Everything hurt. Dull, red agony throbbed across his skin, muscles and even his organs as he lay on his back, silently willing the pain to fade. His arm had been pulled up over his head, his wrist handcuffed to the headboard, the metal cuff clinking and grinding against the metal bars with every errant move. Above him hung a single, naked light bulb that did little to illuminate the desolate, barren room as it buzzed with electricity.
How did this happen? How did he find himself in this situation, battered and beaten, laying on a lumpy bed as the mattress springs dug into his back like so many nails, bruises and lacerations no doubt covering his furry, slender body. As his mind drifted towards the past few hours- at least what he assumed were hours since waking up on the bed- he found himself thinking of Milica.
They had been on holiday, at her and Sofia’s behest, planning a trip to Volgograd, the city of Sofia’s birth. Milica had been interested in it for the historical attractions, like Mamayev Kurgan and even the Volga-don Canal, while Zoran- although less excited about the trip- agreed to come along. He probably would have spent his time in his room, doing whatever if it had not been for Milica’s insistence that he join them. Of course, that was before things went downhill.
Milica had somehow convinced their aunt to let them go off on their own for a bit, probably for lunch before visiting one of the museums. For the first time in a while, Zoran found himself actually looking forward to the outing, although he couldn’t quite tell why at the time. They had a quick lunch before wandering the streets, debating which museum to visit with their time before a burly man in a policeman’s uniform. He asked them several questions, made a few comments, and just when they were certain that he would let them go on their way something hard struck the back of Zoran’s head while another pair of arms grabbed Milica from behind.
He blinked, staring at the light bulb, forcing himself to take shallow breaths, lest the feeling of a knife sliding through his ribs mar his nerves again. He absently tugged on the cuffs, finding them just as resilient and unyielding as the first time he tried. His skull still felt like it was split down the middle but if that officer, or anyone for that matter, hurt his sister then there would be no pain that could stop him from hurting them beyond belief.
His attention was pulled from his thoughts to the only door to the room, the wooden panel swinging inwards revealing the silhouette of what looked to be a burly man as the stench of cheap vodka flowed into the room. Zoran nearly gagged at the stench as he watched the doorway through his eyelashes, keeping his eyes mostly closed so the thug wouldn’t know he was awake. The man watched him for a moment before swinging the door shut, leaving behind the stench of liquor in his wake.
Zoran looked up at the metal cuff around his wrist and pulled on it, feeling it resist his movements before he reached up with his free hand, tugging at the short chain while yanking at his wrist in opposing directions. The cuff wasn’t terribly tight, although the heel of his hand was large enough to snag against it. Zoran eventually stopped tugging and watched the cuff as if it were about to do an amazing feat. That was when an idea popped into his head.
Inhaling slowly, accumulating his breath for the task ahead, he hooked his fingers against the cuff with his free hand and pulled while simultaneously pulling on his wrist, contorting his hand into as narrow of a form as he could. Cramps and pain raced through the muscles of his palm as they formed shapes that previously had been unheard of to them, but slowly, steadily, his hand began to slip through the steel collar. He found himself smiling as he watched the unbirth of his hand from the cuff, almost crying out in joy when his hand finally came free, stopping himself short lest the thugs outside overhear.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and his toes touched the floor. He had no idea why but he had woken up with his shoes and socks missing, probably because one of his attackers had some weird fetish. Without letting himself dwell on the thought Zoran crept towards the door. Instead of throwing it open and running into the hallway he instead leaned against the wood panel, pressing his ear until it was flush with the wood, listening for anything that could be on the other side. Eventually, he covered his other ear and shut his eyes, straining to hear even the minutest of details.
“-very mentioned something about a new shipment, right?”
Zoran blinked before pressing himself tightly against the door, intent on hearing everything.
“Yeah, but he also said that it would be late. Something to do about the police getting nosey again.”
“Don’t we pay them enough to look the other way?”
