned. The hot water felt cold against his feverish skin. The heat from his lower abdomen spread, turning every touch into erotic stimulation. Even the shower’s spray drove him wild.
“AHAHAAK—!”
When his exploring fingers finally hit his prostate, Sungho screamed, twisting. His slack hole pulsed, greedy for more pleasure. His hands were smeared with unknown cum. He was miserable—unable to find real release, his dignity utterly destroyed. Yet the sporadic jolts of pleasure felt good. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t stop. Sungho had to finger himself until the drug wore off.
Paradoxically, his dependence on the pills grew. Taking them and masturbating lowered his resistance to pleasure. And facing the men sober? Unthinkable. Not remembering was better. After experiencing the horror of sobriety once, he’d internalized: I can’t do this without the pills. He’d glare at the pill packets on his tray, but he never skipped them again.
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
