They corralled him back against one of the makeshift seats, propping himself up so that his legs were open wide. Finally the space they had all been craning their necks to see was bared, the dark pink of his asshole beckoning them demurely. Diallos dipped his delicate fingers into the grease, unable to keep from trembling as he slid them down below his balls, his nervous cock, to touch himself. He’d done it now what felt like hundreds of times, had it done to him even more, intimately aware of the pain he would endure should he refuse their request, but it did nothing to calm the churning in his gut. Still, he felt only a jolt of arousal, however unwanted, when he began to rub the pucker of his hole, warming the grease on his skin. A part of him so dirty, so shameful that he had rarely acknowledged before was one he now found himself intimately acquainted with, pleasured by. Diallos hated how easy he found it now to stroke across himself, to dip the tips of his fingers into himself just enough to test the muscles, already softened from how the Tarnished and his cohort had taken him earlier in the day during their trip. Against trees, pressed bruisingly into rocks, his legs kick apart as he was bent over and rushed into with almost nothing to prepare him but the seed of whomever had visited him last.
Even worse, these memories, all evil on their own, pushed him on further, urged his fingers deeper, to the first knuckle, then the second, stroking along the silk of his insides as he opened up. Even below the rowdy chatter of the soldiers and the crackling fire he could hear the wet sounds as his exploration deepened, the red flush staining his face covering everything from his ears to his chest. There was still pain, even under his own touch, raw and battered from continuous use, but even this Diallos had grown almost used to. Angling himself to be even more exposed, he began to fuck himself on his hand, only stopping to reapply lubricant, until his ass glistened with grease and sweat, dark and plump with excitement.
“Good boy!”
“Very nice.”
On either side of him soldiers grabbed his legs, forcing him wider. Diallos gasped, covering his face with his free hand in mortification, but his fingers did not stop moving.
“What a sweet pussy you have.”
Someone’s hand crept to join his. In terror he jerked away, but the men around Diallos held him fast, and his fingers were reinserted into himself, along with one thick stranger. Unlike his own hands the man was rough, both in texture and technique, pulling at his hole more than anything.
“W-wait-!”
“Radagon’s braids, he is soft!”
Diallos pulled his fingers away again as soon as he was allowed, hiding himself behind both hands now as yet more soldiers peered between his thighs.
“That’s a good hole,” said one man, “look at it twitch!”