The voices belonged to two men, the tones growing more and more clear as they walked closer and closer.
“I guess they care more about a few cases of vodka than the bribes,” the second voice seemed to shrug. “Hey, Fedot, have you been drinking that stuff or bathing in it?”
Fedot, presumably the foul-smelling thug, slurred something in response but Zoran couldn’t make out just what it was he was saying. 
“What about the kid?”
Fedot slurred something, managing to pronounce “sleeping” somewhat correctly this time.
The sound and vibration of the door rattling slightly as someone touched the doorknob from the other side was the only cue that Zoran’s heart needed to leap a foot upwards, lodging somewhere in his throat between his collarbone and his jaw. Without thinking, he all but leapt away from the door, rushing back to the bed, managing to lay back on the mattress before something occurred to him. A thought that, in any other situation, would have been considered asinine and hilariously weird.
The handcuffs.
Zoran glanced up at the cuff before risking another glance at the door. Everything in his body and mind willed him away from the idea of being cuffed to the bed once again, screaming bloody murder at the mere thought of being restrained once again. Despite him internal demands, he reached upwards and pushed the hinge through, reopening the cuff and slipping his hand through, closing it until it clicked once, and then twice. It was loose enough to allow him to slip out with minimal effort, although he could only hope that it would look tight enough to pass by the thug’s perceptions.
The door opened and Zoran went as limp as he could although his heart rattled and banged like a jackhammer. He couldn’t bring himself to peek though his eyelashes again as one of the thugs walked closer to the bed, his heavy boots clapping dully against the floor.
“Ugly little shit, isn’t he,” the thug mused.
“Yury and Kirill brought him in with a girl,” the other sober thug said from the doorway. “Kid got his head smacked with Yury’s kalash and Kirill had to tackle the girl when she tried to run.”
Rough fingers grabbed at Zoran’s cheeks as his head was roughly turned from one side to the other. “Looks fine to me. Fedot, did he wake up yet?”
Another incomprehensible sentence was uttered, prompting the thug to sigh in exasperation as he released Zoran.
“Fedot, Lay off of the vodka and go sober up. If Avery sees you like this he’ll probably shoot you this time.”
Zoran listened as the two thugs ushered the guard back down the hall, the door slamming shut behind them, followed by the soft “click” of the door locking tightly behind them. He wasted no time in opening his eyes and slipping his wrist free of the cuff, getting to his feet and heading for the door. Quietly and slowly, he tried to twist the knob, feeling it stop short with the muted sound of brass against steel. He didn’t bother trying to twist the knob again, hoping it would come loose and let him out, instead choosing to turn back to the bed and take proper inventory of his surroundings.
There was the bed that he had woken up on, the bare mattress worn and in places ragged and torn, exposing the springs and stuffing inside. His eyes did their level best to avoid the errant stains and splotches, lest his skin start to crawl at the thought, instead turning away from the bed towards one of the walls. There was a single window, covered by a curtain and, as Zoran soon found out, the panes were nailed shut from the inside. He could see fresh snow falling to the ground and the rooftops of the apartment block, but there were no identifying landmarks he could discern.
There were no sign of his shoes and socks as well, neither hidden under the bed nor entombed within the barren closet. He wouldn’t have been surprised if one of the thugs had pitched them into a dumpster or set them on fire, although that didn’t stop him from the hope of finding them in due time, and the sooner the better. Of course, the closet was the only other place that was worth checking for anything he could use as a weapon, and unless he could use the mattress as a giant club then he was going to have to rely on himself for now.
He heard the telltale sounds of people outside of the door and he felt himself start to panic. He didn’t want to have to lie down on that damn bed again, letting the stains of god-only-knew to soak into his clothes, but staying unbound and standing could only mean certain harm, if not death. They nearly cracked his skull open like an egg the first time, assuming the mushy parts of his brains hadn’t started to ooze out under his scalp, and he didn’t want to find out what would happen if they tried to take another swing at him. That was when his eyes fell upon the closet door.
