The Building...and the Laborers

(…) That's how you stay, for hours, each orifice occupied, each centimeter of your body marked, and your nipples still tingling, but begging for no one to stop.

We release you from the tree as if you were still just luggage and drag you in the back seat of the van, the upholstery already stained with the night's marks. You have skin full of marks — the sensation of your nipples burned and your ass still loose from so many ejaculations — and you can barely manage to stay on your feet when we arrive at the building under construction.

The sun beats down on the asphalt, and the dust sticks to your skin. We take you out of the car and carry you, hung between the arms of the mature men, like a bundle. From a distance, you see the group of laborers, they all seem Moroccan: sweat-drenched t-shirts, dark skin shining beneath a layer of dust and grease, work pants that tighten in the crotch. They all turn to look at the scene, laughter in Arabic, some comments, and brazen looks of desire and mockery.

One of your masters, with his bloated belly hanging, imposes silence: "This submissive faggot is here for you. Do what your cock asks for. You have to make it clear how you use passive ones like this."

No further invitation is needed: as soon as you're on your knees on the rough cement, a circle of worn boots and stained pants forms around you. The first Moroccan unzips his pants and puts his cock in your mouth: it's thick, long, purple at the tip, and flooded with wrinkles, smelling intensely of sweat and male worker. He presses your head, forcing you to swallow it whole, without time to get used to it, at the same time that they instruct you with harsh phrases in Spanish and Arabic.

"Open your mouth wider, cocksucker," one of them insults you, while the next one prepares to screw you from behind. As soon as the first one finishes enjoying your throat, the second one slaps you and pulls his cock out of your ass, spreading the ejaculation that still drips. He penetrates you without compassion, noticing the saturated heat of your already tamed hole. The thickness of his cock makes you moan, while the force of his body presses you towards the ground.

There's no pause; you barely feel a cock coming out and another one is already putting its tip in, different rhythms, all dominant, all sweaty, and each time you gasp, they put another cock in your mouth, a huge, rough cock, smeared with the strong flavor of hard work. Rough, dirty hands grab you by the nape, hair, and ears, while you feel that you're losing the notion of time and space.

They take turns insulting you in whispers, sometimes laughing among themselves, sharing jokes that you don't quite understand, but whose meanings are clearly felt in the way they use you, as if you were a portable hole to relieve themselves during work. Your masters watch the scene, one holding your head, another grabbing y...