Chapter 23: Cum Rag Confession
The scent of old stone and shame clung to Nathaniel’s skin, a miserable perfume he couldn’t wash off. Days had bled together since his failed, desperate trip to see Marie. The memory of her limp, unresponsive cock against his tongue, the pathetic trickle of clear fluid that offered no relief, haunted him. It had been a desert sip when he was dying of thirst. The ache between his legs was a constant, maddening thrum, a hollow need that his own tiny, useless opening could never fulfill. He needed seed. Thick, potent shemale seed. And his own vile hypocrisy choked him with every breath.
He found himself standing outside a sleek, modern building in a part of the city he would have once condemned as a den of iniquity. The discreet brass plaque read “S. Hart Productions.” His hand, small and delicate now, trembled as he raised it to the buzzer. He had nowhere else to go.
The door was opened by a woman who was both familiar and utterly alien. Susan. Marie’s mother. She was dressed in a sophisticated, cream-colored pantsuit that did little to conceal the formidable bulge at her groin. Her figure was voluptuous, powerful. Her eyes, once filled with pious fervor, now held a cool, assessing gaze.
“Nathaniel,” she said, her voice a low, smooth alto. “I wondered when you’d turn up here.”
He couldn’t meet her eyes. “I… I need help.”
A humorless smile touched her lips. “You need to cum. I know. Come in.”
Her office was all sharp angles and soft lighting, a far cry from the rectory’s gloom. Framed posters of tasteful, artistic adult film covers lined the walls. Susan sat behind a massive desk, leaning back, her impressive erection making a pronounced tent in her tailored trousers. Nathaniel stood before her like a penitent, which he was, in a twisted way.
“You castrated my daughter,” Susan stated flatly, no anger, just cold fact.
“I did,” Nathaniel whispered, the words ash in his mouth.
“Lila gave me this,” she said, gesturing to her crotch. “And a new perspective. I grieve for what I allowed to happen to Marie. I grieve for the fanatic I was. But you… you haven’t learned a thing, have you? You still loathe what you are. What you need.”
Tears pricked Nathaniel’s eyes. He hated the way his body betrayed him, the way his perfect, hairless ass seemed to clench with want. “Please.”
Susan studied him for a long moment. “I have something that might… educate you. A program. A final lesson. Are you willing?”
He was past pride, past doctrine, past everything but the gnawing, empty ache. He nodded.
“Good. We’re going to a club. The Velvet Rapture. You will do exactly as you’re told. You will be a vessel. Nothing more.”
A few hours later, Nathaniel stood frozen before the club’s entrance, dressed in clothes Susan had provided: a pair of tight, black vinyl shorts that clung to his pert ass and highlighted his lack of a proper cock, and a sheer mesh top that displayed his small, rounded breasts. A crystal collar was locked around his neck.
“Remember,” Susan murmured, her large hand on his slender shoulder, her own substantial cock pressing against his back. “You’re here to serve. To take. And you will not cum. Not until I say you’ve earned it.”
Inside, The Velvet Rapture was a symphony of whispered sin. Plush velvet drapes in deep burgundy and gold absorbed the low light from crystal chandeliers. The air was warm, thick with the scent of jasmine, musk, and expensive alcohol. Everywhere he looked were shemales—beautiful, confident, laughing, touching—and a smattering of admiring women. Soft jazz coiled through the murmuring crowd.
Susan led him to a sunken, circular lounge area, her presence commanding immediate attention. A few shemales waved, their eyes immediately dropping to Nathaniel with predatory interest.
“This is Nathaniel,” Susan announced to the gathering, her voice carrying. “He’s here to be used. He needs to be filled. Who’s first?”
A low chuckle rippled through the group. A tall shemale with jet-black hair and eyes like chips of obsidian unfolded herself from a chaise lounge. She wore a tailored silk shirt, unbuttoned to her navel, and her cock was already a thick, obvious weight against the fine fabric of her trousers. “The little mutilator,” she purred, her voice dripping with contemptuous amusement. “I heard about your program, Father. Let’s see how you like being on the receiving end of God’s design.”
She didn’t wait for a response. Her hand, strong and manicured, closed around the back of Nathaniel’s crystal collar and yanked him forward. He stumbled, his delicate frame offering no resistance. The shemale, whose name was Celeste, shoved him face-down over the arm of a plush velvet sofa. The cool, slick material met his cheek. “Hold him,” Celeste commanded, and another pair of hands immediately pinned his slender wrists in the small of his back.
“Please,” Nathaniel whimpered, the word muffled by the cushion.
“Please what?” Celeste growled, yanking the vinyl shorts down to his thighs in one rough motion. His hairless, perfect ass was exposed to the warm, perfumed air of the club. A thumb, slick with spit from someone’s mouth, probed his tight, untouched hole without ceremony. Nathaniel cried out, a sharp, shameful sound. “You didn’t ask ‘please’ when you took their cocks, did you? You just took them. So we’re just taking this.”
