Under a harsh fluorescent light that did his looks no favours, Jarvis Clark lay naked on a piss drenched floor, an exhausted heap of fucked and fisted flesh. His body was covered in the sweat of fornication - it glistened on his skin, mingling with the spunk that had gushed from his balls on two separate occasions over the course of the past hour. More spunk oozed freely from his gaping asshole - a cocktail of semen from the men who had rode him and fired their mess into his welcoming bowels. Needless to say, it had been an eventful evening for young Mr Clark, the PA to the boss and a slut for hard cock.

Dazed and fuck-crazed, buggered to a pulp yet still yearning for more, Jarvis was jolted to attention when he heard a door close. The young man shuddered, the sound of departure firm and decisive, chilling him to the bone. A bead of sweat dripped from his chin as a ghostly echo lingered in the bleak grimy washroom that had proved eminently functional for what had recently occurred. The noise persisted, defying the physics of sound. It rang in Jarvis's ears like a death knell: black; Catholic; certain and profound. That exit had been more painful than any actual hurt he'd endured. Once again his master had left him without a care for his state or a parting word. But words aplenty were present in Jarvis's head: more ghostly echoes goading his psyche; memories of the rough and violent sex he'd embraced; verbal abuse that was still fresh in his troubled mind...

"Dirty, dirty, bitch!" his master had snarled as he had brutally fucked him.

"Cock loving slut!" his nemesis had accused, spitting out the words as he had ferociously banged into Jarvis's already well ploughed ass.

"Cum guzzling whore! Piss drinking pig!" were some of the other choice phrases the man had used as he vocally assaulted Jarvis whilst he had slammed repeatedly at his aching butt, shunting him along the bench on which they rutted - savage and raw like a couple of animals, violent and all-consuming.

And it was all true. There could be no denying any of the vulgar accusations. During his time in the basement, Jarvis had gorged on depravity, debasing himself to a level he would never have thought possible. He had been collared like a dog and crawled on all fours, dragged by his master along the floor on a leash! He had licked his master's boots like a faithful mutt, cleaning the leather with an adoring tongue! He had guzzled down cum having swilled it in his mouth! He had been splashed by ejaculate deep down his throat! He had drunk men's piss and wallowed in the bliss! He had been sprayed from head to toe in hot stinking urine, rejoicing in the humiliation and his total subjugation. He had been bombarded by a blitzkrieg of verbal abuse - words of defamation that still resonated in his head...

"You're my dirty slave bitch, aren't you Blondie," his nemesis master had growled as he rode him. "And this spunk drenched ass belongs to me. It's mine to fuck and give to other men."

That last one had stung like a wasp with a grudge. Jarvis Clark had become a whore to be pimped - that was the claim his nemesis had made. And Jarvis had agreed; he accepted it as true. How could he not, for the deed had already been acquiesced to by the time the awful truth was spat in his face. Unlike the first time when his master had taken him to the basement washroom to be used and humiliated for his malevolent pleasure, on this second occasion he had brought along another man - to observe... and then take part!