“I still don’t get it, why Avery asked us to take the shipment to Jasna’s. Doesn’t she have enough girls to bring in money,” one of the thugs from before said as the door opened, his voice spilling into the room.
“The more girls that woman has to peddle, the more money she can pay us,” the other thug replied. “I thought you would have realized that, Ognjen.”
“Nobody tells me anything, Cvetko, and so what if I have to ask,” the first voice retorted before trailing off. “Did someone take the kid?”
“I can’t imagine why,” Cvetko sounded unsure as the pair idled about in the room. “Maybe Fedot brought him to Jagoda for a bowl of borscht?”
“Jagoda’s borscht tastes like petrol. No one would eat that stuff unless they wanted to vomit.”
As the two searched the room Zoran kept his hands over his mouth, stifling the sounds of his breathing as he watched from the narrow crack between the closet door and the frame. A single beam of light shone against his amber eye as he tried to keep both of the thugs in sight, all but praying that they would think he escaped so they would run off to look elsewhere for him. He could slip out into the hall, find Milica and then they could get the hell out of here.
“Did you check the closet,” Cvetko said after a moment.
Damn it.
“Give me a moment,” Ognjen replied as the sound of his boot-steps got louder and louder as he came closer and closer.
Zoran struggled to keep himself from panicking as Ognjen reached for the door handle. The door to the hallway was open, Cvetko was near the bed and only Ognjen stood in his way. Zoran gritted his teeth as the gap between the door and the wall started to widen before he threw his weight against it.
The door snapped open and slammed against Ognjen’s chest, producing a cry of surprise as he reeled backwards as a black and grey blur of fur and hair came barreling out of the closet. Cvetko immediately gave chase, nearly tripping over Ognjen as Zoran disappeared out the door, the sound of bare feet against the wooden floor drowned out by the harsh boots matching stride.
Zoran managed to get to the end of the hallway, rounding the corner and stopping just short of the stairs. Had he kept going he would have been airborne for a moment before flopping down the stairs like a ragdoll. Of course, the moment of pause was all that was needed for Cvetko to grab him by the back of his neck, lifting him up with ease.
“Let go of me,” Zoran hissed and spat, his legs kicking and thrashing as his hands reached up, grabbing at his hand and arm. “Put me down!”
“You want to be let go,” Cvetko mused as he watched Zoran struggle. “You know, if you wanted to stretch your legs on the stairs, you could have just asked.
Zoran managed to look back at Cvetko, distrust and apprehension apparent in his eyes.
“So, go on and stretch,” Cvetko said as he threw Zoran forward, launching the younger man off of the stairs.
Zoran landed hard on the steps, his weight shifting dangerously as he tumbled downwards, pain filling his serves as his body was battered, beaten and bruised on the way down. He came to a rest at the foot of the stairwell, his back pressed against the floor, one arm trapped under his body while the other hung to the side at an awkward, yet unbroken angle. A groan escaped his lips as he struggled to get to his feet, his limbs screaming in protest.
“I think that’s enough stretching for today,” Cvetko’s face suddenly loomed over him, his smile doing little to betray his tone as he grabbed Zoran by the front of his shirt and lifted him up. “Ognjen, get your ass down here and help me with this kid!”
“You… bastards,” Zoran choked out as the other thug came down the stairs, grabbing one of Zoran’s arms while Cvetko grabbed the other before they dragged him up the stairs. His bare feet twisted and clawed at the steps, his heels trying to hook against the steps if only to delay his return to that damned room, only for them to keep going, their brisk stride unbroken.
As they pulled him back into the room, dropping him unceremoniously on the floor a third thug entered the room, his face twisted into an agonizing scowl.
“What is going on here,” he demanded angrily. “Explain yourselves!”
Both men whirled around at his sharp tone, although Ognjen was the first to speak. “Sorry, but he tried to get away!”