He heard the rustle of clothing, the sound of a zipper. Then the blunt, immense pressure of Celeste’s cockhead, already wet with her own pre-cum, pressed against him. It was so much bigger than anything he’d ever imagined. She didn’t push; she drove. A single, brutal thrust that tore a scream from his throat as she buried herself to the hilt inside his virgin passage. The pain was white-hot and shocking, a searing violation that shattered his last pretense of dignity.
“Fucking tight,” Celeste grunted, her hips already beginning a punishing rhythm. “Built to take it, though. Look at that ass swallow me whole.” Each withdrawal was a cruel drag, each slam forward a jarring impact that shook his whole body. The initial agony began to mutate, blurred at the edges by a shocking, unwelcome flood of sensation. His nerve endings, hyper-sensitive in his new form, began to scream with something other than pain. A deep, internal spark ignited, spreading like poison through his belly.
“He’s squeezing me,” Celeste laughed, her thrusts becoming harder, faster. “The little hypocrite loves it. Feel that? His body knows what it’s for.” Nathaniel sobbed, tears soaking the velvet, as his own traitorous hips began to push back minutely against each invasion. The fullness was becoming a drug, the friction stoking a fire in his empty, aching core. He could smell her musky scent, feel the sweat from her stomach smearing on his skin.
Celeste’s breath grew ragged. “Gonna fill your rotten little gut,” she snarled. Her pace became erratic, frantic. With a final, deep grind, she stilled, and Nathaniel felt a hot, liquid rush flooding his insides. It was thick, copious, and the feeling of being filled, truly filled, unlocked a wave of pleasure so intense it felt like agony. He screamed again, his body convulsing around her, but his own balls remained tight and unsatisfied, no release possible.
She pulled out of him with a wet, messy sound, leaving him feeling gaping and empty. He slumped, dripping. Before he could even catch his breath, he was hauled upright. Another shemale, blonde and broad-shouldered, spun him around and shoved her cock past his lips. “Clean her off,” the blonde ordered, her voice cheerful and vicious. “Then it’s my turn in that pretty ass.”
Nathaniel gagged, the taste of Celeste’s cum and his own blood salty on his tongue. He was pushed back down over the sofa, his face pressed into the cushion now damp with his tears. The blonde’s cock, thicker but shorter, found his already-stretched, slick hole and plunged in. The burn was different this time, a deeper, fuller ache. She fucked him with a steady, mechanical purpose, her hands gripping his narrow hips hard enough to bruise.
“Miss your knife now, priest?” she panted, her balls slapping against his with each thrust. “Miss your power?” He could only moan, a broken, continuous sound. The club’s music and murmurs faded into a buzzing hum. His world narrowed to the brutal piston of cock in his ass, the ache in his jaw, the desperate, clawing need in his own mutilated groin. The blonde came quickly, grunting as she painted his inner walls with another searing load.
He lost count. He was turned, bent, contorted. A shemale with fiery red hair bent him over a marble-topped table, the cold stone a shock against his stomach. One held his head in her lap, feeding his mouth while another took him from behind. The dialogue around him was casual, cruel, and exhilarating.
“Such a pretty fuckhole.”
“Takes it like a champ. Who would’ve thought?”
“Move over, let me get a taste before you wreck it.”
“Look at him shake. He’s close just from getting stuffed.”
He was. A terrifying, constant pre-orgasmic tension coiled in his gut, fed by every new invasion, every fresh flood of seed inside him. His body was a symphony of overstimulation, his mind a blank static of need. They were right. He was built for this. The pain had transmuted entirely into a blinding, shameful bliss. He was a vessel, a rag, and it was all he was good for.
A final shemale, the largest yet, pulled him onto her lap on a wide ottoman. He was impaled, his slender body riding her massive cock with a wet, slapping rhythm he no longer controlled. His small breasts bounced, his head lolled back against her shoulder. “You want to cum, don’t you?” she whispered in his ear, her hands mauling his chest. “But you can’t. Not without what we’ve got. So you’ll just stay full of it, you pathetic thing. Dripping with us forever.”
She climaxed with a roar, and the feeling of this final, volcanic eruption inside him broke something loose. Nathaniel’s own body seized in a dry, devastating convulsion, a phantom orgasm that wracked him with unbearable intensity but produced nothing, no spill, no relief, just endless, empty contraction. He went limp, boneless, held up only by the cock still buried inside him, overflowing with a hot mixture of their cum.
Susan appeared before him, her expression unreadable. She cupped his chin. His eyes were glazed, his lips swollen. “Lesson one is complete,” she said softly. The shemales around them laughed, patted his head, and began to disperse, leaving him used, dripping, and more desperately hollow than when he had arrived.