The day that changed everything. Epilogue

I woke up alone in my bed, with my body still aching and the smell of semen and urine stuck to my skin, even though I had showered three times before leaving Victor's loft. It was four in the morning, and the silence of my apartment in Lavapiés crushed me like a boulder. Pablo, I said to myself, looking at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, what the hell have you done? The reflection showed me a gaunt face, red eyes from crying on the metro on the way back, slight bruises on my hips where they had grabbed me forcefully. I felt broken inside, as if they had emptied my soul with blows, urine, and cocks.

The night before had been... damn, it had been everything. When I arrived at Victor and Raul's place, I was excited like a kid on Christmas. I had always fantasized about threesomes, about being used like a submissive slut, about letting myself be dominated without mercy. In the BDSM chats, I would get horny just reading stories about gang bangs, golden showers, and being the center of attention for men who would treat me like an object. And at first, with Victor and Raul, it was perfect. Their cocks in my mouth and ass, the insults that made me feel alive, the thrill of being on my knees, swallowing, moaning. I enjoyed every second. I came without touching myself, damn, that never happens to me. It was as if my body was made for that: to open up, to receive, to be filled.

But then came the surprise. Ten guys in total. Ten. When they entered, fear paralyzed me. I wanted to shout "red", the safety word, but something stopped me. Was it the thrill? The fear of disappointing them? Or that internal voice that always tells me I'm a slut who deserves the worst?, or is it really what I am, a submissive. I let myself be carried away by the chaos: cocks everywhere, urine on my face that stung like emotional slaps, hot piss flowing down my body, in my mouth, in my hair. Anal penetration that opened me up to unsuspected limits, fingers that tore my ass, simulating mini-fisting. And in the midst of it all, I moaned with pleasure. I think I internally came like two more times, lost in that whirlwind of testosterone and humiliation. It was as if my body was betraying my mind: "Continue, slut, you love it", it told me as I swallowed urine and semen.

Now, sitting on the edge of the bed with a cup of tea that I didn't drink, I felt empty. Dirty. Not just on the outside – that can be washed away with soap – but on the inside. As if I had been used so much that there was nothing left of me. Who was I before this? A normal guy, with a normal job, friends who don't know anything about my dark side, a family that loves me. I've always been gay, liberal, promiscuous. I've had sex with dozens of guys in saunas, parks, cars, my hunting ground, gay apps. I love sex without attachments, being the slut who opens her legs and says "use me". But last night I crossed a line. Ten men treated me like a human toilet, and I let them. Why? Is this wh...