“We dragged him back up here,” Cvetko added hastily, clearly on edge. “Sorry, Avery, but it won’t happen again!”
The third thug, this “Avery” that Zoran had overheard so much about, looked down at the fallen kid, his wolfish eyes taking in the fresh bruises, the blunt lacerations, and Zoran’s expression of pain and defiance. “He took a fall down the stairs?”
“Yes,” Cvetko answered. “He fell down the stairs.”
Avery nodded once before looking back at his comrades in crime. “I got off of the phone with Jasna after she got the shipment. Apparently her clientele have no tastes for a boy,” he nudged Zoran in the ribs with the toe of his boot. “So, we’ll have to get rid of him.”
“Get rid of him? How?”
“Simple. Shoot him then dump him in the Volga. Kirill already drafted the reports, so we shouldn’t have a problem with the police. Just make sure you dump a pistol with him so it looks like he killed himself.”
Zoran couldn’t believe his ears but the shock didn’t stop him from trying to roll over, every fiber of his being warm with the intent of dragging himself to freedom. He was stopped when Avery brought his boot back and picked him hard in the gut, knocking the air out of Zoran’s lungs as he curled up in agony.
“I don’t care what you do with him in the mean time, but he has to go. We need the room for the next shipment,” Avery added before turning around and leaving both thugs alone with their prisoner.
“Well,” Cvetko sighed as he looked down at Zoran, who was busy trying to fill his lungs with fresh air as his chest heaved. “That’s unfortunate.”
“At least we can still have some fun with him beforehand,” Ognjen commented as he stepped towards the door, shutting it firmly.
“What do you mean,” Cvetko asked, bringing his hands to a rest on his hips.
“Well, we have a supple, young man on the floor in a locked room with two men who can do whatever they want with him,” Ognjen smiled as he leaned against the door, his arms crossed over his chest.
Cvetko blinked quietly, trying to process just what it was that Ognjen had just said. “Are you honestly suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”
“Yes,” was Ognjen’s flat reply. “After all, how long has it been since you had any fun? Without paying that harpy an arm and a leg for time with the girls we send her?”
Cvetko thought about it for a moment, tapping his finger against his chin before shrugging. “Eh, what the hell. It’s not like this little guy would say no,” he looked down at Zoran, who had managed to get his breathing under control.
Zoran had heard everything and when he felt their eyes touch the back of his skull he instantly got to his feet, rushing for the door only to be cold-cocked by Ognjen, his lithe body flailing backwards right into Cvetko’s grasp. With ease the larger man had grabbed one of Zoran’s wrists and twisted his arm behind his back, Zoran’s scream filling the room as Ognjen moved away from the door, retrieving the handcuffs from the bed. As much as he fought and struggled, thrashing about in Cvetko’s grip, nearly dislocating his shoulder in the process, the clicking of the handcuffs as they closed around his wrists tightly, binding his hands behind his back signaled his defeat. He was shoved aside, his weight falling onto the mattress with the springs groaning under the new load.
“Hold him down” Ognjen said as he produced a switchblade from his pocket, extending the knife with a flick of his wrist.
Zoran thrashed against Cvetko’s hands as he was pushed down against the mattress before Ognjen grabbed a handful of his shirt and started cutting. His rough movements shredded the thin fabric with ease, although the harrowed blade cut deep into his clothes, the tip and edge dancing across Zoran’s flesh, bloody lines forming across the fur that covered his chest, belly, and even his arms. Cvetko didn’t bother waiting for Ognjen to turn his attention to Zoran’s pants, working the buckle off and pulling them down by the leggings as Zoran kicked at him, succeeding only in helping them strip him.
It wasn’t long before his underpants were unceremoniously stripped from his waist, the knife dancing through skin and fur, leaving oozing cuts along his midsection and thighs before the last article of clothing was discarded among the shredded remains of his shirt. Ognjen smiled as Cvetko kept his hands on the kid’s shoulders, pushing him against the mattress as Zoran struggled against the restraining touch. His body recoiled, as if suddenly electrocuted when Ognjen reached out, his fingers closing around Zoran’s flaccid shaft and balls, squeezing firmly, almost appreciatively.
“Healthy boy,” was all he commented as he pulled on Zoran’s manhood, watching the flesh elongate slightly, although the engorgement was nary to come. Zoran was beyond words at this point, spitting incomprehensible roars and snarls alongside half-coherent cries and shouts as he was molested and groped. Eventually, his shouldered were freed of their harsh weight, only for Cvetko to grab his ankles, holding his legs awkwardly up as Zoran’s knees touched his chest while Ognjen continued his despicable exploration.
“Doesn’t look like he’s had anything back here,” Zoran’s face contorted into a mess of negative emotions as he felt a finger brush along the tight ring of his tailhole. “Lucky for us.”
“He won’t be lucky for long,” Cvetko replied. “Do you want to grab that petroleum jelly from the bathroom?”
No matter how Zoran tried to fight against his captors turned rapists, his lithe frame was no match for their muscles as he was pulled and pushed into a new, compromising position, his knees aching after he was forced down into a more submissive position as Cvetko sat down in front of him. Ognjen stayed behind him, fumbling with the tincture of petroleum jelly before tossing the lid away. Zoran was pulled forward by his ears, forced to move his body forward on his knees or risk having them torn off, although that didn’t stop him from trying to fight against the alien, disgusting feeling of Ognjen’s finger as it brushed over his tailhole again, this time pushing through his sealed sphincter and wiping the lubricating jelly over his insides. Zoran tried to shout, voicing his demands that they stop and let him go, although Cvetko silenced that thought.
He was caught off guard as something firm, let fleshy smacked him across the face as his mouth opened for the next bout of shouting. His dusky eyes shifted to look at what had smacked his cheek, the realization of just what it was dawning on him with speed, although not able to outpace Cvetko’s hands as his fingers grabbed at his ears and gave a sharp yank, Zoran’s body lurching forward as his mouth opened to scream in pain shortly before Cvetko’s thick, musky manhood was shoved into his mouth and down his throat. The sudden intrusion took Zoran off guard, his eyes widening as his body locked up, keeping him stock-still before he tried to pull away, ridding his throat of the girthy intruder that kept him from closing his mouth all the way.
“Oh, no,” Cvetko said from overhead as he yanked on his ears again before adjusting his grip, the tips of his fingers digging into Zoran’s scalp for better purchase as he started to move his face to and fro, easily face-fucking the younger man. “You’re going to suck it like the good bitch you are.”
“Go easy on him, Ognjen said from his spot behind Zoran, one hand resting on his bare rump while the other slowly stroked his own shaft, liberally coating it with another handful of lubricating jelly. “I don’t screw corpses, you know.”
“He’ll be fine. He’s handling it like a champ,” Cvetko smiled as he slammed Zoran’s head down, stuffing his throbbing member down Zoran’s throat, electing a muffled gagging sound from their newfound toy as spittle and slobber dribbled down his chin and over Cvetko’s exposed testicles.
Ognjen shrugged slightly, grabbing the base of Zoran’s tail, lifting it out of the way before he touched the shiny, lubricated head of his own member against the puckering seal of Zoran’s tailhole, feeling a flourishing warmth radiate into his flesh at the sensual contact before he let his weight lean forward, the swollen, almost purple head pushing into his new bitch. Zoran’s body tried to contort, his back arching as his hips shot forward, away from the turgid invader although this had been planned on as the hand on his hip dug into his side and pulled him back while he leaned forward still. It wasn’t long before Ognjen had to grab both of Zoran’s hips and, with his patience already tested, yanked him backwards with a sharp pull, his shaft stabbing through the anal seal and pushing into Zoran’s rippling rectum.
Fresh tears started to form and fall from Zoran’s eyes as he was pushed and pulled in equal turn, the shaft in his mouth burying itself into his sore throat as the invader in his ass retracted, only for his body to be pulled backwards, his rump being stabbed into once again as his mouth was almost completely vacated. He felt disgusting, defiled… he felt sick. Sick to his very core, which would soon be corrupted too, he was sure.
The sound of harsh choking greeted Ognjen’s ears as he looked up from Zoran’s narrow flanks, noticing the other man holding the kid’s face to his crotch as he let his head loll back slightly, his eyes closed in a look of bliss as Zoran weakly tried to free himself. Finally, after his orgasm subsided, Ognjen mercifully released Zoran, who managed to pull away as white spittle dribbled down his chin as he coughed and spat haggardly.
“That soon, huh,” Ognjen asked as he pulled Zoran’s hips back once again, penetrating deep as Zoran’s groaning cry filled the room, unsuppressed.
“What can I say,” Cvetko shrugged as he plucked Zoran’s underpants from the floor, using them to clean his shaft free of semen and saliva. “It’s been a while since I had a time like this.”
Ognjen found his own climax shortly afterwards, humping at his captive with growing abandon, Zoran being forced to decide between his boyish cries of pain and gritting his teeth against the agony, denying them the satisfaction of hearing his misery. Burning liquid warmth soon filled his bowels as Ognjen grunted through his orgasm before pushing Zoran forward, his girth escaping the boy’s tailhole with a muted “pop” as Zoran came crashing to the floor, his cheek colliding with the wooden panels.
His nightmare wasn’t to end yet, they decided as they switched places and again violated the young man. He soon lost count of how many thrusts they performed, how many orgasms they dumped into him, although he did know that they soon left his mouth alone after he found the strength to fire the muscles in his mouth, biting one of them savagely before they clubbed him about the head with the handle of the knife. After that, it seemed they kept their attention solely focused on his butt after draping him over the side of the Spartan bed, his knees resting on the floor as his torso and cheek rested against the mattress when they bent him over it.
His eyes opened after some time, although he had no idea if his mind had simply blanked the reality of the situation, or if he had actually blacked out. He was on his side, laying on the floor as Ognjen and Cvetko spoke in the hallway, their words muddled and watery as Zoran’s mind returned to the waking world.
His hands had been bound in front of his chest, wrists bound with thick rope in lieu of the handcuffs from the bed. His shoulders ached, his wrists burned, his throat felt thick and sore, all the while his poor butt was rubbed raw and stretched well beyond rational thought. They had violated him for some time, it seemed, perhaps out of genuine cruelty, or simply because they were evil men. His eyes fluttered shut as he silently wished for the world to stop existing, for his torture to never have happened.
All he wanted right now was to be home with Milica and his aunt, happy and safe with his family. His lithe body shuddered at the chill that flew through the open door, goose-pimples forming under his thin fur. His eyes opened once again, as if beckoned, and that was when he saw something under the bed. A simple pair of red-handled scissors, the cutting edges sharp and pointed like a pair of switchblades. His eyes watched it, as if it was alive while his tied hands reached for it, the red plastic warm and comforting to the touch as his fingers wrapped around the handles.
It whispered to him, like a dark matron encouraging its unholy child. He watched as it seemed to move about his fingers with a mind of its own, slicing through the ropes with ease, all the while the dark whispers told him what he could do to them, the two men who had savagely raped him. Death, castration, exsangiunation… the whispers promised it all, culminating in Milica being returned to him.
It was faint, but a wicked smile crept over his lips as his eyes matched the red of the scissors. Yes, he would promise them horrible things, in return for the horrible things done to him, and Milica. With fresh strength, he managed to pick himself up, his nude body groaning inwardly at the exertion as his own flaccid manhood pointed down between his legs, modesty forgotten as he turned to face the doorway. Ognjen and Cvetko were none the wiser, lost in their own argument.
The scissors had promises to keep, and soon it would taste red.